Plum Island (28 page)

“How late is late?”

“Oh, like two, three in the morning.” He added, “Night fishing, I guess.”

One
can
fish from a Formula 303, as I’d done a few times with the Gordons, but a Formula 303 is
not
a fishing boat, as I’m sure Edgar knew. But Edgar was from the old school and believed that no one should speak badly of
the dead— unless pressed.

We went round and round, asking about the Gordons’ habits, about strange cars, and so forth. I’d never worked with Beth Penrose,
of course, but we were on the same wavelength, we played a good duet.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Murphy opined, “They were a real good-looking couple.”

I picked up the hint and asked, “Do you think he had a girlfriend?”

“Oh … I didn’t mean—”

“Did she have a boyfriend?”

“Well …”

“When he wasn’t home, she would have a gentleman caller. Correct?”

“Well, I’m not saying it was a boyfriend or anything.”

“Tell us about it.”

And she did, but it wasn’t all that juicy. Once, back in June, when Tom was at work and Judy was home, a good-looking, well-dressed,
and bearded gentleman came over in a white sports car of indeterminate make and left an hour later. Interesting, but not evidence
of a torrid affair that could lead to a crime of passion. Then, a few weeks ago, on a Saturday when Tom was out in his boat,
a man pulled into the driveway with a “green Jeep,” went into the backyard where Mrs. Gordon was sunning in a teeny weenie
bikini, took his shirt off, and sunned next to her for a while. Mrs. Murphy said, “I don’t think that’s right when the husband’s
not home. I mean, she was half naked, and this feller pulls off his shirt and lays down right next to her, and they’re just
chatting away, then he gets up and leaves before the husband comes back. Now what was that all about?”

I replied, “It was perfectly innocent. I stopped by to see Tom about something.”

Mrs. Murphy looked at me, and I could feel Beth’s eyes on me, too. I said to Mrs. Murphy, “I was a friend of the Gordons.”

“Oh….”

Mr. Murphy chuckled up at the ceiling. He informed me, “My wife’s got a dirty mind.”

“Me, too.” I asked Mrs. Murphy, “Did you ever socialize with the Gordons?”

“We had them here to dinner once when they first moved in about two years ago. They had us over for a barbeque right after.
Never got together since then.”

I couldn’t imagine why. I asked Mrs. Murphy, “Did you know any of their friends by name?”

“No. I expect they were mostly Plum Island people. They’re a strange bunch of ducks, if you want my opinion.”

And so on. They loved to talk. Mrs. Murphy rocked, Mr. Murphy played with the lever on the chair and kept changing inclines.
During one of his flat-out positions, he asked me, “What’d they do? Steal a whole bunch of germs to wipe out the world?”

“No, they stole a vaccine that’s worth a lot of money. They wanted to be rich.”

“Yeah? They was only rentin’ next door. You know that?”

“Yes.”

“Payin’ too damn much for the house.”

“How do you know?”

“I know the owner. Young feller named Sanders. He’s a builder. Bought the place from the Hoffmanns, who’re friends of ours.
Sanders paid too much, then fixed it up and rented it to the Gordons. They paid too much rent.”

Beth said, “Let me be blunt, Mr. Murphy. Some people think the Gordons were running drugs. What do you think?”

He replied without hesitation, “Could be. They was out in the boat at odd hours. Wouldn’t be surprised.”

I asked, “Other than the bearded man in the sports car and myself, did you ever see any suspicious types in the yard or out
front?”

“Well … can’t say as I have, to tell you the truth.”

“Mrs. Murphy?”

“No, I don’t think so. Most of the people seemed respectable. They drank too much wine … recycling bin was full of wine bottles
… sometimes they got loud after they were drinking, but the music was soft—not this crazy stuff you hear.”

“Did you have a key to their house?”

I saw Mrs. Murphy shoot a glance at Mr. Murphy, who was staring at the ceiling. There was a silence, then Mr. Murphy said,
“Yeah, we had the key. We kept an eye on the house for them because we’re usually around.”

“And?”

