The license plate on the car following Eden was stolen. It had been the property of Roberta Cassell, an eighty-one-year-old grandmother of six in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. The thief had chosen well; the woman had not used her car in almost two years, and had not yet even noticed the plate was missing.
The report confirmed to Nick that Eden was correct in believing she was being followed, and that it was not the police doing the following. It did not, however, give him a clue as to who it might be.
He called Eden to tell her what he had learned, but she sounded less worried than she had been.
“I haven’t seen him in a couple of days, Nick. He probably got bored.”
“Or maybe he’s just being more careful.”
“Is it the police?” she asked.
“Not unless they’re into stealing license plates.”
“So who is it?”
“I have no idea, Eden. And maybe he won’t be back. But if you see him again call me immediately. And only go to very public places.”
“Okay … thanks, Nick.”
“When you’re home, make sure the doors and windows are locked and the alarm is on.”
“Will do, big brother.”
Tim knew it was the same boat the moment he saw it. Not just the color, but the stripe design. It was highly unlikely that there could be two such boats.
It was one of at least a hundred boats at the pier in Southold, but it was the only one surrounded by its own fence, a silent statement that it was more expensive and more important than the others. Which it was.
The boat was in the water, and Tim could see a jet underneath it, which was merely a machine to keep the water it was sitting in from freezing.
Tim had an instant regret that he had not stopped to pick up a disposable camera, so that he could get a picture to send to Nick. Then he realized that a photo wasn’t important, that there was really nothing that Nick could learn from it. The important thing was that he had identified which boat it was, and Nick could focus his investigation on the ownership.
From Tim’s vantage point he could make out only a small part of the name on the hull; the last three letters were e-a-s. He imagined the last word was “seas,” but couldn’t be sure. There was also no way to determine the boat’s serial number, since boarding, or even closely approaching, was impossible.
So Tim basically just stood there, staring at the boat and letting the memory of that day on the water once again roll over him. This boat, and the people on it, had been out there with him. At the very least they did nothing to help, at worst they were the cause of Maggie’s pain and death.
“Not bad, huh?”
Tim turned and saw a young woman dressed in work coveralls under a ski jacket. She held in her hand what Tim recognized as a sander; she was obviously there working on a boat. She had a welcoming smile on her face, and obviously did not consider Tim any kind of a threat.
She was referring to the Oceanfast, and Tim gave it another quick glance. “Beautiful, though I might go with a different color.”
She laughed. “That’s for sure. Have you ever been on one?”
“In a showroom once. That’s the closest I’ll ever come. Is it yours?”
Another laugh. “Afraid not. Mine’s over there. You could fit mine in one of the bedrooms on this one, but that’s okay. They both float, and the sun shines on both of them.”
Tim didn’t want to appear too interested in the Oceanfast, but then realized that none of the TV coverage on him would have had any reason to mention it, so there was no reason for this woman to make the connection. “Do you know who owns this one?”
She shook her head. “Nah … I tried to talk to a guy on it the other day, but he blew me off.”
“People come on this time of year?”
She nodded. “Yeah, but he wasn’t one of the owners, he was there doing work. The owners are definitely big shots.”
“Because it’s so expensive?” he asked.
“Well, sure, but also because of the people that have been on it. A lot of Washington types, even some senators and congressmen.”
“Is that right? Which ones, do you know?” He smiled, not wanting to appear too anxious. “I’m sort of a political junkie.”
She thought for a moment. “Well, I definitely know Senator Collinsworth was on it at least once, ’cause I recognized him. But I’m sure there were a bunch of others.”
The news that Collinsworth had been on board was jolting to Tim, and instantly reestablished his suspicions about Danny. “Wow,” he said. “When was Collinsworth on?”
“Last summer. There were a whole bunch of people in tuxedos; I saw them as they were sailing out. Can you imagine having to put on formal clothes to go out on a boat?”
“Hard to believe,” he agreed. He gently tried to coax more information out of her, but she didn’t seem to have any. He extricated himself from the conversation, even politely declining her invitation for him to see her boat. She wished him a good day and went back to her work.
Tim was going to go back to the house, the only place where he felt remotely safe. He had a lot of thinking to do, about Danny, and Collinsworth, and the boat that was out there the day that Maggie died.
Out there for a reason.