Getting Away With Murder

Prologue

HE SAID IT would be the perfect day for it.

The September weather has turned brisk, finally, after an almost unbearably hot, humid summer in New York City.

The waves out on the Lower Bay are rolling and swelling, the water dark and threatening under scudding clouds.

Jill breathes in deeply and fills her lungs with the sharp, saltwater scent of the sea.

The sailboat rises and falls rather alarmingly.

The two men have her under control, but it doesn’t feel that way to Jill.

They have left the marina in Lower Manhattan and Upper New York Bay far behind and are heading toward the open Atlantic.

Jill suddenly wishes she was anywhere but here.

She holds on to the pitching boat, closes her eyes, and tries to remember having coffee with her husband earlier this morning, in the serene kitchen of their Brooklyn Heights brownstone.

She focuses on that. Out here they are no longer safe, cloistered; here the wind screeches and howls and whips at the sails as if they are at the gates of Hell.

For a brief second, she asks herself what the fuck they’re doing.

She looks across at her husband, and his steady gaze reassures her.

He’s an excellent sailor. She must trust him.

He gives her a barely perceptible nod and reaches for the rigging.

She sits in the companionway, holding on for dear life, life jacket on, hair wild, keeping out of the way.

Two men can handle the boat, even one, if necessary, and her husband, Ted, and his older brother, Greg, have been sailing together on this bay since they were boys.

They like it when it’s challenging. They are so confident – or careless – that neither of them wears a life jacket.

Ted had told her the conditions would be perfect.

Greg flashes a big grin at her from the back of the boat, where he stands firmly gripping the steering wheel, his dark hair blowing about. He’s enjoying himself; he’s in his element. Ted was right about that. The sailing is putting him in a good mood.

The boat is named Fortune Seeker. Sleek and white – a fully equipped 36-footer. She cost a small fortune. Greg is worth a great deal of money, and he can afford it. She’s a beauty, and apparently a pleasure to handle in any conditions.

They’d ventured out around noon and had a light lunch on the boat while they were still in the Upper Bay, slipping away from Manhattan.

The water had been calmer then, closer to shore.

As usual, Greg provides the boat, she and Ted provide the meal.

She’d brought chicken salad sandwiches that she’d made herself that morning, and champagne.

They’re not celebrating anything – not yet – but they know how much Greg likes champagne and they want him to have a bit to drink.

To that end, they brought his favourite – Dom Pérignon.

Ted told her to think of it as an investment.

They sat on the deck of the boat eating sandwiches without crusts and downing Dom Pérignon, waving at passing boats, the embodiment of privilege.

They were headed further out of the bay to where the real sailing was.

Ted and Greg ate with gusto, but the mayonnaise felt thick in Jill’s throat.

She was feeling a trifle ill, although she had never been seasick before.

Her husband was drinking enthusiastically, which worried her a little.

He seemed slightly too boisterous, and she wondered if Greg thought so too, if maybe Greg thought that Ted was going to ask him for money.

She watched her husband and his brother carefully, while trying to appear uninterested.

She knew Ted was encouraging Greg to drink more, but this wasn’t going to work if Ted had too much.

He grabbed the champagne bottle out of the ice bucket, leaned over, and topped up his brother’s glass.

He proposed a toast. ‘To the future,’ he said, and they all touched glasses.

‘To the future,’ they repeated together.

Ted’s eyes met hers over the rims of their glasses.

She knew what he was thinking. She was thinking the same thing.

The going got rougher, and she packed away the remains of their lunch and the glasses and took it all below, but not before she’d tried to fill Greg’s glass once more.

He waved her away, wanting to focus on the matter at hand.

He had to pay attention to the boat. She stayed down below for a few minutes, breathing deeply, trying to get her nerves under control.

She didn’t like sailing at the best of times.

She estimated Greg had had at least two glasses of champagne.

Was it enough? She climbed back up on deck, the wind hitting her full in the face.

And now she’s been here, hunched in the companionway, for she doesn’t know how long, but it feels like a lifetime.

She stares at the vastness of the ocean.

Ted leans close and says into her ear that they’re about twelve miles from shore, then moves away from her again.

