The Girl on the Yacht (15 page)

The cool ocean breeze floated over the water’s surface lifting up the white sea gull and brown pelican side by side into the heights of the powder blue sky. At the opportune moment, the larger bird folded its wings in and began the swift downward dive. With a beak like an arrow tip aimed at its target, it pierced the still water. With barely a ripple from the impact, it surfaced in the same spot––pouch vibrating with its sizable catch.

Fascinated by the spectacle, John chomped down on his sub sandwich. From his three-story deck, he continued to watch the birds doing their thing; the gulls were climbing higher and higher with each brush of up-current while the pelicans were maintaining the optimal cruising height for their searches. Twenty-yards away, another made its steep dive hitting the water at full velocity.

“Ouch, that’s gotta hurt.” Beth picked up her iced tea.

“No way,” John said.

“It might hurt,” Marin added, “but the reward offsets the pain.”

John’s eyes caught movement on the dock. “There’s Cameron. She must be done with Teddy.” He got up and walked over to the rail. “Come on up. We’re having a late lunch––there’s plenty.”

Marin moved over a little closer to Beth to make room.

“I
am
hungry,” Cameron said while she climbed the stairs.

“Have half of my turkey.” Beth pushed the hoagie roll over to her.

“Are you sure?” Cameron slid in next to Marin.

“No problem,” Beth said.

“Did you talk to Teddy?” John asked.

“What a conversation that turned out to be.” She paused. “By the way, he’s over at the Newport Beach Marriott––using the penthouse for his command center.”

“He always surprises me,” John said. “Command center for what?”

“They’re investigating the homicide, too, and some other possible security breach,” Cameron said.

John felt his Adam’s apple drop an inch in his throat. “What kind of security breach?” His mind raced at the idea of prison time for his accessing Laura’s encrypted files.

Everyone at the table must have sensed his sudden anxiety.

Cameron gave a cold stare and let him dangle for a moment. “From Teddy’s comment, I don’t think it’s about you.”

“Well, he doesn’t have any proof that I broke in,” he proudly acknowledged.

“Hey, I’m an officer of the court.” She gave him a look that indicated that she didn’t want to hear any details that she could be forced to admit in a courtroom.

He understood and changed the subject. “What have they found about the murder?”

“No leads. He told me I could come by anytime to discuss
my
progress on the investigation.”

“What did you find?” Marin asked.

“First,” Cameron turned to John, “your technique for handling him worked great. I thought I did my questioning of suspects well before, but now I seem to have jumped to a new level.”

“It wasn’t me––it was you. Like I said, Teddy played me this morning like a fine fiddle. I guess I wasn’t up to it.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. I’m an experienced interrogator and your advice just added a new layer. Thanks.”

Beth looked from John to Cameron. “What’s going on? Something’s happened.”

“The CIA’s involved,” Marin smiled.

Beth looked at her brother, and with concern asked, “What do you have to do with the CIA?”

“I did some computer security for the Agency and worked with one of their agents.”

“This Teddy she mentioned?” Beth asked.

He nodded.

“Who is he?” Her concern seemed to escalate.

John shrugged.

“Teddy’s in the dark,” Cameron added. “He seemed to be fishing for information like he needed direction. I don’t know . . . I need direction, too.”

“Maybe we can help you figure it out,” Beth said.

“Don’t even think about it.” John glared at her. “Besides, you’re going home tomorrow.”

Beth looked disappointed and tried to stare down her brother.

Marin broke the tension. “Cam, what do you have?”

“Well, physical evidence––there’s the computer, except we don’t have that anymore.” She contemplated for a moment. “The weight belt––but that’s a dead end.”

“Why’s that?” Beth asked.

“The blue DiveTeam nylon belt is the most popular color of the most popular belt, and it’s sold everywhere,” Marin answered.

“Nothing’s impossible. That’s what you always told me––right, John?” She stared at her brother.

“It might take awhile, but maybe it’s possible to track it down. It has some unique characteristics.”

“What unique characteristics?” Cameron asked.

“The weights,” Marin responded. Her thoughts aligned with John’s.

