As though reading his mind, Nick Pappas said, “We’re not looking for credit. There’s gonna be a hell of a lot of pressure on this one, and it would make life easier for us if we could wrap it up fast. I could start by filling you in on George Mellis’s background.”
Lieutenant Ingram decided he had nothing to lose. “OK, you’ve got a deal.”
Alexandra was in bed, heavily sedated. Her mind stubbornly refused to accept the fact that George had been murdered. How could he have been? There was no reason in the world for anyone to kill him. The police had talked of a knife wound, but they were wrong about that. It had to be some kind of accident. No one would want to kill him… No one would want to kill him… The opiate Dr. Harley gave her finally took hold. She slept.
Eve had been stunned at the news that George’s body had been found. But perhaps it’s a good thing, Eve thought. Alexandra will be the one under suspicion. She was there, on the island
Kate was seated next to Eve on the couch in the drawing room. The news had been a tremendous shock to Kate.
“Why would anyone want to murder George?” she asked.
Eve sighed. “I don’t know, Gran. I just don’t know. My heart breaks for poor Alex.”
Lieutenant Philip Ingram was questioning the attendant on the Lincolnville-Islesboro ferry. “Are you positive neither Mr. or Mrs. Mellis came over on the ferry Friday afternoon?”
“They didn’t come over on my shift, Phil, and I checked with the morning man, and he didn’t see ‘em neither. They had to have come in by plane.”
“One more question, Lew. Did any strangers take the ferry across on Friday?”
“Hell,” the attendant said, “you know we don’t get no strangers goin’ to the island this time of year. There might be a few tourists in the summer—but in November? She-e-e-it!”
Lieutenant Ingram went to talk to the manager of the Isles-boro airport. “George Mellis sure didn’t fly in that evening, Phil. He musta come over to the island by ferry.”
“Lew said he didn’t see him.”
“Well, hell, he couldn’t a swum over, now could he?”
“What about Mrs. Mellis?”
“Yep. She come in here in her Beechcraft about ten o’clock. I had my son, Charley, run her over to Cedar Hill from the airport.”
“What kind of mood did Mrs. Mellis seem to be in?”
“Funny you should ask. She was as nervous as spit on a hot kettle. Even my boy noticed it. Usually she’s calm, always has a pleasant word for everybody. But that night she was in a tearin’ hurry.”
“One more question. Did any strangers fly in that afternoon or evening? Any unfamiliar faces?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Just the regulars.”
An hour later, Lieutenant Ingram was on the phone talking to Nick Pappas. “What I’ve got so far,” he told the New York detective, “is damned confusing. Friday night Mrs. Mellis arrived by private plane at the Islesboro airport around ten o’clock, but her husband wasn’t with her, and he didn’t come in by plane or ferry. In fact, there’s nothin’ to show he was on the island at all that night.”
“Except the tide.”
“Yeah.”
“Whoever killed him probably threw him overboard from a boat, figuring the tide would carry him out to sea. Did you check the Corsair?”
“I looked it over. No sign of violence, no bloodstains.”
“I’d like to bring a forensics expert up there. Would you mind?”
“Not as long as you remember our little deal.”
“I’ll remember. See you tomorrow.”
Nick Pappas and a team of experts arrived the following morning. Lieutenant Ingram escorted them to the Blackwell dock, where the Corsair was tied up. Two hours later, the forensics expert said, “Looks like we hit the jackpot, Nick. There are some bloodstains on the underside of the lee rail.”
That afternoon, the police laboratory verified that the stains matched George Mellis’s blood type.
Manhattan’s “silk stocking” police precinct was busier than usual. A series of all-night drug busts had filled the prisoners’ cage to capacity, and the holding cells were crowded with prostitutes, drunks and sex offenders. The noise and the stench competed for Peter Templeton’s attention, as he was escorted through the din to Lieutenant Detective Pappas’s office.
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