The Girl on the Yacht (5 page)

While Marin Ryan slipped through the open doorway into John’s boat, she spotted him having coffee with Dan at the dining table. Both turned toward her. John’s face suggested relief while Dan’s showed concern. “What’s up with you two?” She gave a tug on the leash and the preoccupied beagle, Bailey, followed.

“Is Laura with you?” John asked.

“No,” the question seemed rather forced, “why?”

Dan’s finger circled the rim of his red coffee mug. “I haven’t seen her since last night.”

John stared at his puzzled friend. “Do psychiatrists . . . make emergency calls to the hospital? Could she have gone out on one—maybe that’s where she went last night.”

“Yeah, that might be where she is,” Dan said while concentrating on his empty mug.

“Is her car in the parking lot?” Marin unleashed Bailey.

“Don’t know.” Dan shrugged his shoulders. “She would have taken her purse if . . . it’s still on the boat. Her cell phone’s gone,” he glanced up at Marin, “but she doesn’t answer.”

“Didn’t take her purse?” Marin said softly.

“What did you say?” Dan asked.

“Nothing. She’s probably on another boat having coffee just like you two. That’s why she took the phone.” Marin walked over to the cabinet in the galley. “John, do you have any tea?”

He pointed to the second door.

She put a cup of water into the microwave and started it. Marin glanced at Dan and picked up the coffee pot. “Can I get you a refill?”

He nodded a thanks, slid it across the table, stood up, and slowly walked toward the door to the back deck.

“We might be awhile.” John sprung from the table and slid by Dan through the doorway. “I’m going to shut the engines down.”

He was halfway up the stairs, when Dan said, “Don’t do that. You two go ahead and get out on the water. Laura’ll be back soon enough.”

“It’s all right,” John said. “I don’t think Marin’s ready to go anyway.”

Inside the cabin, Marin filled Dan’s mug while Bailey scurried around the room, anxiously. “Calm down, girl. What’s the matter with you this morning?” She reached into her jacket pocket. “You need a treat?”

Beagle nose zeroed in. Feet coiled and launched. The airborne morsel snatched as if Bailey was a professional outfielder catching a line drive.

Oblivious to the incredible catch, Marin had her attention on Dan through the closed glass door. His eyes were scanning E-dock for signs of his wife. “He’s nervous, too.” She carried the coffee and tea through the salon and stepped out on deck. With her elbow, she forced the door closed before Bailey could get out. “You stay,” she said in a loving voice. Marin turned back and reached out to hand the mug to her new friend.

Dan bolted. Before she could blink, he darted forward along the side rail. His hard charge of twenty steps didn’t slow. She watched in disbelief when the former USC linebacker took a leap over the rail and plummeted into the cold water.

Bailey went ballistic inside the cabin, scratching on the glass and barking.

Marin raced forward and peered over the bow of the yacht. “Dan!” The only sign that he had jumped were the ripples of water and bubbles at his entry point into the murky water.

Dan’s head broke the plane and he gasped for breath. “Get out of the cold water,” she ordered. “What were you thinking?”

“It’s Laura’s sandal––the one she was wearing last night.” He threw the object to the dock. “She must have fallen in.” He dove under his boat again and surfaced a few minutes later. “I can’t see anything––it’s too muddy. I can’t. . . .”

Marin ran back the length of the boat and leaped over the transom wall on to the dock.

“What’s going on?” John hurdled down the stairs from the third level.

“Laura’s sandal was floating by the boat.” She pointed at the wet sandal on the dock.

Dan, gasping for air, face whiter than the fiberglass hull, clung to the side of the heavily barnacled dock. Before Marin could speak, John grabbed Dan’s arm, and in one Herculean move, pulled the two-hundred and forty pounder from the water.

Dan, dripping wet and chilled, tried to break from John’s grip. “Let me go––I’ve got to find her.”

“Don’t go back in the cold water,” John insisted.

Their friend cupped his hands and shouted, “Laura.” While he worked his way along the maze of docks, he continued his call for her.

John pulled out his cell and dialed 911. “I want to report a missing person at the marina. We need someone down here, now!” He paused and listened. “We found her shoe in the water.”