He smiled at her speed of grasping the smallest details, then turned to Cameron. “How much weight was there? More importantly, what sizes were the weight pouches?”

“Three pouches––each one had half-a-pound,” Cameron answered.

“What about the manufacturer?” Marin asked.

“It’s probably the most popular, too,” John said.

“Yeah, the label was gone, but we found it was made by Leeside,” Cameron said. “They’re the most popular weights.”

“But, they’re still unique,” John said while deep in thought.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean, unique?” Cameron asked.

“Well, around here, we wear wetsuits when we dive.”

“The cold water,” Marin added.

Cameron still looked puzzled.

“You have to use twelve to twenty pounds of weight to counteract the buoyancy of neoprene rubber.”

“One and a half pounds would be for a little kid in the Caribbean . . . without a wetsuit.”

Cameron’s face revealed that she was getting a picture of Laura, a normal-sized woman, no wetsuit—being weighed down just enough to—not sink to the bottom. She nodded in deeper thought.

“What are you going to do?” Beth asked her brother.

“I don’t know yet.” John lifted himself from the bench seat and rested against the railing. With his eyes peering deep into the dark water, he contemplated what could be done—what was possible to investigate.

“Beth’s leaving in the morning.” Marin got up and walked over to him. “Whatever it is you’re going to do, it can wait until tomorrow.” She put her arm around his waist. “Let’s just enjoy the time with your sister and stop talking about the case.” She turned her head toward Cameron. “Tell us about you and Mitch. You’re both the talk of the dock from yesterday’s boat ride.”

“I had to bring him into the station this morning.”

Marin let go of John and swung full around.

“It was a misunderstanding––or should I say, a deception.” Cameron glanced over at John. “It seems someone conspired with the doctor and withheld information from me.”

John caught the sinister stare.

His sister and Marin focused on him.

“What?” He pushed his shoulders up and held his palms out.

“On second thought, maybe you should go into your computer cave and leave us to talk.” Marin gave him a brush sign with her fingers. “We might even talk about you.”

“There’s a dull subject,” he responded.

“Why don’t you go work on the weight belt thing and let us girls have some alone time.” Beth grinned at her brother.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He darted down the stairs toward his computer room.

Cameron West leaned back and rested her forearms on the rail of the top deck of John’s boat. “It’s really nice out here. It must be cool to wake up to the sounds of the marina—seagulls, and all.” She turned around and faced out to the bay.

“Yeah, it’s so relaxing—kind of soothing the soul. The gentle movement under foot—the sounds, the smell of salt air,” Marin said. “It’s hard to explain to someone who’s never experienced it. Sometimes I wonder how anyone could live without it. There’s a reason most people in the world live within fifty miles of the sea.”

“Easy access to shipping,” the lawyer in Beth, said.

“It’s more than that.” Marin smiled.

“All I know is—I need a drink,” Beth added.

“I can make margaritas.” Marin glanced toward the door, then whispered, “I’ve got John’s special recipe.”

“I’m in.” Cameron turned back toward Marin. “Make plenty––it’s been a tough day.”

Marin walked over to the bar, pulled out the blender, and added the Don Julio Tequila.

Beth stared at Cameron. “Tell us about Mitch and John’s . . . deceptions.”

Marin turned off the machine and poured the golden slush.

“Nothing to tell.” Cameron shrugged, not wanting to bring back the feelings.

Marin stared at her, apparently getting the vibe. “Maybe later.” She held up the pitcher to Beth.

John’s sister hurried over to the bar, grabbed her full glass, and lifted it high. “To friends, past and future.”

“What about present?” Marin added.

“That goes without saying.” Beth smiled.

Cameron led the group back to the table.

“How’d you and John meet?” Cameron asked before she settled in.

“Yeah, I’d like to hear that story, too,” Beth agreed.

Marin smiled. “Well, I first saw him in my freshman English class.” She laughed. “He was one of those guys who sits in the back of the class––never answered a question the whole term. His hair was long and wavy––just above his raggedy t-shirt collar. In class, he seemed lazy––but those baby-blue eyes had something.” She paused and contemplated the first moment.

