The Body in the Sleigh (15 page)

“Jake didn't kill her,” she said. “You haven't arrested him, have you?”

“Not yet. We're waiting for more results from the lab. Things got slowed down when it looked like an overdose, accidental or intentional.”

Faith knew all about probable cause and the way law enforcement worked, but she still blurted out, “You can't be serious! Constructing a case against Jake Whittaker is a waste of time!”

“Now, Faith, calm down. You have to admit it looks pretty bad for him—and we wouldn't be doing our jobs if we just said good-bye to him—but I don't think he did it either. The problem is, he's not telling us everything he knows. Maybe he opened up more to Tom. But I doubt it. Jake's still sitting sick with secrets. Yeah, he's worried about the team, but that's not all.”

Faith looked confused. “What team?”

“Didn't Tom tell you—oh, wait, I almost forgot. It's like me and Jill—he can't or he'd lose his job and the guy he reports to is even stricter than my boss.” Earl smiled at his own joke. “Anyway, it's all over the island, so I don't have to worry that telling you will jeopardize my job. Jake, who is normally a pretty straight kid, was at a party off-island on a school night where there was plenty of alcohol and any drug you want to name. Major no-nos when you're in training, and for an underage kid, even if you're not. Jake is one of the finest athletes we've ever had, and without him, there's no way that the basketball team will make it to the district finals—plus this was the year we were hoping to make it all the way to the state finals. Team sports—and don't forget to include our nationally ranked chess teams—are big here. Everybody from nine to ninety goes to the games to cheer the kids on. I'd hate to
be the coach at this moment. We haven't released anything officially, so he can claim ignorance. Otherwise if he kicks Jake off, he'll have flat tires on his pickup for the rest of his life.”

“Where was the party?”

“In the Belfast area.”

“Which is where the call about the shoe in Jake's car came from.”

Earl nodded and finished his sandwich, using the crust to scrape up the bits of melted feta and egg from the plate.

He pointed to her untouched bagel.

“You going to eat that?”

She shook her head and pushed the plate toward him

“I had a big breakfast before I came,” she lied. “It's all yours.”

She was feeling more, not less, nervous. He'd asked what she thought he would ask, but was clearly in no rush. Little Christopher's arrival on Sanpere had nothing to do with Norah Taft's death. Mary and she were doing all they could to locate the baby's mother. There was no need to involve the authorities. To Faith's knowledge, they weren't breaking any laws. The baby had been left at Mary's with clear instructions. And a wad of cash.

“You helped me out with Harold Hapswell's death and I know you can keep your mouth shut. Besides where Norah was found and this business with Jake, there are a whole lot of other things that don't add up. Maybe you can give it a try.”

“What kind of things?”

“For a start, someone had slipped her a roofie—Rohypnol, the date-rape drug.”

Faith knew all about it—and the others in the category. Roofies, especially in the generic form, which did not change color when added to liquid, were tasteless and odorless. If it was dropped into a drink, the effect was fast acting and could last up to thirty-six hours. If Norah had survived, she wouldn't have been able to
remember what had happened to her—and more to the point, she certainly wouldn't have been able to shoot up while under the effects of the drug.

“So that's why you think she was killed.”

Earl's face was somber. “It looks like someone doctored her drink—there was a small amount of alcohol in her blood. She wasn't drinking a lot that night. Or doing other drugs. At some point, the individual—or individuals—gave her a speedball when she was unconscious is what we think happened. On top of the Rohypnol, the combination of cocaine and heroin was sure to put her permanently out of the picture.”

“But why?” Faith realized how futile the question was even as she spoke. “I mean, she was just a seventeen-year-old user. What kind of threat could she have been to anyone? Unless she saw something or someone she wasn't supposed to see. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“That's the assumption we're making at the moment, trying to trace her movements over the last weeks and months. We found the house where the party was from Jake's description. Clean as a whistle. Anything in the way of furniture or personal effects is long gone. It's out of sight from the road or any other houses and they must have moved a van in right away. Lots of tire tracks—cars and bikes. Oh, and a pair of sneakers over the telephone wires.” His voice took on an even grimmer tone as he noted the signal for a spot where drugs were available.

