Dark Harbor (4 page)

“I take it you’re now the proud owner of a Maine house?”

“In a manner of speaking. I can’t seem to get used to the idea.”

“Oh, by the way, for your information, the three witnesses who signed the will, besides Seth Hotchkiss, were the pilot, copilot and flight attendant on the private jet that delivered the Stone family to Rockport the day before they died. Apparently, they were considering buying into some sort of fractional jet program, and the trip from D.C. to Rockport was a sort of test run.”

“Good to know.”

“There’s no interesting mail. Can I reach you at this number?”

“For all of today; tomorrow morning, try the cell. I’ll talk to you sometime tomorrow.

“Bye-bye.”

Stone hung up and turned to Lance in the little office. The printer was spitting out sheets of paper. “What are you learning?” he asked.

Lance picked up the papers and consulted them. “Our boy, Caleb, is married to the former Vivian Smith; two sons, Eben and Enos, who share a birthday. Caleb graduated Yale and Yale Law in the bottom half of both classes; he is employed by the Boston law firm of Marsh, Andrews, Fields and Schwartz. Note his name is not on the letterhead. He’s been with the firm since law school but took twelve
years
to make partner. He heads their estate planning division, and given the number of the firm’s employees, I’m inclined to think he
is
the firm’s estate planning division.

“He belongs to a couple of good clubs, lives in a respectable suburb of Boston, summers here, and from his tax returns and credit report, it appears that he lives at the very limit of his income while still managing to pay his bills on time. I think he will be very relieved when his boys finish Yale next year.”

“Any criminal record?”

“None. He appears to have trod the straight and narrow his whole life long.”

“If he’s as financially strapped as you say he is, he must have been very disappointed, indeed, when he read Dick’s will.”

“No doubt. I expect he’s reassessing his retirement plans as we speak. One good thing: Since he now has no hope of ever seeing Dick’s and Barbara’s money, he has no motive to kill you.”

“Yes, well…”

“Caleb has led the most boring of all lives, I expect,” Lance said. “One of quiet desperation, as the saying goes. I hope his family loves him, because it seems to me that’s about his only comfort.”

“My experience of him is that he’s not an easy fellow to love,” Stone said.

Seth Hotchkiss came into the room. “Anything I can do for anybody?”

“Seth,” Stone said, “let’s you and I have a talk.” Stone led the caretaker outside, and they took seats on teak furniture on the stone patio. The sun was pleasantly warm, though Stone knew that by nightfall there would be a chill in the air. After all, it was only June in Maine.

“What can I do for you, Stone?”

“Tell me what Dick’s and Caleb’s relationship was like.”

“Well, you remember what it was like when they were boys?”

“Yes.”

“It was pretty much like that, except that Dick seemed to do better in life than Caleb, had a better job and a nicer wife. Dick was able to build this house, while Caleb had to be content with propping up the old family place. Funny, I would have stayed on there out of loyalty, but Caleb fired me a week after his parents died in that car crash. Dick hired me the same day, and I’ve been very happy ever since.”

“Caleb inherited the house?”

“They both did, but Dick signed his half over to Caleb, said to me he didn’t want any part of it; the place was filled with unhappy memories for him.”

“Why did he stay on the island?”

“Oh, he loved the island, he just didn’t love the old house. I think he took some pleasure in sticking Caleb with it.”

“Have you ever heard Caleb express any animosity toward Dick?”

“Caleb’s whole attitude toward most everybody is animosity, I guess. He was nice to those folks he had to get along with, which were most of the summer people. After all, he wanted the yacht club and the golf club, so he was nice to the members. The year-rounders hated him pretty good; he had trouble keeping help and all that. When he wanted a new roof, he had to go to somebody on the mainland, which cost him more money. He puts away the booze pretty good, and so does his wife.”

“How did the locals feel about Dick and his family?”

“Oh, Dick was a sweetheart, and everybody knew it. Barbara and Esme, too. If Mabel and I weren’t doing this job, folks would be lined up to get it.”

“I expect there’s a pretty good grapevine on the island among the locals?”

“There is.”