“He wasn’t lazy––not my Johnny,” Beth added. “Bored, shy––maybe, but lazy––never.”

“I didn’t find that out until a couple of years later when we finally met.” Marin focused on Beth. “He never talked about home back in Wisconsin. I once picked up that your dad was an alcoholic––then he dropped it.”

“Good old Dad was the mean town drunk––really mean. He would get in one of his foul moods and start whacking away at—well, Tommy and Johnny.”

“I saw it often when I was on patrol.” Cameron shook her head. “At least you and John got away. I’m guessing that Tommy was your brother?”

Beth nodded, “Our older brother. He stayed back there.” Beth smiled. “He owns a small construction company. He’s done all right—married his high school sweetheart—seems happy.”

“Did your mom try to protect you—but couldn’t help the boys?” Cameron asked.

Beth’s eyes watered, and she wiped away a tear. “She died of breast cancer when I was ten. Johnny was only nine.”

“You must have lived in fear all those years.” Cameron put her hand on Beth’s arm.

“We had our hero. Tommy always kept our father away and took the hits for us. By the time he entered high school, he exploded to six-four––two-fifty, and daddy dearest left him alone. After Tommy got married and moved out, the old man would corner little Johnny alone. The rage escalated in the shadows.” Her eyes had a sorrowful tinge.

“John must have been pretty big by high school,” Cameron guessed.

“Nah, he was skinny and uncoordinated for the longest time. The kids used to make fun of him because he was so bad at sports.”

Marin picked up the pitcher and poured new drinks. “How did a poor kid from a farm town become a computer genius?”

“Well, the year Mom was sick, little Johnny found someone who believed in him.” Beth had a smile.

“One of your aunts or uncles?” Cameron asked.

“The librarian.”

Marin did a double take. “John––in a library? That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Mrs. Spencer, the librarian.” Beth smiled with the memory. “She’s quite a woman. John found the library to be his safe haven. He’d go there every night and hang out until it closed. It was one of those one-room libraries.” Beth grinned at the thought. “There was an old computer that one of the local businesses had donated after they had upgraded to a new system.” She thought for a minute. “It was
really
old.” She obviously relished telling the story. “John would get on it and lose himself. Mrs. Spencer saw something in him and went around town picking up old computer manuals, software programs, and books for him to read. In six months, he had devoured all of them. Then, he turned to the Internet. He had become obsessed––even possessed.” Beth shook her head.

“Wow,” Marin said.

“That’s nothing. The next six months, he started fixing computers around town. Imagine that––a nine-year-old coming into your business and tearing apart your computers.”

“Why did they let him do it?”

“Because the nearest repair people were ninety miles away in Madison. Time and trip charges added up. So, Mrs. Spencer suggested they give John a chance. She helped him create a small business with financial books, invoicing, and everything. He was a nine-year-old entrepreneur––and doing well. It paid for his first year in college. There’s another story.” Beth laughed. “To this day, I don’t know how he got into U.C. Santa Barbara.”

“What do you mean?” Cameron asked.

“Well, his grades in high school were average. He was bored with the material. We kept on him constantly to work harder so he could go to college. He didn’t even take the college entrance exam.”

Marin looked stunned.

“Mrs. Spencer, again. She knew he was way beyond being a computer repair person.”

“What did she do?”

“She wrote letters to university computer departments around the country––hundreds.”

“And that got him in?”

“No,” Beth shook her head. “No one responded, but she wouldn’t give up. She heard of an electrical engineering conference in Chicago and made the trip. She hung around the lobby of the Palmer Hotel introducing herself to young engineering professors and explaining John’s talents––by then he was already writing his own programs.”

“That’s a hard sell.” Marin seemed fascinated.

“One guy in his twenties––a genius in his own right––listened to her story and excused himself. Before he left, she handed him a small program that John had written, and he put it in his pocket.”

“Then?”

“He drove from Chicago to our town the next day and met with John.”

“I’m still amazed,” Marin said.