Faith's mind was whirling. She knew now why Jake had gone to the party. Somehow he must have heard Norah was there and, white knight that he was, planned to rescue his fair lady. Could Jake have been the one to slip her a roofie? She knew that even on Sanpere kids could get just about any illegal substance they wanted, although marijuana and alcohol still remained the drugs of choice. But if he had, something had gone horribly wrong. She
recalled what Connie Marshall had said. That Jake wanted to have it out with Norah “once and for all.” Maybe Norah hadn't wanted to listen. And maybe Jake had blown up.

She tried to phrase the question in her mind as delicately as possible.

“Were there any signs that she'd had intercourse recently?”

Earl shook his head.

“That's what we expected. And what's even more interesting is that she hadn't been sexually active at all. Word on the island was the opposite, but the coroner said he'd be willing to bet she hadn't had intercourse in a year, maybe two.”

“But she wasn't a virgin?”

“No.”

The word hung in the air, mixing with the dust motes in the shaft of winter sunlight piercing the curtains.

Earl stood up. “You'll call me if you have any ideas about this? I realize it's not normal procedure, but this isn't a normal case.”

Murder never is, Faith thought.

“Of course,” she said. “Although at the moment the only thing that makes sense is that she was killed by one or more of the individuals at that party after she witnessed something she shouldn't. I don't suppose any other bodies have turned up?”

“Not yet, but I agree with you. Heroin and cocaine come in from South America through Mexico and up I-95—‘the New England Pipeline'—hidden in passenger cars. Prescription drugs, some potent marijuana comes from Canada—a lot of marijuana right here in the state too. It's impossible to police given the size of our interior and the length of our shoreline. The motorcycle gangs are the main distributors. The people Norah was encountering were not the kind to bring home to the folks. Her life would have meant nothing to them.”

“And everything to Jake.”

“Yup,” said Earl, reaching for his jacket, “back to Jake.”

 

Davey sauntered into the classroom a few seconds after the bell had rung and headed for his desk, dropping a piece of paper on Jake's.

“Nice of you to join us, David,” Mr. Trask said. “We're starting the Industrial Revolution unit today and I'm sure you wouldn't have wanted to miss it.”

“No, sir. I have some Front Line Assembly CDs myself. You know, electroindustrial tunes. Very cool.”

He was a wiseass for sure, Jake thought as he slid the note into his lap and opened it. A smart wiseass.

“I know where Norah is.” Just the one sentence. Jake caught Davey's eye. Davey nodded and mouthed, “Later.”

“Would you care to share your communication with the rest of us, Jacob?”

Mr. Trask thought he was very cool. He always used his students' full names, like he was some kind of teacher in a movie, one of those British ones. He was standing next to Jake's desk, holding his hand out. Jake popped the piece of paper into his mouth, chewed furiously, and swallowed.

“Communication? What communication, sir?”

“I'll see both of you gentlemen after school. Now, turning to today's topic: the Industrial Revolution. Who can tell me from the reading what it meant for the average person—the change from agrarian work to a factory-based economy?”

Davey knew where Norah was. How had he found out? Mr. Trask's voice seemed to be coming from the end of a tunnel. Jake had read the chapter—spinning jennys and little kids working twelve-hour days in the mills. It would be like being buried alive. He couldn't imagine not working outdoors. Even his father's job kept
him inside too much. Sure, Jake would have to be in a boatshed when he was building his boats, but the rest of the time he'd be on the water. His grandfather said it was in your blood or not. Fishing was the only thing Freeman had ever wanted to do, like his father and so on all the way back to the first Marshalls to come to the island around the time of the French and Indian War. Mr. Trask was managing to pound some U.S. history into his head, Jake thought, especially when he related it to what was going on in Sanpere at the time. The detention would make them late for practice and Coach would ream them out, but there was no way Jake would have handed over the note.

