The Whale's Footprints - Rick Boyer Page 8

  Once clear of our anchorage and out on the open water again, beating to windward in a fresh breeze, we resumed our discussion of the previous afternoon.

  "What about the rest of the Henderson family?" I asked.

  "Didn't you or Andy mention that her father owns a fishing boat?"

  "Yeah. Several, in fact. And he has some other investments around the foot of the Cape, too, I think. The old man's name is Bill. William. His son is named Terry. Terry's around twenty-four, I think. He's at most of the parties. The Hendersons seem pretty well fixed and all, but I don't think Terry even went to college, and he drinks a lot at the parties and is pretty crude. I guess five or six years ago I would've been impressed by him. But now it's like he's just kind of a drag, you know?"

  "Does he have a job?"

  "He works with his dad on the boats. Andy knew him better than I do. In fact, they were kind of close. And Andy talked a lot with Mr. Henderson, too."

  "What about?"

  "I don't know. They just seemed to hit it off. Andy was that way; he could make friends at the drop of a hat."

  "So we noticed. Well, I think Alice Henderson is one of the first people I want to talk with."

  "Dad . . ."

  "Don't worry, I'm not going to get real personal. And Uncle Joe will be with me."

  "Are you sure Lieutenant Keegan wants you to—"

  "I'm sure he doesn't. But that's not going to stop me. Right about now he's probably breaking the bad news to Alice about Andy, if he hasn't spoken to her already."

  Jack gazed at the horizon, silent.

  "Anything on the mother?"

  "I only met her once, Dad. She didn't say much . . . just kinda stayed in the background. I got the feeling she's not too happy, and she seemed nervous."

  "Okay, anybody else you can think of who might have been involved with Andy, or disliked him?"

  "No. Like I said, Dad, he made friends easily; he was real popular. That's what's so screwy about this."

  We sailed on in silence, enjoying the sea breeze and the sounds of the water. We entered Woods Hole Passage before eleven; the tide was ripping through there full blast, swinging Hatton's hull sideways toward the ledges, so we finished it under power, with sails down.

  Standing off the town at the end of a short channel called "the strait," I blew two long, two short on the air horn, and soon the tiny drawbridge on Water Street eased up, allowing us to pass underneath. I've never seen a smaller drawbridge than the one at Woods Hole, except the famous miniature one in Bermuda.

  We crept into Eel Pond, the tiny, circular harbor on the other side of the bridge, and oozed along in a near-stall until we came to the small dock opposite a low, modern building of stone and glass. Jack pointed it out to me as Swope Dormitory, where Mary and I would be staying for these several days.

  Jack climbed up onto the wooden dock toting his overnight bag, and I followed him. I got the feeling something was wrong when we went inside and the woman at the desk stared at us. Jack mumbled something in the way of greeting, took the room key, and we proceeded up a flight of stairs and down the carpeted hallway to number 215.

  A man wearing a khaki uniform was sitting in front of the door.

  'Jack?" he said, rising from the chair. I realized he was a maintenance man.

  "Oh, hi Walter. What's going on? Where's my mom?"

  "Your mother has gone over to your apartment, in the company of a Mr. Keegan," he said. Then he looked at me. "Ah, and you must be Dr. Adams. I am Walter Myles."

  I shook his hand. He had an impeccable British accent and a clipped gray mustache to go with it. His face wore a worried, solicitous expression.

  "I'm so sorry to hear about young Mr. Cunningham, Jack," continued Walter Myles. "And I'm afraid I have more bad news for you. It seems that in your absence, somebody broke into your rented house and burgled it. The contents are in complete disarray. That's why your mother is there right now."

  Jack's jaw fell slack; he dropped his duffel bag on the carpeted floor of the hallway. "Great," he grunted.

  "Somebody broke in?" I said. "Who discovered it, and when?"

  "Apparently Thomas McDonnough, Jack's other roommate, discovered it when he returned there early this morning."

  "Is Tom over there now?" asked Jack, recovering himself.

