boat. The marinas are alerted. We’ll get him. So far as we know, he isn’t armed, but we’re calling him a person of interest, possibly dangerous. We’ll continue to search. The dogs lost his scent at the dirt road behind Better Tomorrow.”
Annie looked across the table at Max, saw the sudden stillness in his eyes. She knew that Max remembered confusion and uncertainty and the bay of bloodhounds in pursuit. Neither of them would forget the August days when he was accused of killing a beautiful young woman in a remote cabin on the island.
“Dogs.” In her mind she heard their cry.
“Looks like he hopped on his bike and got the hell out.” Billy tried to sound matter-of-fact, but his eyes held sadness as he remembereda teenager in a Scout uniform, fresh-faced with no premonition of a troubled future. “That’s what looks bad for him. An innocent man doesn’t run away.”
Max’s voice was mild. “Unless you’re an ex-con and you find a woman battered to death by the axe you used to chop wood.” He met Billy’s gaze.
Billy leaned back in his chair, folded his arms. “Except the victim told Annie she was afraid of him and within an hour or so she’s dead.” His eyes dropped again to the top sheet. “She talked about Jeremiah and about an index card she found in a tweed jacket.”
Hope glimmered in Annie’s mind. If Gretchen died because of a card she found in a donated jacket, Annie was not at fault for ignoring Gretchen’s complaints about Jeremiah. “She said the card was in the jacket Everett Hathaway wore the day he died.”
Billy nodded. “Right. We found eight boxes of clothes tagged from the Hathaway house, only one opened. He died two weeks ago. Apparently the family was clearing out his things.”
Annie stared at Billy. “Gretchen said the police wondered why Everett Hathaway was out in a kayak that night.”
Billy looked mildly surprised. “We asked around. Never discovered much. Strange to take out a kayak on a windy December night, but who’s to know? The wife said he hadn’t been out in a kayak since the weather turned cold, but obviously he went out that night. His wife said she went to bed around ten. She didn’t see him after dinner. They didn’t share a room. She was surprised he’d taken the kayak, but the night was clear. Maybe he wanted to look at the stars.”
Annie remembered the pleasure in Gretchen’s breathy voice. “Gretchen said the note ‘named names.’ Maybe he went out to meet someone.”
“Maybe.” Billy was unruffled.
“Why didn’t that person come forward when the police asked for help?”
Billy looked sardonic. “Maybe he had a girlfriend and she for sure didn’t want to speak up. Maybe he never reached the place where he was going to meet some hypothetical person, and whoever it was kept quiet because it didn’t matter after he died. There could be a dozen reasons. Some innocent. Some not so innocent. We checked around. He wasn’t a skilled kayaker, he was dumb enough to go out by himself on a cold night, water temperature forty-eight degrees, he capsized, couldn’t catch the boat, and was too far from shore to swim to safety before hypothermia got him. As soon as he was unconscious, his face dropped into the water and he drowned. A PFD keeps you afloat. It doesn’t keep your head up. It was an accident, Annie.” He flipped open his laptop, clicked several times, pushed it toward Annie.
Max leaned forward to look with her at the autopsy report for Everett Morgan Hathaway. It didn’t take long to find the pertinent information: Death resulted from drowning, which ensued as a result of hypothermia… No evidence of trauma except for abrasions on both hands…
Max looked up. “Abrasions on his hands?”
Billy nodded. “Scrapes and scratches. Probably he tried to right the kayak, climb back in.” He pulled the laptop back, clicked.
Annie looked hopeful. “Gretchen
Annie looked across the table at Max, saw the sudden stillness in his eyes. She knew that Max remembered confusion and uncertainty and the bay of bloodhounds in pursuit. Neither of them would forget the August days when he was accused of killing a beautiful young woman in a remote cabin on the island.
“Dogs.” In her mind she heard their cry.
“Looks like he hopped on his bike and got the hell out.” Billy tried to sound matter-of-fact, but his eyes held sadness as he remembereda teenager in a Scout uniform, fresh-faced with no premonition of a troubled future. “That’s what looks bad for him. An innocent man doesn’t run away.”
Max’s voice was mild. “Unless you’re an ex-con and you find a woman battered to death by the axe you used to chop wood.” He met Billy’s gaze.
Billy leaned back in his chair, folded his arms. “Except the victim told Annie she was afraid of him and within an hour or so she’s dead.” His eyes dropped again to the top sheet. “She talked about Jeremiah and about an index card she found in a tweed jacket.”
Hope glimmered in Annie’s mind. If Gretchen died because of a card she found in a donated jacket, Annie was not at fault for ignoring Gretchen’s complaints about Jeremiah. “She said the card was in the jacket Everett Hathaway wore the day he died.”
Billy nodded. “Right. We found eight boxes of clothes tagged from the Hathaway house, only one opened. He died two weeks ago. Apparently the family was clearing out his things.”
Annie stared at Billy. “Gretchen said the police wondered why Everett Hathaway was out in a kayak that night.”
Billy looked mildly surprised. “We asked around. Never discovered much. Strange to take out a kayak on a windy December night, but who’s to know? The wife said he hadn’t been out in a kayak since the weather turned cold, but obviously he went out that night. His wife said she went to bed around ten. She didn’t see him after dinner. They didn’t share a room. She was surprised he’d taken the kayak, but the night was clear. Maybe he wanted to look at the stars.”
Annie remembered the pleasure in Gretchen’s breathy voice. “Gretchen said the note ‘named names.’ Maybe he went out to meet someone.”
“Maybe.” Billy was unruffled.
“Why didn’t that person come forward when the police asked for help?”
Billy looked sardonic. “Maybe he had a girlfriend and she for sure didn’t want to speak up. Maybe he never reached the place where he was going to meet some hypothetical person, and whoever it was kept quiet because it didn’t matter after he died. There could be a dozen reasons. Some innocent. Some not so innocent. We checked around. He wasn’t a skilled kayaker, he was dumb enough to go out by himself on a cold night, water temperature forty-eight degrees, he capsized, couldn’t catch the boat, and was too far from shore to swim to safety before hypothermia got him. As soon as he was unconscious, his face dropped into the water and he drowned. A PFD keeps you afloat. It doesn’t keep your head up. It was an accident, Annie.” He flipped open his laptop, clicked several times, pushed it toward Annie.
Max leaned forward to look with her at the autopsy report for Everett Morgan Hathaway. It didn’t take long to find the pertinent information: Death resulted from drowning, which ensued as a result of hypothermia… No evidence of trauma except for abrasions on both hands…
Max looked up. “Abrasions on his hands?”
Billy nodded. “Scrapes and scratches. Probably he tried to right the kayak, climb back in.” He pulled the laptop back, clicked.
Annie looked hopeful. “Gretchen
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