Nantucket Grand (29 page)

“And you got your wish.”

“Yes.”

“You showed them.”

“I showed them.”

I let a silence go by. A fresh breeze lofted a scouring of sand at us. We both looked down.

“But you pulled out,” I said. “Eventually, you had to stop.”

“Everyone has a limit.”

“What happened?”

“It was a lot of things at once. Pell wanted me to seduce David Lattimer—he was the only abutter who might make trouble about the deal. The old man was smitten, but it just seemed too horrible. I'd gotten involved with Andrew by then and he saw what was happening. He wanted me to make a clean break. I never could have done it without him. I started to see a whole other life, a normal life. The job at the school had felt like a sham, like playacting, just kind of going through the motions on faith—pretend it's real to make it real. But I felt bad about the kids, the ones I'd recruited and the other ones. I could see some of them were hurting as bad as I was, and I could tell they needed me. And Andrew was like, ‘This is who you are now, you can be good, you are good, it's easy.' And it felt easy when I was with him. I know that sounds corny.”

“Not at all.”

“So I told Pell I was done. We wound up having a terrible fight about it onboard the ship, and Oscar Graham overheard us. He was working security on the docks, that's why he was there, and Pell caught him listening. Oscar knew Pell had seen him and Pell could see I knew the kid. The next thing I knew, Oscar was dead. And then—and then Andrew. I know Pell had Andrew killed, and Oscar and Todd Macy.”

I scooped a handful of warm sand, let it sift through my fingers. “I believe he had Andrew's house torched as well. And there was something else. A blackmail film. We have reason to believe that Pell installed surveillance cameras in Andrew's house. He filmed you and Andrew together and then doctored the film to look like it was someone else with him. A girl, one of the girls you recruited.”

“Well, that's Pell's M.O. I should have known he'd turn it against someone I cared about. Eventually. If they got in his way.”

“This girl in the film was—”

“Jill Phelan. Andrew told me. He knew I'd believe it was fake.”

I nodded. “The house fire didn't work and the blackmail didn't work, so they took the next logical step.”

“They're all in it together and I'm in it with them. There's no way out.”

“There may be.”

“No. Edna's will just came out of probate, everything's official now. They're signing the deals soon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe today. Maybe they already signed.”

“But what about Andrew's will?”

“It doesn't matter. Edna's estate was
per stirpes
—all the legatees are treated collectively, as a single person. Andrew's share is automatically distributed among the remaining beneficiaries. Pell knew that. He does his homework. He wouldn't have killed Andy just to get himself into another probate limbo.”

I sat up, dusted the sand off me. “You can help me take Pell down.”

“It's too late.”

“You don't know that. This is your way out.”

“There's no way out. I don't deserve a way out.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I'm bad. I'm poison. Everything's done. I can't fix it.”

I took a breath, “You can't fix it. That's true. But you can end it. You can make sure it never happens again. You can't change the past but you can change the future. At least you can try. It's the best chance you're going to get. I can stop Pell, but I can't do it without you.”

She looked at me and I saw hope soften her features. She said, “What can I do?”

I had worked out the plan while she spoke, putting it together on the fly as she made her confession. I told her, and she agreed.

She said, “I'll be your weapon now.”

I helped her up and we jogged through the soft sand, and ran back along the dirt road, and flung ourselves into the little car. She keyed the ignition and pulled out with a spray of gravel. We got to the police station in seven minutes, and before we reached the rotary I was on the phone with Dave Carmichael in the State AG's office, setting up the wire.

Chapter Thirty-two

Strategy and Tactics

I left Daisy with Lonnie Fraker at the State Police headquarters. He could coordinate with the various law enforcement agencies, get the necessary authorizations, set up the microphone and the live feed. He knew the drill—the mike had to be waterproof and invisible, or close to it. Daisy could wind up in a bikini, or wearing nothing but a towel in the ship's sauna.

I explained my conditions: “No break from routine, no hesitation, no uncomfortable moments.”

Lonnie grinned. “No problem.”

“You're sure—”

“Don't worry, Chief. We have the technology.”