  "I believe so. Dr. Adams, do you wish to leave your luggage inside?"

  I stowed my gear in the room next to Mary's things and followed Jack over to his rented house on School Street, just on the other side of Eel Pond, about four blocks away. There was Jack's house, just as I remembered it: a gray shake-sided, two-story house. We saw Mary and Tom McDonnough sitting together on the front porch. When she saw us, Mary jumped up and waved. She looked preoccupied.

  "What's happened?" Jack asked as we walked up to the porch. Mary's smile faded, and she shrugged her shoulders, holding her palms up and out.

  "Search me," she said, "but it's a mess in there."

  We shook hands with Tom, who had the black hair, blue eyes, and light skin of the Irish. His skin was trying to tan, but it was mostly red and blotched from the sun. He was of medium height, and thick with muscle overlaid with a smooth layer of fat. I asked him where Lieutenant Keegan was.

  "Inside," he said, "sealing everything off so the lab team can get the evidence. We're not even allowed in there; that's why we've been sitting out here waiting for you guys. How was the cruise?"

  We talked about the trip until Keegan came out the front door, closing it after him. He shook hands with me cordially but, as usual, was all business.

  "Tom left the house at about four-thirty last Thursday evening," said Keegan, consulting his notes. "He didn't return until this morning, at ten-thirty. From Thursday to Tuesday leaves four nights in which the break-in could have occurred: Friday, Saturday, Sunday, or Monday night. I don't believe it was a daylight job. The neighborhood's much too close and active for that."

  "What did they take?" asked Jack.

  "That's the weird part," said Tom. He said it like this: weee-id paht.

  "What?"

  "I can't see anything obvious that's gone. The whole house was ransacked: your room, mine, the whole downstairs. Even the cellar. But the stereo's still there. The TV, my camera, even the pile of bills and change on my dresser. All still there. We've got no silver or antiques or anything like that. So what's going on?"

  "Can't I even look inside?" asked Jack.

  "I'd rather you wait until the—here they are now," said Keegan, pointing to a dark green van that was pulling up in front. Two men got out, and then Keegan opened the front door and we all filed in, letting the lab men go first with their cameras, collecting tape, and sketchbooks.

  Keegan stayed with us in the front hall, just beneath the stairway. He told us that since the break-in might be connected with a homicide, he was making sure that all possible evidence would be kept. I considered the link between the burglary and Andy's death, and saw it as a positive development for us.

  "Know what?" I said. "This points the finger of guilt right here in Woods Hole. And also, I think it removes suspicion from Jack. He was nowhere near here during this burglary."

  Keegan turned to Jack.

  "Where were you last night?"

  "On board our sailboat with my dad, anchored in Pocassett Harbor," said Jack.

  "And I can swear to it," I added.

  "Anyone else see you two? Any impartial, unbiased witnesses?"

  "No," I said. "So what?"

  "We'll discuss it later. Meanwhile, let's follow the lab team from room to room as they finish up. Jack, you and Tom can help us by identifying the belongings inside. Maybe we can figure out what, if anything, is missing. Remember: don't touch anything."

  We did as instructed. The team covered the downstairs first, examining doors and windows for means of entry, using their special vacuum cleaners to lift dirt and lint samples, dusting for latent prints, and photographing each room from a variety of angles. In addition, they made cr
ude sketches showing where various objects were located in the rooms. The house had been tossed, all right, but the job appeared professional and thorough, rather than hasty. In the kitchen, the cupboards had been searched, with canned goods and bags of pasta and chips left out on the counters. In the upstairs bedrooms, the mattresses were bare, but replaced back on the box springs. Sheets and bedding were heaped in big piles in the corners. All the dresser and desk drawers had been removed and examined, and their contents apparently strewn on the floor and later pushed up against a wall, presumably to allow the intruders space to walk around. The closet doors were ajar, and the clothing pulled out and piled on the floor. Nothing appeared to be broken or ruined, but there was no doubt the search had been painstaking.

