you wait until the—here they are
now," said Keegan, pointing to a dark green van that was pulling
up in front. Two men got out, and then Keegan opened the front door
and we all filed in, letting the lab men go first with their cameras,
collecting tape, and sketchbooks.
Keegan stayed with us in the front hall, just beneath
the stairway. He told us that since the break-in might be connected
with a homicide, he was making sure that all possible evidence would
be kept. I considered the link between the burglary and Andy's death,
and saw it as a positive development for us.
"Know what?" I said. "This points the
finger of guilt right here in Woods Hole. And also, I think it
removes suspicion from Jack. He was nowhere near here during this
burglary."
Keegan turned to Jack.
"Where were you last night?"
"On board our sailboat with my dad, anchored in
Pocassett Harbor," said Jack.
"And I can swear to it," I added.
"Anyone else see you two? Any impartial,
unbiased witnesses?"
"No," I said. "So what?"
"We'll discuss it later. Meanwhile, let's follow
the lab team from room to room as they finish up. Jack, you and Tom
can help us by identifying the belongings inside. Maybe we can figure
out what, if anything, is missing. Remember: don't touch anything."
We did as instructed. The team covered the downstairs
first, examining doors and windows for means of entry, using their
special vacuum cleaners to lift dirt and lint samples, dusting for
latent prints, and photographing each room from a variety of angles.
In addition, they made crude sketches showing where various objects
were located in the rooms. The house had been tossed, all right, but
the job appeared professional and thorough, rather than hasty. In the
kitchen, the cupboards had been searched, with canned goods and bags
of pasta and chips left out on the counters. In the upstairs
bedrooms, the mattresses were bare, but replaced back on the box
springs. Sheets and bedding were heaped in big piles in the corners.
All the dresser and desk drawers had been removed and examined, and
their contents apparently strewn on the floor and later pushed up
against a wall, presumably to allow the intruders space to walk
around. The closet doors were ajar, and the clothing pulled out and
piled on the floor. Nothing appeared to be broken or ruined, but
there was no doubt the search had been painstaking.
Up in Jack's bedroom, I turned and saw Mary leaning
against the doorway, her arms folded across her ample front. Her head
was cocked slightly to one side, her dark hair cascading down the
side of her head onto her shoulder. Looked great. But her lip curled
a bit in a dubious, disgusted expression.
"Well, when it rains, it pours," she said
softly. "Jackie, can you tell offhand if anything's missing?"
" Not anything I can remember. Looks to me like
they just searched the place."
"Looking for what?" asked Keegan.
Jack shrugged his shoulders. Keegan suggested we all
go get a cup of coffee. Tom wanted to put his room back together, so
he stayed at the house. The rest of us walked to the Cap'n Kidd
tavern, which is down on Water Street near the drawbridge. We ordered
coffee. Jack, usually hungry, had a Coke, which he sipped nervously.
I repeated my observation that this ransacking of the boys' house
cleared Jack of all suspicion. I was hoping Keegan would agree
without reservation. But he didn't.
"Hold on, Doc," he said. "We can't
assume that. Not yet. For one thing, we have no evidence that links
the break-in with the murder. It could be just a random burglary."
"Aw, c'mon, Paul," said Mary. "It's
not the kind of house a burglar would choose. Even I know that. It's
student housing, and everybody around here knows it. And nothing
valuable was taken. It must have been a search, not a burglary."
Keegan held up his hand.
"All that's crossed my mind. But how about this:
what if somebody, like maybe a prosecuting attorney, supposes that
Jack tossed the house himself on Friday afternoon prior
now," said Keegan, pointing to a dark green van that was pulling
up in front. Two men got out, and then Keegan opened the front door
and we all filed in, letting the lab men go first with their cameras,
collecting tape, and sketchbooks.
Keegan stayed with us in the front hall, just beneath
the stairway. He told us that since the break-in might be connected
with a homicide, he was making sure that all possible evidence would
be kept. I considered the link between the burglary and Andy's death,
and saw it as a positive development for us.
"Know what?" I said. "This points the
finger of guilt right here in Woods Hole. And also, I think it
removes suspicion from Jack. He was nowhere near here during this
burglary."
Keegan turned to Jack.
"Where were you last night?"
"On board our sailboat with my dad, anchored in
Pocassett Harbor," said Jack.
"And I can swear to it," I added.
"Anyone else see you two? Any impartial,
unbiased witnesses?"
"No," I said. "So what?"
"We'll discuss it later. Meanwhile, let's follow
the lab team from room to room as they finish up. Jack, you and Tom
can help us by identifying the belongings inside. Maybe we can figure
out what, if anything, is missing. Remember: don't touch anything."
We did as instructed. The team covered the downstairs
first, examining doors and windows for means of entry, using their
special vacuum cleaners to lift dirt and lint samples, dusting for
latent prints, and photographing each room from a variety of angles.
In addition, they made crude sketches showing where various objects
were located in the rooms. The house had been tossed, all right, but
the job appeared professional and thorough, rather than hasty. In the
kitchen, the cupboards had been searched, with canned goods and bags
of pasta and chips left out on the counters. In the upstairs
bedrooms, the mattresses were bare, but replaced back on the box
springs. Sheets and bedding were heaped in big piles in the corners.
All the dresser and desk drawers had been removed and examined, and
their contents apparently strewn on the floor and later pushed up
against a wall, presumably to allow the intruders space to walk
around. The closet doors were ajar, and the clothing pulled out and
piled on the floor. Nothing appeared to be broken or ruined, but
there was no doubt the search had been painstaking.
Up in Jack's bedroom, I turned and saw Mary leaning
against the doorway, her arms folded across her ample front. Her head
was cocked slightly to one side, her dark hair cascading down the
side of her head onto her shoulder. Looked great. But her lip curled
a bit in a dubious, disgusted expression.
"Well, when it rains, it pours," she said
softly. "Jackie, can you tell offhand if anything's missing?"
" Not anything I can remember. Looks to me like
they just searched the place."
"Looking for what?" asked Keegan.
Jack shrugged his shoulders. Keegan suggested we all
go get a cup of coffee. Tom wanted to put his room back together, so
he stayed at the house. The rest of us walked to the Cap'n Kidd
tavern, which is down on Water Street near the drawbridge. We ordered
coffee. Jack, usually hungry, had a Coke, which he sipped nervously.
I repeated my observation that this ransacking of the boys' house
cleared Jack of all suspicion. I was hoping Keegan would agree
without reservation. But he didn't.
"Hold on, Doc," he said. "We can't
assume that. Not yet. For one thing, we have no evidence that links
the break-in with the murder. It could be just a random burglary."
"Aw, c'mon, Paul," said Mary. "It's
not the kind of house a burglar would choose. Even I know that. It's
student housing, and everybody around here knows it. And nothing
valuable was taken. It must have been a search, not a burglary."
Keegan held up his hand.
"All that's crossed my mind. But how about this:
what if somebody, like maybe a prosecuting attorney, supposes that
Jack tossed the house himself on Friday afternoon prior
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