“I’d like to know what you hear on it.”

“Folks are real interested in you, Stone.”

“Well, I don’t have any secrets, so feel free to talk. In particular, you might let it be known that I’m not very happy with the murder/suicide theory held by your state trooper.”

“Me, neither,” Seth said, “and nobody who knew Dick is going to put much stock in it. Folks start arriving tomorrow, and they’ll have seen about it in the Boston papers, so there’ll be a lot of curiosity.”

“Well, let’s not starve them for information, but don’t give anybody the impression that I think Caleb is in any way responsible. He and his family hadn’t even arrived on the island at the time, so let’s not hang it around his neck.” Then they got up and went back into the house.

THAT NIGHT, after dinner, the group enjoyed coffee and brandy before a crackling fire in the living room.

“Lance,” Stone said, “there’s a possibility we haven’t talked about.”

“What’s that?”

“Could these murders have been work related? Dick’s work, I mean.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve thought a lot about it. I’ve reviewed the threats Dick received in London over the years. There were more of them than you might think, but most from nuts or the ineffectual. Generally speaking, terrorist groups don’t tell you they’re going to kill you; they just kill you. Anyway, there was nothing in the file less than a year old. The other thing is that it just doesn’t happen that foreigners murder Agency personnel in the U.S. I can’t think of a single case when that’s happened. Add to that fact that Dick and his family were in, if not an inaccessible place, then one very difficult to access without being noticed.”

Dino spoke up. “We haven’t talked about the possibility of someone arriving in a small boat to do the job. A team, or even an individual, could have pulled a rubber dinghy out of the water less than thirty yards from this house.”

“I grant you that,” Lance said. “A commando-style raid, in the middle of the night, would have been the way to do it, if you wanted to do it, but nobody’s claimed responsibility, and these groups usually do. Nobody at the Agency has been able to detect the slightest sign that a group had or was about to conduct an operation of this sort. I’ve checked the weather that night, and there was thick fog all night and into the morning, and believe me, the fog gets really thick up here.

“Frankly, in my own mind, I’ve ruled out the possibility of an incursion from outside, and my report will so state. I’m more inclined to think that somebody local had it in for Dick.”

“Seth tells me that Dick and his family were very popular locally,” Stone said.

“And Caleb is accounted for,” Dino said. “We’re getting nowhere fast.”

“Well,” Holly said, “I’m going to turn in, I think.” She got up. “Good night all.” She headed for the stairs.

After a few more minutes of chat, the others headed for their rooms, too.

STONE WAS PLEASED to find Holly in his bed, and when he slid in beside her, even more pleased to find her naked. He snuggled up to her back and nestled between her cheeks. Holly reached back between her hands and fondled him, bringing him erect. “I thought you’d never come upstairs,” she said, guiding him into her. She rolled over on her stomach, pulling him with her, and they kept that position until they had both come. Finally, she turned over, slung a wet leg over his and snuggled into his shoulder.

Stone reflected that it was nice to have her sleeping beside him. He didn’t fall asleep for a long time, though, because he was running every possible permutation of the events in the house through his head and getting nowhere. He resolved to get to the bottom of Dick’s and his family’s death. It was the last thing he could do for them.

Chapter 7

AT BREAKFAST the following morning Stone asked Mabel if he should make a ferry reservation for his trip to Belfast.

“Well,” Mabel said, “you won’t need a reservation going over to the mainland, and you won’t get one coming back. Too many folks are arriving today for the summer, and the ferry’s been booked up for weeks.”

“Is there an airport in Belfast?” Stone asked.

“Yup. Bigger than ours, too.”

“Okay, I’ll fly,” he said.

“I’ll come with you,” Dino chipped in. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

Lance spoke up. “Now that I’ve got Dick’s computer up and running, I’m going to check out some things. Holly, I’d like you here with me to see what I’m doing. You’ll find the knowledge useful, eventually.”

“Okay by me,” Holly said, rubbing Stone’s leg with her toe under the table.

Stone looked at his watch. “I’d better get a weather forecast,” he said, getting up from the table.

