Lying in Wait (9780061747168) Read Online Free PDF Page A

offer.
    Once she, too, was out of the fo’c’sle, Janice Morraine resumed command. She herded us all off the boat and onto the wooden pier.
    â€œI want undisturbed pictures of the entire boat before anyone else goes back on deck,” she said. “Somebody call downtown and see where the hell that damned photographer is. He should be here by now. Anybody got a cigarette?”
    While she and Sue Danielson set about lighting up, I marched purposefully off down the dock, intent on tracking down Janice Morraine’s missing photographer. I didn’t have to go far. The “he” in question turned out to be another she—Nancy Gresham, a talented young woman who has been taking pictures for the Seattle Police Department for several years now. I met her hurrying down the dock, carrying her camera and a box of equipment.
    She turned down my gentlemanly offer to carry her case. “Don’t bother,” she said. “I can manage.”
    â€œSuit yourself.”
    Nancy looked up into my eyes. “I was talking to one of the firemen on the way in,” she said. “How bad is it?”
    â€œAbout as bad as I ever remember,” I told her.
    â€œComing from you, that’s saying something,” she returned.
    â€œI guess it is,” I agreed. And it was.
    She continued on down the dock toward the Isolde , and I made as if to follow her, but Officer Casey, one of the patrol officers, came puffing down the dock. “Hey, Detective Beaumont,” he said. “We’ve got a little problem here.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    He motioned with his head back down the dock to where another officer was manning the barricade. “There’s a woman down there,” he said.
    â€œA woman?” I returned, trying to inject a little humor into what was an impossibly humorless situation. “Why would that be a problem? The place seems to be crawling with them. They’re all doing their jobs.”
    Casey looked uncomfortable. “I know,” he said in a way that told me he had missed the joke entirely. “You don’t understand. She says she’s his wife.”
    â€œWhose wife?”
    â€œThe dead man’s,” Casey answered. “Or at least I guess it’s him. She says her husband is the owner of the boat. She wants to go on board. When I told her that was impossible, she wentballistic on me. Would you come talk to her, Detective Beaumont? Please?”
    I followed Casey back down to the barricade, where a young officer named Robert Tamaguchi was arguing with a heavyset woman who towered over the diminutive officer by a good foot. Long before I reached the end of the dock, I heard the sound of raised voices.
    â€œWhat do you mean, I can’t go on board?”
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am,” Officer Tamaguchi insisted placatingly, keeping his voice calm, reasonable, and businesslike. “This is a police matter. No one at all is allowed on board.”
    â€œA police matter!” the woman repeated indignantly. “You don’t understand. The Isolde is my husband’s boat. My boat. I want to see what’s happened to it. You have no right….”
    I walked over to the barricade. “Mrs. Gebhardt?” I asked uncertainly.
    A tall, thick-waisted woman with fierce, bright blue eyes and a long woolen coat to match looked angrily away from Tamaguchi and zeroed in on me.
    â€œI want to know exactly what’s going on here,” she declared. “I understand there’s been a fire. I can see that. But why won’t this policeman let me see what’s happened to my own boat? And where’s Gunter? He has to be here somewhere. His truck was out front in the lot.”
    Behind the woman’s heavy, angry features, there was a hint of someone I recognized, the shadow of someone I knew but couldn’t quite place.
    â€œAnd who are you?” she demanded shrilly.“Are you in charge, or