Chapter 42 #14
“As the captain of this boat, I guess I am an important man. You’re either part of my crew now, or you go back in the water.
” The captain’s smile widened, showing his teeth.
“Only the dying or the dead can see this boat. You were taking your last breath when you grabbed hold of the net and we hauled you aboard. As long as you stay on this boat, you’ll continue to take that last breath.
The moment you leave, you’re dead. So it’s your choice.
Take the place of a crew member who is ready to leave, or go back in the water now. ”
Jeremy looked at the men on the deck. Something about their pallor made him uneasy.
“Well, Jeremy Swayne?” the captain said. “Are you going to take your last breath with us for a while longer, or are we going to drop you into the river so you can eventually wash ashore somewhere?”
Had to be some kind of trick, but until the boat docked somewhere, he’d have to remain with these lunatics.
He reached into his trouser pocket, then remembered his killers had taken his cell phone, keys, and wallet with his identification. “This boat must have a radio. I need to contact my boss and tell him there will be a delay.”
“Old boat,” the captain said. “Some of us have been sailing since before such newfangled things were installed on boats. Besides, looking at that bite on your face, I’m guessing that plenty of people will see you onshore before you disappear.”
He remembered the woman he’d followed from the library—the woman who had been Rachel Nightingale and then wasn’t. The woman who, somehow, looked exactly like him before he ended up in the water.
Maybe he was already in the hospital. Maybe he was delusional from the stab wound. But maybe he wasn’t.
“I’ll stay for a while.”
“Captain Flint?” a crew member said, his voice a mix of hope and weariness. “Is it my turn to go?”
Flint nodded. “If you’re ready, Fletcher, then go and be at peace.”
Fletcher said his goodbyes, gave Flint a salute, then vaulted over the side.
Jeremy hurried to the railing. The body floated alongside the boat before the current claimed it. The face, what there was of it, looked peaceful—and looked like a ravaged version of the man who had stood on the deck moments ago.
“He sailed with me for thirty years,” Flint said. “He was finally ready to complete that last breath.” He pointed at a man who approached them. “This is Carver, my first mate. He’ll show you to your bunk.”
“Do I need one?”
“Even the dying like to rest now and then.”
When Carver led him belowdecks, Jeremy said, “I’ve killed men.”
“Have you?” Carver smiled, showing a gold eyetooth. “Then you’ll fit in with the rest of us.”
26
Rachel Four had almost reached the crowd boarding the river bus when someone shouted, “Hey! Swayne!” The name meant nothing, so she ignored it while other people looked around.
“Jeremy!”
She looked at the man who stared at her.
Ah. He knew the human predator. Good. An associate would be able to report seeing Jeremy Swayne board the river bus.
Someone would either turn in the items left near the river, giving the police a place to investigate, or the items would disappear. Either way, confusion.
She gave the man a dismissive wave and boarded the river bus.
She disembarked at the third stop, waited until the vessel continued on its route, then boarded the small motorboat that would take her back to Destiny Bay.
“We’re going around the other way,” Jack said a minute later when he joined her. He held out a ball cap. “To the pavilion to report to Lucas and the Ladies.”
She accepted the ball cap and lowered her head to hide her face. A pleasant journey on the water. “Did the others make it back?”
“I didn’t hear about any trouble,” Jack replied. “I expect that will come in another day or two—for the humans, anyway.”
The motorboat pulled into its slip on the side of the beach reserved for Wyrd’s residents. Avoiding the beach, she and Jack followed a path up to the grassy area in front of the pavilion.
Lucas looked at Jack, then at her, and said, “Not the same face you left with.”
She smiled. “You know what they say about my branch of the Arcana: we are what we eat.”
27
Captain Grace Russell gently put down her phone and looked at Markus Seibert, her senior detective.
“Alistair Hampton claims that his fiancée, who disappeared a couple of days ago and is emotionally disturbed, returned to their apartment with two friends and cleaned out all the valuables. I’d like you to take a look at the apartment and talk to Mr. Hampton. ”
Markus frowned. “Wasn’t his brother reported missing last week?” He studied her. “Since he’s one of those Hamptons, shouldn’t you talk to him? He would be expecting the most senior officer available.”
