frowned, remembering her computer. Amber had admitted to being the culprit who had been playing on it.
“Amber, honey, are we going?” Ben asked. “Beth, you sure you don’t want to stay?”
“Yeah, I kind of need to be home.”
“I think you’re just being stubborn.”
“I think I have things to do. Follow me home, if you want.”
The girls went to Ben’s car; Beth slid behind the steering wheel of her own. She made her way to the street, aware that Ben was behind her.
As she drove, she wished she was back at the movie. She had been diverted there, even though the thoughts of her panic were not too far away. Now everything seemed to be tormenting her at once.
If today’s skull had been a Halloween prop, what about last week? Had she seen a skull? Or a conch shell. If she were seated on the witness stand in a court of law, could she really swear to anything? She’d been so sure, but now…
And what the hell was Keith Henson’s part in all this? One moment, so sincere, so real, she would bet her life on him.
And then…
She drew up in front of her house. Ben pulled up next to her. She waved him on and blew the girls a kiss, then got out of the car and started for her little gate.
It was then that it struck her like a blow to the head.
The shadow was back.
She wasn’t imagining it.
There was the tree…the shadow of a tree…and someone emerging from that shadow.
Someone who was stalking her.
Someone who had waited.
But it wasn’t the shadow that got her. The shadow was just a distraction.
She twisted her key in the lock, a wary eye on the shadow, ready to scream…
The attack came from the rear.
A sudden rush of wind from behind her, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth.
Only then was there movement from the shadows.
13
THIS TIME KEITH DIDN’T KNOW the man who lay on the sterile stainless-steel table.
Though completely antiseptic, the place had a smell. It seemed that no matter what, a morgue had a smell.
“Victor Thompson, twenty-seven, been diving since he was fifteen, been on boats all his life, grew up in Marathon and knew the reefs like the back of his hand,” Mike Burlington said. “Made a living taking out charter tours from Islamorada.”
“Drowned?” he said, looking from Mike Burlington to the medical examiner, James Fleming.
Fleming had a reassuring appearance. In fact, he would have made a good family physician. He had a rich head of white hair, a pleasant, weathered face, and appeared to be in his early fifties. Old enough to have learned a lot, young enough to maintain his sharpness.
“Yes, his lungs are full of water,” Fleming said.
“There was a good fifteen minutes left in his air tank,” Mike said.
Mike Burlington was also the type to demand respect. He was tall, lean and wiry, in his early forties. He was the kind of man who had known what he wanted all his life. Coming from a sound but lower-income family, he’d joined ROTC in high school, gone into the military, gone for his degree on army funding, then headed straight into investigative work. He was tough, inside and out, but never lost sight of the fact that his purpose was to protect the living.
“There are no bruises, no sign of force on the body?” Keith asked.
Dr. Fleming shook his head. “Be my guest,” he said softly.
Carefully, his hands gloved, Keith made his own inspection of the body.
Just like…
He studied the lividity markings and looked at Fleming again.
“Yes, I think he drowned, was taken out of the water, then thrown back into it. The blood settled forward, so he was transported face downward, then thrown in the water again, all within hours of his death. He washed up on Marathon.”
“And his boat?” Keith looked at Mike again.
Mike shook his head. “Nothing like the kind of luxury vessels that have disappeared. He was out on a twentynine-footer. A decent enough boat. He took good care of it but it wasn’t worth a fortune.”
“Has the boat been found?” Keith asked.
“Not yet.”
“He went out alone, I take it.”
Mike nodded grimly.
“Any suggestion to friends that he was heading toward Calliope Key?” Keith asked.
“The police in Monroe County have done some investigating. Seems he and his friends talked a lot about sunken ships and the wrecks along the Florida coastline. I can give you a list. Anyone know where you are right now?” Mike asked him.
Keith shook his head.
“All right. Keep it that way. At the moment, since we don’t know what the hell’s going on, I want everything on a need-to-know basis.”
Keith considered arguing the point. But Mike wasn’t a trusting person. He’d been around too long. He’d seen the best of human nature, courage and loyalty. He’d seen betrayal, as well.
“There’s a lot of weird shit going on here, and I’m starting to think it’s connected,” Keith said.
“Go ahead, explain,” Mike said.
“Gentlemen? May we let this young man rest in peace?” the doctor asked.
“For the moment, but his body’s not to be released yet,” Mike said.
“I’m not sure if the local authorities—”
“I’ll deal with it,” Mike assured him. He looked at Keith dryly. “Come into my office and tell me everything,” he said, leading Keith out to the hallway.
When Keith had given him a full report, Mike said, “Someone is leaking information.”
“Not necessarily,” Keith argued. “Too few people know about the operation.”
“Too many people are dying,” Mike said. “Someone knows something they shouldn’t.”
“That doesn’t mean there’s a leak. Hell, there are people who know who I am,” Keith reminded him.
“Keep