Marin gazed at John and then she started off in the opposite direction of Dan, in search of their friend.

“They’re sending Harbor Patrol boats.” John catapulted up the steps to the helm. “I’ll get everyone up.”

From the dock, Marin watched him push the large red button on the console. The repetitious fog horn that followed was deafening inside the small marina. Within minutes, every boater was out on the deck of their boats.

Marin heard the sirens simultaneously coming from police cars on Coast Highway and from Harbor Patrol boats in the channel. She knew the procedure. On land, the police waited twenty-four hours before investigating a missing person report. On water, the urgency changes—someone could be in imminent danger of drowning.

The Sheriff’s Harbor Patrol boats stormed into the far end of the bay at full speed. As they neared the marina, the pilots aggressively down throttled. The matching wakes overtook the three boats and plowed toward their ultimate target—the boats at rest in the small harbor. The effect was the brutal bucking of the harnessed white vessels.

The Newport Beach Police cars assaulted the marina from the parking lot at almost the same moment. Within minutes, the overcrowded docks were thrown into mayhem with officers and boaters looking to find Laura Douglas.

Marin watched a sheriff dispatch divers into the water near Dan’s dock. One of the officers wearing a diving mask surfaced within a minute and motioned to his onboard colleague to give him the underwater floodlight. “Visibility’s lousy. We have to crawl along the bottom.”

“I’m going to be sick.” Dan shivered under the oversized towel.

“Let’s go inside. We’ve got plenty of eyes looking for her,” John said to Dan. “You can dry off and put on some fresh clothes while we wait. I’ve got a pair of shorts and a T-shirt that’ll fit you.” Marin heard dogs barking inside boats. Behind the closed door of John’s salon, Bailey was one of the loudest.

When John opened the slider, the hyper-agitated Bailey charged past.

Marin reacted with a start as the beagle ran at full speed between her legs and jumped off the boat. She watched her agile baby slalom around and through the assembled people until the sprint came to a stop at the end of E-dock.

Marin chased the dog believing the Harbor Patrol boats were the cause of Bailey’s alarm. When the dog pointed, in beagle fashion, tail straight out, front paw up, and nose aimed toward one of the Patrol boats along the perimeter of the marina, she was certain. Except, there was something yellow a few feet underwater near the officers’ position.

While holding Bailey’s collar, Marin signaled to get the attention of the boat’s pilot. “Over there––what’s that just under the surface?” She pointed behind the boat operator to the shallow submerged object. He glided the boat to a stop, and another two divers dropped into the water feet first. A few minutes later, they surfaced on the side of the patrol boat opposite the dock and one spoke to the sergeant in a low voice that Marin could barely make out.

“There’s a body down there––a white female, blonde hair.”

Marin felt her knees get wobbly under her. Bailey sensed the anxiety, stopped barking, and pressed tight against her leg. The words she heard next intensified her distress.

“There’s a weight-belt around her waist. What do you want us to do?”

“Preserve the scene, rope it off, and get pictures before you pull the body up,” the sergeant said.

“There’s no visibility for pictures.”

“Do what you can.”

The sergeant picked up the radio microphone and pressed the button. “Dispatch, have the Newport Beach Police secure the dock. We need the Medical Examiner and a Sheriff’s Homicide Investigator over here for a probable one-eight-seven.”

With shaking hands, Marin dialed her cell.

John answered.

“The divers found a woman’s body at the end of the dock. Where’s Dan?”

“He’s downstairs changing clothes.”

“John, she didn’t fall in. It looks like she was murdered.”

“Oh, God! What do we tell Dan?”

“Nothing, just keep him there for now. They haven’t brought her in yet.”

It didn’t take long for the divers to cordon off the underwater scene. They slowly brought Laura up and placed her in the black body bag. Marin knew at an instant that it was her new friend. She turned away and headed back toward John’s boat—thinking of Dan Douglas.

A woman wearing a cream-colored blouse over cocoa slacks was opening the gate at the top of the ramp more than a hundred yards away. Marin recognized the five-foot-six Homicide Investigator that had been her consulting liaison with the Sheriff’s Department for over two years. Cameron West’s long brown hair pushed clumsily to the side as she paced down E-dock carrying her electronic sidekick––an iPad in a red leather case. With no make-up or jewelry, her only ornament was the carbon black Glock strapped to her side.

