June 13, neither had been on Broward’s Rock shortly after midnight on Saturday when the BlackBerry photo had been taken.
Max noted the lines of patience and good humor in Burl’s heat-reddened face. He decided truth was the best offense. “Elaine Jamison’s in big trouble, Burl. You may be able to save her from criminal prosecution. Here’s what I need to know . . .”
Annie parked in front of the Jamison house. As she hurried up the drive past several cars, skirting puddles from the morning storm, she glanced toward the garden. The time of day was different from her arrival here Tuesday morning. The humidity was heavier. The shrubs and trees still dripped from the morning storm. The wood of the gazebo gleamed wetly. But the scene was uncannily similar to Tuesday morning, except it was quiet without the shrill whine of a leaf blower. In the lagoon, Lou Pirelli moved slowly, the pole moving up and down, poking beneath roots, squishing into mud. Likely the fascination of the search had worn thin, very thin, for him.
Annie strode swiftly to Elaine’s cottage, confident that she was on an errand that would lead to victory. She felt positive that the late-night photo in the gazebo had led inexorably to Pat’s murder. Elaine spent the night on the mainland when the photo was taken. Therefore she was not the person Pat had invited to her house for Irish coffee. Annie never doubted that the deaths of Pat and Glen were connected. If Elaine was innocent of Pat’s death, she was innocent of Glen’s even if she had somehow come into possession of the murder weapon, which was still only a supposition. Billy Cameron might balk at Annie’s conclusions even though everything she suggested was logical and reasonable. But there was no proof.
Annie knocked on the front door of the cottage.
The door was jerked open. Elaine Jamison’s narrow, fine-boned face was wan, her expression haunted. She looked beyond Annie as if seeking something or someone, then slowly her gaze returned to Annie. She spoke as if from a long distance. “What do you want?” Her voice was dull and lifeless.
“To talk to you. To help you.”
Elaine’s lips trembled. “Help me? That’s hard to believe. You followed me and told the police enough to make them suspicious of me.”
“I was in the garden that morning. What else could I do? But I’ve told the police over and over that I know you didn’t shoot Glen.”
Something moved in Elaine’s eyes. It might have been a flash of gratitude, but her face was still haunted.
“That’s why I’m here.” Annie spoke in a rush. “The police—” She broke off.
Elaine looked weary. “The police think I’m guilty.” Her gaze was suddenly demanding. “Does everyone know the police are hounding me? They keep coming here. I told the kids not to come down here. I don’t want them mixed up in this.” She hesitated, then held the door open. “I have to talk to someone or I’ll go mad.”
In the living room, Elaine gestured to an easy chair for Annie. She herself settled into a corner of the sofa. She brushed back a strand of blond hair, tried to smile. “Would you like coffee? I have some made.”
“No, thank you. Elaine, I think you found the murder weapon.”
Elaine sat up straight and stared at Annie. “Are you going to hound me, too? Then go away. I’d rather be alone.”
Annie persisted. “It’s obvious you threw something into the marsh and everyone thinks it was the murder weapon. Where did you find the gun?”
“Where did I find the gun?” Elaine’s voice shook. “At least you’re original. Why don’t you ask me why I shot Glen like the police do, over and over and over again?”
Annie was impatient. “I keep telling you. I don’t think you shot Glen. But I do think you threw his Colt into the marsh. Did you find his body and take the gun? Look, if you did, go ahead and tell the police. I’ve got proof you didn’t kill him.”
Fear darted in Elaine’s blue eyes. “What do you mean?”
Annie was confused. Instead of seizing upon Annie’s belief in her innocence, Elaine seemed even more distraught. Annie spoke forcefully. “You were in Savannah the night Pat Merridew saw someone hide something in your gazebo. Marian Kenyon saw you and Burl Field on the first ferry from the mainland Sunday morning, June thirteenth.”
Elaine pressed fingers against each temple. “Nothing makes sense.” She massaged her temples, then her hands dropped. “What does Pat’s death have to do with Glen?”
“Pat saw something she shouldn’t have seen in your gazebo.” Annie gestured toward the window. “After Pat was fired, she started coming here late at night . . .”
When Annie finished, Elaine’s stare was incredulous. “Pat took a picture of a towel in the gazebo?”
Annie was decisive. “I think Glen’s gun was hidden in the towel. Pat knew who hid the towel and she tried blackmail. I know it couldn’t have been you. You were in Savannah with Burl.”
“That doesn’t sound likely to me.” Elaine’s voice was tired. She looked away from Annie, her gaze distant. “It doesn’t make sense about Pat.” It was as if she were processing the information about Pat’s death against some inner knowledge, and the facts didn’t jibe.
“The deaths must be connected.” Once again Annie felt stymied. It was absurd to believe the murders weren’t linked. She tried again. “Don’t you see? Once the police know that you can’t have committed the first crime, they’ll realize you didn’t shoot Glen. Now you can help them. Did you find the gun?”
Elaine looked defeated, weary, small against the puffy cushion. “I’ve told the police I don’t know anything about Glen’s murder. I don’t know what happened.” She lifted eyes brilliant with fear to gaze at Annie. “And that’s what I’m telling you.”
Max held his cell, waited for his call to be transferred.
“Chief Cameron.” There was an undercurrent of impatience in Billy’s voice.
Max felt he was on a short leash. “Hey, Billy. Annie and I saw Marian’s story about Elaine Jamison being a person of interest. It turns out Marian saw Elaine Jamison and Burl Field on the early-morning ferry June thirteenth.
