Jack McDevitt - Firebird

A little farther on, a guy in shorts was working on his boat. “The island can be a wild place this time of year,” he told me. “Parties every night. Kids running loose. Don't know where their parents are. I wouldn't let mine just wander around.” His name was Wes Corvin. He was well past the century mark, all smiles, with an appearance of absolute contentment. It was obvious his plans in life didn't extend far beyond floating around on the ocean.

When my opportunity came, I commented that it was fascinating to be here, that I'd done a paper in school on Christopher Robin, and there I was on Virginia Island.

“I remember seeing him when I first moved here,” Corvin said. “He used to walk around up by the cove. He'd be up there in the evenings, sometimes with his wife, sometimes alone. I can remember that he'd just be standing there, leaning over the rail, staring out to sea. I never really talked to him. Maybe said hello or something. He didn't seem to pay much attention to what was going on around him. Every time I saw him, he was looking at the ocean, or the sky, or something far away. You know what I mean?”

“But you knew who he was?”

“Hell, I still don't know who he was. I knew he was supposed to be a famous scientist. But that's all.”

In Ruby's Walk-In, I drank lemon soda with two women, one tall and distant, one heavyset and almost painfully good-natured. They shook their heads sadly while telling me that Robin had been cheating on Elizabeth, that she'd found out, and that when he'd arrived home that night, she'd been waiting for him. “Everybody here knows what really happened,” the tall one said. “They just don't like to talk about it.”

“You're saying she murdered him?”

“I'm not sure how she managed it. Since there was no witness, I can't really say.”

“But you think she killed him and dropped him into the ocean.”

“Yes. She might have had a gun. She might have simply told him there was something strange happening in the sky and got him to walk out to the overhang. Maybe she had an accomplice, somebody to help her drag the body out. She had a lot of money, so she could have paid somebody.”

“They never found the body,” said her affable friend. She seemed proud of the fact.

That evening, I took a taxi out to the house they'd owned, which rested on a summit overlooking the sea. It was completely alone at the southern tip of the island. No other property, no other house, was even visible.

A FOR SALE image blinked on as I approached, and a code that would allow a prospective buyer to contact the agent.

It looked more imposing than it had in the photos. It was not as large as most of the island homes, but it had a quiet ambience: single-story, small windows with dark green shutters, a sloping roof and a chimney. Until then, it was the only chimney I'd seen on the island. The property was shaded by tolivar trees, and protected on three sides by a hedge that needed cutting.

I strolled around the perimeter of the property, went out onto the top of the bluff, and spent several minutes looking down at the sea. It was a three-story drop into the water, where an incoming tide washed over a few rocks.

I'd done my research. No weapon had been found. And there'd been no mention of the adultery theory.

No evidence connecting Elizabeth, or anyone else, to his disappearance had ever been brought forward. She had not been charged though the media had reported she drew the attention of investigators. But the only reason seemed to be that she was his spouse, and the spouse, in a case like this, was automatically the prime suspect.

The owner of the Windraven, Ilena Kataiya, told me that Elizabeth had been a longtime friend. Ilena was short, solid, still energetic despite being advanced in years. She was always rearranging things, wiping down the counter, entering data into the system, adjusting the curtains. She was routinely amiable, but her voice grew intense when I asked about the disappearance. “It broke her heart,” she said, “that anyone would think she could have done it. That she could have killed her husband.”

“Were they close?” I asked.

“They were like most married couples, I guess.” She winked. “They got along okay. I mean, he couldn't have been the easiest guy to be married to. He was all physics all the time. I don't recall that he ever talked about anything other than the stuff he was involved in. I remember when Kevin won a prize at the school. For swimming. Kevin was a great swimmer. Still is.”

“Kevin's your son?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “He took first place in the Oceanside Tournament. I wanted to show them the trophy, but Chris couldn't have been less interested. He was a guy who, if he was with you, was either talking about black holes or looking at the time. But you know how it is-a lot of guys are like that.”

I hadn't known many who spent their time talking about black holes, but I let it go. “Ilena, could Elizabeth have been behind it?”

“No,” she said. “Not in a million years.” She thought about it. Shook her head. “No way.”

“She says she slept through the night and never heard Cermak's skimmer arrive. How could that have happened?”

“I think the media got that part of the story wrong. She told me she heard them touch down. She was in bed. It woke her, and she just turned over and went back to sleep. Look, Chase, it wouldn't have been the first time it had happened. That she'd slept through it when Chris came home. In fact, she'd done it just a couple of weeks earlier.”

“He'd been out two weeks prior to the final flight?”

“Yes. Two weeks, three weeks, something like that. I remember her telling me about it when she complained that he was going out again. She wasn't all that happy about the flights.” She bit her lip. “I'm probably talking too much.”

“She didn't like his being gone so much?”

“It wasn't only that. She was afraid something would happen to him.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Well, they lost Bill Winter.”

“Bill Winter? Who was he?”

“An academic type. I think he was a historian. He went out with them one time, and they apparently set down somewhere, and he was attacked by a predator.”

I hadn't heard about that, but she had no details to add. “Do you know how long he was gone?” I asked. “On that last flight?”

“Three or four days, I think.”

“That's all?”

“Well, something like that.”

We were in the lobby of the Windraven, and a family with three little kids were coming in. “Hang on a second.” She got up and assumed her place behind the counter. When they'd been taken care of, she came back. “Everybody liked Elizabeth,” she said. “We all wondered what she'd seen in Chris, how she could have gotten connected with him in the first place. When it happened, when Chris disappeared, we were all worried she'd leave, too. But she didn't. She stayed on. Lived in that house for, I don't know, another forty years or so. She never gave up hoping he'd come back. I thought she was better off with him gone. But what the hell did I know?”

Cermak would have dropped Robin off at the pad, which was on the west side of the house. The house itself faced away from the sea. The picture of Robin walking through the terminal on his way to that last flight had shown him with a light bag and a notebook. Where had they gone? If Robin had strolled directly out onto the bluff and fallen off, he'd have left them behind. After he got out of the skimmer, he'd have set them down before walking out onto the summit.

It was possible Elizabeth had met him at the front door and just said, Honey, I'm glad you're home. Let's go look at the ocean. It's beautiful tonight.

Bring your luggage, love.