  Up in Jack's bedroom, I turned and saw Mary leaning against the doorway, her arms folded across her ample front. Her head was cocked slightly to one side, her dark hair cascading down the side of her head onto her shoulder. Looked great. But her lip curled a bit in a dubious, disgusted expression.

  "Well, when it rains, it pours," she said softly. "Jackie, can you tell offhand if anything's missing?"

  "Not anything I can remember. Looks to me like they just searched the place."

  "Looking for what?" asked Keegan.

  Jack shrugged his shoulders. Keegan suggested we all go get a cup of coffee. Tom wanted to put his room back together, so he stayed at the house. The rest of us walked to the Cap'n Kidd tavern, which is down on Water Street near the drawbridge. We ordered coffee. Jack, usually hungry, had a Coke, which he sipped nervously. I repeated my observation that this ransacking of the boys' house cleared Jack of all suspicion. I was hoping Keegan would agree without reservation. But he didn't.

  "Hold on, Doc," he said. "We can't assume that. Not yet. For one thing, we have no evidence that links the break-in with the murder. It could be just a random burglary."

  "Aw, c'mon, Paul," said Mary. "It's not the kind of house a burglar would choose. Even I know that. It's student housing, and everybody around here knows it. And nothing valuable was taken. It must have been a search, not a burglary."

  Keegan held up his hand.

  "All that's crossed my mind. But how about this: what if somebody, like maybe a prosecuting attorney, supposes that Jack tossed the house himself on Friday afternoon prior to leaving for your cottage in order to divert suspicion? What about that?"

  Mary squirmed in her chair. "That's the biggest load of horseshit I've ever heard, Paul. For one thing, he and Andy left together, didn't you, Jackie?"

  "Well no, not exactly. Andy had loaded all his stuff into the Toyota at lunch time. He was in the lab all that afternoon, remember? So after my work was finished, I packed my stuff in and then picked him up at Lillie."

  "What's Lillie?" asked Keegan.

  "Lillie Hall. The big building right down the street. It's where the labs and offices are. I picked him up there about four-thirty."

  "Right," said Keegan, "I remembered your saying that, and wrote it down. Tom left Woods Hole Thursday afternoon to visit his parents in Worcester. You were the last one to leave."

  "What have you got against us?" said Mary. She was giving him a dead level stare. It wasn't friendly.

  "I have nothing against any of you, believe me. If anything, I'm biased in your behalf, for two reasons. One is Doc's coming forward with the cause of death. The other is the fact that you're Joe's sister. So don't worry about my personal feelings. But remember, there are D.A.s. There are prosecuting attorneys and grand juries. These people may not see things the way you do. And speaking of that, Jack, there's a curious thing I wanted to talk to you about."

  Jack looked up from his Coke. He was jiggling his legs up and down fast in his nervousness.

  "The lab team checked for means of entry. Tom McDonnough says that each of you kept a key. No key was hidden under the doormat or any such place, right?"

  "Right," Jack nodded.

  "Tom also told me that whenever you guys left for the weekend, you always locked the doors, front and back, and you always closed and snibbed the downstairs windows. Correct?"

  Jack nodded again.

  "Well, when he discovered the mess, Tom looked around and saw the kitchen window left wide open, and the window screen removed and lying in the bushes below. I assume you didn't do this."

  "No, I didn't. just before I left on Friday, I checked all the windows on the first floor. They were all shut down tight. I don't know about the screen, it could have been missing. But the windows were closed and locked."

  "Okay. Now the odd thing is this: there's no way the window could have been forced from the outside. There are no pry marks from tools on the sill or the bottom of the window frame. Also, the snib is intact. If the window had been forced, the fastener would be broken or pried off. Follow?"

  "I guess. You're saying that the window was opened from the inside, and made to look like somebody forced it from the outside."

  "Exactly. So how did they get in? We think they got in through the front door. And because there are no marks on the lock face, we're pretty sure they didn't pick the lock. Therefore, they used a key."

  "Well, it wasn't my key."