But Daisy needed more than electronic gimmicks. She needed backup. I couldn't send an officer on board with her. Andrew Thayer would have volunteered in a heartbeat but he had proved unable even to defend himself with these people. I thought of David Trezize and almost laughed. The hapless reporter would be a liability, despite his good intentions, and Pell would never talk freely in front of him anyway.

No, it had to be someone Pell knew, someone Daisy liked, someone I trusted. There wasn't much overlap there. In fact, it came down to one person. I had to convince her to help us, and I had to do it fast.

“That's crazy talk!” said Sue Ann Pelzer.

We were standing in the foyer of the Eel Point house, five minutes after I left the State Police headquarters.

“It's the truth.”

“Jonathan Pell is a good man.”

“He's not.”

“Bad things happen around him. I admit that. A man was killed in his house here. That doesn't make him a killer.”

“I never said he did his own dirty work, Sue Ann. He gives the orders. That's how people like Pell operate.”

“You can't know that.”

“I know it. I just need to prove it.”

“Have you seen the new Boys and Girls Club building?”

“It's hard to miss.”

“Well, it wouldn't be there if not for Jonathan Pell.”

“He's generous to strangers. He wrote a tax-deductible check. I don't see how that—”

“One time we were walking in the moors—he loves the moors, Chief Kennis. And we saw this adorable little King Charles spaniel puppy being attacked by these two awful bullmastiffs. They were off the leash and the owner was just kind of dancing around saying “Keats! Byron! Stop! Stop that now!” while those vicious dogs just laid into this poor little puppy. Mr. Pell stepped in and pulled them off him. Two bullmastiffs! He got bitten, he needed stitches later, but he stood them down and he saved that pup. That's Jonathan Pell. Then he pushed the leash law warrant through at Town Meeting the next year. That's Jonathan Pell, too. He cares and he has follow-through. Not many people have follow-through. They talk a good game and forget about it. Not Mr. Pell.”

I allowed myself a bitter little smile. “I can agree with you there, at least.”

“I don't like your tone, Chief Kennis.”

This was taking too long. “I talked to Daisy. She told me everything.”

“I don't know, but I bet the statute of limitations is up on all that shoplifting. And the rest of what she's done isn't illegal. Except in Alabama.”

“We didn't talk about her. We talked about Pell.”

“I can't believe she would slander her stepfather.”

“She didn't. Slander is making false statements with malicious intent. I believe Daisy was telling me the truth, and trying to help.”

She squinted at me and I met her interrogating stare. Finally she glanced sideways and crossed her arms over her chest, submitting. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them wide. She pointed into the living room. “Sit down and tell me what she said.”

I ran through it for her and then said, “I need you on that ship with her. I want to make sure she gets what we need on tape and make sure she gets back on dry land in one piece. This plan could go wrong in an instant and Daisy has to be protected. I wouldn't use her if I had any other choice.”

“I could do it.”

She wasn't thinking clearly. “No, you couldn't. He's kept everything secret from you. He's not going to start confiding in you now. Sorry, but that's just—”

“I know, I know. You're right.”

“Anyway, there's more to it. I need you to vouch for Daisy. Pell's going to be wary, Sue Ann. They argued, she walked away. His detective saw her talking to me, his goons tried to run us off the road. You have to spin all that. The chase scared her, made her realize the rift she'd created. She's remorseful, she's afraid, she needs him to know she'd never betray him, that she told me nothing, that she can't make it alone out there with Andrew gone. She needs Pell. She loves him. She wants to help. She wants to make things right. She wants to prove herself. She told you all that. In tears. You have to sell it.”

“I'm not sure I can.”

“He trusts you. And you trust her. It's that simple.”

I glanced at my watch. Time felt like a big dog chasing me.

“I want you with her all the way,” I said.

“Don't worry, Chief. I make a good wingman.”

“Good. Thank you. I'm glad to hear that.”

I left the mansion feeling a wary sense of confidence. All Daisy had to do was spend an hour making up with her step-
father, coax out a casual confession, and get away clean. The plan was simple, the backup was solid. I'd been forced to confide in Lonnie Fraker, but he loved being in the loop and his new superior knowledge energized him.