I know where Norah is. Jake had found her at last.

As soon as the bell rang, he jumped up and practically dragged Davey into the hall.

“My brother saw her at a party in Temple Heights and it's still going on. He wouldn't tell me where. Just that she was there.”

“Did he talk to her?”

“He tried, but she ducked out the back.”

“Temple Heights is pretty small. It shouldn't be hard to find the place. Must be a helluva one if they're still partying.”

“Larry said they plan to go straight to Christmas.”

“I'll drive over tonight as soon as my parents are asleep.”

“You mean we'll drive over.”

Jake looked at his friend and saw the determination in his face. Davey was very stubborn.

“Okay, we'll go. I'll park in the road and flash my lights. Wait inside until then. My parents are usually dead to the world before ten, and if the kids are still awake, they won't say anything. I'll go out the window, anyway. There's no snow on that part of the roof.” Jake's mind was spinning fast.

Then it settled into resolve—and more so as he moved through the rest of the very long day. Davey's coming wasn't such a bad idea,
Jake decided. He could wait at the back door in case Norah bolted while Jake went in the front. It was almost Christmas, and like it or not, she was going to be his present.

 

“Jeez-zus! It's colder than a witch's tit out there. Can't you crank up some more heat?” Davey said.

“Stop moaning—and when's the last time you sucked a witch's tit? I thought you were trying to get a pull on Lindsay Todd's.” Jake hit the gas. Davey's house was set far back from the road with a large meadow in front. Nobody would hear the car pull away. It was a little over fifty miles to Belfast and wouldn't take long. No need to watch for cops until they were off-island, and even then he doubted they'd be out on a night like this. Besides, the closest Dunkin' Donuts was in Bucksport. There wouldn't be any traffic—no stupid summer flatlander going forty miles an hour and riding the brake in front of him with no way to pass. They should give tickets for going too slow. He'd have to watch it in Searsport, though—a cop car was always out no matter what the weather or time of night. When you crossed into town, the limit suddenly dropped down to twenty-five and they meant it. If you didn't crawl through, you'd get pulled over. Jake had seen four or more cars lined up in the summer, waiting for the tickets, drivers red-faced, when even the slowpokes weren't going slow enough. Made a nice profit for the town.

Davey was snoozing, but Jake had never felt more awake in his life—and happier than he'd been in so many months. It was going to be over. He could feel it in his bones. The sky was filled with stars and someday he'd get Norah a diamond that sparkled as brightly as the one straight ahead of him. It reminded him of the time of year. “Following yonder star.” He went to church only when his mother insisted, but he believed in God, although his belief had been sorely tested. Since Norah had come back and left him, his whole life had been like a test. He'd passed so far and tonight he'd get his reward.
Here on earth where he could enjoy it, although if his mother was right, heaven wasn't going to be too bad. Maybe a little boring. He laughed to himself and was tempted to wake Davey up to share this ecclesiastical insight. “Ecclesiastical.” Nice word. Norah liked words. She was a reader. If it was printed on a page, she'd read it. As for Jake, he stuck to his nautical biographies and boatbuilding manuals, although she'd gotten him onto Patrick O'Brian and the dude wasn't bad. They were through Searsport. It wouldn't be long now. He remembered one of his grandfather's favorite sayings: “Tickled as a cat with two tails.” That about summed it up.

The house hadn't been hard to find. The convenience store in Belfast was still open and the kid behind the counter knew where the party was.

“Must all be soused to the gills. Been cleaning us out of beer for days.”

The house was at the end of a long dirt drive. There had been a pair of sneakers thrown over the utility wires on the main road, so they knew it was the place even before they drove in and saw what seemed like a hundred other cars and just as many bikes. Jake had heard the sneakers were a signal for drugs—“flying high,” something like that—but he'd seen so many all over Maine that he thought a lot of them had to be kids just fooling around. He and Davey had tried slinging a pair up around a cable on the Sanpere bridge a few years ago, but one of the Prescotts had driven by and given them what for before they were successful.