“Whatever it was,” I said, “it seems to have involved photography. And based on the camera equipment it appears he had with him, he was serious.”
“But no underwater camera was found,” Lucy said.
“No,” I said. “The current could have carried it anywhere, or it might be buried in silt. Unfortunately, the kind of equipment he apparently had doesn’t float.”
“I sure would like to get hold of the film.” She was still looking out at the snowy night, and I wondered if she was thinking of Aspen.
“One thing’s for damn sure, he wasn’t taking pictures of fish.” Marino jabbed a fat log that was a little too green.
“So that pretty much leaves ships. And I think he was doing a story somebody didn’t want him to do.”
“He may have been doing a story,” I agreed, “but that doesn’t mean it’s related to his death. Someone could have used his being out diving as an opportunity to kill him for another reason.”
“Where do you keep the kindling?” He gave up on the fire.
“Outside under a tarp,” I answered. “Dr. Mant won’t allow it in the house. He’s afraid of termites.”
“Well, he ought to be more afraid of the fires and wind shear in this dump.”
“In back, just off the porch,” I said. “Thanks, Marino.”
He put on gloves but no coat and went outside as the fire smoked stubbornly and the wind made eerie moaning sounds in the leaning brick chimney. I watched my niece, who was still at the window.
“We should work on dinner, don’t you think?” I said to her.
“What’s he doing?” she said with her back to me.
“Marino?”
“Yes. The big idiot’s gotten lost. Look, he’s all the way up by the wall. Wait a minute. I can’t see him now. He turned his flashlight off. That’s kind of weird.”
Her words lifted the hair on my neck and instantly I was on my feet. I dashed into the bedroom and grabbed my pistol off the nightstand. Lucy was on my heels.
“What is it?” she exclaimed.
“He doesn’t have a flashlight,” I said as I ran.
CHAPTER 4
IN THE KITCHEN, I FLUNG OPEN THE DOOR LEADING TO the porch and ran into Marino. We almost knocked each other down.
“What the shit … ?” he yelled behind a load of wood.
“There’s a prowler,” I spoke with quiet urgency.
Kindling thudded loudly to the floor and he ran back out into the yard, his pistol drawn. By now, Lucy had fetched her gun and was outside, too, and we were ready to handle a riot.
“Check the perimeter of the house,” Marino ordered.
“I’m going over here.”
I went back in for flashlights, and for a while Lucy and I circled the cottage, straining eyes and ears, but the only sight and sound was our shoes crunching as we left impressions in the snow. I heard Marino decock his pistol as we reconvened in deep shadows near the porch.
“There are footprints by the wall,” he said, and his breath was white. “It’s real strange. They lead down to the beach and then just disappear near the water.” He looked around. “You got any neighbors who might have been out for a stroll?”
“I don’t know Dr. Mant’s neighbors,” I replied. “But they should not have been in his yard. And who in his right mind would walk on the beach in weather like this?”
“Where on this property do the footprints go?” Lucy asked.
“Looks like he came over the wall and went about six feet inside the yard before backtracking,” Marino answered.
I thought of Lucy standing before the window, backlit by the fire and lamps. Maybe the prowler had spotted her and had been scared off.
Then I thought of something else. “How do we know this person was a he?”
“If it ain’t, I feel sorry for a woman with boats that big,” Marino said. “The shoes are about the same size as mine.”
“Shoes or boots?” I asked, heading toward the wall.
“I don’t know. They got some sort of cross-hatch tread pattern.” He followed me.
The footprints I saw gave me cause for more alarm. They were not from typical boots or athletic shoes.