He clapped me on the back as Daisy—wired-up, on edge but determined—walked out of the State Police building. “It's in the bag,” he said, watching her drive away. “What could go wrong?”

The short answer was “everything”—as we were about to find out.

Chapter Thirty-three

The Visionary

It started when Haden Krakauer gave me the files. He brought them over to the hastily organized command center at the State Police headquarters, partly to check the boxes of a routine inquiry and partly to give me papers to read for distraction while I sat like a general behind the front lines, waiting for news of the battle. Some delay was inevitable. Daisy had to go to the LoGran house on Eel Point Road and call Pell from there to set up the meeting. He insisted on a landline call from a known location before anyone was allowed on board the
Grand
. No drop-ins, no surprises. If he was paranoid, his paranoia had served him well so far.

Meanwhile, I was glad to have Haden's files. He had done thorough, meticulous work, even if it didn't add up to much beyond deep background. He knew and I knew that deep background could break a case, if you knew how to look at it, or maybe I should say, if you knew what you were looking for. Some facts lingered in people's histories like viruses with long incubation periods, flaring up with a shocking new relevance years later in a new context.

Haden had worked up dossiers on the crew of the Nantucket Grand, including all the stewards, the chef, the bo'sun, the first mate, and the chief engineer—Liam Phelan.

There were write-ups on the Eel Point house personnel, too—Blount and Sue Ann Pelzer, of course, along with the groundskeepers, cleaning crews, and kitchen staff. There were also two secretaries and a party-planner who organized large events at the estate.

I started with Sue Ann. Born in Charleston, South Carolina, attended McBee Elementary School, and Provost Academy in Columbia. Sophomore year as an exchange student with a Catholic school in Johannesburg, South Africa. There was an Interpol notation there: she was briefly arrested at an interracial concert in Cape Town when the police broke it up. The rest of the year was uneventful. She finished up high school in South Carolina and then moved north and west, attending college at Montana State University because of an interest in winter sports developed over numerous ski vacations at Sugar Mountain in North Carolina. She took up competing in biathlons and was named junior biathlete of the year in 1993 and picked up a bronze medal at the world championships that year in Borovets, Bulgaria. She competed in the winter Olympics the next year in Lillehammer, but never got close to the winner's circle.

I had read a little further—a masters degree in business administration from the University of Chicago Booth school, a stint with McKinsey, doing consulting work, various low-level corporate jobs in public relations, the LoGran hire in 2004—and then I stopped.

I set the file down. This had to be wrong. I was standing on the beach in California watching the sun rise over the ocean—it was that disorienting. I was on the wrong coast, turned around a hundred and eighty degrees. I felt nauseous, dizzy, as if I had been physically spun around until the vertigo hit. I scrabbled for the file again, found the Interpol report. The band playing at that interracial concert back in 1986 was Juluka. Of course no one caught it; you'd have to be a fan to know the name of this particular artist's first group.

Johnny Clegg: the featured performer on the planted iPod.

And the biathlon: the event where you skied around and shot at targets with a hunting rifle.

I had to be wrong. This couldn't be happening.

She had an alibi, an airtight alibi.

At that moment Lonnie shouted from the next room, “Get in here! Daisy's talking to Pell! And she's got him on speakerphone.”

We lurched through the door in time to hear this exchange:

“What's going on, Daisy? What's this about?”

“I need to see you, Jono.”

“Really.”

“Come on, don't be like this. Please. We need to talk.”

“Apparently you need to talk. I need to be somewhere else—anywhere else—when that happens.”

“No, no, listen to me. The police are pressuring me. I'm scared.”

“Louis saw you talking to Kennis. You seemed to be getting along fine.”

“I was terrified! What was I supposed to do, slap him? I had to find out what he knew.”

“So you were spying for me.”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Almost impossible. And it doesn't matter anyway. The police know nothing.”

“Oh, God. That's not true. If those…those men were trying to kill me today to stop me from talking, it's too late. And it's—it's pointless, Jono, they already know so much and not from me. I didn't say anything. I never would say anything, ever. You have to believe that.”

“Even after Andrew, Daisy? Even after what happened to Andrew?”