With her eyes narrow, lips tight, and the ever present jovial smile missing, she seemed different––even unfamiliar. Marin often imagined that those piercing dark-brown eyes saw right through a suspect. They seemed to say, in a not so subtle way, I’m in charge. But there was more to it than the eyes. Perhaps it was the walk, or possibly her demeanor. Her entire presence suggested one thing—she was in the game.

Marin stepped off the boat and walked toward her friend. “Is this your case?”

“Are you here for the homicide?” Cameron’s surprise at her department’s consultant was apparent. Without waiting for a response, she signaled one of her plain-clothed investigators over.

The younger officer approached. “Yeah, Cam?”

“Purdy, I saw a camera on the gate. Do we have video?”

“First thing I checked.” He shook his head. “The perp yanked out the recorder. It’s gone.”

She gave a nod of frustration and indicated that she wanted to review his notes. He handed her his iPad. Cameron scanned the pages and handed it back. “Good notes—concise and well-chronicled—keep it up.” She paused. “Contact the manager or the owner of the marina and ask if they have an offsite backup of the video footage.”

“Sarge checked.” He glanced down the dock at the long-haired man writing notes on his small pocket pad. “No backup. It was one of those cheap units they picked up on the Internet.” He headed off toward his next task.

When Cameron turned back, Marin could sense her disappointment at the news. “Who’s that?”

“My newest Investigator-in-training, Jason Purdy.” She laughed. “How would you like to be hung with that name? ‘Hi, I’m Purdy.’ ” She displayed a rather tense smile.

The moment had lightened for an instant, and then the mood dissipated when Cameron’s face showed a renewed focus. “Why are you here?” she quizzed Marin.

“My new boat.” Marin pointed to the Carver.

Cameron nodded. “Did you know the victim?”

“Yesterday was my first day on the dock––so no, not really. I just met her yesterday morning. Her husband’s in there with John.” Marin grimaced and gestured toward
The Hunter
.

“I need to get briefed by the divers.” Cameron’s mind focused on the task at hand and she started for the end of the dock. “Stay with the husband. I’ll come back in a few minutes. You know the drill––I assume he knows she’s gone.”

Marin nodded.

“What else does he know?”

“No details. Just that she drowned.”

“Keep it that way until I get to him.”

“Got it.” Marin’s hands were sweating as she climbed back on board and entered the salon. Bailey was under an end table—her head resting on the carpeted floor. The dog lay quiet and invisible—her beagle eyes conveying an understanding of the sorrow in the room.

Laura’s husband, Dan, kept shaking his head, saying, “No. No. It can’t be.” He dropped his head into his enormous hands and wept. “No. No.”

For what seemed like an eternity, the three of them sat on the sofa and mourned as friends. John got up to the knock on the glass door. He opened it.

“I’m Investigator West. Are you Mister Douglas?”

He shook his head slowly. “John Hunter.” He slid to the side for her to pass.

Across the room, without getting to his feet, Dan lifted his hand a few inches off his lap.

Cameron paced over to him. Without a pause, she directed the next statement with force. “Mister Douglas, we believe your wife was murdered.” She centered in on his reaction and response.

“Murdered? No way.” Dan stared into the detective’s eyes and said it again, “No way. It had to be an accident––you got it wrong.”

“Perhaps, but for now, we are treating it as a homicide.” Cameron studied his every movement.

“I need to see her.”

“We’ll walk down in a few minutes, and you can make a positive ID, if you’re up to it,” Cameron added.

Dan nodded that he was. “It can’t be Laura. . . .” His words trailed off.

“Your first impulse will be to hold her.” Cameron’s face turned stern, her voice exuding a demanding tone to the colossus of a man. “You can’t touch her.” Her gruff demeanor faded. “I know how tough it will be, but this is a homicide investigation, and we need to preserve evidence.”

For the first time since she had known Cameron, Marin realized how tough the job must be. The Hollywood glamour disappeared the instant she walked on to a murder scene.

