because of offshore winds or the currents—which weren’t the conditions that night. I don’t mean to be graphic, but drowning victims are floaters—they eventually come to the surface.”
“Which means that a body would most likely have washed up.”
Fagan nodded. “Of course, there’s the problem with that channel out there. Even during a nor’easter you’ve got crosscurrents moving as much as seven knots.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning the storm passes, and she’s carried out to sea; and being August when it happened, the water’s pretty warm.”
Fagan seemed to realize what he was saying and pulled back his explanation and guzzled some of his juice.
“What about the water being warm?” Jack asked.
Fagan sucked in his breath, looking like he wished Jack hadn’t picked him up. “Well, I don’t know if you’re familiar with the waters out there, but the island’s at the outer edge of the Elizabeth chain and there’s a channel that occasionally draws in some pretty unusual sea life from the Gulf Stream, including some deepwater pelagic fish, well, you know, like sharks and all. I mean … sorry,” and he took a bite of his scrod.
“Sure.”
They ate without saying much for several minutes. When they finished, Jack paid the bill and walked outside with Fagan.
“Wish I could’ve been more help.”
“No, you were very helpful,” Jack said, feeling a hollowness in his midsection. What he had learned was that his mother might have been eaten by sharks. He prayed that she had drowned first. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Fagan.”
“No problem.”Then he said, “You know, there’s another thing I remember that bothered me back then, just came to me.”
“What’s that?”
“Funny I didn’t think of it before, getting caught up in all the meteorology,” Fagan said. “The boat was an Oday 17, the article says, which means that she was probably out there prepping it for the storm. You were too young to remember, of course, but do you know if there was anyone else in the cottage with her? Your father or other people?”
“No, just my mother.”
Fagan took that in, then made a
“What are you trying to tell me, Mr. Fagan?”
“Well, two would have been faster, but one could have done it. I assume it was moored in the cove, so depending on the wind it could take some time, you know, rowing out there from the shore in a tender. She’d be fighting the wind, of course, which would slow her down, having to remove the mainsail, bagging it, then putting it away in the cutty cabin—maybe put another safety line on the mooring, whatever. But with all the back and forth, that would take some time. Plus it’s dangerous trying to keep your balance, all that pitching. Like trying to stand up on a seesaw. One false move and you’re overboard.”
Fagan shook his head. “Forgive me, she being your mother and all, but what I still don’t understand is how she took the chance, leaving a two-year-old baby unattended in his crib.”
Jack felt a cold flash up his back, but all he could do was nod in reflex.
Fagan shook his head. “That’s something that just never sat right with me, a storm kicking up the water just a hundred feet away. I’ve got a grandchild about that age, and he can climb out of his crib like a monkey. Not something me or my wife would’ve chanced. Hell with the boat’s my attitude.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fagan.”
“No problem. Good luck.”
Jack watched Fagan walk into the parking lot toward his car, his words sizzling in Jack’s brain.
66
RENE HEARD THE FAMILIAR HIGH-COMPRESSION GROWL out her window, and she looked out to see Jordan Carr pull up in front of her house in a new Ferrari—this one a black lacquered thing with huge chrome wheels.
Over the months, she had seen Jordan Carr at meetings with other clinicians working on the Memorine trials, but her social relationship was restricted to a few quick lunches in nursing home cafeterias. But it was evident that he was attracted to her. On a few occasions he asked her out to dinner, a movie, or a concert, yet she politely refused, saying that she was busy with work or other engagements. He seemed to take it well, coloring and nodding, bowing out with an exit line—“Maybe another time.” Eventually he stopped asking.
Rene knew she probably came across as aloof or old-fashioned, maybe even prudish or anti-men. But she was none of those. In fact, she had decided that she wanted to meet new men and go out, and that when her work on the trials subsided, she would start exploring the dating scene. But at the moment she was swamped. About Jordan Carr she was just not interested. What made tonight different was that Jordan insisted that she meet old acquaintances of his to talk about investments and financial planning. With her school loans, the grant money she was making on the trials, plus the growing value of her GEM stock options, her economic situation was becoming more complicated, so she agreed to a dinner date.
“What do you think?” Jordan asked when she stepped outside.
She looked at the low, sleek machine with the midnight-sculpted luster. “Did you and Batman do a swap?”
“Very funny,” he said with a blank face, and opened the passenger-side door.
Rene got in thinking that that was one problem with Jordan Carr: that he found few things funny, that he had almost no sense of levity, that she could not imagine him having a good belly laugh. Perhaps he was above the display of humor as with real anger. If he got angry or upset, he tended to internalize his reaction, perhaps in accordance with some mannered protocol of behavior—as if the control of his emotions underscored a superior virtue. Ironically, the blotching of his face would betray him. And that’s what bothered Rene the most about him: She was never completely certain of his true feelings. And in that uncertainty Jordan Carr made others aware that he was superior.
Jordan started the car and they pulled away.
It was Friday afternoon, and they were driving to the cliffs of Manomet, a few miles north of the Cape Cod Canal, where Grady and Luanne Vickers had a summer place. Grady worked for a Boston mutual funds company and was Jordan’s portfolio manager. Luanne was a Boston bank manager.
“But she really doesn’t need to work,” Jordan said “She’s from old Yankee money.”
And that was another thing. For Jordan, money seemed to be a prime mover. Perhaps it had to do with making up for the divorce lawyers, but when once she complained how in the trials there seemed to be more emphasis on the financial than medical, especially regarding the clinicians, Jordan reminded her, “Look, it takes eight to ten years to get trained—school, internship, residency, not to mention high professional expenses and staggering malpractice insurance. Maybe not you, but some people would argue that docs are entitled to financial rewards.” She saw no point in counterarguing and said nothing.
As he ate up the highway in his stallion hat and leather driving gloves, she decided that Dr. Jordan Carr really
A LITTLE AFTER FIVE, THEY TURNED off Exit 2 and onto 3A, and from there they found a tree-lined side street that led to the cliff-top house—a gray-shingled two-level place with a deck offering a spectacular view of Cape Cod Bay.
As soon as they arrived, Grady came out of the house. He was a heavyset man with floppy brown hair and an eager, pleasant face. He shook Rene’s hand when he was introduced. “You’re going to have to forgive me, but I have to leave.” Then, with a woeful expression, he explained that their four-year-old daughter, Leah, who was
