“Yes,” Kir shouted back.
They pressed on, the boat hopping and jumping across the water. Laughton’s anxiety seeped away, and he was left bored. How much longer? he thought, and smiled. This was no doubt how Erica felt on every long road trip. Betty had such little patience for the age-old “Are we there yet?”
Eventually Kir slowed the boat, the bow lowering and the ride growing less bumpy. “Are we close?” Laughton said.
“No. But we’re entering narrower channels. Can’t go out on the ocean side. Coast Guard out there, and this boat isn’t really meant for oceangoing. We’ll run through these channels up to Dewees.”
Banks had closed in on either side of them, increasing the darkness. Alternate waterways opened to the left and to the right. Small grass-covered islands drifted by, some no larger than the building that housed the police in Liberty, good only for birds and whatever snails, crabs, oysters, and fish made their lives at the water’s edge. Some larger islands, covered with heavier vegetation, were expansive enough to not seem like islands at all. They went under several bridges. Road signs could be seen to either side, the sharp straight lines of their silhouettes feeling improbable in the surroundings.
“This is a smuggler’s paradise out here,” Laughton shouted over the sound of the motor. “They could be anywhere.”
“Most of these islands have nothing on them, and the solidity of their land is deceptive in the dark. They’re more like marshes.”
Laughton knew all too well the convenience and advantages of using preexisting buildings. It made sense that if nothing had ever been built on an island, it was unlikely to be in use now.
“Dewees is also at the edge of the preserve,” Kir said.
“Safety in the borderlands.”
“Let’s hope.”
Laughton yawned. This better be it. He didn’t want to spend the last night of the preserve’s existence in a boat more than one hundred miles from Betty and Erica.
Eventually Kir said, “Almost there.”
Chief Laughton looked up. There were a few dark masses in front of them, but one appeared much larger than the others. “Where are we going to land?” he said.
“There’s an old ferry dock here on the south side of the island,” Kir said.
“What if the sims people are using it?”
“We can pull into an inlet that snakes a good way into the center of the island. Might be able to push through the grasses on one of the banks, but not without getting wet.”
Laughton thought about going into a situation with wet shoes and socks. The idea was uncomfortable, but was that enough to take the risk on the dock. “I guess scan the dock when we’re in sight,” he said.
“Wimp,” Kir said.
There was moonlight now, so Laughton could see the dock as they approached it, a long letter “L” breaking from the island. A portion of the dock was covered, a pitched roof on posts. A small yacht was docked.
“Anything?” Laughton said.
“Let’s try it,” Kir said. “I’ve been shot already today. What are a few more holes?”
“But I haven’t been, and those bullets do a lot more damage to me.”
Kir adjusted the engine to the lowest setting. It still made noise, but it was more like a lion’s purr than a growl. Laughton took a deep breath. He could smell the ocean here, its salty brine. Talk about being out of his jurisdiction.
Kir pulled the boat around the yacht to the side of the dock that was facing the island. Three other small motorboats were tied up there. “Get up there with that rope,” Kir said.
“Watch your tone,” Laughton said. The familiar joking helped cut some of the tension. Once he was up on the dock on solid ground, he felt everything grow sharp. His headache receded into a heavy throb. He tied off the boat in what he hoped approximated some kind of boatman’s knot.
Kir joined him on the dock.
“How big is this island?” Laughton said. “We doing this on foot?”
“Only so much of the island was ever built on.”
“If you say so,” Laughton said. “But if it comes to it, you’re carrying me.”
“Not on your life,” Kir said. They clopped along the dock. Then Kir stopped suddenly, grabbing Laughton’s sleeve, pulling him round.
“What?”
“Got your flash?” Kir said.
Laughton took it from his belt. “Yeah.”
“Shine it over there. And start your camera.”
Laughton pushed the button on his body camera and then turned the flashlight on, painting the boats with its beam until he saw what had stopped Kir. There was somebody lying in one of the boats.
Kir jumped down into the boat while Laughton remained up top, his free hand on his holstered weapon. But if Kir’s jump hadn’t woken the man, he didn’t think he’d need it.
Kir adjusted the man’s head so it could be seen. It was Sam McCardy. A black hole sat at the bridge of his nose between his eyes.
“Guess he chose Titanium after all,” Laughton said. “Wrong choice.”
“Guess we’re in the right place,” Kir said.
“How recent?”
Kir let the body lay back and then lifted one of its arms, measuring the resistance. “Twelve hours maybe.” He started going through McCardy’s pockets, tossing the contents onto the body as he found them—a phone, a key fob, a second phone. He patted down the rest of the body, then pulled off the shoes and checked the heels, and pulled out the innersole. No memory stick.
He picked up the phones, and climbed out of the boat. He handed one to the chief while hitting the home button on the one in his hand. The screen lit up, throwing light on his expressionless face, the simul-skin appearing unnaturally flat.
Laughton turned off his flashlight. He tried the phone, but it wouldn’t turn on. “Mine’s dead,” he said.
Kir scanned the screen of the phone in his hand. “Last four phone calls were numbers, no contact info. Eleven last night, two just after 2:00 a.m. and one at 6:04.”
“Must have been his last call. Try them?”
Kir swiped through the screens. “No email on this. Internet memory empty…”
“So it was really just a phone.”
“Let me hold the other one,” Kir said, handing the first phone to Laughton. He opened a port on the inside of his wrist, pulled out a short wire, and plugged it into the bottom of the dead phone. It took half a minute for the display to come on.
“Should I try these numbers?” Laughton said. “We might get a hit.”
“Or alert the killer that we’re on the island.”
“We should at least call it in,” Laughton said, reaching for his own phone. “Get some backup on the way.”
“Wait,” Kir said, scrolling through McCardy’s second phone. “Looks like he was good at keeping his email clean. Or he had a web-based account. There’s not much more than junk mail. It’s the opposite of what most people’s email looks like. Good way to keep it messy.”
“I’m going to call this in,” Laughton said.
Kir shook his head. “Let’s see what we’ve got first. All those departments in that meeting today, ready to sweep in…”