The Whale's Footprints - Rick Boyer (11 page)

After an hour of this
thumpity-bump, we approached flasher buoy R-4 opposite Wings Neck and
bore off to port. Almost immediately after leaving the channel, we
could feel the water relax. We raised sail, cut the engine, and swept
along past the point of Wings Neck and its spooky, abandoned
lighthouse, towards Pocassett Harbor. We'd had enough for one day,
and were looking for a roost for the night.

* * *

We lounged in the
Hatton's
cockpit looking at the glowing red-gold sky above as darkness fell.
It was now nine-thirty, and there we were, anchored in behind
Bassetts Island, inside a cove in Red Brook Harbor, in water still as
a mill pond. The water slapped and chuckled around our hull. A family
of ducks paddled past, quacking and peeping. Jack dipped up some sea
water and doused the dying embers of charcoal in the bottom of the
hibachi that was clamped over the gunwale to cook our steaks. I put
the garbage in a plastic bag, then dragged up the big oil anchor
light from the fore hatch, lighted it, and attached it to a halyard
and hoisted it aloft. It would keep other vessels away from us.

"
So you're really going to go around Woods Hole
questioning everybody?" asked Jack, working a toothpick in his
mouth. "Gee Dad, that's such a drag."

"I'm not going to do that. I'm going to lurk in
the shadows, so to speak, and see what's up."

He bowed his head and didn't say anything. I could
tell he was thrilled.

"Perhaps you'd prefer Uncle Joe to do the
walking and talking?"

"
No, dammit! I would prefer that you all stay
out of it. The police will find out who did it, Dad; they don't need
your help."

I fell silent, amazed at his naiveté.

"Don't assume that your innocence exonerates
you. That can get you into deep trouble real fast."

"Okay. You and Joe can look into this. just
don't just don't—"

"Make an ass of myself?"

"Right."

"That's going to be
the tough part."

* * *

 
I pulled up the sheet and stretched,
yawning. Jack blew out the little gimbaled brass oil lamp and went
topside to sleep in the cockpit. I could smell the insect repellent
he'd doused himself with. Darkness and quiet settled down around us
like an old woolen comforter. One more time, I thought. I knew I
couldn't sleep if I didn't find the answer.

"C'mon, guy. Indulge your old man's curiosity
just a little bit."

"Hmmm? What?"

"You know what. Inside-the-park homer."

"You know what it means. I just meant it sort of
happened fast. And inside a car. You know: vidi, vici, veni."

I thought about the quote for a second. There was
something out of line with Caesar's words, but I couldn't put my
finger on exactly what . . .

"
Good night, Jackie."

"Good night, Dad. I love you."

"Don't be a sap," I said, trying to hide my
growing anxiety. I rolled over and shut my eyes.
 

EIGHT

WE AWOKE BEFORE SIX the next morning, Tuesday, hauled
anchor, motored out from behind our little island in the cove, and
headed back toward Buzzards Bay. Jack made coffee and heated
breakfast rolls in the galley while I minded the helm, keeping one
eye on the chart, the other on the channel marker buoys. I estimated
the distance to Woods Hole passage to be about twelve miles. The
passage is a narrow, winding channel between Penzance Point and the
islands to the south, and separates Buzzards Bay from the open
Atlantic. It's this passage, or "hole," that gave Woods
Hole its name. For the navigator, it's very tricky, with ledges and
tidal rips. To make things more difficult, the passage is buoyed and
lighted for an east-to-west traverse rather than the way we were
headed. Therefore, to us, all navigational aids would be backwards.
It was rather like navigating through a rearview mirror, or driving
in England.

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 crude 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.