CHAPTER 18

After Rosco reported the problem of the Dixie-Jack’s depleted fire extinguishers to Ed Colberg, he strolled down the dock and shared the information with Al Lever.

“So it looks like your bartender ‘friend’ lied to you, doesn’t it, Rosco?” was Lever’s smug response.

Rosco shrugged. “He’s no friend of mine, Al.”

“Well, at least it would indicate he probably didn’t start the fire,” Jones said.

Rosco looked down at the Orion, where Abe was still making his inspection. “You’re suggesting this was intentional?”

“I don’t know … It’s hard to tell at this point. I’ll have to get these samples back to the lab. But initially, I’d say the boat was torched. First off: we’ve got a diesel engine here—or what’s left of it. Igniting diesel fuel requires a lot of effort; it doesn’t usually happen accidentally. The fuel won’t explode like gasoline. It takes more than a wire short or spark to get it going …

“Another thing: most of these newer boats are constructed with flame-resistant materials. You have to work to activate a solid blaze. Obviously it can be done. Douse a surface with a combustible … something like that. Look what happened here—” Jones waved a hand above the Orion’s remains.

Lever interrupted. “So, what’s your call, Abe?”

“Well … it seems like we’ve got the remains of a couple of oil lamps in what’s left of the cabin. Definitely a no-no on any type of boat. Why anyone would have them is beyond me, but I’m guessing the lamp oil probably instigated the fire … Now, you can suggest that the things rolled off the table when the Orion slapped into a wave, but my mind doesn’t work that way. It’s fishy; it stinks; it doesn’t belong in the picture … Besides, it’s my understanding that these women were too experienced to carry that type of lamp in the first place—”

“But it’s possible …” Lever said, thinking out loud.

“Sure … But to tell the truth, my lab work will only confirm that the lamps were involved in the blaze—if that’s the case—it won’t tell you who or what—”

Again, Lever interrupted. “Anything’s possible until we prove otherwise … What else, Abe?” Al lit another cigarette, took a long drag, and coughed loudly.

Jones hesitated until Lever’s coughing jag slowed, then resumed his analysis. “Well, let’s continue with the premise of arson … Now, whoever started this fire was smart, but not quite smart enough. If the intention was to send this baby to the bottom real quick, then whoever torched it seriously miscalculated the propane tank—”

“What do you mean?” Rosco asked.

“Well, most people would expect propane to build a fire’s intensity, but depending on the position of the tank, it can have an opposite effect, like it probably did here … See, when the propane tank gets hot enough, it blows like a giant firecracker. That’s because of the natural expansion of the gas. It doesn’t matter whether the stuff is flammable or not; the same thing could happen to a scuba tank …” Abe looked from Lever to Rosco for signs of comprehension. Both men nodded.

“Now, on the Orion, the explosion sent the entire deck skyward—the deck and most of the cockpit—opening up the boat’s interior, as you see here … Actually, I’m surprised the Coast Guard didn’t find pieces of composite Fiberglass floating around out there … Anyway, as the propane burns off, it quickly dissipates in the atmosphere. So, the explosion and concussion it causes can effectively blow out a preexisting fire … I’m betting dollars to doughnuts that’s what happened here … The propane explosion may not have suppressed the fire entirely, but it sufficiently reduced it—allowing our three fishermen to finish the job with handheld extinguishers.”

“But who started it?” Again, Lever was thinking out loud.

“What about this guy Colberg?” Jones said, pointing to the office. “I mean, come on, fellas, we all know he scuttled those boats three years ago for the insurance money. No one’s ever proved it, is all …”

Rosco shook his head. “I’m no Colberg fan, but I doubt he’d risk killing two people in the process. Insurance fraud’s one thing, murder’s something else.”

Lever coughed again as he took another drag on his cigarette. “Anything’s possible.”

“You’re sounding like a broken record, Al.” Rosco said this in a friendly tone, then grew serious. “If Abe is correct and the fire was intentional, then the boat wasn’t the target. The women were. I’d say we’re talking homicide.”

Lever stiffened at the suggestion. “I’d like to see some bodies before I open up a murder case.”

