Dark Harbor (2 page)

“It’s set up to provide for the families of Agency officers killed or disabled in the line of duty,” Lance said. “How much did Dick leave the foundation?”

“A million dollars,” Stone said, “in the event of his own death. As I said, in the event of the whole family dying simultaneously, most of the estate goes to the foundation.”

“And how much is that?”

“Thirty million dollars, give or take. Dick’s wife was a very wealthy woman.”

Lance drew in a quick breath. “That is astonishingly generous,” he said.

“Lance,” Stone said, “what reason do you have for thinking that Dick murdered his family and killed himself?”

“That is the opinion of the sheriff and the state police in Maine,” Lance said. “My superiors would like for you and me to determine if he’s right.”

“Do you think Dick was mentally ill? You’ve seen him more recently than I.”

“I have no reason to think so, and certainly the contents of his letter to you and his will are lucid and make him seem sound of mind.”

“So the sheriff wants us to believe that a man who has spent his career handling intricate intelligence matters and who has just received the promotion of a lifetime is so nuts and despondent as to murder his family and commit suicide?”

“At this date, I suppose the sheriff’s conclusions are preliminary and based only on the physical evidence.”

“And what is the physical evidence?”

“I have no idea.”

“Then I guess we’d better go to Maine,” Stone said.

“I could take some time,” Dino said. “Mind if I come along? It would keep me out of Mary Ann’s way.”

“We could always use another experienced homicide investigator,” Lance said.

“Then I’ll fly us up tomorrow morning,” Stone said.

Chapter 3

STONE CAME DOWN to breakfast to find Dino dressed and drinking orange juice in the kitchen. “Sleep well?”

“Not as well as I thought I would,” Dino said. “I’m not used to sleeping alone.”

Stone scrambled them some eggs and fried bacon in the microwave. “Was divorce mentioned?”

“No, but death was. Mine.”

“You think she wants out?”

“She was madder than I’ve ever seen her, and that’s saying a lot.”

“You should leave a message about where we’ll be.”

“Where will we be?”

Stone picked up the phone and buzzed his office.

“Good morning,” Joan Robertson, his secretary, said.

“Good morning. I have a couple of things for you to do.”

“Shoot.”

“There’s an inn on the island of Islesboro, in Maine; I think it’s called the Dark Harbor Inn. If it isn’t, find it on the Internet and book four rooms for me, starting tonight. Make it for three nights, but tell them we might need to stay longer.”

“Got it.”

“There’s a will on my desk, witnessed by four people. Please call them all and ask them to confirm that they witnessed the will of Richard Stone.”

“Right.”

“One of the witnesses is a man called Seth Hotchkiss, a family retainer. When you speak to him, ask him about a taxi service on the island and arrange for a cab to meet us at the airstrip on Islesboro at noon today.”

“Got it.”

“Also, find out what county Islesboro is in, call the sheriff, tell him I’m Richard Stone’s executor, and I’d be grateful if the lead investigator on Stone’s death would meet me at his house in Islesboro around one o’clock today.”

“Done.”

“I suppose they have cell-phone service up there, but in any event, I’ll check in with you after we arrive.”

“Okay. I’ll hold the fort.”

Stone hung up and finished his eggs.

“How’s the flying weather?” Dino asked.

“Looks good on TV and the Internet. I’ll get an aviation forecast in a few minutes and file a flight plan.”

THE FOUR OF THEM arrived at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey a little before 10:00 a.m. in Lance’s car. Stone did a preflight inspection of the airplane and got everybody aboard.

Their route took them north to Carmel, then northeast through Connecticut and Massachusetts to Kennebunk, Maine, then direct. Ceiling and visibility were unlimited.

“What kind of airport they got up there?” Dino asked.

“I looked it up in the directory,” Stone replied. “It’s a paved strip of 2,450 feet, with a paved tie down area. No fuel, no services.”

“Isn’t that kind of short?”

“The airplane can handle it.”

“Can the pilot handle it?”

“Pray that he can.”

Stone pointed out Rockland, as they flew over it during their descent. “That’s a bigger airport that can take jets, for future reference. Islesboro is over there.” He pointed at the long, narrow island ahead of them. “I can just make out the airstrip at the north end.”