“Not so fast. John had no idea that Mrs. Spencer had done any of these things. He wasn’t even thinking about college––had his mind set on keeping his business going after high school.” Beth smiled. “This guy sits down with him in the library. He explained the incredible things that were going on in the computer science department, and John knew it was for him.”

“Did the guy offer him a scholarship?” Marin asked

“How could he get him in?” Cameron picked up her glass.

“He didn’t get offered a scholarship. The professor thought he could get John into the University based on his programming skill level––John would have to pay the first year, and he’d have to work his ass off to get good grades. The professor told John if he could excel his freshman year, then he might be able to get a scholarship after that.”

“He did well in that English class?” Marin was perplexed.

“Straight A’s that quarter––he took twenty-four units. Graduated in three years and then aced graduate school––I told you that he wasn’t lazy.” Beth turned to Marin. “Your turn.”

Marin picked up the pitcher and poured.

Beth added, “I’m really curious how he asked you out on your first date after that English class. He was so shy. I don’t think he ever went out on a real date in high school.” She laughed at a memory. “He went to his senior prom––but that’s another story.”

Marin gave some thought to ten years earlier. “He never asked me out.”

Her friends stared at her.

“You asked him?” Cameron asked.

“No, it just happened. Come to think of it––he still owes me a first date.”

Beth and Cameron gave her their full attention.

“Two years after that English class, I was doing a paper on demography that involved serious number crunching and having trouble with my computer. The statistics program was fairly new to the market and I wasn’t sure if it was the program or the computer itself. The project was due and I was in a panic. A dorm friend told me about this computer engineering student that could debug any program––he was some kind of genius––and cheap.” Marin couldn’t help but grin at the memory. “John came into my dorm room looking like the typical California surfer who hadn’t slept in weeks, and, get this, barefoot.”

They all saw him in their minds and laughed.

“He fixed my problem then asked me if I surfed. I said that I didn’t. Then he said he’d teach me sometime––if I was interested in learning.”

“Smooth,” Cameron said.

Beth’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, real smooth. He just turned around without waiting for an answer––his mind off chasing computer code in a whole other universe. He walked out the door before I could say, ‘no thanks’––or give him his money.” Marin put her hands up. “I wasn’t sure what had happened. I remember thinking––this guy is weird.”

“We all know that,” Beth chimed in.

“So, obviously that wasn’t the end of it,” Cameron said.

“The next day, I found a note taped to my door that read, ‘You owe me twenty bucks’––no phone number––no address––no name. I felt like I had an anonymous stalker. Trust me, I locked the door that night.”

She had them in tears from the laughter.

“Then what happened?” Beth asked.

“A week later, the quarter was over, and I had been so busy with finals that I still hadn’t paid him. I felt so guilty. So I called the original phone number that I had. It was his dorm room. His roommate answered and told me John was out surfing at the point––he’d probably be there most of the morning. I rode my bike over and looked for him.”

“You obviously found him.”

“Remember how I said his blue eyes got my attention in that English class. They were nothing compared to watching him on a surfboard. He moved with such grace and control––and those muscular shoulders.”

“So, did he teach you?” Cameron asked.

“Yeah, he taught me a lot––how to surf, too.” Marin looked over at Beth whose head was resting on her forearm. “You look beat.”

Beth slowly nodded without raising her head.

Marin turned toward the open door and shouted, “John, Beth needs a ride to your house.”

“Can you take her? I’m a little busy.” His voice came from deep inside the yacht.

“I don’t think so.” Marin stretched out on the lounge, having had too much to drink.

Cameron thought about the last time she had girlfriends––never. She grew up in her dad’s world of cops, and now lived exclusively in it. Looking back, she couldn’t recall a significant relationship with a woman, or a man––definitely nothing like Marin had with John. How pathetic––her life had always been about her work. Things have to change. She pulled her phone from her bag, stared at the display, and then took a deep breath.

“Who are you calling?” Marin asked.

“I was going to call Mitch––but I don’t have his number.”

“Why don’t you just go over.” Marin pointed at Mitch lounging on the back deck of his boat across the dock. “He’s been looking over here for the past hour––I think you might have a stalker of your own.” She raised her eyebrows. “You better get going.”