STONE AND DINO LANDED at the Belfast airport at 9:30 and took a cab to the Waldo County Courthouse. Stone found the probate office, filed Dick’s will and was sworn in as his executor. By 10:30, he had all the necessary documents for disbursing Dick’s estate. He and Dino walked outside and found a bench in the sunshine where they could wait for the inquest to begin.

Shortly, Sergeant Young appeared with an envelope and handed it to Stone. “Morning,” he said to Stone. “Here are the photographs of the scene, the autopsy report, the ballistics report and a copy of my report. Will you have anything to say at the inquest?”

“I’ll take a look at your material and then decide,” Stone said.

“Tell the coroner who you are,” the trooper said. “See you in the small courtroom downstairs.” He walked back into the courthouse.

Stone opened the envelope, and he and Dino began poring over its contents. The ballistics report confirmed that the gun in Dick’s hand had killed all three, and the photographs were competently taken and in color.

Stone picked up an autopsy photograph, a closeup of Dick’s head. He pointed at Dick’s forehead. “Look at that,” he said.

THE CORONER CALLED the inquest to order at five minutes past eleven. There were no more than half a dozen attendees, one of whom, a young woman with a notebook, appeared to be a reporter from the local press. They had passed a television crew in the hallway outside the courtroom.

Sergeant Young was called as the first witness and gave twenty minutes of testimony, using a large television set to display the photographs of the scene. When he was done, the medical examiner gave the autopsy results and agreed with the trooper’s assessment of the events.

“Is there anyone else who has relevant testimony?” the coroner asked.

Stone stood up. “Your Honor, my name is Stone Barrington. I am the attorney for Richard Stone and executor of his estate. I have some questions for the medical examiner, if I may.”

The coroner instructed the M.E. to take the stand again.

“Doctor, I refer to your photograph number four taken at the autopsy. May we have that on the screen, Your Honor?”

A technician brought up the photograph.

“Doctor, as part of your autopsy, did you place a rod or other object in the head wound to determine the trajectory of the gunshot?”

“I did,” the doctor replied. “I inserted a twelve-inch rod into the wound.”

“And what angle did the rod indicate?”

“It indicated that the gunshot came from the left side of the head and from an elevated angle of fifteen degrees.”

“Was the wound a contact wound? That is, was the barrel of the gun held against the head before firing?”

“Yes, it was a contact wound.”

Stone held his left hand, finger pointing, to his head and elevated his elbow. “So, in order to create that trajectory, the gun would have to have been held in this fashion?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Doctor, have you ever conducted another autopsy on a person who killed himself with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head?”

“Yes, at least a dozen times. It’s a very common way of committing suicide.”

“In any of those cases, was there a gunshot trajectory similar or identical to the one in this case?”

The doctor thought for a moment. “No, I don’t believe there was.”

“Doctor are you aware that Mr. Stone was right-handed?”

“Yes. It was in the trooper’s preliminary report.”

“But, if Mr. Stone indeed shot himself, he would have done so with his left hand?”

“Yes, that is so.”

“In any of the other cases you mentioned, did the victim use other than his dominant hand to fire the shot?”

The doctor thought again. “I can’t be positive from memory, but I don’t recall such a case.”

“Doctor, the trooper has testified that it is his belief that Mr. Stone laid his head on the desk, then fired the fatal shot. On reflection, do you believe that the trajectory of the gunshot is consistent with his theory?”

“Perhaps not,” the doctor said.

“Your Honor, may I use the blackboard?” Stone pointed to the board at one side of the courtroom.

“Go ahead,” the coroner said.

Stone walked to the blackboard and quickly sketched a man’s head lying on a desktop, then he drew a line through the head and into the desktop.

“Doctor, is this approximately the path that the trooper described in his report, with the bullet lodging in the desktop?”

“Yes,” the doctor replied.

Stone drew another line through the head, approximating the trajectory of the bullet described by the doctor. “Doctor, is this the approximate path of the bullet, given the trajectory in your report?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Do you see that the bullet would have lodged in an entirely different place in the desk, if fired in this manner?”

“Yes, I do.”