slipped into Gabriel’s voice. He paused to rein
in his agitation and said quietly: “What would you do? If it was Alice trapped in there?”
Frost regarded him for a moment. At last he nodded. “Come inside. We’re talking to the
commodore. He pulled her out of the water.”
They stepped from glaring sunshine into the cool gloom of the yacht club. Inside, it smelled
like every seaside bar that Gabriel had ever walked into, the scent of ocean air mingled with
citrus and booze. It was a rickety building, perched on a wooden pier overlooking Hingham
Bay. Two portable air-conditioning units rattled in the windows, muffling the clink of glasses
and the low hum of conversation. The floors creaked as they headed toward the lounge.
Gabriel recognized the two Boston PD detectives standing at the bar, talking with a bald man.
Both Darren Crowe and Thomas Moore were Jane’s colleagues from the homicide unit; both
of them greeted Gabriel with looks of surprise.
“Hey,” Crowe said. “I didn’t know the FBI was coming in on this.”
“FBI?” said the bald man. “Wow, this must be getting pretty serious.” He stuck out his hand to
Gabriel. “Skip Boynton. I’m the commodore, Sunrise Yacht Club.”
“Agent Gabriel Dean,” said Gabriel, shaking the man’s hand. Trying, as best he could, to play
it official. But he could feel Thomas Moore’s puzzled gaze. Moore could see that something
was not right here.
“Yeah, I was just telling these detectives how we found her. Quite a shock, lemme tell you,
seeing a body in the water.” He paused. “Say, you want a drink, Agent Dean? It’s on the club.”
“No, thank you.”
“Oh, right. On duty, huh?” Skip gave a sympathetic laugh. “You guys really play it by the
book, don’t you? No one’ll take a drink. Well, hell, I will.” He slipped behind the bar and
dropped ice cubes in a glass. Splashed vodka on top. Gabriel heard ice clinking in other
glasses, and he gazed around the room at the dozen club members sitting in the lounge, almost
all of them men. Did any of them actually sail boats? Gabriel wondered. Or did they just come
here to drink?
Skip slipped out from behind the counter, his vodka in hand. “It’s not the kind of thing that
happens every day,” he said. “I’m still kind of rattled about it.”
“You were telling us how you spotted the body,” said Moore.
“Oh. Yeah. About eight A.M. I came in early to change out my spinnaker. We have a regatta
coming up in two weeks, and I’m gonna fly a new one. Got a logo on it. A green dragon, really
striking. So anyway, I’m walking out to the dock, carrying my new spinnaker, and I see what
looks like a mannequin floating out in the water, kinda snagged up on one of the rocks. I get in
my rowboat to take a closer look and hell, if it ain’t a woman. Damn nice-looking one, too. So I
yelled for some of the other guys, and three of us pulled her out. Then we called nine one one.”
He took a gulp of his vodka and drew a breath. “Never occurred to us she was still alive. I
mean, hell. That gal sure looked dead to us.”
“Must have looked dead to Fire and Rescue, too,” said Crowe.
Skip laughed. “And they’re supposed to be the professionals. If they can’t tell, who can?”
“Show us,” said Gabriel. “Where you found her.”
They all walked out the lounge door, onto the pier. The water magnified the sun’s glare, and
Gabriel had to squint against the brilliant reflection to see the rocks that Skip now pointed out.
“See that shoal over there? We have it marked off with buoys, ’cause it’s a navigation hazard.
At high tide, it’s only a few inches deep there, so you don’t even see it. Real easy to run
aground.”
“What time was high tide yesterday?” asked Gabriel.
“I don’t know. Ten A.M., I think.”
“Was that shoal exposed?”
“Yeah. If I hadn’t spotted her then, a few hours later, she might have drifted out to sea.”
The men
in his agitation and said quietly: “What would you do? If it was Alice trapped in there?”
Frost regarded him for a moment. At last he nodded. “Come inside. We’re talking to the
commodore. He pulled her out of the water.”
They stepped from glaring sunshine into the cool gloom of the yacht club. Inside, it smelled
like every seaside bar that Gabriel had ever walked into, the scent of ocean air mingled with
citrus and booze. It was a rickety building, perched on a wooden pier overlooking Hingham
Bay. Two portable air-conditioning units rattled in the windows, muffling the clink of glasses
and the low hum of conversation. The floors creaked as they headed toward the lounge.
Gabriel recognized the two Boston PD detectives standing at the bar, talking with a bald man.
Both Darren Crowe and Thomas Moore were Jane’s colleagues from the homicide unit; both
of them greeted Gabriel with looks of surprise.
“Hey,” Crowe said. “I didn’t know the FBI was coming in on this.”
“FBI?” said the bald man. “Wow, this must be getting pretty serious.” He stuck out his hand to
Gabriel. “Skip Boynton. I’m the commodore, Sunrise Yacht Club.”
“Agent Gabriel Dean,” said Gabriel, shaking the man’s hand. Trying, as best he could, to play
it official. But he could feel Thomas Moore’s puzzled gaze. Moore could see that something
was not right here.
“Yeah, I was just telling these detectives how we found her. Quite a shock, lemme tell you,
seeing a body in the water.” He paused. “Say, you want a drink, Agent Dean? It’s on the club.”
“No, thank you.”
“Oh, right. On duty, huh?” Skip gave a sympathetic laugh. “You guys really play it by the
book, don’t you? No one’ll take a drink. Well, hell, I will.” He slipped behind the bar and
dropped ice cubes in a glass. Splashed vodka on top. Gabriel heard ice clinking in other
glasses, and he gazed around the room at the dozen club members sitting in the lounge, almost
all of them men. Did any of them actually sail boats? Gabriel wondered. Or did they just come
here to drink?
Skip slipped out from behind the counter, his vodka in hand. “It’s not the kind of thing that
happens every day,” he said. “I’m still kind of rattled about it.”
“You were telling us how you spotted the body,” said Moore.
“Oh. Yeah. About eight A.M. I came in early to change out my spinnaker. We have a regatta
coming up in two weeks, and I’m gonna fly a new one. Got a logo on it. A green dragon, really
striking. So anyway, I’m walking out to the dock, carrying my new spinnaker, and I see what
looks like a mannequin floating out in the water, kinda snagged up on one of the rocks. I get in
my rowboat to take a closer look and hell, if it ain’t a woman. Damn nice-looking one, too. So I
yelled for some of the other guys, and three of us pulled her out. Then we called nine one one.”
He took a gulp of his vodka and drew a breath. “Never occurred to us she was still alive. I
mean, hell. That gal sure looked dead to us.”
“Must have looked dead to Fire and Rescue, too,” said Crowe.
Skip laughed. “And they’re supposed to be the professionals. If they can’t tell, who can?”
“Show us,” said Gabriel. “Where you found her.”
They all walked out the lounge door, onto the pier. The water magnified the sun’s glare, and
Gabriel had to squint against the brilliant reflection to see the rocks that Skip now pointed out.
“See that shoal over there? We have it marked off with buoys, ’cause it’s a navigation hazard.
At high tide, it’s only a few inches deep there, so you don’t even see it. Real easy to run
aground.”
“What time was high tide yesterday?” asked Gabriel.
“I don’t know. Ten A.M., I think.”
“Was that shoal exposed?”
“Yeah. If I hadn’t spotted her then, a few hours later, she might have drifted out to sea.”
The men
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