Still Water (17 page)

The air carried the faint taste of salt. Out beyond the entrance to the cove the line of white foam that marked the reef was clearly visible. Beyond that the ocean glittered, seemingly endless. It seemed like a lifetime ago that Matt and Paulie had roamed these woods looking for squirrels, lying on the coarse sand in the cove during the summer. For a while Matt was lost in his memories. Snapshots of incidents. The long ago echo of childhood.

He went back to his car and pulled back on to the road, and several minutes later he drove through an open wooden gate and followed the driveway to the house owned by Kate and Evan Little. The house was wooden, built in Victorian style with turrets and ornate trim, four storeys high and freshly painted white with black shutters on all the windows. It stood in maybe an acre of lawns studded with oaks and maples. Parked outside was the Mercedes station wagon Matt had seen the day before. He pulled over and looked up at the house. He’d spent a few hours asking around about Kate Little, and what he’d quickly discovered was that her reputation preceded her. Her husband was some kind of wealthy businessman who was disabled and rarely if ever appeared in town. They came to the island each summer, the husband sometimes going back for weeks at a time to New York where they normally lived. His wife had a reputation for drinking, and more besides. When Matt asked Jane Nelstrum at the bakery if she ever saw Kate Little in there, Jane had glanced towards her husband serving along the counter.

“She comes in a couple of times a week. But he always serves her. Seems like he moves faster when she’s around for some reason.”

“Don’t listen to her, Matt,” Arnold Nelstrum said. “She’s a nice woman, that’s all.”

Jane Nelstrum sniffed. “Depends what you call nice.”

He got more, similarly oblique comments the more he asked around. It seemed that Kate Little was less popular with the women in town than with some of the men.

He got out of his car and went to the front door and pressed the bell. When Kate Little appeared, she offered a faint quizzical smile.

“Hello?”

She was wearing tan pants and a cream shirt tied above her waist. Her hair was pulled back and held in place with a wide black band and she carried a bunch of flowers in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. There were faint lines at the corners of her eyes, but it was the colour of them that was arresting. They were deep blue, almost violet and the contrast with the rich darkness of her hair made a startling feature.

“Mrs. Little?”

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Matt Jones. I’m a lawyer. I wondered if I could speak to you for a few moments?”

She took his proffered hand, and her grip was firm but brief. “A lawyer?”

“That’s right.”

She hesitated, as if waiting for him to elaborate, then she stood aside. “Come in.” She led the way through to a large airy room. Open doors led out on to a terrace at the back of the house. She put down her flowers on a table next to a half empty glass of what looked like orange juice.

“So, how can I help you Mr. Jones?”

“I’m looking into the disappearance of a local man who lived in the cove not far from here. He was last seen a week ago and I’m kind of checking to see if anybody remembers anything that might be useful.”

Kate picked up a pack of cigarettes and lit one. She inhaled and blew a stream of smoke towards the open door. “The police have already been around asking about that. A few days ago.”

“I know,” Matt said. “And I don’t want to take up any more of your time than I need to, but I’d really appreciate it if you could spare me a couple of minutes.”

“All right. Though I can’t tell you much.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it Mrs. Little. Is your husband home? I’d like to talk to you both if I could.”

She studied him for a moment, then inclined her head fractionally. “Come this way.”

He followed her back to the hall and down a passage. Matt noted the scent she wore, the deceivingly casual but no doubt expensive clothes. Her hair reached past her shoulders, and framed her smoothly planed cheeks, partly masking the long curve of her neck. He tried to guess her age, and figured maybe mid-thirties to early forties. It was difficult to tell.

“You don’t sound like an islander Mr. Jones,” she said conversationally.

“I’m not really, but when I was young my family spent summers here. My parents had a house on the point. I just moved here a few months ago.”

Kate stopped at a door. “This is where my husband works.” She knocked and a voice answered from within.

Inside was a large room that had been converted for use as an office. At a desk sat a man in a wheelchair working at a computer. There were several other computers on a long table, along with printers and a fax machine and a scanner. The man had close cropped grey hair, and hollowed cheeks. At the sound of the door he looked over, pausing in his work. His face was pale, and his eyes dark and sunken, though they glittered with intensity.

