Two down - By Nero Blanc Page 0,34
sure what it was at first. It looked like a beached sea turtle from a distance. There’ve been a few of them lately. The water’s been really warm this year—”
“How often do you come out here?” Rosco interrupted.
“Just about every day.”
“So this wasn’t here yesterday?”
Mitchell thought for a moment. “Actually, I didn’t come out yesterday. I had a lunch meeting. But it definitely wasn’t here the day before. Tuesday, that is.”
Rosco looked up and down the beach. There wasn’t another soul in sight. “Aren’t there usually more people out here?”
Mitchell also studied the scene. “Not this time of year. I can go for weeks without running into anyone . . . That’s why I don’t keep Sally on a leash. There’s no one for her to bother.”
“Do you live nearby?”
“No. That’s my Saab over there.” He pointed to a green car on the other side of the wall. “I live downtown. I just bring Sally out here at lunchtime to let her run off steam. She drives me crazy if I don’t.”
Lever sighed and said, “I’m going to radio the Coast Guard. I hate to say it, but there’s no point in them searching for something they won’t find . . . My guess is that the ladies just made the missing-and-presumed-dead list.” He dropped his hands into his pockets and strolled slowly back to the Ford.
Rosco stepped away from the dinghy and looked toward Buzzards Bay, then studied the sand. “Does the tide usually come up this high?”
Mitchell picked up the tennis ball and tossed it for Sally. “Well, that’s the strange thing. No, it doesn’t . . . We had a full moon, though, so I suppose the tide could have been running unusually high . . . But I didn’t see high-water marks in the sand near the inflatable . . . On the other hand, we’ve had a lot of rain . . . Maybe it erased the Tuesday night’s waterline . . . Or, someone could have pulled the tender up here, and didn’t bother to report it.”
Mitchell again threw the ball for the persistent Sally, who went tearing after it for all she was worth. A spray of sand flew in her wake. “But, if that’s the case,” he continued, “whoever it was would have had to carry the tender, because there aren’t any drag marks in the sand . . . Leaving you with a lot of possibilities, but no real answers, huh?”
Rosco smiled. “You should be a detective, Mr. Mitchell. Is there anything else that seems unusual to you?”
“I don’t know. I wish I’d paid more attention to the footprints when I walked up. I can’t tell if they’re all mine or not.” He crouched down and studied the long gash on the inflatable’s port side. It appeared as if the rubber boat had been sliced open with some rough-edged power tool.
“What do you think did that?” Rosco asked. “Do you know anything about sailing?”
“Not much. I do a little surf fishing, deep-sea, once in a while . . . Maybe a swordfish could do something like that. But I don’t think many come into the bay . . . Maybe a propeller, if the tender were submerged and was hit by a motorboat . . . There are sharks, of course.” Mitchell shook his head. “I really feel sorry for those women. I didn’t know them, but it’s sad when something like this happens. I almost wish I hadn’t found the thing.”
“What’s up?” Lever asked in a disinterested tone as he returned from the Ford.
“Not much,” Rosco said. “We were just trying to figure if the tide carried the tender this far—or if someone dragged it out of the water. What did the Coast Guard say?”
Lever lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the sand at Rosco’s feet. “As far as they’re concerned, the party’s over. No one could make it this long in that water . . . They’re diverting all efforts. They’ve got a Japanese tanker taking on water off the cape and they’re scrambling to contain the oil spill and airlift the crew. It’s a matter of priority at this point.”
“Pepper’s not going to like that . . . What about opening an investigation? Now that you’ve got the dinghy.”
Lever gave Rosco a forced smile. “Thanks to you, my good friend, the Coast Guard has asked me—and my overworked department—to conduct a preliminary into this one. My forensics people will check out the inflatable and the Orion.