A long silence. Was he going to confess to the murder right here and now? But it was Daisy who spoke next.

“With Andrew gone I have no one in the world but you.”

I thought, what an actress! Or was she acting? That was the real question. What if that was the truth?

“Nonsense,” said Pell. “What about your friends?”

“They don't know me. I can't talk to them. They'd never understand. They'd hate me. I have to fake it, I have to lie all the time, to everyone. Except you.”

“And you're telling the truth now.”

“Do you remember that beautiful little Grimm's fairy tales book you gave me? With the David Hockney illustrations?”

“What has that got to do with anything? Why bring that up? You lost that book years ago.”

“I was seventeen! I had no idea who David Hockney was and I was too old for fairy tales. I was stupid. He's my favorite artist now. But it's too late. The book is gone.”

“Actions have consequences, Daisy.”

“I don't want to lose you, too.”

“Daisy—”

“Let me prove myself to you. I know what the police know. Kennis told me everything. I worked him, Jono. Just like you taught me.”

“So you're the prodigal daughter now? The prodigal step-
daughter.”

“Whatever you want me to be.”

Another silence. This was where the plan came together—or fell apart.

Finally Pell spoke. “What did Kennis say?”

“We can't talk about it on the phone.”

“This line is secure.”

“It's 2015, Jono. No line is secure.”

“Then come. Come now. I'll be waiting.”

Lonnie turned to me. “This is it.”

Then…silence.

“I'm getting nothing,” the tech guy shouted. “The connection's dead. They must have found the wire. We're dark.”

“Maybe it's a technical glitch,” Lonnie said. “I'm not blowing this operation because someone got a wire crossed.”

“So what do we do, sir?”

“We hold tight and wait. They may be on their own but they know what they're doing. And we trust them—right, Kennis?”

Trust! Jesus Christ.

“Haden!” I turned on him so fast I spilled his coffee onto the front of his shirt.

“What? What the f—? What is it? I'm soaking wet!”

“Tell me about that day.”

“What day? What are you talking about? What's going on?”

“Sorry.” I took a breath. “The day Andrew Thayer was murdered. You were birding in Madaket.”

“Right.”

“You saw some bird you'd been hoping to catch sight of.”

“The prothonotary warbler.”

“Did you tell anyone about it?”

“I tweeted it. I have like—I don't know…five or six hundred Twitter followers—@birdman. And a lot of them re-tweet.”

“So anyone who checked your Twitter account…”

“What is this? What's going on?”

“Tell me about the day. Who you saw, what you did, where you were, how the weather was, everything.”

“You're not going to tell me what this is about?”

“Haden, please. Just think.”

“Okay, okay, give me a second.” He was holding a cup of takeout coffee, obviously gone cold. He swallowed the last of it and set the paper cup down on a desk. “I remember I was amazed we saw anything in that rain. You've gotta be dedicated to stick it out in a downpour like that. We were miserable.”

“Wait, stop. It was raining?”

“Are you kidding?”

“It was raining in Madaket.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Didn't you notice? It wasn't raining anywhere else on the island that day.”

“Well, yeah, but that happens all the time, Chief. Those storm systems push up the coast and just brush the west end of the island. Ask anyone.”

I wasn't spinning anymore, I was on my knees in the sand. Impossible as it seemed, that was the Atlantic Ocean in front of me, not the Pacific. The sun rose in the east, I was sure of that. Facts were facts. “Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.”

Haden took a step toward me, grabbed my shoulder. “Chief, what is it? What's wrong? What's going on in that crazy head of yours?”

I reached across my chest and squeezed his hand. Then I stood up. “I saw Sue Ann Pelzer that day, just after the murder. I was responding to the 911 call. She said she'd been birding in Madaket. She even told me about the prothonotary warbler.”

“Okay, she saw it, too. What difference does that—?”

“She was wearing a suede jacket, Haden. And her jacket was dry. We even talked about it—her lucky jacket.”

“Well, that's not possible. It was coming down in buckets out there. She would have been….Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I told him the rest: the Johnny Clegg connection, her riflery experience in the biathlon. He could see he was as disoriented as I was. “But…but Blount confessed.”