“Who the hell are you?”

This is Mr. Jones. He’s a lawyer. He’d like to ask us some questions.” To Matt she said, “My husband, Evan.”

There was a pause, then Evan Little approached, the whine of his electric chair loud in the silence. He stopped but didn’t offer his hand.

You’ll have to forgive my manners. We don’t get many visitors up here.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” Matt said.

“I’m a little unsociable these days. I get absorbed in my work. As you can see, this is where I spend a lot of my time.” He gestured around.

Matt noticed a bed in one corner with an elaborate pulley positioned over it. The sheets were pulled back as if it had been recently slept in.

“What kind of work do you do?” Matt asked.

“I own a software company. These days I pay people to run it for me, but I like to keep in touch with what’s happening. The business side of things has never really interested me. I’m more into the design aspect. What kind of questions is it you want to ask anyway, Mr. Jones?”

“As I explained to your wife, I’m investigating the disappearance of a local man, Bryan Roderick. He lived in the cove, which means he was practically a neighbour of yours. I know you’ve already spoken to the police but I wondered if there was anything you might have remembered since then.”

Little turned his chair and went to a table where there was a glass of what looked like whisky. He picked it up and took a mouthful. He looked at Kate as he spoke.

“We don’t mix with our neighbours, Mr. Jones. I’ll tell you the same thing we told the police. We never heard of this man. As you are no doubt aware, we’re summer residents here. We keep pretty much to ourselves.”

Kate stood by the window, gazing outside with the distracted air of somebody half listening to a conversation that didn’t concern her.

“Were you both home last Monday night?” Matt said.

“Was that the night he went missing, this Roderick person?”

“That was the last time anybody saw him. Did you hear anything unusual that night? Or see anything at all?”

“What kind of thing?”

There was a dragger out beyond the cove that night. The skipper thought he heard a shot around two fifteen.”

“We would have been asleep at that time.”

Matt glanced at the bed across the room and Little followed his look.

“Sometimes I sleep here if I’m working late. But I didn’t that night if that’s what you’re wondering.” There was an edge to his tone.

“You didn’t hear anything either then, Mrs. Little?” Matt asked. She turned away from the window, and she and her husband exchanged glances. Matt thought she appeared uncertain, while Evan Little had a sardonic gleam in his eye, as if he was privately amused.

“No.”

“Do you mind if I ask if you sleep in this room often?” Matt said, turning back to Evan Little.

“Yes I do mind Mr. Jones. What does that have to do with anything anyway?”

“It’s just that you seem certain that you didn’t sleep here on

Monday night, I wondered if there was any particular reason you remember that.”

“I don’t need a particular reason. Not that it’s any of your business Mr. Jones, but being confined to this chair hasn’t affected my brain in any way. You think because my legs aren’t much use the rest of me isn’t either?”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

Little stared at Matt. He drained what was left in his glass, then abruptly turned his chair and went to a drawer in his desk where he scrabbled around and took out several bottles of pills. He counted out a handful and tossed them back. Kate watched, but though Matt wondered if the pills, whatever they were, ought to be mixed with alcohol, she didn’t make any move to stop him.

“You know what people think?” Little said, sounding strained though calmer. He’d started to sweat and he gripped his chair with both hands. “They think being in a chair has turned my mind to mush. Like it’s my brain that’s useless rather than my damn legs. They talk about me as if I can’t understand what they’re saying. Even when I’m in the same room they ask Kate how I’m doing.” He uttered a short derisory laugh. “Even the doctors do it. “How is he?” they say. Ask me dammit! I’m sitting right here!”

“Evan…” Kate said, sounding concerned.

He waved her off. “I’m okay.” He looked back at Matt. “There’s nothing else we can tell you about this man,” he said curtly, then he went back to a screen and started typing on a keyboard as if Matt had already left.

Matt figured he’d outstayed his welcome. “Well, thanks for your time.” As he followed Kate to the door, Little called out to him, his tone abruptly civil again.

