The taxi took me back to Geof’s house. With a running meter to encourage speed, I changed into a cool cotton skirt and blouse, then packed sufficient clothes to last, with frequent washings, a couple of weeks. Then the taxi returned me to my car at Liberty Harbor. From there I drove up to the old lover’s leap that overlooked the bay.
I was trying to carve a niche of time to think, relax, gain some perspective. A trip to the mountains accomplishes that end for some people, but it’s always the sea that refreshes me. I don’t have to be on it or in it. I only require a warm rock from which I can watch waves.
After I pulled off the highway, I parked the car and walked over to the edge of the low cliff. I leaned cautiously against the dilapidated wood fence that separated me from a long fall into the filthy lobster pound directly below. I made a mental note to remind the committee to try to prod the city into refurbishing this future tourist attraction. Then I smiled to myself when I recognized the track of familiar routine along which my mind was running: check on this, push for that, meet with them, read it, say it, do it. Ail of which assumed a life in which routine was made possible by the security of employment, position, relationship. And it was those examples of life’s little predictable regularities on which I suddenly had only the most tenuous hold.
I released my hold on the top of the fence, hoping that didn’t symbolize anything profound. At a gap in the fence there was a not-very-clean, not-very-grassy verge. I kicked away a few pieces of litter of recent vintage, sat down on the ragged piece of green and pulled a small notebook out of my skirt pocket. Ailey Mason would have approved. Regulation rookie equipment: one blank notebook. I would have preferred to use my home computer, but it was there at Geof’s and I was here. Below me, Goose Shattuck’s men labored on the mall, unimpeded by death or destruction. Drills roared, hammers fell, saws rasped, trucks rolled along the dirt, men crawled Eke cautious crabs along the high horizontal beams. Neither murder nor vandalism had stopped, or even slowed down, this renovation we all wanted so badly.
I took a ballpoint pen from my other skirt pocket.
First heading: Sequence of (Known) Main Events—Saturday, June 12, Ansen Reich killed. Sunday, June 13, vandalism and arson. Sunday, June 20, Atheneum McGee killed. I did not list my father’s foray as a main event.
Second heading: Subsidiary, possibly pertinent events—Friday, June 11, Ansen Reich threatens project. Monday, June 14, Citizens’ Watch Committee formed; Unmarked Grave approved; Cain and Eberhardt receive racist phone calls. Sunday, June 20, Mrs. Reich reveals scheme to get percentage of Atheneum McGee’s inheritance; James Cain apprehended while trespassing at project.
Third heading: Suggested Motives—1) Sabotage: A person or persons are trying to harm the project for reasons unknown. 2) Conspiracy: James Cain is trying to harm the project as part of an overall plan to damage Port Frederick. 3) Racism: Somebody is trying to harm the project as a protest against minority involvement.
Fourth heading: Supporting Data—1) The idea of a racist motive is supported by the phone calls to Jenny and Hardy; by the use of the cross of the Unmarked Grave as a murder weapon; by . . .
I quickly ran out of steam on that one. I put down my pencil.
The idea of a conspiracy motive on the part of my father was supported by his sudden appearance in town just at the time of the main events; by his history of causing economic problems for the town, although that was through mismanagement and not through malfeasance; and by his act of trespassing on the project while in possession of potentially deadly weapons.
But the conspiracy motive came smack up against the man himself who couldn’t organize a trip to the grocery store, much less a conspiracy. That teakettle wouldn’t boil, either.
As for the sabotage . . . what was the actual damage to the project? The foreman died, but he was quickly replaced, so the work continued unabated. The arson destroyed a shack and a pier, but the pier was due for demolition anyway, and the shack was quickly rebuilt, so the work continued unabated. . . .
I frowned and gazed out to sea again, my notes forgotten.
The damage to Goose Shattuck’s vehicles was personally aggravating for him, but he probably had them fixed by Monday morning so that he could make it to work on time. And work continued unab—
A sailboat, two-masted, was rounding the bend into the bay. I focused on it until it rounded the first buoy, when my vision blurred with the intensity of my thinking.
As for the death of Atheneum McGee, which was the next main event after Reich’s murder and the arson and vandalism, it had no effect on the project at all. He was already thought to be dead, so his share of the estate had already been split among the other heirs. Thus, work at the project continued unabated.
Below me, work continued.
Unabated.
Geof had never seemed to commit himself to an acceptance of the sabotage theory that Web so enthusiastically endorsed from the beginning. Now why was that, I asked myself, why was an experienced cop so loath to grab the nearest handy motive?
I pulled my back up straighter.
Because, I realized, there had only been an appearance of sabotage, but no real damage, nothing to impede the orderly progress of construction. “I’ll believe it,” Geof had said of the sabotage theory, “when I see specific evidence to prove it.”
Something else he’d said to me that morning came unbidden into my head: “Your father doesn’t want to fail. The things he does only make it seem that way. His actions belie the true motives of his heart.”
Below, work on the project continued.
Unabated.
The events of the past ten days seemed on the surface to suggest a violent antipathy to Liberty Harbor. But the net result was no damage at all, at least not sufficient to stop the work. And that would seem to suggest that someone’s actions belied the motives of his heart.
If I was right, the person or persons who were causing the trouble did not intend to harm the project at all! Could I then logically infer the reverse? Did they desperately want it to succeed? And so their acts were somehow intended to further that goal? But how would Ansen Reich’s death advance the project? Or Atheneum’s murder? How could arson and vandalism be interpreted as positive acts?
Keep your eye on the ball, Geof always told Ailey.
The ball is murder, Ailey had suggested.
If Reich and McGee were murdered to advance the project in some way, the violent acts might only be camouflage to entice the authorities into looking for other motives, ergo other suspects. Arson and vandalism were the spit on that ball that caused it to swerve deceptively toward the batter so he couldn’t keep his eye on it.
New heading: Who Needs Project to Succeed?—Ruthlessly, I made my list of familiar names. Then I stood, brushed off the dirt and grass, stuck my pencil and notepad in my pockets and returned to my car.
First I would force down some lunch.
Then I would ask my questions.