Stone began thinking ahead about making a short-field landing. The strip was long enough, but not if he touched halfway down the runway. He continued his descent and lined up for a straight-in approach. The traffic screen showed nothing in the immediate area, and he could see no movement near the strip, but he announced his intentions on the published radio frequency. He put down the landing gear and ten degrees of flaps, then performed his prelanding check: three green lights showing the gear down and locked, fuel selector on the fullest tank.

He wanted to touch down on the numbers, and as soon as he had cleared the trees at the end of the runway, he cut power and descended more steeply. He touched down a few yards past the numbers and applied the brakes. The airplane slowed in plenty of time, and he taxied off the runway onto the tiedown area. There was only one other airplane, a small Cessna, parked there.

Stone shut down the engine, and they deplaned. There was no taxi in sight, but after a couple of minutes, a 1938 Ford station wagon appeared, pulled up next to the airplane, and a man of about sixty got out. He was tall, skinny and weathered. Stone felt a wave of deja vu. It was the same car and the same man who had met him at the Bangor Airport when he was eighteen.

“It’s Stone, isn’t it?” the man asked.

“It is, and it’s Seth Hotchkiss, isn’t it?”

“You’ve a good memory, Stone. Been a long time.” His accent was distinctly Mainer.

“It certainly has,” Stone replied, shaking the man’s hand.

“We don’t have taxi service around here until next week, when the summer folk start arriving,” Seth said, “so I just came out. I expect we can get you all in the wagon.”

“It’s beautiful, Seth,” Stone said, admiring the old car.

“Dick had it restored over at Rockland last year; they did a fine job. She’s like new.” He loaded their luggage, and Stone got into the front seat with Seth while the other three crowded into the rear seat.

“We’re booked into the Dark Harbor Inn,” Stone said.

“Nah, I told your secretary to forget about that. They don’t open until next week. You’ll be staying at Dick’s house. There’s plenty of room. We’ll put two of you in the guest house and two in the main house. You’ve never seen the place, have you?”

“No, I stayed in the old family place.”

“That barn,” Seth said. “I’m glad I don’t have nothing to do with it no more. It was a chore, just keeping it standing. Caleb’s got three men doing what I used to do over there. Dick brought over me and my wife, Mabel—she’s new since you were here—when he built his house, and we live in a nice apartment over the garage. We’re comfortable there, but I don’t know what’ll happen to us now.”

“Rest easy about that, Seth,” Stone said. “You’ll be kept on as always. Dick provided for that.”

“How do you know about that?” Seth asked.

“I’m Dick’s executor, and I’ll see that his wishes are carried out. He left me the use of the place for my lifetime and that of my heirs.”

Seth nodded. “You married? You got any heirs?”

“Not married, but I’ve got one heir, a boy. I hope you’ll get to meet him.”

“We can still give a boy a good summer up here,” Seth said.

They were quiet for a while. “Do you know what happened, Seth?” Stone asked finally.

“I know what I saw, and I don’t put the same light on it that the sheriff does,” Seth replied. “I’ll tell you about it after we get everybody settled.”

They drove through downtown Dark Harbor, which consisted of a few scattered houses and one business, a general store/real estate office/newsstand/ice cream parlor. It was astonishingly the same as it had been twenty years before.

They continued on past the Dark Harbor Inn, took a right and shortly drove through the gates of Dick Stone’s house.

Chapter 4

THE HOUSE WAS a perfect shingled New England dwelling with two front facades—one facing the front gate, the other facing the little harbor—with a garage wing big enough for four cars and a staff apartment and a guest house to one side of the main house.

Seth drove over to the guest house and unloaded Lance’s and Dino’s luggage. “We’ll put the fellers here,” he said, “and the lady over in the main house. That okay?”

Holly nodded. “Fine with me, Seth.” She glanced at Stone, who pretended not to notice.

Seth showed Lance and Dino to neat little rooms, divided by a sitting room with a TV and a fireplace. “Mabel will have some lunch for you in half an hour,” he said.