“You have to let me see her, now!” he demanded. “If this woman was murdered, then it can’t be Laura. Everyone loved her.”

“We’ll go down in a while. I have to ask you a few more questions.”

“It’s all a mistake.” He rose to his feet and started for the door.

“Two people on the dock have given us a preliminary ID.” She blocked his way.

“They must be wrong. It’s someone who looks like her.”

“Do you need to take a few minutes before we continue?”

“No.” Dan sat down again on the sofa.

“Mister Douglas, do you or your wife scuba dive?”

“Not around here––the water’s too cold.” He cocked his head slightly trying to understand the meaning of the question.

“Do you own diving equipment––you know like a mask, snorkel, fins—whatever?”

“Yeah, we keep a mask and fins in the anchor locker in case we ever had a problem on the boat.” He paused while contemplating the discussion. “She wasn’t diving––no way she was diving.”

“A scuba tank, wetsuit, weight belt?” Cameron continued.

“No, just the mask and fins.” Dan stared at her. “If that woman was diving around the marina, it wasn’t Laura––that’s for certain. I need to see her.”

“She had a weight belt wrapped around her.” Cameron was keen on watching his reaction to this latest news.

He stared at the investigator while his mind came to an understanding of the information. “No.” He put his head in his hands. “Who would do that to my. . . .” He couldn’t finish his sentence while his mind obviously relived those horrible last minutes.

“Does she own a weight belt, Mister Douglas?”

“A weight belt?” His hands started shaking, and he appeared to be somewhere distant in his mind. “No!”

“What can you tell me about last night?”

“I went to bed around eleven. She,” he paused and took a breath, “I don’t think she ever came to bed. I never heard her.”

“Did she go out––you know––off the boat?”

“She loved the marina when everything was still. I told her she shouldn’t go out at night by herself, but she insisted that the marina was safe.” He gulped in another chunk of air. “It’s my fault. I should have been up with her. I was exhausted and went to bed. I should have been with her.”

“How was your relationship with your wife?”

He stared at the investigator, then at Marin.

“I loved her. We’ve been married for ten years.”

Cameron walked over to him with her hand in her pocket.

“Was your relationship always close?” she asked.

“We had moments, like all married people.”

Investigator West’s hand came out with a plastic evidence bag.

“I’m going to have my coroner look at that bruise on your knuckles and take a swab.” She gently slid the baggy around Dan’s injured right hand.

He flinched with the natural instinct to pull away.

“Procedure,” Cameron said.

“He didn’t do this,” John protested.

Marin touched John’s forearm. “She has to do her job.” She glanced over at Dan. “You want her to be thorough, right?”

Dan nodded and continued. “Our life together was great; except for Raphael.” Dan held up his hand in the baggy. “You might find a piece of him on this.”

“Who’s Raphael?”

“Raphael Montoya.”

Cameron stared at Marin. “Montoya, like the movie star?”

“The same. He has the fishing boat down the way,” Marin said.

“What’s he got to do with this?” Cameron asked Dan.

“Last Tuesday night, I stopped by to work on the boat. I looked up and saw Laura walking down the dock.” He looked over at Marin. “Well, I saw her go inside his boat, and she didn’t come out for two hours.” He put his head down. “I was devastated––didn’t know what to do. The next day, I confronted her with what I saw. She claimed it was not what I thought and that she was just counseling Raphael. I wanted to believe her––but on his
boat
?”

“Did that make you angry?”

“Of course it did, and it hurt, but you only needed to know Laura. She loved everyone.”

“So you punched Montoya?” Cameron asked.

He nodded.

She shook her head in anticipation of the obvious growing complexities of the case. “We’ll need to search your boat and house. Is that okay?”

“I need to get some clothes and other stuff from the boat.”

“You’ll have to wait until we’ve searched. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did Laura have a laptop?”

“Yeah, it’s on the boat.” He looked up at her. “It’s on the dining table in the salon.”

“Do you have the keys to the boat?” Cameron put out her hand.

“It’s open, but you’ll need. . . .” With his one free hand, he fumbled in his pocket and came out with his keyring. Then, in frustration as well as fatigue, he tossed the bundle to Cameron. “The condo’s the big one. Can you get them back to me or John later?”

