knife,” Bondurant said, “or at least be able to describe the buyer.”
Marco said, “It seems to me, as vicious as the attack was, there should have been a very bloody person running down the streets of Little Venice. Strange, no one saw him.”
“They think the attacker may have come prepared with protective clothing. He could have taken it off and stuffed it in a bag, after he finished.” Villas looked around the room, as if for confirmation that this was a reasonable idea.
“Did you see the body?” Marco asked. “It was a mess. Such a mess that it was either done by a person who was angry, out of control, or by a person who did not know what he was doing.”
“Stabbing blindly?”
“Exactly.”
Security Chief Letsos flipped his toothpick with his tongue. “Let’s let the Mykonos police worry about that one. We have enough to worry about already. We’ve interviewed Oliver Osgood, Willem Leclercq, and Malcolm Stone. They are the three men who were playing cards with Gaskill last night. Osgood is still our best suspect, because he was with Gaskill until they parted to go to their rooms. As far as we know, he was the last person to see Gaskill alive. Those three men lost almost two thousand Euros each, but Stone and Leclercq alibi each other. They both say they didn’t leave their suite after Osgood and Gaskill left. They went to bed.”
“But they have separate bedrooms in their suite,” Bondurant said. Either of them could have left after the other went to bed.
“Possible, but unlikely.”
“Or they could be alibiing each other. One of them could be protecting the other.”
“Possible,” Letsos repeated. “We’ve collected blood samples from the deck and we should be able to get a sample of Gaskill’s DNA from at least one of the personal items we’ve taken from his room. Drinking glass, hairbrush, razor, and such.”
Demopoulos, still standing in the corner, cleared his throat and held up one finger. “Excuse me, sir. The hair?”
“Oh, yes. Where is it?”
Demopoulos drew a plastic bag off the top of the filing cabinet beside him and handed it to Letsos. Inside the transparent bag was a stringy black mass large enough to clog a sink drain.
Letsos grimaced as he took the bag from Demopoulos and held it up. “This was pulled out of the water this morning by one of the Mykonos police boats. They began at the stern of our ship and continued on a course one hundred eighty degrees from the course we were steering last night. In other words, they were trying, as nearly as possible, to retrace our path. When they got to a spot that was approximately where we would have been at one o’clock this morning, they stopped and looked around for a while. This is all they found.” Letsos looked embarrassed, as if he expected the others to laugh.
“What is it?” Bondurant asked.
“It seems to be a part of a wig. Like a man’s hairpiece,” Villas said. “I was on the boat when we found it.”
“Did Gaskill wear a hairpiece?”
“Why was it floating? If it’s hair, shouldn’t it have sunk?”
Letsos squeezed the bag, rose, and passed it across the desk to Bondurant. Bondurant held it up to the overhead light. He mashed it and said, “It’s greasy. It’s got so much hair oil on it, it must’ve been like a duck. Couldn’t sink! Too much oil on its feathers.”
Marco and Bondurant laughed.
“Our friend from the Carabinieri, here,” Letsos said, jerking his head in Marco’s general direction, “sat with Kathryn Gaskill at dinner this evening. He tells me she had a rather violent reaction when the name of one of our ship’s dancers was mentioned.” He paused, and then said. “Would you tell them, Captain Quattrocchi?”
Marco described the dinner table scene and filled them in on the story Dotsy had told him.
“We’d better talk to this Brittany Benson,” Bondurant said.
“I intend to,” Letsos said as if he resented the implication he wouldn’t have thought of that
Marco said, “It seems to me, as vicious as the attack was, there should have been a very bloody person running down the streets of Little Venice. Strange, no one saw him.”
“They think the attacker may have come prepared with protective clothing. He could have taken it off and stuffed it in a bag, after he finished.” Villas looked around the room, as if for confirmation that this was a reasonable idea.
“Did you see the body?” Marco asked. “It was a mess. Such a mess that it was either done by a person who was angry, out of control, or by a person who did not know what he was doing.”
“Stabbing blindly?”
“Exactly.”
Security Chief Letsos flipped his toothpick with his tongue. “Let’s let the Mykonos police worry about that one. We have enough to worry about already. We’ve interviewed Oliver Osgood, Willem Leclercq, and Malcolm Stone. They are the three men who were playing cards with Gaskill last night. Osgood is still our best suspect, because he was with Gaskill until they parted to go to their rooms. As far as we know, he was the last person to see Gaskill alive. Those three men lost almost two thousand Euros each, but Stone and Leclercq alibi each other. They both say they didn’t leave their suite after Osgood and Gaskill left. They went to bed.”
“But they have separate bedrooms in their suite,” Bondurant said. Either of them could have left after the other went to bed.
“Possible, but unlikely.”
“Or they could be alibiing each other. One of them could be protecting the other.”
“Possible,” Letsos repeated. “We’ve collected blood samples from the deck and we should be able to get a sample of Gaskill’s DNA from at least one of the personal items we’ve taken from his room. Drinking glass, hairbrush, razor, and such.”
Demopoulos, still standing in the corner, cleared his throat and held up one finger. “Excuse me, sir. The hair?”
“Oh, yes. Where is it?”
Demopoulos drew a plastic bag off the top of the filing cabinet beside him and handed it to Letsos. Inside the transparent bag was a stringy black mass large enough to clog a sink drain.
Letsos grimaced as he took the bag from Demopoulos and held it up. “This was pulled out of the water this morning by one of the Mykonos police boats. They began at the stern of our ship and continued on a course one hundred eighty degrees from the course we were steering last night. In other words, they were trying, as nearly as possible, to retrace our path. When they got to a spot that was approximately where we would have been at one o’clock this morning, they stopped and looked around for a while. This is all they found.” Letsos looked embarrassed, as if he expected the others to laugh.
“What is it?” Bondurant asked.
“It seems to be a part of a wig. Like a man’s hairpiece,” Villas said. “I was on the boat when we found it.”
“Did Gaskill wear a hairpiece?”
“Why was it floating? If it’s hair, shouldn’t it have sunk?”
Letsos squeezed the bag, rose, and passed it across the desk to Bondurant. Bondurant held it up to the overhead light. He mashed it and said, “It’s greasy. It’s got so much hair oil on it, it must’ve been like a duck. Couldn’t sink! Too much oil on its feathers.”
Marco and Bondurant laughed.
“Our friend from the Carabinieri, here,” Letsos said, jerking his head in Marco’s general direction, “sat with Kathryn Gaskill at dinner this evening. He tells me she had a rather violent reaction when the name of one of our ship’s dancers was mentioned.” He paused, and then said. “Would you tell them, Captain Quattrocchi?”
Marco described the dinner table scene and filled them in on the story Dotsy had told him.
“We’d better talk to this Brittany Benson,” Bondurant said.
“I intend to,” Letsos said as if he resented the implication he wouldn’t have thought of that
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