  "I didn't expect you to say it was, Jack. But Tom swears it wasn't his key, and we know for sure it wasn't Andy's key. So assuming it wasn't the landlord, my question is, who else had a key, and how'd they get it?"

  After several seconds of silence, Jack admitted he had no idea. "Think carefully, Jack. Did you loan your key to anyone, even for a few hours?"

  "No. Not that I can remember. The one person I can think of that might have borrowed mine, or Andy's, is Alice Henderson."

  Keegan said nothing; he just looked at Jack, whose legs and knees were bouncing a mile a minute. He wasn't a twitchy kid, so he was clearly nervous about something.

  "It might interest you to know that I spoke with Alice Henderson yesterday.”

  Jack didn't answer, just rattled the ice around in his Coke glass, bouncing his legs so fast I thought he might become airborne. Then I saw a sheen of sweat on his lip. Oh boy—

  "She, uh, had some interesting things to say about your relationship with Andy."

  Jack just sat there, twitching in every muscle and staring down at the table. The lunch time crowd, swilling beer and inhaling burgers, paid no attention to our taut little group.

  Mary couldn't stand it any longer.

  "What is it Jackie? For God's sake, tell us!"

  Jack looked back at Paul, biting his lip.

  "What did she say?"

  "What do you think she said?” asked Keegan. At that point I sensed danger. I don't know much about the law, but I've learned from Brady Cone that when the water turns murky, clam up and wait for good advice. I told Keegan that the "interview" was over. The three of us got up and left him sitting at the table alone, presumably to pick up the tab. It was the least he could do. We walked awhile in silence, past the historic Candle House with its ship's prow over the door, and then I suggested we go up to our room in Swope Dormitory.

  "I wanted to get you out of there before he painted you into a corner," I explained. Jack was stretched out on the bed, leaning up against the headboard, staring at his hands. "I don't think you ought to answer any more questions, for anyone, until we get a lawyer."

  "Charlie! Is it that bad?"

  "Hell yes it's bad. First degree murder has a tendency to be serious business. Listen, Jack, I have the distinct feeling that Alice Henderson has told Paul Keegan something that's important and perhaps damaging. Right?"

  He nodded his head without hesitation. Great. just great.

  "Well?" Mary said.

  "Well, what happened was, Andy and I got into a fist fight on July Fourth weekend. I'm sure that's one of the things she told him."

  "Fist fight?" said Mary, getting out of her chair and walking over to the bed. "Why didn't you tell us this?"

  "Why? For one thing, it was over a month ago and we'd both just about forgotten about it. Except
that the side of my face still hurts sometimes, and Andy told me he had a ringing in his left ear.”

  I slumped over the table and let out a low groan,

  "Sweet Jesus," Mary whispered. "Now listen: you're going to tell us everything—right here, right now."

  "There's not much else to tell—"

  "Who saw this fight?" I asked.

  "Well, Alice did. It was kinda about her. Andy was like teasing me privately about it, and I lost my temper. Terry, Alice's brother, was there, too. Along with a few other people."

  Great, I thought. Witnesses galore for the bad scenes . . . no "impartial" witnesses when we neeeded them. Great.

  "So who won?" asked Mary.

  "Nobody. They broke it up. For a while afterwards, Andy didn't stay at the house."

  "Don't you see the position that this puts you in?" I asked. Jack lowered his head again, as if about to cry, and Mary jumped all over me for being harsh with him. I went over and joined them on the bed, putting my arm around Jack's shoulder. Then he did break down crying. He was plenty scared. Frankly, I was scared myself, and doing my damnedest not to show it.

  "Seems to me that you and Andy weren't really friends," said Mary.

  "That's not true. We were friends, deep down. But the thing with Alice came between us, and Andy was, you know, volatile. Sometimes he was real hard to get along with. I'm sure Alice would admit that."

  "Okay," I sighed, "the first step is to get Joe down here for a day or two. I'll feel better once he's here. Also, Mary, I'm accepting the medical examiner job, at least for a while. It'll give me some clout. The best way to deal with this is to fight back. Know what I mean?"