So far — to Willis’s irritation — he had spent the first few days of it in Seth’s room.
And now Seth was awake — calm, and truly awake. Lefebvre considered calling a doctor or a nurse to the boy’s bedside, but he found he could not walk away from that steady regard.
“Hello, Seth. Don’t try to talk, okay? Your vocal cords have been damaged, so it will hurt if you try to speak.”
Seth reached toward his throat, then held out his hands, staring at the bandages.
“Do you remember how you got hurt?”
Unable to move his head much, he shook it slightly, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Don’t be worried about that. It’s not unusual for an injured person to—”
But suddenly Seth’s eyes widened, and he tried to speak. He winced, but still Lefebvre thought he knew the one word the boy had tried to say.
Lefebvre’s hands tightened on the bed rails. “You want to know about Amanda?”
Seth mouthed the word “yes.”
“I’m sorry, Seth. Amanda and your father—”
But even before Lefebvre spoke, Seth had read his look. Tears began rolling down the boy’s face.
“I — maybe I should get the nurse.” Lefebvre started to move away, but felt a bandaged hand on top of his own and hesitated.
Seth gestured toward him, brows raised in question.
“Who am I?”
He tried to nod and winced — the damage to his throat had made the motion painful.
“Philip Lefebvre. I’m a detective with the Las Piernas Police Department.”
Seth wiped at his tears. Lefebvre reached for a tissue, to help the boy dry his face, but Seth tapped at Lefebvre’s hand in some urgency.
Seth covered his left eye, mouthing something.
Lefebvre moved to a nearby cupboard and took out a board a speech therapist had left. It had large letters, numbers, and a few short phrases on it — an aid for communicating with patients who could not speak after surgery.
“You tap my other hand when I’m pointing at the correct letter,” Lefebvre said.
He began slowly tracing his hand over the alphabet, almost Ouija-board style. When he reached the “P,” Seth tapped.
“First letter,
Seth touched the word “yes” on the board, then put his hand back on Lefebvre’s, eager to proceed.
Slowly but surely, working together, they spelled out a word. P-I-R-A-T-E.
Lefebvre stared at him a moment. “You were attacked by a pirate?”
Awkwardly, Seth moved a bandaged hand to “yes” on the board. Seeing Lefebvre’s incredulous look, he covered his left eye again.
“My God,” Lefebvre said, suddenly realizing what Seth was saying. “You were attacked by a man wearing an eye patch?”
Seth’s relief at Lefebvre’s understanding was visible.
“A patch over his left eye?”
Yes.
“You’re certain?”
Another yes.
Working patiently, Lefebvre focused on getting a description of the man, and gradually one developed. A white male, medium build, dark hair and clothing. Seth was unsure of his attacker’s age, but thought he was around Lefebvre’s age — maybe a little younger or older. Seth indicated that he had seen the man for only a few moments, but believed his father may have known him.
From the moment the eye patch was mentioned, Lefebvre suspected that Dane was the killer. None of the other elements of the description changed that suspicion. He knew that more evidence would be needed to bring Dane to trial, but for once, the police might have enough to get a search warrant.
He needed to establish a time frame. He knew that when he had arrived at the yacht, neither Trent Randolph nor Amanda had been dead for long. The coroner’s report had confirmed that impression. He also believed that the killer had struck quickly and had not lingered aboard the
Again working with the board, he asked about the time of the attack. Seth thought it had been between eleven forty-five and midnight. Lefebvre remembered that a witness had heard a big-engined powerboat in that section of the marina at about that time. Carefully structuring his questions, he learned from Seth that the man who had attacked the Randolph family came aboard from another boat. A powerboat.
