Billy looked impatient. “Please answer my questions. What did you see when you arrived?”
“I wasn’t thinking about the house. I went straight to the gazebo and found the place where the picture had been taken. Then I looked toward the house, but I couldn’t see it. I saw a yardman. He was near a flower bed with a leaf blower. I turned toward Elaine Jamison’s cottage. That’s when she came outside.”
“Did you talk to her?”
Annie’s hands clenched. She didn’t like the picture she had in her mind, Elaine with her face pale and strained, darting a hunted look around the garden, whirling to run to the path. “I didn’t have a chance to call out to her. She rushed down the steps and took a path toward the marsh.”
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “What was her demeanor?”
Of all the questions he might have asked, this was the most deadly for Elaine, but Annie would not mislead Billy. He had been their friend, their champion, Max’s rescuer when Max had been enmeshed in an ugly crime fashioned to incriminate him. “Elaine was upset.”
Billy pounced. “How did you know she was upset?”
Annie spoke quietly, all the while feeling as if she personally were dropping a noose around Elaine’s neck. “Her face was flattened, stiff. She was breathing fast. She looked around the yard, then hurried to the path to the marsh. She was carrying a lumpy blue cloth pressed against her chest. She went around a hedge, and I lost sight of her. I hesitated to follow her. I had no business being there and I didn’t think she would want to see me. Still, I hated to go away without making sure she was all right. I cut across the yard and pulled apart some cane stalks. She was standing on the bank of the marsh.” Annie’s voice dropped. “I think she had thrown something into the marsh. Her upraised right arm was coming down. She held a blue cloth in her left hand. She turned and ran behind her cottage and in a moment her car left.”
Annie stood to one side of the stand of cane. The late-morning sun felt warm on her face. On the bank of the marsh, a blue heron perched on one elegant leg, neck craned, ready to pounce on an unwary frog or lizard. From the swath of greenish waving grass, a clapper rail cackled. The sulfurish scent of the marsh was comforting and familiar in contrast to the scene on the bank.
Annie called out. “A little more to your left.”
Officer Harrison obediently edged to her left.
“Stop there.”
The slender policewoman stood still.
Annie nodded approval. “Turn toward that big hummock.” A raccoon stood on a hump of greenery about forty feet out in the marsh. “The one with the raccoon.”
Officer Harrison faced the marsh. She was very near the spot where Elaine Jamison had stood earlier that morning.
“That’s it.”
Billy lifted his voice. “Stay where you are, Officer.” He nodded at Annie. “You didn’t see what she threw?”
“I didn’t see her throw anything.” Annie emphasized the verb. “When I looked around the cane, her arm was coming down.” Annie raised her arm above her head, began a downward sweep. “Her arm was here.” Her elbow slightly bent, she lowered her arm until it was level with her shoulder. “As I watched, her arm came down to her side.”
Billy’s cell phone rang. He lifted it, spoke fast. “Right. Yellow Corolla. Check the ferry. Send Officer Portman to make sure the car doesn’t leave the island. As soon as she’s found, inform her that the police would like to speak with her.” He clipped the phone to his belt, nodded at Annie. “Thank you for your assistance.” Billy started to turn away.
Annie blurted, “Whoever killed Glen Jamison killed Pat Merridew.”
The police chief stopped, looked toward her, his impatience scarcely concealed. “This investigation has just begun, but I might point out, even assuming the Merridew death was homicide, that there is no apparent connection between the two deaths, including the fact that the manner of death is different. However, I will keep your suggestion in mind.” This time he moved purposefully away.
Clearly, she and Max had been dismissed. “Billy,” she called after him. She asked what she knew must be asked: “Did you find a gun in the study?”
He paused, looked over his shoulder. “No weapon has been discovered. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He strode swiftly toward the marsh.
Max touched Annie’s arm. “Billy’s finished with us.”
Annie pointed toward the lagoon. “Let’s see what they find.” She knew what they were seeking, a missing murder weapon.
Billy reached the bank and spoke with Officer Harrison. Lou Pirelli, a stocky, baseball-loving police officer, swung down from the crime van and strode toward the marsh. He carried a pair of waders in one hand and a chunk of brick in the other. A cane fishing pole rode in the crook of one arm and a plastic-handled landing net dangled from a wrist strap. Dark-haired, handsome Lou was always good-humored. He helped coach baseball at the island youth center, where Max taught tennis and golf. Lou handed the chunk of brick to Hyla Harrison, then stepped a few feet away to pull on the black rubber hip waders.
Annie and Max joined Marian Kenyon behind crime-scene tape strung across the path between a live oak and a palmetto.
The classical round lens hood of the reporter’s M8 Leica gleamed in the sunlight. Marian held a pen poised above a notepad. She practically quivered with excitement. “Fill me in. Why’s Hyla standing on the bank after you choreographed her?”
Annie looked at the dark-haired reporter. Marian was as persistent as a Lowcountry mosquito and just as hard to evade. “Let’s watch and find out.”
Marian scowled. She spoke to Annie, though she didn’t take her gaze away from police clustered on the bank of the lagoon. Lou pulled on plastic gloves. Marian’s tone was cool. “Why the brush-off ?”
