CHAPTER 35

 

Slater was standing on the pier next to his yacht, bookended by two large uniformed cops. He was wearing a long black coat over his black jeans and had his RayBans pushed up on top of his head. “Look at him, like butter wouldn’t melt in his backside,” said Lumley. She was standing with Mitchell at the entrance to the marina.

“He doesn’t look worried,” said Mitchell. The two uniforms took Slater to a cruiser and put him in the back. They hadn’t handcuffed him yet because he hadn’t been arrested.

“He’s a psychopath,” said Lumley. “They’re expert at hiding their feelings.”

“Either that or there’s nothing on the boat.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” said Lumley. She punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s see how they’re getting on.”

They walked along the pier and boarded the yacht at the rear. There were two CSU technicians in the main cabin and a third was in the sleeping cabin at the front of the boat.

“How’s it going?” Lumley asked the technician closest to the hatch. She was a red-head with high cheekbones and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Like the rest of the technicians she was wearing a white paper suit and had blue paper covers over her shoes. She had just finished spraying luminol over the floor and was sitting back on her heels to see if there was any reaction.

“Nothing,” said the technician. “I’ve done the shower and the galley and there’s no blood anywhere.” She nodded at the technician in the forward cabin. “We’re checking the sheets for whatever, but again there’s no blood. We did find blonde hairs in a hairbrush in the head so we’ll run them against hairs from the girl’s apartment. And there are lots of fingerprints.”

The technician pointed at a large textbook on the desk next to a laptop. “You might want to look at the book,” she said. “And that roll thing. That’s very interesting. It’s a chef’s knife set. Professional, too. Japanese. Those blades will cut right through bone.” The technician grinned mischievously. “And you might want to look at the notepad, too.”

Lumley picked up the notepad and grimaced when she saw the caricature that Slater had drawn. He’d sketched her and Mitchell as Keystone cops, waving truncheons as they chased after Slater on his motorcycle. She showed it to Mitchell and he shook his head. “We need the knives checked for blood,” he told the technician.

“We’ll do that at the lab,” said the technician. “But I have to tell you they look like they’ve been thoroughly cleaned and there’s a strong smell of bleach on them.” She headed into the sleeping area to talk to the other technician.

Mitchell picked up the book. Gray’s Dissection Guide For Human Anatomy. “Now why would a writer need that?” he said.

“He’ll say it’s for research,” said Lumley, tossing the notepad onto the desk.

“It’s a guide to dismembering a body,” said Mitchell. “That and the knives does it for me.”

“But it won’t do it for a judge, or a jury,” said Lumley. She switched on the laptop.

“I hate to be the stickler for the rules but the warrant doesn’t cover his computer,” said Mitchell. “We’re looking for the gun we saw and at a stretch that can be used to cover the knives, but the laptop is out of reach.”

Lumley grinned and took out a small black thumbdrive from her pocket. “I don’t want the laptop,” she said. “I just want a look-see at his work in progress, see how much further he’s got.”

“Naughty girl,” said Mitchell, standing so that his body was between her and the technicians.

“By hook or by crook, we’re going to get this bastard,” said Lumley. She plugged the thumbdrive into the laptop’s USB slot, found the work in progress file and copied it. It took her less than a minute, then she pocketed the thumbdrive and switched off the laptop.

They went up the stairs to the deck. Slater was looking at them from the back of the cruiser. He blew Lumley a kiss.

Mitchell scowled. “He knows there’s nothing here to hurt him,” he said. “The boat’s clean. He isn’t going to confess. There’s no body. We’re screwed, no matter which way you look at it.”

“Not if we find the body,” said Lumley. “I need to solve the clues in the book.”

“We’re not sure there are clues to be solved.”

“There are, Ed. I’m sure of it. Slater wants to prove that he’s smarter than us. He wants to shove his intelligence in our faces, rub our noses in it.” She forced a smile. “Come on, let’s go. I want to go through the latest version of his book. And this time I’m going to get an expert to help me.”

“An expert?”

“A mathematician, someone who’s good with numbers. If the clues are in that book, I need someone who can point me in the right direction,” she said.