“Well … maybe last week, we saw a locksmith truck there, and when the feller left, well, I just went over to try my key and
it didn’t work no more. I sort of expected Tom to give me a new key, but I never got one. He’s got the key to my house. You
know? So, I called Gil Sanders and asked him, you know, because the owner is supposed to have the key, but he didn’t know
nothing about that. It’s none of my business, but if the Gordons wanted me to watch over the house, I guess I should have
the key.” He added, “Now I’m wondering if they was hiding something in there.”

“We’re going to make you an honorary deputy, Mr. Murphy. Hey, don’t repeat anything that was said here to anyone except Chief
Maxwell. If anyone comes around claiming to be FBI, or Suffolk County police, or New York State police, or anything like that,
they might be lying. Call Chief Maxwell or Detective Penrose. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Beth asked Mr. Murphy, “Do you own a boat?”

“Not anymore. Too much work and money.”

“Did anyone ever visit the Gordons by boat?” Beth asked.

“Now and then I’d see a boat at their dock.”

“Did you know who the boats belonged to?”

“Nope. But one time it was a boat like theirs. Speedboat. But it wasn’t theirs. It had a different name.”

“You were close enough to see that?” I asked him.

“I sometimes watch with binoculars.”

“What was the name on the boat?”

“Can’t remember. But it wasn’t theirs.”

“Did you see anyone on board?” Beth asked.

“Nope. Just happened to notice the boat. Never saw anyone get on or off.”

“When was this?”

“Let’s see … about June … early in the season.”

“Were the Gordons home?”

“Don’t know.” He added, “I watched to see who left the house, but somehow they got by me and next thing I know, I hear the
engine, and the boat is heading out.”

“How is your distance vision?”

“Not real good, except with the binoculars.”

“And yours, Mrs. Murphy?”

“Same.”

Assuming there was more binocular watching of the Gordons’ property than the Murphys cared to admit, I asked them, “If we
showed you photos of people, could you tell me if you’ve ever seen them on the Gordons’ property?”

“Maybe.”

I nodded. Nosy neighbors can make good witnesses, but sometimes, like a cheap surveillance video camera, nosy neighbors witness
too much that is irrelevant, blurry, boring, and muffled.

We put another half hour into the questioning, but the yield was diminishing by the minute. In fact, Mr. Murphy had accomplished
the near impossible by falling asleep during a police interview. His snoring was starting to get on my nerves.

I stood and stretched.

Beth stood and gave Mrs. Murphy her card. “Thank you for your time. Call me if either of you think of anything else.”

“I will.”

“Remember,” Beth said, “I am the investigating detective assigned to this case. This is my partner. Chief Maxwell is assisting
us. You should not speak to anyone else about this case.”

She nodded, but I didn’t know if the Murphys could stand up to somebody like Ted Nash of the Central Intelligence Agency.

I asked Mrs. Murphy, “Do you mind if we walk around your property?”

“I guess not.”

We bid Mrs. Murphy farewell, and I said, “I’m sorry if I bored Mr. Murphy.”

“It’s his nap time.”

“I see that.”

She walked us to the front door and said, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” Beth said. “There are police watching the neighborhood.”

“We could get murdered in our beds.”

Beth replied, “We think it was someone the Gordons knew. A grudge. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“What if they come back?”

I was getting annoyed again. “Why would the murderer come back?” I asked a bit sharply.

“They always return to the scene of the crime.”

“They
never
return to the scene of the crime.”

“They do if they want to kill the witnesses.”

“Did you or Mr. Murphy witness the murder?”

“No.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry about it,” I said.

“The killer might
think
we witnessed it.”

I glanced at Beth.

She said, “I’ll have a patrol car keep an eye on things. If you feel nervous or hear anything, dial 911.” She added, “Don’t
you worry.”

Agnes Murphy nodded.

I opened the door and got out into the sunlight. I said to Beth, “She actually has a point.”

“I know. I’ll take care of it.”

Beth and I went around the side yard where we found the gap in the hedges. From the hedges you could see the rear of the Gordons’
house and the deck, and if you stepped through and looked to the left, you could see down to the water. Out in the bay was
a blue and white boat, and Beth said, “That’s the bay constable’s boat. We have four scuba divers looking for two little bullets
in the mud and seaweed. Fat chance.”

