“It didn’t come in here at all, with anybody.”
Jake nodded. He flipped open his cell phone and called Maine.
“Sergeant Young.”
“Sergeant, it’s Jake Potter, in Nantucket.”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“I’m down at the marina office; there’s no boat by that name in the marina. It’s not on the dockmaster’s list.”
“Well, that’s pretty interesting,” Young said.
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“Does the dockmaster have a list of people on the yachts?”
“Hang on, I’ll ask him. Charlie, do you have a list of the people that come in here on these boats?”
Charlie shook his head. “Nope. I couldn’t care less who comes in here on the boats; all I want to know is what I have to find space for.”
“No, Sergeant, he doesn’t have a list of people.”
“Lieutenant, do you think you could just take a walk around the marina and see if there’s a yacht named
“Oh, you’re looking for
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m just looking for the one.”
“No, not
“Well, why didn’t you say so?”
“Could you ask the dockmaster about
“Hang on. Charlie, now he wants a boat named
Charlie picked up his clipboard and ran a finger down to the Hs. “Yep, I’ve got just one
“Sergeant?”
“Yes?”
“He’s got a
“Great! Could you go down there and have a look at it?”
“Sure.”
“Wait a minute. I’ve got a better idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Let me speak to the dockmaster, please.”
Jake handed his phone to Charlie.
“Charlie here.”
“Charlie, this is Sergeant Young of the Maine State Police.” He explained his problem and described the twins. “Rather than have a uniformed officer go down to the boat, could you or one of your people go to the boat and tell them there’s a phone call for either Eben Stone or Enos Stone in your office?”
“But there isn’t a phone call.”
“I just want to know if they’re on the boat. If they’re not, ask if they’re in the village or on the island somewhere.”
“And if they are on the boat?”
“Ask for a cell phone number and tell them you’ll refer the call.”
“What call?”
“The imaginary call. If they want to know why the caller never called them, you don’t know. All you did was give him the message.”
“Okay. I can do that in a few minutes.”
Young gave him the cell phone number. “Can I speak to the lieutenant again?”
“This is Jake.”
“Lieutenant, thanks so much for your help.”
“What help?”
Chapter 51
JAKE POTTER POURED himself a cup of the dockmaster’s coffee and gazed out the window at the yachts in their slips. This state cop, Young, from Maine had something real good going, he reflected. Multiple murders, serial killer, mucho publicity in the Boston papers and TV. Jake didn’t like state cops; they always wanted to come in and take over a local investigation. They’d had a real good murder on Nantucket the previous summer, and the Massachusetts state cops were all over it like flies before Jake and his colleagues had really had a chance to break it.
He turned to the dockmaster. “Tell you what, Charlie,” he said, setting down his coffee cup and starting to unbutton his shirt. “I’ll go down there and check out Hotshot.”
“Whatever,” Charlie said, hardly looking up from his computer.
Jake took off his uniform shirt and his cap and hung them on a coat rack beside the door of the office. Now he was just a guy in a white T-shirt and khaki pants. He pulled the tail of his T-shirt out and pulled it down over his gunbelt, then he left the office and walked down the ramp to the docks, moving slowly, as was his wont. He strolled down to dock 3 and turned right. Long lines of yachts stretched out for many yards on both sides of the walkway.
Jake counted out the berths as he walked, not actually using his fingers, but moving his lips as he read the numbers. He came to berth 14. Two young men were lounging in the cockpit, drinking beer. Neither fit the description of the suspects. Jake walked down the catwalk alongside the yacht and stood next to the cockpit, maybe eight feet from where the two boys sat. They glanced at him, then went back to their conversation, dismissing any importance he might have.
They think I’m just another tourist, Jake thought with satisfaction. “Ahoy, there,” he said.
One of the boys looked up at him. “Ahoy?” He chuckled. “What can we do for you, Popeye?”
“I’m looking for two twins,” he consulted his notebook, “named Edwin and Elmer Stone?”
“Eben and Enos,” the boy corrected.
“Yeah, them. Are they aboard?”
The boy waved a hand. “You see them?”
“Are they downstairs?”
“Downstairs?”
“Down there,” Jake said, pointing at the cabin. He hated these Boston pups, the arrogant little sons of bitches.
“There’s just us,” the boy said.
“Where can I find, uh…”
“Eben and Enos?”
“Yeah.”
“They went ashore a few minutes ago.”
“Where ashore?”
“They had some stuff to buy, beer and stuff.”
“When are they coming back?”
“Who knows? We don’t sail until tomorrow.”
“They got a phone call up at the dockmaster’s office.”
The boy shrugged. “What can I tell you?”