“They’ll wash up,” Jones said. “They always do. Might take a couple of weeks, but you’ll find them … unless the sharks got them … Then you just find a few pieces … But they’ll show up. Trust me.”

“The sharks in this case might be three fishermen.”

“Whoa … Whoa … hold on there, Rosco,” Lever said, “That’s making a huge leap. Where did that come from?”

“Like you said, Al, anything’s possible. Without any bodies, how can you rule out the potential of a kidnapping? I pulled Jamaica’s blood off of the Dixie-Jack.”

“You pulled A positive, Rosco. We don’t have confirmation on whose blood that is and you know it.”

“All I’m suggesting, Al is that anything’s possible … The women could be alive, for all we know—and in the custody of kidnappers. Maybe not our fishermen, maybe another boat got to the Orion first … Or picked the women up in the dinghy … Or … yeah, they could be dead.”

Jones cleared his throat and said, “Don’t look now but here comes trouble.”

Rosco and Lever turned to follow Jones’s stare. Marching down the dock toward them was a bulldog-shaped man in his early sixties. He was almost bald, but what remained of his snow-white hair was buzzed as short as a Marine drill sergeant’s. Clint Mize, senior insurance adjuster for Shore Line Mutual, had fond memories of his years in “The Corps.” He nodded briskly to the men as he approached.

“Lever … Jones …” Mize shook Rosco’s hand and cracked what he considered to be a joke: “You back with the NPD, Polycrates?” Then he cocked his head toward the Orion. Again, the gesture resonated with Marine-Corps precision. “What’s the official status here?”

“That’s just what we were discussing.” Rosco gave Mize a quizzical look. “I thought Colberg said the Orion was insured by A.M.I.? What’s Shore Line’s interest in this?”

“Well, let’s say my boss doesn’t like writing checks for five million dollars without having me poke around.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa … come again?” Lever blurted out.

“Genevieve Pepper. Shore Line carried a life-insurance policy on her. Five million smacks.”

Lever lit another cigarette and spoke through the smoke. “Kinda shoots a hole through your ‘kidnapping’ theory, there, Polly—Crates.”

Rosco was as shocked as Lever and Jones; he was left stammering slightly. “What? I mean … who’s the beneficiary? I’m working for her husband, Clint. He didn’t mention anything about a policy.”

“Maybe he didn’t know … Our records show that she paid the premiums, not him.”

“And Pepper picks up five mil?” Lever said, shaking his head. “That’s the kind of wife I need.”

Mize held up his hands and said, “Not so fast, Al … Pepper isn’t the beneficiary.”

“Who is?”

“A guy by the name of William Vauriens. Genie’s half brother. He lives up in Boston. Rumor has it that Old Man Pepper sends him sizable bucks every month just so he keeps his distance. I guess there’s no love lost in that family.” Mize chuckled slightly as if pleased at his witticism.

“You’re saying Pepper knew nothing about this life-insurance policy?” Rosco asked.

“I can’t say one way or another … I tried to get him on the line, but he’s not taking my calls. Hell, he’s your client … Why don’t you ask him?”

Rosco’s thought process had finally assimilated Clint Mize’s news. “What else do you know about Vauriens?”

“Not much … Can’t seem to hold a regular job for any length of time. Has an on-again-off-again relationship with a woman in Back Bay. She’s been picked up twice for kiting checks. Never served any time—”

“Have you spoken to Vauriens?” Rosco said while he jotted down the name.

“Not in person. I drove up to Boston … poked around a little … talked to his lady friend. She says she hasn’t seen ‘Billy’ in well over a week. Same with his boss. Vauriens was working construction—part of a pickup crew … Hey, but for five mil, the guy’ll turn up sooner or later. They always do.” Mize said this almost regretfully.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to share the lady’s name and number?” Rosco said as he offered Mize his pad and pen. “I might take a run up to Boston tomorrow morning myself.”

“Hey, it’s no skin off my teeth. The sooner I catch up with ‘Billy’ Vauriens the better.” As he scribbled into Rosco’s pad, Mize cocked an eye in Abe Jones’s direction. “What’s your guesstimate on this fire, Abe?”

“Torch job, Clint. Torch job, all the way.”