“Blount took the fall. God knows why. Pell must have some hold over him.”

“Then—if that's true…if he…then it was Sue Ann, all along. She burned down Andy's house.”

“Yeah. And then cut his throat when that didn't work. And she shot Todd Macy, Haden. She knows to handle a rifle. Apparently she could have done it while she was skiing. And as of right now she has no alibi for the Andrew Thayer murder.”

It only took him a second to figure out the rest of it. “Holy crap,” he said, “She's with Daisy! Right now.”

We didn't have time to react—Lonnie's phone started buzzing. He picked it up and listened. “What? Wait, back up, what happened? How the hell—? And they just let him? How is that even—? Jesus fucking Christ. Get an APB out on the guy! Full description, armed and dangerous. I don't care if he is or not! He could have stashed a gun somewhere. Just do it. This fucking island. I don't believe this shit.”

He ended the call and turned on me. “Jill Phelan died in the ICU ward at Mass General fifteen minutes ago. And your boy Barnaby Toll just walked her father out of the police station. They're both in the wind.”

After the first punch of shock it made sense. Barnaby Toll had been Jill's babysitter back in the day, and they had remained close friends. He had access to the holding cells. He and Liam must have been talking, sharing stories, stoking each other's outrage and hate and despair. Jill's death had obviously snapped both of them and Barney was smart enough to use our special relationship to bluff his way through the escape. What would he have called it? Some sort of transfer? A plane ride to the Barnstable facility? Or a quick ride to the State Police HQ? That would explain the routine follow-up phone call that set off the alarms. Except—that all was supposed to happen before you let the prisoner out of the building. The NPD was getting careless. This would never have happened in L.A. Time for a crackdown.

But that could wait. Right now I had Liam Phelan and Sue Ann Pelzer to deal with.

And Pell.

“Phelan's not in the wind,” I said. “I know exactly where he's going.”

“Tell me! We can chopper in a SWAT team and—”

“No, Lonnie. We're de-escalating this one. It's a one-man job.”

“Hold on one minute! That's totally contrary to the SOP! If you fuck this up—”

But I was already halfway out of the room. Haden put a hand on my shoulder and handed me his Glock. His eyes said, “Just in case.”

Mine said “Thanks.”

And then I was gone. I heard Haden behind me saying, “Alert the Coast Guard.”

He knew where I was headed.

I sprinted to my cruiser, backed out of the State Police driveway spitting gravel and skid-turned down North Liberty Street, calculating the route as I drove. I popped the siren to clear the road and stamped on the gas. I'd have to go silent when I got close to Straight Wharf, but the louder the better for now. North Liberty is twisty and narrow, but everyone pulled over as I passed the Lily Pond, skirted Lily and Hussey streets, and tore down India. It was a straight shot to the bottom of town, and the path was clear.

Then a cat stepped off the sidewalk and sidled across the street in front of me. A black cat, of course. He sauntered across the street, and slipped out of sight behind a parked car. I accelerated again, trying to make up for the lost thirty seconds, hitting the siren at the Centre and Federal intersections, keeping it howling for the turn onto South Water and the jolting traverse of the Main Street cobblestones.

I was maybe twenty seconds from Straight Wharf, and starting to feel confident, when I hit the gridlock of the Harbor Stop&Shop parking lot. How could I have forgotten the summer traffic, here of all places? The siren wouldn't help me—there was nowhere for anyone to go, no shoulder where they could pull over. I jammed the cruiser into the first restricted parking slot and took off running.

I brushed past some people, I may have knocked someone down. I heard angry shouts behind me as I hooked a left on New Whale Street, and pounded past the open plaza of Harbor Square and the Hy-Line ticket office. In another few seconds I was on the pier, racing over the slats with the low-tide smell of the harbor in my nose. I glimpsed the spires of the
Nantucket Grand
with a gasp of relief. They were still docked. I might have even beaten Phelan to the ship. People leapt out of my way. I heard a splash—that couldn't be good—and kept on moving, past the forty-foot boats tied at the pier, then a hard right, through the turnstile to the restricted dock. Past two big yachts,
Becky's Promise
and
Harpooner.