“Yeah, and we’re out a couple hundred bucks for a vet bill,” Bart said, coming back with a full glass. “Just to find out she’d swallowed sea water. Breathed some into her lungs too.” He took a long drink. “Not that it’s all about the money, but I wouldn’t mind getting reimbursed from Dan Benson. When he’s out of the hospital, I mean.”
“Bart!” Jeanne said, giving him a sharp look.
Tom nodded. He shook the Dunhams’ hands and stepped onto the dock. Then he stopped and turned around.
“What vet did you take her to?” he asked.
“Silver Bay Veterinary Clinic,” Jeanne said. “We could tell she was having breathing problems, so we got her there fast. I haven’t had the heart to call and see if they’ve put her to sleep yet. Poor little Maggie.”
“We did our best,” Bart said, putting his arm around her.
Tom left Jeanne leaning against her husband’s shoulder. He took out his cell phone to call Conor and tell him about the bag full of Arcturus’s trash. He knew Conor was busy on the Claire Beaudry Chase disappearance, but ever since Tom had been appointed an investigator, his younger brother had become his mentor.
He then called Detective Jen Miano, lead detective on the Benson case, to inform her of the situation. Then he called Conor. He parked his truck at the entry of the alleyway where the dumpster was located, to guard it, on the off chance some refuse truck would come by to pick up the boatyard’s trash on the national holiday, and settled back to wait for the police.
16
CONOR
After getting Tom’s call, Conor drove to the Hawthorne Marina. He spotted Tom standing by his truck, talking to his stepdaughter Hunter. Hunter wore her Connecticut State Police uniform and hat.
“Hello, Trooper Tyrone,” he said as he approached her and Tom.
“Hi,” she said, her expression serious.
“What brings you here?” he asked.
“Detective Miano asked for me,” she said. “I thought I was going to get the boot for busting protocol and giving Tom a heads-up about the yellow raft instead of letting him get the news from command.”
“Yes, that wasn’t cool,” Conor said, sounding as stern as possible. He made sure not to catch Tom’s eye. It was the Reid way, to let law enforcement family in on details of shared investigations.
“I know,” Hunter said.
“Good to have you on the case,” Conor said.
She nodded. “Thanks a lot. I’m glad to be here.” She glanced toward the road and quickly walked away, as if she didn’t want to be seen talking to them.
Jen Miano’s Ford Interceptor drove into the parking lot, followed by two more state police vehicles. She parked and walked toward Conor and Tom. Dressed in a blue pantsuit, she looked sharp and professional.
“So what’s this about a note?” she asked.
“Bart Dunham says he found one stuck to his boat’s hull. He said it was signed ‘Sallie.’”
“Why didn’t he tell us when we questioned him?”
“The shock of it all, I guess. And he likes his rum. In fact, it’s in the trash bag with some empties.”
“Got it,” Jen said. “So we’re going dumpster diving?”
“Yes, and glad you brought reinforcements,” Conor said, watching personnel suit up in white hazmat suits, booties, and gloves. He glanced at Tom. His brother had been at sea for three days straight and looked it.
Both Reid brothers stayed with Jen, watching the forensics team. They taped off the scene with yellow tape and headed into the alley to start pulling trash bags out of the dumpster.
People walking to and from their boats had seen the police cars and had gathered to find out what was going on. Hunter was stationed outside the line of tape to tell everyone to move along. After a few minutes Tom excused himself and went back to his office.
“So,” Jen said, looking at Conor.
“Yeah?”
“This is my case,” she said. “And you’ve got a missing woman to find, so I’m wondering why you’re hanging around the boatyard with me.”
“I miss you, Jen,” he said. “I never see you now that we’re not partners.”
“Right, that’s it,” she said.
“Okay, Claire Chase and her husband, Griffin, used Sallie Benson to design their kitchen.”
“And?”
“I don’t know. It’s a coincidence, Sallie and Claire both victims of violent crimes on the same day. And they knew each other,” Conor said.
“So someone coordinated attacks on the two women?” Jen asked.
“I’d like to figure out the links,” Conor said.
“Well, Dan says that Sallie’s responsible for the boat. She was the only one below.”
“And what, she did it on purpose?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see what this note says,” Jen said.
“She didn’t care that her whole family was on board? Her two kids?”
“I hear you,” Jen said. “But we’ve seen crazier.”
“What about him?” Conor asked. “Who’s to say he’s telling the truth about Sallie being down below? Maybe he did it.”
“Blew up his own boat? Again, what about the kids—would he do that to them?” Jen asked. “You think he’s a family annihilator?”
Conor thought that over. “What about his initial statement?” he asked.
“When he said ‘they got her’?” Jen asked.
“He was doped up,” Conor said. “Not thinking or talking straight, didn’t know what he was saying. What if he meant ‘I got her’? What if he wanted to kill his wife, not the kids?”
“Right,” Jen said, nodding. “He could have put both Gwen and Charlie aboard that raft, but something happened to Charlie—he got swept away, fell overboard . . . Dan never intended for that to happen. He didn’t want the kids to die.”
The puzzle pieces didn’t fit. Conor had to believe that if you wanted to kill your wife, an explosion was a particularly tough way to go, especially when you and your children were at risk. And the connection between Sallie and Claire still bothered him.
Just then, one of the hazmat-suited officers walked to the head of the alleyway and waved. Jen started toward him and Conor followed. They ducked under the crime scene tape and saw eleven plastic garbage bags spread out in two rows in front of the dumpster. Two state police officers were standing there.
“It’s got to be this one, Detective,” Trooper Alan Williams said, pointing at a trash bag, lumpy with discarded bottles.
“Open it up,” Jen said, and the tech slit the plastic.
Conor crouched beside her. He saw a banana peel, a melon rind, a chicken carcass, wadded-up paper towels, the remains of several squeezed-out limes, beer cans, and two empty quarts of Mount Gay rum, all covered with coffee grounds.
“And there it is,” Jen said. Conor saw it too. The wet paper was wrapped around an empty bottle. One edge was torn off, but he could see the cream-colored paper. The handwriting was faint and blurred.
“Can you make out any words?” Conor asked.
“No,” Jen said. “But we’ll get the note to the lab right away, and I’ll make sure you get a copy. You’ll let me know if . . .”