She alternately closes her eyes and opens them to scan the ocean all around them nervously.

To see if there are any other boats nearby.

There is one, it might be a small sailboat, so far away it appears as a speck upon the sea.

As harmless as a seagull rocking on the water.

The boat rises and falls, and Jill feels her stomach lurch.

The waves look even higher now, and for the first time she’s actually frightened for her own safety. The wind is suddenly stronger too.

‘Maybe we should turn back,’ Greg suggests from the wheel, shouting over the keening wind.

‘Why?’ Ted shouts back. He looks almost manic, she thinks, his eyes so bright and his hair flying around. He’s going to give them away.

Greg points at her and yells, ‘I don’t think Jill is having fun.’

Now they are both looking at her. She swallows and shouts, ‘I’m okay!’

But she wants Ted to hurry up. She wants this to be over and done with.

Greg shakes his head and shouts, ‘I’m going to turn her around.’

They both know it’s now or never. Ted gives her a frantic glance, his back to Greg.

Jill quickly scans all around them, sees nothing but empty water, and gives Ted a curt nod.

Ted turns around and makes his way to the back of the boat.

He wordlessly offers to take the wheel. As Greg surrenders the steering to his brother and turns away, Ted lets go of the wheel and the boat jerks sharply.

Greg, his back to Ted, is caught off balance.

Ted plants his feet and pushes Greg hard with all his weight as the boat dips.

His brother cries out and half turns in the air as he falls backward over the safety lines at the rear of the boat.

Jill sees his expression as he goes over; for a fraction of a second their eyes meet.

She sees the shock on his face, but she can’t tell if he knows what’s going on.

If he knows that it was deliberate. Does he realize?

Now everything seems to be happening in slow motion.

She sees Ted standing at the back of the boat, holding on to the wheel again, alone where a second ago there were two.

She staggers over to him, grabs the safety line, and looks at the wake behind them as the Fortune Seeker pitches wildly.

She can’t see Greg. She finds herself crossing her fingers as she scans the roiling waves.

His head pops up, already some distance away.

But now Ted, who has been looking over his shoulder, must adjust the heading and take charge of the boat, or they will be in trouble.

She sees Greg wave one arm and hears him shout over the wind.

He expects them to rescue him. Ted had told her that his brother never wore a life jacket. How stupid of him. How lucky for them.

She casts a panicked look around them again to make sure they are alone, but she already knows there is no one else there.

Even the speck is gone. Greg’s shouts now sound more like muffled screams, and his head goes under a wave.

He pops up again, his dark hair sleek like a seal, and begins to swim after the boat.

Greg has always been a strong swimmer. But Ted is turning the boat in a wide arc now and heading back toward the faraway shore.

He’s trying to get as much speed out of the sails as he can.

She notes that he doesn’t look back at his brother, not once, as he swims through the rough water in a frantic breaststroke, bobbing and sinking in the foaming waves, seeing the boat retreat, leaving him there.

But Jill, crouching at the rear of the boat, grips the safety line and keeps her eyes fixed on Greg.

Exhaustion will finish him off in a matter of minutes. No one could survive this.

Greg keeps swimming after them, refusing to accept what’s happening. Jill watches until he doesn’t bob up any longer. Finally, she grabs the binoculars around her neck and scans the water carefully. The blood rushing in her ears seems louder even than the wind.

When they decide that enough time has passed and they are absolutely sure he’s gone – and they are far enough away from where he went over – Jill goes down into the cabin, gets on the radio, and calls the Coast Guard, shouting ‘Mayday! Mayday!’, sounding suitably distressed.

Ted drops the sails, turns on the engine, and steers the boat in a circle, now a considerable distance away from the area where Greg went overboard.

They throw out the safety rings, most of them, now that it’s too late. They have to look as if they tried.

Ted is busy piloting the boat. But Jill sits down in the stern to wait. Now that it’s done, she doesn’t feel sick at all. Just relieved. She’s struck by how easy it is to kill someone who doesn’t suspect anything. How easy it is to murder someone who trusts you. How quickly it can happen.

What remains to be seen is how easy it is to get away with it.

They have their story ready. They have been rehearsing.