He was taking notes.
“At this time I have no evidence that there is a relationship,” I replied. “in fact, we really can’t say that the culprit wasn’t some kid blowing off steam on New Year’s Eve.”
Sanders kept looking at Lucy, who was talking to Marino by our cars. “Who is that?”
he asked.
“My niece. She’s with the FBI,- I answered, and I spelled her name.
While he went to speak to her, I made one last trip inside the cottage, entering through the plain front door. The air was warmed by sunlight that blazed through glass, bleaching furniture of color, and I could still smell garlic from last night’s meal. In my bedroom I looked around once more, opening drawers and riffling through clothes hanging in the closet while I was saddened by my disenchantment.
In the beginning, I had thought I would like it here.
Down the hall I checked where Lucy had slept, then moved into the living room where we had sat until early morning reading the Book of Hand. The memory of that
unsettled me like my dream, and my arms turned to gooseflesh. My blood was thrilled by fear, and suddenly I could not stay inside my colleague’s simple home a moment longer. I dashed to the screened-in porch, and out the door into the backyard. In sunlight I felt reassured, and as I gazed out at the ocean, I got interested in the wall again.
Snow was to the top of my boots as I drew close to it, footprints from the night before gone. The intruder, whose flashlight Lucy had seen, had climbed over the wall and then quickly left. But he must have showed up later, or someone else must have, because the footprints around our cars clearly had been made after snow had quit falling, and they hadn’t been made by dive boots or surf shoes. I looked over the wall and beyond the dune to the wide beach below.
Snow was spun-sugar heaped in drifts with sea oats protruding like ragged feathers.
The water was a ruffled dark blue and I saw no sign of anyone as my eyes followed the shore as far as they could.
I looked out for a long time, completely absorbed in speculations and worries. When I turned around to walk back, I was shocked to find Detective Roche standing so close he could have grabbed me.
“My God,” I gasped. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that.”
“I walked in your tracks. That’s why you didn’t hear
” He was chewing gum and had his hands in the pock meets of a leather coat. “Being quiet’s one thing I’m good at when I want to be.”
I stared at him, my dislike of him finding new depths.
He wore dark trousers and boots, and I could not see his eyes behind the aviator’s glasses. But it did not matter. I knew what Detective Roche was about. I knew his type well.
“I heard about your vandalism and came to see if I could be of assistance,” he said.
“I wasn’t aware we called the Chesapeake police,” I replied.
“Virginia Beach and Chesapeake have a mutual aid channel, so I heard about your problem on that,” he said.
“I have to confess that the first thing to go through my mind was there might be a connection.”
“A connection to what?”
“To our case.” He stepped closer. “Looks like someone really did a number on your cars. Sounds like a warning.
You know, like just maybe you’re poking your nose where someone doesn’t think it belongs.”
My eyes wandered to his feet, to his lace-up Gore-Tex boots made of leather the color of liver, and I saw the tread pattern they had left in the snow. Roche had big feet and hands, and was wearing Vibram soles. I looked back at a face that would have been handsome were the spirit behind it not so petty and mean. I did not say a word for a while, but when I did I was very direct.
“You sound a lot like Captain Green. So tell me. Are you threatening me, too?”
“I’m just passing along an observation.”