Chapter 2
From my perch on the stool, I silently watched the two men at the table.
Though they’d asked me to join them, I’d declined.
It seemed important that they establish a relationship without my interference.
At least, that was the excuse I gave myself, though if I’d truly wanted to give them privacy, I’d have left the room.
I didn’t do that for two reasons. First, I wanted to make sure Cooper cooperated. And second, I wanted to see how Peter Hathaway worked.
Sitting on the stool by the counter gave me spectator status.
It also removed me just a bit from Peter, which meant that I could relax some.
Cooper’s presence helped; he was my ally, loyal, devoted, steadfast. He was also in a lousy mood.
Yes, he’d come, but he was looking tired and taut.
He participated in the meeting only to the extent of answering the questions Peter asked. He didn’t volunteer a thing.
I had to hand it to Peter. Undaunted by Cooper’s reluctance, he posed question after question, each in the low, even tone that reminded me of what Ian had said.
“Serious legal business,” he’d attributed to Peter, and I could see it.
There were no grins, no editorial comments, no questions that didn’t have direct relevance to the case.
He read Cooper well. Perhaps he’d had experience with dozens of Coopers, but he understood that this one needed a low-keyed, meat-and-potatoes approach.
That was one of the reasons I assumed he made notes by hand on a yellow legal pad, rather than using the small recorder I’d seen in the briefcase he’d brought in from the car.
Since I was familiar with the facts of the case, I listened to the discussion with only half an ear.
I already knew that the Free Reign had been on a two-week trip fishing off the shores of Newfoundland, that she’d stopped at Grand Bank for supplies midway through, that she’d returned to Maine right on schedule.
There had been nothing new about the itinerary; Cooper had followed it dozens of times before.
This time, though, U.S. Customs agents had been waiting to welcome him home.
Without making a big deal of it, Peter asked, “Did you know anything about those diamonds?”
“No,” Cooper answered.
“You had no idea they were on the boat?”
“None.”
“They were found in your cabin. If you don’t know how they got there, maybe one of your crew does. Any suggestions?”
“No. My men are all honest and hardworking.”
“Are any of them financially strapped?”
“They all are. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be in this line of work. It’s hard.”
“Forget strapped. Talk panicked. Are any of them in the midst of serious financial crises?”
“All the time,” Cooper said with a cynical twist to his lips.
I wanted to shake him. He knew what Peter was getting at, but he was being difficult. At that moment, I admired Peter his patience. Though he spoke a little slower than normal when he rephrased the question, he made it sound more pensive than tempering.
“Has any of your crew suffered any recent out-of-the-ordinary financial crisis?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Would you know?”
“Probably.”
Peter made several notes on his pad. I couldn’t read them from where I sat, but I could watch the movement of his head. He held the pen oddly, as though awkward with it, and though he wrote quickly enough, I wondered what kind of student he’d been in school.
Brilliant, no doubt. I wondered why I’d wondered in the first place.
Drawing several broad lines across the page, he began to ask Cooper questions about individual members of the crew. While my half-an-ear continued to listen, the rest of me strayed.
I’d guessed right; Peter and Cooper were a handsome team.
Both were tall, each imposing in his way.
Cooper, wearing T-shirt, flannel shirt and jeans, clearly was the rougher-edged of the two.
His hair was darker, the stubble on his cheeks darker, his eyes darker.
I wanted to blame the grimness of his expression on the situation, but the fact was that Cooper had a shadowed side not even I had touched in nine years of trying.
I’d long since learned that parts of Cooper were off-limits; but then, parts of me were, too.
Cooper and I accepted that about each other, which was one of the things that made our relationship work.
Peter, on the other hand, wasn’t so much dark as new and, therefore, an enigma.
Whereas I could guess that Cooper was feeling frustrated and constrained and angry as hell at the situation and all those related to it, Peter’s feelings escaped me.
I supposed it was to be expected. I didn’t know the man.
His features were controlled. Little slipped past his professional facade.
Oh, I could guess things. I could guess that he found me attractive.
I intrigued him, he said. And I wasn’t so ignorant as to think he was fascinated by my mind.
He was male through and through. I was willing to wager that his sexual prowess rivaled his legal skill.
