Riptide

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it.”

“He’s still here, Adam. He’s close. I can feel him. It’s like something very black and heavy crawling over my skin.”

He said nothing.

“But why? I just don’t understand why he picked me. Why is he doing this to me?”

Again, Adam said nothing, but he thought, If Krimakov is really dead, then there isn’t a motive, and I don’t have the foggiest idea, either, why he picked you.

***

Becca couldn’t get Linda Cartwright out of her mind. She kept picturing her, lying there, her face smashed, and no one to take care of her for hour upon hour.

Sherlock handed her a cup of coffee, steam rising from the mug like cigarette smoke. “You only slept a couple of hours, Becca. Here, drink this.”

“None of us slept for more than a couple of hours,” Becca said. “Where are Adam and Savich?”

“Adam is out talking to Dave and Chuck. They just took over outside patrol. He’s going to get some other people here, some of his own people, to free up these guys.”

“Maybe Hatch is coming.” At Sherlock’s raised eyebrow, Becca added, “I heard Adam talking to him on the phone. Yeah, I was eavesdropping, so Adam had to tell me. He said Hatch speaks six languages, has lots of contacts, is really smart, and smokes. Adam is always trying to get him to stop smoking by threatening to fire him.”

Sherlock laughed and lifted her mug to toast Becca’s. “I want to meet this guy. If he dares to light up a cigarette, Savich won’t threaten to fire him, he’ll take his head off.”

“So Adam doesn’t work for Thomas?”

“No, not now. They’ve been friends for a very long time. Adam is sort of like a son to Thomas. No, I won’t tell you any more about him.”

Becca didn’t say anything.

“Listen, Becca, it doesn’t matter right now. Now, my husband is concerned that the local cops won’t be able to do a thing about Linda Cartwright because they’re going in completely blind. But we agreed this is the way we’ll play it for a while. The cops have been there for a while now, Becca. They’re taking care of her. But they won’t be able to figure anything out because we’re holding back. That really sticks in everyone’s craw, probably always will.”

“Sherlock, do you know who Krimakov is?”

Sherlock couldn’t help it, her eyes gave her away before she could pull down the automatic blinders, and she wanted to kick herself. She shrugged. “Yes, I know. But it would have to be his ghost who killed Linda Cartwright. Evidently, Thomas got information that he was killed in an auto accident just a short time ago in Crete, where he supposedly lived. So it’s all academic. If he’s dead, then he can’t have anything to do with this.”

“And Thomas has double-checked that this guy is really dead?”

“I would assume so.”

“If this Krimakov were alive, and he were behind this terror, why would he be doing it to me in particular? He’s what-Russian? What could he possibly have against me? Why would Thomas think it was him?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said, lying cleanly now because she’d had time to slip her mask into place.

“Who is Thomas, Sherlock? Please, you’ve got to tell me.”

“Just forget him, Becca,” she said over her shoulder. “Drop it. Give it time. Now, I want some more coffee. Can I make you some toast or something?”

“No, nothing.” Who was this Thomas person? Becca wondered. Why all the secrecy? It made no sense to her. She looked over at the single telephone. It was nearly nine o’clock on Thursday morning. Nothing from him. Maybe he was scared now, maybe he knew they were getting close, maybe he would go away. Still, she sat there staring at that damned black phone like it was a snake about to bite her.

The last person any of them wanted to see arrived midmorning.

“The door looks good,” Sheriff Gaffney said when Becca opened it. “What with all this mess, I didn’t think you’d worry so much about how your front door looked.”

Becca said, “You just never know, do you, Sheriff? Would you like to come in? Is there any news about who the skeleton is?”

“Yeah, I’d like to talk to you a moment, Ms. Powell. I believe now that the skeleton that fell out of your basement wall is Melissa Katzen.” He rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t think old Jacob was that vicious. Bashing a young girl in the face-now that just isn’t right.”

“Sheriff,” Adam said, coming up behind Becca, “I was thinking about that. You said she was supposed to elope. Any leads on her boyfriend?”

“Nope, nobody remembers her ever dating. Isn’t that weird? Why would she keep it secret? That doesn’t make any sense to me or to my wife, Maude. She thinks that a young girl would be really proud to show off a boyfriend.”

“Maybe the boyfriend didn’t want her to show him off,” Becca said. “Maybe he told her to keep quiet.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know, Sheriff. I wish I did.”

“Rachel Ryan remembers her, said she was really nice, nothing new there. She also said that Melissa didn’t ever dress in sexy clothes. She was surprised when I told her about the Calvin Klein jeans and that skimpy pink top. She couldn’t remember Melissa ever wearing anything suggestive. Maybe you’re right, Ms. Powell. Maybe it was her boyfriend. But you know? I can just see a cute young girl waltzing over into Jacob Marley’s yard, him seeing her and getting all het up. Did he smash her?”

Becca said, “Maybe she was off to meet her boyfriend and coming into Jacob Marley’s yard was a shortcut.”

“Ain’t no shortcut to anywhere,” said Sheriff Gaffney. “The back of the Marley property trails off into thick woods and finally stops at the ocean.”

“Maybe,” Sherlock said, “the jeans and top were her cute traveling clothes. Maybe she did intend to elope, maybe she decided at the last minute that she didn’t want to and this boy got mad and killed her.”

Sheriff Gaffney said slowly, “Who are you?”

“Oh, sorry, Sheriff,” Adam said. “Sherlock and Savich here are friends of mine. They just stopped in for a while to visit the town.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am. Now, that’s not a bad idea. I guess I’d have to say that for a woman you deduced that real logically, probably better than most other women.”

Savich, who heard that, wondered if Sherlock was going to take a flying leap at the sheriff’s throat.

“Yeah,” Sherlock said thoughtfully, “I’m a lot better than poor Becca here, who can barely find her way to the Food Fort without some guy explaining the poisonous plant streets to her.”

“That was sarcasm,” Sheriff Gaffney said after a moment. “I know that was sarcasm. I’ve never believed women should have smart mouths.”

Before Sherlock could leap on the sheriff, Adam said, “Are there DNA tests being done?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Still trying to track down her father. No luck yet. Mrs. Ella remembers an aunt, lives in Bangor now. Maybe she read about the skeleton and was the one who made the anonymous call. I’ve got to track her down.” Sheriff Gaffney sighed and patted the gun at his wide leather belt that was really cutting into his gut today. “But we can’t count on the skeleton being Melissa, even though I’ve made up my mind that it is, so we’re looking into other things as well.” Sheriff Gaffney leaned his considerable weight back on his heels. “Now, folks, the reason I’m here is to ask about these guys I’ve seen on and off around Riptide. No, don’t lie to me. I know they’re with you, Mr. Savich. Would you like to tell me what’s going on?”

At that moment, the phone rang.

Tinny, sharp, and too loud, and Becca dropped her coffee cup.

“Becca didn’t get much sleep last night,” Adam said easily, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello, fuckhead. You found my present?”