Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,106
her. “Why is that funny?”
Her smile disappeared. “It’s not.”
She reached into the Jeep again to get rid of the wet wipe and tossed the pouch on the seat. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders.
“Sorry. Okay. What were your questions?”
Joel looked her over, puzzled by the brisk attitude. Typically, innocent witnesses were pretty deferential with cops. Then again, she’d had a rough morning and people handled stress in different ways.
“Tell me how you found the boat,” he said. “What were you doing out there?”
She rested her hands on her hips and gazed at the bay. Her arms were tanned and toned, as though she spent a lot of time in her kayak.
“I got to the marina about five fifteen,” she said.
“That’s early.”
“I was photographing the sunrise.”
“Okay. And you were coming from where?”
“The north end of the island. I’m renting a beach house about half a mile from here.”
“All right.”
“I put in my kayak. Paddled about a hundred yards out, straight toward the marshes near the nature center. As the sky brightened, I took a series of photographs. Nautical twilight is the best time to get silhouettes. That’s between first light and sunrise.” She looked at him, probably sensing that he didn’t know shit about photography. But fishing, he knew, and he understood the different phases of daylight on this bay.
“Anyway, as I was paddling, I scared up some birds.” A lock of hair blew against her face, and she peeled it away. Joel noticed her hand was trembling. “That’s when I noticed a yellow line.”
“A fishing line?”
“No, like a rope. A thin one. It was attached to a canoe hidden in some cattails.” She paused, and a somber look came over her face. “That’s when I saw them.”
“The couple.”
“Yeah.”
“And you could tell they were dead?”
“Yes.” She broke eye contact and looked at the bay again. The wind had picked up, and the water was getting choppy. “There was no mistaking it. I mean, you’ll see when they bring them in.”
“You know what time this was?” he asked.
“About six forty.”
Joel watched her face as she looked out over the water. The boats were coming in, and he could hear the motors getting closer. But he was more interested in Miranda Rhoads’s carefully calm expression.
“Do you recall any noises?” he asked.
She looked at him. “Noises?”
“When you were out on the water taking pictures. Did you hear any gunshots? Or yelling, screaming, anything like that?”
“No.”
“Think back. Sometimes seagulls screeching can sound similar to—”
“I didn’t hear anything like that.” She was adamant. “I didn’t hear anyone or see anyone until I got back to the marina and asked the guy at the bait shop for help.” She turned to look at Randy, who was smoking another cigarette and talking with McDeere. “That guy there, with the beard.”
“So, you didn’t have a cell phone out there with you?” Joel asked.
“Not on the kayak, no. I keep it locked in the console of my Jeep.”
“All right. And when you arrived here, did you see any other cars in the lot?”
She shook her head. “I was the first one.”
“Any other boats? Fishermen?”
“No.”
“What about pedestrians? Dog walkers?” He nodded at the marshland between the marina and the nature center. “Some people use the trails in the morning.”
“There was no one out when I first got here. At least, not that I saw. Only person I noticed was a cyclist on the highway. He was riding along the shoulder.”
That piqued his interest. “Where, exactly?”
She blew out a sigh. “He was on a bike about fifty yards north of the turnoff for the marina. He was heading north. I described him to McDeere. He had on a light-colored T-shirt and a baseball cap. I remember noticing because he should have been wearing a helmet, especially riding in the dark like that.”
Joel cast a glance at McDeere, who was watching him now with a look Joel couldn’t read. He had no doubt the officer would have taken all this down. A former Marine, McDeere was thorough and paid attention to details. It was one of the things Joel liked about working with him.
“As I said, I gave all this to the officer already.”
Joel looked at the witness. Her cheeks were still pink, and she seemed antsy. Like she was itching to leave. She glanced over Joel’s shoulder, and her brow furrowed.
Joel turned to see the ME’s van swinging into the lot, followed by a white SUV. Both vehicles pulled into spaces near the bait shop. The door to the SUV opened, and Bollinger hopped out.
Joel checked his watch. Almost an hour since Nicole had called the county for a crime scene investigator. Joel gritted his teeth.
“Detective? Is that all right?”
He shifted his attention back to the witness. Those caramel-colored eyes looked worried now.
“Ma’am?”
“I need to head out. I’m late for something.” She nodded toward the bait shop. “If you have any more follow-ups, your officer there has all my contact information. And he gave me his card.”
Joel didn’t want to let her go, but he didn’t have a reason to keep her here, either. The boats were pulling in, and Joel wanted to get a look at everything before the ME’s people started.
“Let me see that card,” he said.
She hesitated a moment before pulling a card from her bra and handing it over. Joel took out a pen and wrote on the back.
“That’s my mobile,” he said. “Call me if you remember anything else.”
“All right.”
“Thank you for your time today.”
“No problem.”
She stepped around him to open the Jeep, and Joel moved out of the way.
Bollinger was still with his vehicle, zipping into his white Tyvek suit. Meanwhile, the boats had docked, and Emmet was securing the canoe to a cleat.
Thunder rumbled, and Joel glanced at the sky just in time to catch the first fat raindrops. He looked at the canoe that held two dead young people, along with any forensic evidence he hoped to recover. All of it was going to get drenched.
Joel started for the dock.
“Detective?”
He turned around. Miranda wore a rain jacket now with a hood that covered her head. Wherever she was going, she was about to get soaked.
“Make sure they bag her hands,” she told him.
“What’s that?”
“The female victim,” she said. “She’s holding a feather. You don’t want it getting lost in transport, so tell your CSI to make sure to bag her hands.”
About the Author
Laura Griffin is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty-five books and novellas. She is a two-time RITA® Award winner as well as the recipient of the Daphne du Maurier Award.
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