Whether wandering through my living room, standing by my counter or sitting in one of the ladder-back chairs at my table, his lines flowed.
He was comfortable with his body; he handled it well.
I supposed others had handled it well, too, over the years.
But I wasn’t entirely sure. Helaine had called him a lady-killer, but what did Helaine know?
Rumor had a way of feeding upon itself, particularly where sex was involved.
Perhaps rumor was wrong. Perhaps Peter Hathaway was the monogamous type.
Perhaps he’d been married and divorced, or engaged and burned.
Perhaps he had a long-time steady lover in Manhattan.
Or he’d sworn off women completely. Or he was hung up on his mother.
His love life was one big, fat question mark. Even the half smile he’d given me, the one that had set my equilibrium back so, had been mysterious in its way, as though it held a secret that I ought to know but didn’t.
“Hutter Johns wouldn’t have done anything like that,” Cooper barked, intruding on my thoughts, retraining them on the discussion at hand. “Yes, he’s the newest member of my crew, but he’s one of the most open.”
“Sometimes the open ones are the most deceptive,” Peter returned. “They toss out red herrings right and left.”
“Not Hutter,” Cooper vowed. “Not to me.” He clamped his mouth shut.
Reaching quickly for the coffeepot, I skirted the table and went to his side.
When I put a tentative hand on his shoulder, his gaze flew to mine in surprise—as though he’d momentarily forgotten I was in the room—and then softened in the subtle way that was characteristically Cooper.
I refilled his mug, then moved around and did the same for Peter.
Once I’d replaced the glass carafe on its warmer, I returned to Cooper’s side.
Peter looked up from his mug. If he thought anything of my change of position, he didn’t let on, and it certainly didn’t deter him from his purpose.
He’d apparently reached the point where he felt a little pushing was in order.
Though his voice was quiet, his eyes were clear and sharp.
“If neither you nor your crew had anything to do with the smuggling of those diamonds, how did they get onto the boat and into your cabin?”
Stone-voiced, Cooper said, “I don’t know.”
“You must have a theory.”
“I assume they were put on the boat while we were docked at Grand Bank.”
“By whom?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
“Where would you be?”
“Fishing.”
More softly than Cooper, I told Peter, “The boat’s been impounded, and the crew is filing for unemployment. It isn’t a great situation.”
Peter’s gaze caught mine, and I imagined I saw a germ of compassion there before he turned back to Cooper. “Why would someone have picked the Free Reign?”
“Because,” Copper said without pause, “we’re predictable. And reliable. We leave here on schedule, we come back on schedule. And we’re above reproach.”
“Until now.”
Cooper didn’t respond. Since I stood slightly behind his shoulder, I couldn’t see his face, still I knew without a doubt that it was granite hard.
I could feel his anger, a tangible thing very much in control of his being, and I had the uncomfortable notion that he was getting ready to bolt.
That was the last thing I wanted. So I spoke up in his defense.
“Cooper is innocent. In the nine years I’ve known him, he’s never done anything even remotely questionable.
He keeps detailed records of where he’s fished and what he’s caught.
The fishing authorities trust him. I trust him.
He’s innocent. So is the Free Reign. They’ve been used, that’s all. We have to find out by whom.”
“How do you propose we do that?” Peter asked.
“I was going to ask you the same question.”
He took a slow swallow of his coffee, set the mug down and leaned back in his seat.
“I could talk with the police, but obviously they feel they already have their man. I will plant some doubt. That won’t hurt, and I can do it easily enough, but a little doubt won’t spark an active investigation.
” He looked from Cooper’s face to mine, then back.
“We could conduct one ourselves. We could hire an investigator. But it’ll cost.”
“No,” Cooper said. “No investigator.”
Tightening my hand on his shoulder, I said to Peter, “We’ll think about it. In the meantime, what can we do?”
His answer was on the tip of his tongue. “Talk with people, anyone and everyone around here who has anything to do with Cooper or the boat. The crew comes first. I want to talk with each of them.”
Feeling the tension coil tighter in Cooper’s shoulder, I leaned forward. “It has to be,” I told him in a private voice, “if for no other reason than to line up witnesses who’ll speak on your behalf.”