“Sorry we couldn’t be more help, Mr. Jones.”

Matt thought about the scene he’d witnessed when Kate and Ella had met outside the post office, and how he’d been struck by the looks they had exchanged. There had been something about them that had seemed off key. He couldn’t put his finger on it now, but it was as if each of them hadn’t known what to say or do. Like people who normally avoided each other, suddenly meeting unexpectedly and not knowing how to deal with the situation.

“You have to forgive my husband,” Kate said at the door. “He’s often in pain and he has to take a lot of medication. Sometimes it affects his moods.”

“That’s okay, I understand. Mrs. Little, can I ask you something. Do you happen to know a woman called Ella Young?”

There was a flicker of recognition in her expression, but then it was gone. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you’ve run into her without knowing it. She’s blonde, in her thirties, she owns a lobster boat called the Santorini?”

Kate shook her head. “I know very few people on the island, though the name does sound familiar.”

“Perhaps you’ve seen posters around town. She’s running in the mayoral election.”

“That must be it.”

“But you’ve never met?”

“Never.”

“Well, it was just a thought.” He started to leave, but once out the door he stopped as if something had occurred to him. “By the way, do you ever walk in the woods around here? Maybe down to the cove?”

“Sometimes.”

“How about last Tuesday. Were you in the cove early that morning, say around six?”

She hesitated, and Matt had the feeling she was weighing up which way to answer.

“Yes I was.”

“Did you see anybody that morning?”

“No.”

Matt studied her for a second or two, trying to decide whether he believed her. She met his gaze calmly and said nothing more.

“Well, thanks anyway for your time, Mrs. Little.” He shook her hand.

On the drive back to town he pondered Kate and Evan Little.

He decided that he didn’t like the husband, and he didn’t believe either of them.

At the police department Matt asked to see Chief Baxter and when Baxter appeared they went through to his office, where Baxter indicated Matt should take a seat. Baxter himself sat down behind his desk.

“What can I do for you, Matt?”

“I wondered if anything new had turned up in this Bryan Roderick business.”

Baxter took a pack of gum from a drawer in his desk, and offered Matt a stick. While he chewed he tilted back his chair and tapped a pencil against his tiiumb nail. “Well, I called off the search, for now anyway. I can’t keep men out there looking for ever.”

You don’t have any new evidence then?”

“I did get a report back from the lab on the mainland on the prints we sent in.” He picked up a faxed sheet of paper among the mess on his desk. “Ella’s didn’t match the one we found on the faucet.”

Matt was relieved to hear it, though he’d guessed as much. Had there been a match he imagined he would have heard about it before now. “So where does that leave you?”

“Good question,” Baxter said. “Nowhere much as far as I can tell.”

Matt thought Baxter looked unhappy about the situation. “You think he’s dead don’t you?” he ventured.

“Uh huh. I guess I do. Bryan wasn’t the type to just up and vanish without a word to anyone. Plus nothing’s gone from his house. Clothes are still there, toothbrush, shaving gear, his truck. Doesn’t make sense he’d just leave without any of those things. Plus his bank account hasn’t been touched. The only thing I can say for sure that we can’t account for is his rifle.”

“Which points to the possibility that maybe he went out hunting and had some kind of accident.”

Baxter got up and went to a map on the wall. He pointed out the areas that had been searched, which extended way beyond the cove. “I don’t think he could’ve gone any further than this on foot. Even if he had a reason to. Course, even with dogs we might’ve missed him if he wasn’t able to make himself known. But I don’t think so. Bryan wasn’t much of a hunter, but when he did go out he went back in these hills here. There’s nothing much around the cove.”

“You’re saying you think somebody killed him.”

Baxter spread his hands. “Unless you’ve got a better theory.”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t.”

“The next thing I guess you’re gonna ask me is if I think Ella was the one that killed him.”

“Is that what you think?”

Baxter frowned, and leaned forward, his chair legs hitting the floor with a thump. He leaned on the desk, and started tapping the pencil against his chin.