The crime was not yet twenty-four hours old, and the scene was secured until at least the next morning, so we didn’t enter
the Gordon property, because to do so would have meant another sign-in, and I was trying to sign out and sign off. But we
walked along the Murphy side of the hedges toward the bay. The hedges became stunted toward the salt-water and at a point
some thirty feet from the water’s edge, I could see over them. We kept walking to where the bay lapped against the Murphys’
bulkhead. The Murphys had an old floating dock to the left, and to the right was the Gordons’ fixed dock. The
Spirochete
was missing.

Beth said, “The Marine Bureau took the boat to their docking area. The lab will work on it there.” She asked me, “What do
you think about the Murphys?”

“I think they did it.”

“Did what?”

“Murdered the Gordons. Not directly. But they intercepted Tom and Judy on the deck, spoke to them for thirty minutes about
the supermarket sales in the Saturday paper, the Gordons drew their guns, and blew their own brains out.”

“Possible,” Beth conceded. “But what happened to the guns?”

“Edgar made toilet paper holders out of them.” She laughed. “You’re terrible. You’ll be old someday.”

“No, I won’t.”

Neither one of us spoke for a few seconds. We stood watching the bay. Water, like fire, is mesmerizing. Finally, Beth asked,
“Were you having an affair with Judy Gordon?”

“If I was, I’d have told you and told Max right up front.”

“You would have told Max. Not me.”

“All right—I was not having an affair with Judy Gordon.”

“But you were attracted to her.”

“Every guy was. She was beautiful.” I remembered to add, “And very bright,” like I really gave a rat’s ass about that. Well,
sometimes I do, but I sometimes forget to list brains as an attribute. I added, “When you have a young, sexually attractive
couple, maybe we should consider a sex angle.”

She nodded. “We’ll think about it.”

From where we stood, I could see the flagpole in the Gordons’ yard. The Jolly Roger still flew from the mast, and the two
signal pennants hung from the crossbeam, aka, the yardarm. I asked Beth, “Can you draw those pennants?”

“Sure.” She took her notebook and pen and sketched the two pennants. “You think that’s relevant? A signal?”

“Why not? They’re signal pennants.”

“I think they’re just decorative. But we’ll find out.”

“Right.” I said to Beth, “Let’s return to the scene of the crime.”

We crossed the property line and went down to the Gordons’ dock. I said, “Okay, I’m Tom, you’re Judy. We left Plum Island
at noon, and now it’s about 5:30. We’re home. I kill the engines. You get off the boat first and tie the rope. I heft the
chest up to the dock. Right?”

“Right.”

“I climb onto the dock, we lift the chest by the handles and start walking.”

We sort of simulated this, walking side by side. I said, “We look up at the house. If anyone were on any of the three deck
levels, we could see them. Right?”

“Right,” she agreed. “Let’s say someone
is
there, but we know him, or her, or them, and we keep walking.”

“Okay. But you’d think that person would come down to the dock to help. Common courtesy. Anyway, we’re still walking.”

We continued, side by side, up to the second level of the deck. Beth said, “At some point, we would notice if the sliding
glass door or screen was open. If it were, we’d be concerned, and might stop or go back. The door shouldn’t be open.”

“Unless they were expecting someone to be waiting for them
in
the house.”

“Right.” She said, “But that would have to be someone with the new key.”

We continued toward the house to the top level of the deck and stopped a few feet from the two chalk outlines, Beth opposite
Judy’s and me opposite Tom’s. I said, “The Gordons have a few more feet to go, a minute or less to live. What do they see?”

Beth stared down at the chalk outlines, then looked at the house in front of us, at the glass doors, at the immediate area
left and right. Finally, she said, “They’re still heading toward the house, which is twenty feet away. There’s no indication
they were trying to run. They’re still side by side, there’s no concealment anywhere, except the house, and no one can get
off two head shots from that distance. They had to know the killer, or they were not alarmed by the killer.”

“Right. I’m thinking the killer could have been lying in a chaise lounge, faking sleep, which is why he or she didn’t go down
to greet the Gordons at the dock. The Gordons knew this person and maybe Tom called out, ‘Hey, Joe, get up and help us with
this chest of Ebola vaccine.’ Or anthrax. Or money. So, the guy gets up, yawns, takes a few steps toward them from any of
these chaises, gets within spitting range, pulls a pistol, and drills them through their heads. Right?”