“I’ll have them for you in a few hours. You should be able to use the house and boat by then.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Dan said.

John eagerly stepped forward. “I’m sure Laura had it password protected.”

Dan nodded.

“Do you know her password?” Cameron asked.

Dan shook his head. “I never asked.”

“I’m good at passwords. Maybe I can crack it for you,” John said.

“That’s okay. It could be evidence, and my computer tech can handle it.” She gave John a look like there was no way he was touching her homicide case evidence. Cameron turned toward Dan. “I’ll walk you out to the end of the dock, and you can see her. The Medical Examiner should be through by now.” She stared at his face. “You can’t touch her. Are we clear on that?”

He nodded.

They started out the door and Marin stopped the group. “Just a minute.” She picked up John’s blue windbreaker from the chair back and draped it over Dan’s bagged hand. “That’s better.”

He smiled a thank you.

The procession of Marin, John, and Dan followed Cameron to the end of the dock.

They stopped fifteen feet from the dark bag with the white stenciled words, “Orange County Coroner.”

Marin sensed that Dan would need support, but she wasn’t sure if she could go through with seeing Laura’s body again.

Cameron nodded to the medical examiner, and he pulled back the zipper half the length of the bag. From where they stood, they saw Laura, her blonde hair still wet and matted to her head. The face was hers, but the grey color and frightened expression were not.

Dan started for her. An officer raised a hand in front of him.

John reached over and took Dan’s arm from behind. “Not now,” he said in a low voice.

Cameron moved forward, visibly examining the minute clues on the body. “Is this your wife, Laura Douglas?”

“Yes.” Dan cried out. His hulking body collapsed on to the dock. He wept.

John gently touched Dan’s shoulder.

Marin saw the tears on John’s cheeks, and she began to cry.

In the solemn moment, she heard a familiar sound of comfort and glanced skyward to see a white seagull soaring overhead.

John helped Dan to his feet while the medical examiner’s assistant wheeled Laura past.

“Let’s go back to my boat.” John’s voice quavered with emotion.

Cameron West signaled the coroner and a crime scene tech to follow. On the way back to one of the largest boats in the marina, she explained about the hand and what she needed from both of them—diagnosis, time, and cause of injury, as well as, possible trace evidence.

Dan sat down at the dining table and extended his arm.

The doctor painstakingly removed the plastic cocoon and took his swabs of the injured area.

“It looks like this bruising is at least two days old,” the doctor said.

“Wednesday afternoon,” Dan contributed.

“That’s about right,” the doctor responded.

John slid in behind the bar. “I’m going to have a drink. Dan, do you want one?”

“None for me,” Dan said.

“Marin?”

She shook her head.

John tilted the crystal decanter and poured out a few jiggers of aged Scotch. After he put down the bottle, he picked up the glass and chugged the contents. Without setting the glass down, John poured another.

Marin looked on and the thoughts of John’s alcoholic father came to the forefront. She felt the magnified multiple emotions of anger, fear, worry, and helplessness that had coupled themselves with the day’s events. “John. . . .” She stopped herself and glanced over at Dan. She pulled three bottles of water from the refrigerator—put one in front of Dan, handed one to John, and offered the third to the doctor, tech, and Cameron—no takers.

“Thanks.” A traumatized Dan looked up at her and gave her a forced, painful smile. “My phone’s waterlogged. May I use yours to call my sister? I need to have her take me to her house nearby.”

“We’ll call her. You just take it easy for a few minutes.” John had picked up on Marin’s gentle nudge with the bottle of water and poured his half full glass of scotch down the drain. John picked up his phone from the counter and waited to dial.

“Who would want to hurt Laura?” Dan asked.

“Dan, what’s Lindsey’s number?” John asked.

He rattled it off.

John dialed. “Lindsey. It’s John Hunter over at the marina.” He listened for a few moments. “Laura died this morning.” He glanced over at his friend. “Lindsey, he’s devastated.” There was a pause. “No, we’ll bring Dan to your house. You can’t get near the marina—the police have sealed off the docks,” he said in his strongest tone. “Dan doesn’t need to be around here. We’ll bring him to you. We’re leaving, now.”