The Stranger in the Lifeboat(37)

LeFleur blew out a mouthful of air. He freed one hand from the gun and reached for the briefcase he’d carried into the church. He produced the tattered notebook and held it out as Dobby stared.

“I found it in the raft,” LeFleur said. “It’s all there.”



For the next three hours, as Dobby crouched inside the lectern, LeFleur sat on a pew and read the pages of that notebook out loud, holding the gun in his lap. Periodically, he checked Dobby’s face for a response. At the start, he seemed incredulous, but as LeFleur continued, Dobby’s shoulders slumped and his head dropped lower.

LeFleur read to him about the sinking of the Galaxy. He read about the death of Bernadette, and Nevin, and the cruel fate of Mrs. Laghari. He emphasized the parts about Lambert, his haughtiness, his gluttony, his ego. He went slow and deliberate about the limpet mine in the drum case. Twice he read the part where Benji said, “We can’t play God,” and Dobby replied, “Why not? God isn’t doing anything about it.” When he read Dobby’s quote about dying in an explosion being “better than living like an ant,” he paused like a lawyer letting a damning point sink in.

Throughout the reading, Dobby sighed; at times he chuckled, and more than once he teared up. Now and then he would bury his head in his hands and sigh, “Oh, Benji.” Some of his reactions seemed odd to LeFleur, but then the whole scene was odd, reading the notebook of a dead cousin in a destroyed church, talking about God appearing in a lifeboat.

It was midafternoon when LeFleur finished. He had been so engrossed in reading the pages, he’d barely noticed the time. When he read the final line, where the little girl named Alice said “I am the Lord. And I will never leave you,” LeFleur closed the notebook and used his sleeve to wipe ashy sweat from his forehead. He stood up, the gun still pointed at Dobby.

To his surprise, Dobby immediately made eye contact. He did not seem rattled, or caught. Rather he seemed subdued with sadness, as if he’d just walked out of a funeral service.

“That’s a cry for help, man,” he said quietly.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s delirious. He made it all up. Come on. Do you honestly believe he was in a boat with God? You’re a cop.”

“That’s right, I am,” LeFleur said, shaking the notebook. “And this has you loading a bomb onto the Galaxy, giving a reason, and going off to murder all those innocent people.”

“Yeah,” Dobby said, almost smiling. “That’s the most unbelievable part of all.”

“Oh, really?” LeFleur paused. “Why is that?”

“Because,” Dobby said, exhaling, “I’ve never set foot on that boat.”



News

ANCHOR: Tonight, an update on the search for the Galaxy, the luxury yacht that sank more than a year ago in the North Atlantic Ocean. Tyler Brewer reports.

REPORTER: Thank you, Jim. I’m with Ali Nesser, the owner of Nesser Ocean Explorations in Naples, Florida. In a few days his search vessel, the Iliad, will be scanning the Atlantic Ocean where the Galaxy is believed to have sunk. Mr. Nesser, can you explain how this process works?

ALI NESSER: Certainly. First we map out what’s called a “search box”—an area maybe five miles by five miles—based on last known signals and sea currents. In that search box, we’ll tow a side-scan sonar and a magnetometer, which measures any change in the magnetic field and sends back images in real time. Basically, we’ll keep scouring the area, hoping to pick up a signal of something sizable, like a sunken yacht. If we don’t get a signal, we’ll widen the box. If we do get a signal, we’ll send a probe down for a better look.

REPORTER: Is there any chance you could raise the ship?

ALI NESSER: That’s something you’d have to ask the folks who are paying for the search.

REPORTER: But is it possible?

ALI NESSER: Anything is possible. I’m not sure why you’d want to.

REPORTER: Well, as you know, many well-known people died in that disaster.

ALI NESSER: Yes, and that ship is their grave. Do you really want to disturb it?

REPORTER: I suppose that’s for someone else to decide.

ALI NESSER: I suppose so.

REPORTER: Reporting live, I’m Tyler Brewer. Jim?





Land





Dobby put his hands above his head and slowly rose from the lectern.

“I gotta stand up, please,” he pleaded. “My back is killing me.”

LeFleur kept the gun pointed, but he, too, was getting tired. The reading of the notebook had been draining. He realized this wasn’t the most well-thought-out plan, coming to the exclusion zone to pry out a confession. He had no backup. If something went wrong, he was a long way from help.

“I’m still waiting for an answer,” LeFleur said. “How did you do it? Why did you do it?”

Dobby lowered his hands to the filthy podium. He pushed some ash away with his fingers. “Look,” he said. “I don’t really want to tell you all this. But I can see it’s the only way you’re going to believe me.”

“You’re gonna say you were never on that yacht?”

“I never was. I saw it. I’d gone with Benji to Cape Verde, and I drove him to the docks the morning they loaded up. I was worried about him. He’d been through a lot, and he was acting strange. Agitated. I didn’t want him to be alone.”