P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

Michael nodded slowly. "Possibly. Unfortunately, it doesn't exonerate him."

"What do you mean, it doesn't? It's clear proof!"

"Ken could've done this—he didn't have a key. Correct?"

"But what possible reason did Ken have to get into the hold of the boat late at night? And for that matter, what reason could he have that he didn't want Gary to know about? All he had to do was ask to use his keys."

"Not if they'd been fighting. And these scratches could've been put here any time in the last several weeks—maybe on a day when Gary forgot his keys. But it certainly opens up the possibility that someone was after something."

Perhaps the same someone who had broken into the Lundquist home. She started to tell Chapman her suspicions about the burglary, then held back. She was afraid he would think Gary had done it. This could all be used against him to build a case against him. Her shoulders sagged.

Chapman bagged the padlock and put it in a briefcase he'd brought to the boat. His tone holding a hint of sympathy, he said, "I'll have it checked for fingerprints; maybe we'll get lucky." He turned to study the area surrounding the berths. Most of the decking had fallen onto that area. "Which berth did you find Ken in?"

Kaz thought back, reliving those first moments as she'd tried to find Gary, choking and blinded by the thick smoke. She shuddered. "I landed about here," she said, pointing. "Then I crawled…" She turned, her finger following her path of the night before. "…it has to be the starboard berth. I pulled him out of the bunk and he fell against that storage locker."

Chapman paused, then nodded. "That matches my memory of where I picked him up." He picked his way around the winch, which had landed in the center of the galley when it had fallen through the deck, and started removing burned timbers from the berth.

Kaz moved over to help him, but he waved her back. "Stay back—I'll hand wood out to you, and I need you to stack it neatly in one pile. Then I'll get the lab guys back out here to go over everything."

She huffed a little but did as he directed. They worked for several minutes in surprisingly companionable silence, with Zeke whining every once in a while, becoming more and more impatient with his inactivity.

After Michael had cleared the worst of the timbers, he knelt down and surveyed the area without touching it. "We're in luck," he said quietly. "A lot of the berth is still here—just scorched. And I could be wrong, but I'm not seeing any obvious bloodstains."

Kaz craned her neck to look over his shoulder. Why did he think bloodstains were so important?

"Head wounds bleed a lot," he said, answering her unspoken question. "And there was a lot of blood on Ken's clothing. If there are no correspondingly large bloodstains on the berth, then it confirms the cops' theory that Ken was killed elsewhere and moved onto the boat. And that's premeditated arson."

Kaz stared at him, her throat closing. "No matter what else Gary could've done, he's incapable of planning to burn the Anna Marie," she managed. Chapman looked at her, his expression both grim and…pitying.

She turned away, walked over to the stairs, and sat down among the soggy debris. "I know you don't believe me, but deep down, Gary has a good soul. What he had to do in the Army tore him apart inside. He didn't do any of this—I know it."

Chapman opened his mouth to speak, but his cell phone chirped. He reached into his pocket, pulled it out, and flipped it open. "Chapman…yeah, I'm down at the boat right now…interesting. I'll come by in a bit—I want to see for myself." He disconnected and turned to Kaz. "Let's get moving. I've got to drop by the police impound lot, and we're done here until I can get the lab guys back."

She wanted to ask him about the call, but seeing the closed expression on his face, she didn't even bother to try. "When can I dry-dock the Anna Marie?" she asked instead.

"Not yet."

~~~~

Chapter 11

By the time Kaz pulled into her driveway, twilight lurked on the edges of the clouds. The wind had picked up, splattering occasional raindrops against the windshield. Below her in the downtown district, the outlines of old brick buildings stood silhouetted against the fading light. Out on the river, running lights glittered on the fishing trawlers, illuminating their wakes as they chugged upstream. Two large freighters were anchored for the night off the waterfront, their towering hulks dwarfing the other vessels.

A car door slammed, and she glanced in the rear view mirror. Lucy had driven up and parked behind her. Kaz climbed tiredly out of the Jeep and followed her into the kitchen.

Lucy hunted through the refrigerator, pulling two bottles of beer out and handing one plus a pizza box to Kaz. "I figured you'd forget to eat. Where're the paper towels?"

Kaz pointed to the far counter and then sat down, placing the pizza box in the middle of the table. She propped her elbows on the table and scrubbed her face with both hands, attempting to get her brain to function. "I need to keep the Jeep for a couple of days. Don't ask why."

"Why?"

"If I tell you, you'll yell."

"I've just spent two hours scraping concrete and digging in the mud. Make my day—I could use someone to yell at right about now."

Kaz sniffed. "I'm no punching bag."

"Yeah, but as my friend, it's your duty to be there for me." Lucy handed her a slice of pizza on a paper towel. "Rumor has it that your SUV is at the dealer's, missing a window. Since you're still among the living—though not necessarily sounding like it—I won't ask if you were in danger."

"That would be good."

"Kaz…" Lucy shook her head. She took a large bite, and her eyes closed. "There is a Higher Being, and she believes in the sanctity of junk food. Don't you want to know why I was digging in the mud?"

Kaz stared at her slice of pizza, trying to work up an appetite. "Is it okay to tell me?"

"Of course not—I'll have to kill you right after dinner." Lucy gave her a quick rundown. "My big find of the day was a snow globe."

Kaz shot out a hand, grasping Lucy's arm before she could take another bite. "Describe it."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Geez, Jorgensen. It was a little glass ball—you know, with the little bits of snow inside?"

"A white fishing trawler on a blue sea?"

"Whoa." Lucy quickly sobered. "Tell me how you know that."

Relief flowed through Kaz, almost making her giddy. "I gave it to Ken last week, for Bobby."

"Yesss." Lucy pumped her fist in the air and reached for her cell phone. "Ivar? Listen up: Pull the concrete and mud samples from under the bridge. Make them top priority. And meet me there in a half hour." She hung up. "You know what this means, right?"

Kaz nodded. "If Ken was killed by the bridge, Gary couldn't have done it—he didn't have enough time. The murder scene is on the other end of town from the Anna Marie."

"Exactly." Lucy gnawed on her lower lip. "So we see if we can link the mud and concrete from the bridge to the samples from the autopsy. If it's a match, we're one step closer to proving Gary didn't do it. But we'll need more than that to convince Sykes." She took another bite of pizza. "How're you holding up?"

Kaz put her slice down, reality sinking back in. And with that, the gnawing sense of desperation that she'd been feeling all day long. "Gary's holed up somewhere, Luce, and I can't figure out why. If he didn't do this, then someone may have been trying to kill him, not Ken. And so far, I'm doing a damn poor job of helping him."

"My guess is that if he needs help, he knows where to find it. Gary's got people all over who'll help him and keep quiet about it."

"Julie Lundquist told me that no one but Ken was willing to crew for him anymore, and the guys at the marina indicated pretty much the same."