Chapter 13
While he drove to meet Leland Ackerley, Reid considered the issue that had been bothering him since seeing Tom yesterday: that he had an ax to grind with Pete Lathrop.
Tom had been right to question his objectivity.
Caring about the sisters, keeping an eye on them, had given him too much information about Pete and the way he had treated Beth.
Now, considering the way the time line was shaping up, and Pete having had no obvious opportunity, Reid had to rethink his theory.
He wasn’t supposed to be emotionally involved in his cases, but he couldn’t help the fact he had a pit in his stomach: if not Pete, who?
He really needed to hear from the forensic examiner and find out whether Beth had been raped. Maybe there really was a stranger.
Still, he had to rule Pete out. Of all the crew, he was most interested in interviewing Leland Ackerley.
The other guys were casual acquaintances of Pete’s, but according to Miano, who had taken an initial statement from Ackerley on the dock in Menemsha, he had known Pete the longest and had actually attended school with him.
Reid had arranged to meet him at the Bee Pete was so anxious to get going.
And—I never would have thought it would be the last time.
I wouldn’t have necessarily registered it. ”
“Okay,” Reid said, nodding. “That makes sense. You were in a hurry.”
“Yeah, we were.”
“So,” Reid said, keeping his voice steady. “If you didn’t remember or register hearing Beth right away, how did that change?”
“Pete keeps reminding me she called down the stairs.”
“Reminding you,” Reid said, and now his heart was beating out of his chest. “So it might not have happened? He’s coaching you to alter your recollection?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Why didn’t she come downstairs, by the way?”
“Beth was in bed. She had edema in her legs.”
“Complications from the pregnancy,” Reid said.
“Exactly. So it makes total sense she wouldn’t come down to see us off. Pete said she wanted to get outside, back into the garden. She had been out earlier and gotten overheated. The day was so hot and muggy.”
That jibed with what Scotty had said.
“So Pete talked her out of it—he was afraid she’d get heatstroke. And that’s why she stayed in bed, didn’t come downstairs to see us off. But she did call down.”
“And what did she say?” Reid repeated.
“‘Have a great trip, Lee! Love you, Pete!’” Ackerley said.
“Did you hear that or not?” Reid asked.
“Pretty sure,” Ackerley said.
“Okay,” Reid said. “What about on the boat?”
“He was worried about her. We all understood—it didn’t seem strange or out of character. He’s a caring guy. He had messed up his marriage, and he was trying to put it back together.”
“What about his clothes?” Reid asked.
“His clothes?”
“What was he wearing on board?”
Ackerley gazed outside, into the branches of the big oak tree as if trying to remember. “I didn’t really notice.”
“Long sleeves, short sleeves?”
“I have no idea,” Ackerley said. Then, “Wait, hang on.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and began scrolling through.
“What have you got there?” Reid asked.
“I know, the other detective said you wanted our photos, but I didn’t have any of Pete then.
Someone texted this to me late last night—a guy we ran into on Nantucket.
His band was going to be playing at the Chicken Box.
I made his guitar, and he wanted us to come by for a set, but we were taking off.
He wanted a shot of me playing the guitar. ”
Ackerley handed Reid the phone, and Reid examined the photo.
The men were lined up on the ferry’s deck, with Leland Ackerley holding the guitar, everyone smiling.
The sun was bright, glinting off the water.
Everyone but Pete was in T-shirts. Pete wore that same long-sleeved sun protection shirt he had had on when Reid had met him at Menemsha.
“Looks like Pete was cold,” Reid said carefully.
“Well, there was a breeze—it can get chilly, especially if you’ve had too much sun.”
“I wonder why he was the only one,” Reid said.
“I don’t know,” Ackerley said.
“Did you notice scratches on his arms? The backs of his hands? At any time did he go swimming—did you see him with his shirt off? Scratches on his neck?”
“No,” Ackerley said. “Not at all.” He paused. “Look, I know what you’re getting at. I didn’t see any scratches. He’s innocent. Why aren’t you looking for the person who stole that painting? The moon one? That’s who you should be after.”
“We’re following all leads,” Reid said.
“I mean, don’t you know what happened to Beth when she was young? All for that painting?”
“Yes,” Reid said. “We’re aware.” He paused for a few seconds. “Did you know he and Beth were having problems?”
“Of course,” Ackerley said. “Pete told me.”
“At the beginning, when I asked if you were close, you said you felt sorry for him. And you added until recently. What happened recently?”
“Maybe I didn’t put it right,” Ackerley said. “In fact, maybe I should have started feeling even sorrier for him. He screwed things up with Beth.”
Reid waited for him to go on.
“Nicola, the affair. Then having a kid with her. Jesus.”
“So, you’re saying it was hard on Pete?”
“Of course. He fell in love. He’s a middle-aged idiot who fell for a grad student. And he ruined his marriage.” Ackerley shook his head. “He couldn’t get out of his own way, just kept compounding his mistakes.”
Reid wanted him to say more about the mistakes, but Ackerley pushed back his chair and stood up. He pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on, signaling that the interview was over.
“I have to get going,” he said. “Good luck finding who did it.”
Reid paid the bill and walked outside, caught up with Ackerley as he was unlocking the Jag.
“Listen,” Ackerley said. “Pete felt really bad about hurting Beth and Sam, wrecking the marriage, but it wasn’t all his fault.”
“In what way?” Reid asked.
“I loved Beth. But she never gave Pete any credit. He might not have grown up in the art world, but he caught on right away. He’s a member of Mensa, you know?”
“I’ve heard,” Reid said, trying not to roll his eyes.
“Well, he could have run that gallery like a real business instead of, to be honest, a family hobby. That’s all it was to Beth. A way of showcasing her family’s collection. She was all about coddling artists, not making money. Not turning a profit.”
“How did she coddle artists?”
“You know, they’re all so sensitive. A little crazy.
Suffer for their art, you know? Pete would see her turning herself inside out, paying them more than their paintings were worth.
Getting taken advantage of. She’d send them to the doctor if they were sick, including therapy in at least one case.
She even paid for a sculptor to have a root canal. She’d get too involved with them.”
“Is that what Pete told you?”
“Well, yes,” Ackerley said, his brow furrowed. “But it was pretty obvious to anyone who knew her. She got more wrapped up in the artists than she was in her husband. Poor Pete.”
Reid looked at Ackerley’s troubled expression. Whether Pete was the killer or not, he was a manipulator. Guys like him wanted the world to feel sorry for them.
“Thanks for your time,” Reid said, handing him his card. “If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to call. And please text me that photo.”
“Yeah,” Ackerley said. He started the car. The engine gave a throaty roar as he pulled out of the parking lot. Within twenty seconds, Reid’s phone buzzed: Ackerley had texted the photo.
Reid drove up the I-95 entrance ramp, merging onto the highway and hitting normal summer-in-Southeastern-Connecticut traffic.
As soon as he could, he sped up to eighty miles per hour and headed toward his office to meet Pete.
He knew a lot more about him than he had at their first encounter, on the dock in Menemsha.
He wasn’t sure what it added up to, but it made him all the more interested to hear what Pete would have to say.