They got back into the wagon and drove the few yards to the main house. Seth carried the luggage upstairs and put Stone in what was, obviously, the master and Holly into an adjoining room, which seemed meant for guests. “Lunch is in half an hour in the kitchen,” Seth said. “I’ll leave you to get settled.”

“I’ll come down with you, Seth,” Stone said.

“You want to see where it happened?” Seth asked.

“Didn’t it happen in the master bedroom?”

Seth shook his head and beckoned. He led Stone down the hall to a large, pretty bedroom, full of stuffed animals and the detritus of childhood and the teen years. Everything was very neat. “For some reason, Barbara was in bed with Esme. They were both sleeping on their right sides, with their backs to the door. Somebody put two bullets in each of ”em’s head. It was like they never woke up, never moved.“ He turned and led the way downstairs. They walked through a large living room with broad views of the harbor and into a smaller study.

Seth walked over to the desk. “Dick was sitting here, and he had this tiny, little gun in his left hand, and it had what looked like a silencer on it, like you see on TV. There was a hole in his left temple, and it was all black around it. The bullet went all the way through and ended up here.” He tapped a hole in the leather desktop. “There was a lot of blood and brains.”

“Who found them?”

“Mabel did, when she came down to fix breakfast. It was about six-thirty in the morning. She screamed real loud, and I was down quick.”

“Did either of you touch anything?”

“No,
sir
. I’ve seen me enough
Law & Orders
not to do that.”

“Why is there no crime-scene tape around the house, and why was Mabel allowed to clean up?”

“The trooper told us we could do that after they took the bodies away,” Seth said. “By the way, he’s coming over, getting the two o’clock ferry, so he’ll be here by two-thirty.”

“Did they take any photographs?”

“I’m not sure, but I did.” Seth reached into a pocket and handed Stone a small electronic camera. “It was Dick’s, just a point-and-shoot thing, then you put the pictures in the computer. I didn’t know how to do that.”

Stone put the camera into his pocket. “I’m sorry you and Mabel had to see that,” he said.

“So’m I,” Seth replied.

“Seth, Dick left you and Mabel some money, half a million dollars, and he left another half a million in a trust for your kids’ education. How old are they now?”

“They’re eighteen and nineteen; boy’s younger. They’re at Bowdoin, freshman and sophomore. Dick had been paying for their college. I’m relieved to hear that’s going to keep on.”

“That will continue, and they can go to graduate school, if they want to. When the older one is twenty-five, what’s left in the trust will be divided between them.”

“Nice little nest egg for them, then.” Seth began to cry.

Stone patted him on the back, but didn’t say anything.

“Lunch in half an hour, in the kitchen,” Seth said. He handed Stone a bunch of keys. “These were Dick’s.” Then he hurried out of the room.

Stone walked around the study, looked at the view of the harbor, looked at the book titles. A remarkable number of them were in his own library. There were silver-framed photographs of Barbara and Esme on his desk. He suddenly felt closer to Dick, remembered his good cheer, his sense of humor, his innate kindness.

“Who are you?” a voice said.

Stone turned to find Caleb Stone standing behind him. He had put on some weight but was still recognizably the twenty-year-old Stone had known, with the same broken nose. “Hello, Caleb. I’m Stone Barrington.”

Caleb stood stock-still for a moment and looked him up and down, then, remembering some vestige of manners, walked over and offered his hand. “Hello, Stone,” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?” The question was made up of equal parts of amazement and hostility.

“I’m here at Dick’s invitation.”

“You mean, he invited you up here to stay?”

“Yes, he did. Along with some friends.”

“You mean there are other people in the house?”

“Three, here and in the guest house.”

“Christ, we planned to move in here tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to change your plans.”

Caleb ignored this statement. “The boys are home from school to help, and their mother is packing right now.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Stone said.

“Now, you listen to me. I want you and your friends to get out of this house, and I want you on the next ferry.”

Stone walked over to the sofa and chairs by the window. “Caleb, come and sit down for a minute; I need to tell you some things.”

“Jesus, you haven’t been up here in decades, and you’re acting like you own the place.”

Stone sat down and pointed at a chair. “I think you’re going to want to hear this sitting down.”

Caleb sank heavily into a chair facing him. “What have you got to say?”