It was the strangest interrogation Stevens had ever conducted.
They brought Comm back to the Vigilant on the Zodiac, after they’d finished searching his little hideaway in the Island Joy’s forecastle. It was a hell of a cubbyhole: between the crates of bread, onions, and dehydrated milk that took up most of the room, Comm had built himself an ugly little nest for the voyage to Port-au-Prince.
“Gross,” said Windermere, kicking a sodden sleeping bag aside. “He really moved in.”
Stevens nodded. “Quite the little bachelor pad, huh?”
Apart from necessities such as the sleeping bag, pillow, and case of bottled water, Comm had packed with him the week’s Time magazine, the month’s Penthouse, another pistol and ammunition, and enough cocaine to kill a horse. Stevens figured he’d been nose-deep in the stuff when Windermere barged in on him.
The Coast Guard left a few men aboard the Island Joy to turn the ship around and supervise its return to the Port of Miami. Meanwhile, Stevens and Windermere rode with Comm to the cutter, where Petty Officer Briggs found them a spare room in which to hold their prisoner.
Now Comm sipped coffee and stared down at his mug. Avoided Windermere’s eyes, and Stevens’s. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I swear I didn’t know you were cops.”
“Just figured you’d come out shooting, huh?” said Windermere. “Better safe than sorry?”
“I thought you were Killswitch,” said Comm. “I thought I was next.”
Stevens cut in. “Before we go any further,” he said, “you have the right to an attorney, Mr. Comm. You don’t have to talk to us. You’re well within your rights to say nothing at all until we hit Miami and you have a lawyer present.”
Comm waved him away. “I don’t care about that.”
“You know anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.”
“I know,” he said. “I watch TV. Look, I don’t care. Book me for whatever you want. Just fucking find Killswitch before he comes after me.”
Stevens glanced at Windermere. Windermere grinned. “Be right back.”
She was gone fifteen minutes. When she returned, she was holding a flimsy sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen. She slid the paper at Comm. “Sign here,” she said. “This indicates that we’ve informed you of your rights and you’ve waived the right to an attorney.”
Stevens frowned at Windermere as Comm signed and dated the form. “Where the hell’d you get that?”
She grinned at him. “Ojeda faxed it in.”
“It’s two in the morning.”
“He loves me,” she said, shrugging. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”
Comm tapped the pen on the tabletop. Looked from Stevens to Windermere and back again. Stevens cleared his throat. “So you thought we were Killswitch,” he said. “Why would Killswitch come for you? You paid him, didn’t you?”
Comm sipped his coffee. Didn’t look up. He nodded.
“So?”
Comm was silent some more. The cutter rocked in the swell. Its big diesel engines throbbed somewhere far below. Windermere sat across from him. Ducked down until she could see his eyes. “What’s the deal, Comm?” she said. “What are you afraid of?”
Comm looked at her. Whether from fear or from shock, he’d seemed to calm. Now he stared into Windermere’s eyes with a chilling intensity. “I went down to watch,” he said. “I wanted to see for myself. Don’t know why. I guess I just wanted to make sure I got my money’s worth.”
“You mean you watched Killswitch shoot Ansbacher.”
Comm nodded. “I drove to Terminal Island. Parked across from the marina. I had a pair of binoculars, and I watched Peralta’s yacht. I saw Peralta come aboard. Then I saw Ansbacher.” He shook his head. “I guess I didn’t think it would actually happen.”
“You bought and paid for a murder,” said Windermere. “Two hundred grand. You thought there was a chance it was bogus?”
“I was angry,” he said. “I was desperate. I wasn’t myself. I didn’t think that anyone . . .” He looked at Windermere again. “I didn’t think anyone could be so cold.”
“The shooter was on Terminal Island,” said Stevens. “Did you see him?”
Comm laughed. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I saw him.”
“And?”
“And he was a fucking weirdo, man. He was parked a couple stalls over. I didn’t notice him until right before it happened. There was this truck parked between us. It moved just as Ansbacher came down the ramp. I glanced over and saw the guy’s rifle. That’s when I knew it was real.”
“But you didn’t stop him.”
“I was scared shitless. The fucking guy had a rifle.” Comm looked down again. “And I guess a part of me really did want Ansbacher dead.”
“So you watched Killswitch shoot him.”
Comm nodded. “Shot him twice. First time in the chest. Second time in the head. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to puke.”
“Then what happened?”
“I looked at the kid. Couldn’t take my eyes off him. I knew he’d kill me if he knew I’d seen him, but I couldn’t look away. He was just a fucking young kid, man, in his twenties, but his eyes . . .” Comm shivered.
“We know,” said Windermere. “We’ve seen him.”
“Christ, I wanted to shit myself. He put away his rifle and climbed across to the driver’s seat and took off. I followed—” Comm rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t think he’d seen me, but then, just as I pulled onto the ramp up to the causeway, he’d stopped the car. Blocked the whole lane. I swear he stared straight at me in the rearview. I thought, This is it, I’m going down. This kid’s going to kill me.”
“But he didn’t.”
“He didn’t,” said Comm. “He just drove off.”
“So why’d you think he would come back for you?”
Comm shivered again. “I just knew, man. Once he figured out who I was, I was gonzo.”
Comm put his head down. Closed his eyes. “Shit,” he mumbled into his arms. “What the fuck am I doing?”
Windermere studied him a moment. Then she stood up from the table. Looked at Stevens. “Got three or four hours until we’re back in Miami,” she said. “Come on. Let’s get some rest.”