“I have the wrong body shape to deal effectively with Mr. Hampton.” Grace gave Markus the smile her team called her shark smile—but not when they thought she could hear them.
“I interviewed Alistair when Reginald Hampton the Third disappeared. He made it clear that the best thing I could do for the investigation was to go down on my knees and give him some comfort.”
Markus blinked. “And he didn’t end up in the hospital?”
“I maintained my professional distance. I would prefer not to test my control a second time.”
“Understood.”
“Hampton also said that he tried to talk to the manager of the bank where, with Hampton’s assistance, his fiancée had opened checking and savings accounts, but the manager refused to cooperate and insisted he could only talk to the police if we required it.
Since Hampton is insisting that we require it, I’ll find out what happened at the bank.
” And find out what spooked the manager so much he wouldn’t comply with a request from one of the Hamptons of King’s Hill.
Markus just stood in front of her desk, jingling coins in his pocket. “Hampton lives in one of those super-luxury apartment buildings with every kind of security. How did his fiancée and two of her friends clean out all the valuables? Where was the doorman and the guard at the security desk?”
“Find out,” Grace replied as her phone rang.
“In the meantime…” She picked up the phone.
“Grace Russell.” She raised her index finger, signaling Markus to wait.
“Captain Forrester. What can I do for you? Ah. I see. Rachel Nightingale? The writer? I’ll come to you sometime this morning.
I have a couple of things to sort out first.”
She finished the call and looked at Markus.
“Rachel Nightingale placed a call to one of Charles Forrester’s detectives at the thirteenth precinct in Penwych, asking for that person by name and claiming to be in danger.
She was calling from the main branch of the King’s Hill public library.
His team retrieved the phone and are holding it at their precinct. ”
“You think there’s a connection between the phone call and this theft of valuables?” Markus asked.
Grace sighed. “My mother reads the society pages, so I know that Alistair Hampton’s fiancée is Rachel Nightingale.
Which means these two things are definitely connected.
” She shook her head. “Something isn’t right.
A person can’t be in two places at the same time.
” Unless there is a reason Nightingale’s phone ended up with Charles Forrester’s team.
28
Alistair Hampton blocked the doorway to his penthouse apartment.
“Why do you have to come in and poke around my home? I reported a theft and told your superior who had taken the valuables—my fiancée and two women who must have forced her to let them into our apartment. All you need to do is find them.”
Markus looked at the man standing behind Hampton.
Took in the expression in the man’s eyes, the way he positioned himself to have a clear shot at whoever was at the door.
As tempting as it was to ask if the man had a permit to carry a concealed weapon, Markus kept his focus on his main target, knowing that his partner, Officer James Lamb, would be watching the other man.
“You reported a theft but won’t allow the police to enter your home to ascertain that valuables were, in fact, taken.
” Markus kept his voice calm and controlled.
“It sounds like you realized nothing was stolen but didn’t have time to cancel the request for police assistance.
I’ll submit a report saying that you were mistaken. ”
“I am not mistaken!” Hampton shouted.
“We only have your word for that.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“No, sir, it’s not.”
The man took a step forward and whispered in Hampton’s ear.
Hampton huffed out an angry breath and stepped aside. “Come in, then. But don’t make a mess!”
Markus and Lamb stepped inside. Big living area with furniture that looked expensive but uncomfortable.
Lots of dust catchers on the shelves on either side of a fireplace, along with a few token books in leather bindings.
No obvious empty spaces to indicate something small and valuable was snatched.
“This way,” the man said, leading the way to the back of the apartment.
“And you are?” Markus asked when the man pushed open a door and stepped into the room.
“Martin Chandler, Mr. Hampton’s head of security.”
A bedroom suite. The doors to one walk-in closet were open; several drawers in a dresser weren’t fully closed. The bathroom…
Markus took a quick look but stayed in the doorway. Something about the bathroom. “Did Ms. Nightingale have an office in the apartment? Since she’s a well-known writer, I would expect her to have a work area and a computer.”
Chandler gave him a hard look.
You don’t like that we know who Hampton’s fiancée is, do you? You don’t like that someone else who knows her might disagree with Hampton’s claim that she’s emotionally disturbed.
“She and Mr. Hampton shared an office,” Chandler said, clearly reluctant to provide even that much information.