in the day. But like most adults she hadn’t swum much since she was a kid. Not Brian. He’d been practicing the last month, going every day. Unfortunately the Planet Fitness didn’t have a pool, so he’d had to join a new gym. Maybe the cops would wonder about it if they bothered to look that hard. But they probably wouldn’t. And if they did he had a solid excuse, he’d known they were coming down here and wanted to practice swimming.
Anyway. In they’d go. He didn’t have to strangle her, didn’t have to hurt her. He just had to grab her shoulders and hold her down. She’d be drunk, confused, panicked. Begging for breath. Wondering why he wasn’t helping. It wouldn’t take long. Those stunts where magicians lasted five minutes underwater happened in perfect conditions. And the guys barely moved. Becks would be fighting, tearing through the oxygen in her lungs. After thirty seconds she would barely have any struggle left. After a minute she’d already be fading to black. He just needed to make sure he remembered to breathe himself.
The best part, he knew she didn’t have a gun on her. She didn’t even have pepper spray. Why would she? She was completely defenseless.
Not such a bad way to die. After the panic passed the end would be painless. The urge to breathe would overcome her, she’d open her mouth, her lungs would fill with water. Down she’d go. He doubted she would even lay a bruise on him. If she did he had an excuse; he’d banged himself up jumping off the boat during the day. Who could tell? The open ocean was about the last camera-free place left. The Chris-Craft didn’t have any cameras, either. He’d checked.
* * *
She took another long drink from the bottle, handed it back.
“Let me go boil the lobsters, Captain.”
“Sure you can handle it?” All these years, she’d never learned to cook. Cooking was beneath her.
“Boiling water? And dumping in pathetic crustaceans with rubber bands around their claws?”
She disappeared downstairs.
* * *
Down she’d sink. Bye-bye, sweetheart. Back to the boat for him. He’d putter south-southwest for an hour or so. Stop again. Take a nap. A couple of hours.
When he woke up, after midnight, a little drunk, a little confused, Where’s Rebecca?
He’d search the boat. Rebecca! Becks!
They stopped here, they were drunk, decided to take a break before heading south for Antigua. Sex on the deck. He wanted to go inside. She wanted to lie under the stars. Maybe a night swim. He argued with her, No way, we’re wasted, let’s go to bed.
But once Becks has an idea in her head, well—
Oh God, she’s gone. Just gone.
He grabbed a life jacket and jumped off the boat to swim for her. But he couldn’t see anything, and he didn’t even know how long it’d been, he was asleep for hours…
Out went the distress call.
As long as he stuck to the story they couldn’t beat him. They could wonder, but they couldn’t beat him. Her body might not turn up at all. Plenty of hungry sharks in these waters. And even if it did, what would the physical evidence show? That she drowned? Big shock. The nav system would back the story.
He’d be overcome with grief, blaming himself, he should have made sure Becks came downstairs. But he was too drunk, and he wanted to sleep, and he figured she’d come to bed. This was supposed to be the fun trip, the safe trip, make up for last year, the close call. We escaped, we thought we were free, now this—
Don’t lay it on too thick. Just thick enough.
Yeah, he can see it. Start to finish. Ending with him walking out of the interview room and into the subtropical sun. Guilt his only punishment.
But then guilt’s never been a problem for him.
* * *
The sun was already west, behind them. Five p.m. now. In four hours, less, he’d be free. A quarter-turn of the Earth. Not even one-one-thousandth of a year.
He could hardly wait.
From the kitchen he heard a curse, a yelp. Almost a scream.
“You okay, babe?”
“First-aid kit in the stateroom, right?”
“You don’t sound okay.”
A few minutes later she limped out, a big bandage around her thigh.
“I literally cannot even boil water.”
“Oh Becks.”
“Stupid lobsters.” She poked at the bandage, winced a little.
“Should we head back?” As soon as he said it he regretted the words. What if she said yes?
But she shook her head. “It’s fine. I put ointment on it. It’s