Double Jeopardy (Stone Barrington #57)(44)
He reached the border of the twins’ property and walked across a graveled area. Paving stones were stacked on pallets in large numbers; there would be a cobblestone parking area and driveway in a few days. He looked toward the twins’ dock and saw where the teak boardwalk began. There was a large, square floating dock that would take three or four small boats, then a further boardwalk to a final floating dock that would accept a fifty-footer. The depth out there would be six feet or more at low-water spring tide.
Ed walked up the front steps. There were still lights on inside; nothing had changed since his and Stone’s earlier visit. He stopped and listened intently. Nothing, except the distant sound of rotors from a helicopter far out on the bay. He walked on upstairs and into the master bedroom.
He set the carryall on the nearest bed and used its remote control to raise the head to its steepest angle, which gave him a view of the mechanics and electrical connections of the electric bed. He took the chunk of plastique, ripped off a foot-long piece of duct tape from its roll, and taped the explosive to the rod that moved the bed. He selected a detonator from his bag and pressed it into the explosive, which had the consistency of modeling clay. Finally, he returned the bed to its fully down position and set the remote control back where he’d found it. Then he heard the helicopter rotor again, this time from much closer. It occurred to him that the twins might not have bothered with the ferry; they could have flown directly from the Augusta airport to the island. If that were so, he knew where it would land.
Ed grabbed his carryall, quickly let himself outside onto the surrounding porch, ran to the corner of the house, and peeked around it. A small helicopter was setting down on the square floating dock. Two figures alit from the copter and began walking up the floating boardwalk toward the house.
A quick look around ascertained for him that he could not leave the house anywhere except on the side facing the road. He was looking for a place to jump where a landing might not break a leg, when he heard heavy footsteps on the front stairway and the sound of the front door opening.
Ed considered just flinging himself off the elevated porch into the darkness and hoping for the best, but he reconsidered. They were coming up the stairs to the second floor now. Ed crept around the corner and began moving around the house toward the corner of the porch facing the sea. He had to go slowly for fear of making a noise.
He caught a glimpse of the twins’ backs as they turned toward their bedroom, then he continued, now walking faster.
Then he heard a voice. “Is that your duct tape on the floor by the bed?”
“No,” came the reply.
Ed reached the end of the porch and saw a drainpipe coming down from the roof. He swung a leg over the railing, dropped his carryall, grasped the drainpipe, and slid down it like a fireman answering an alarm, making some noise in the process.
He knew he couldn’t run through the blueberry patch, so he ran for the floating boardwalk, dashed down it to the pontoon, and launched into a dive. A split second before hitting the water he heard a shout from the house, but he couldn’t tell what was said. He dove into the black water and swam for the bottom, which happened at about four feet. He swam along it, waiting for the gunshots to find him, but nothing happened. He swam past the outer floating dock, bobbed up long enough to grab a breath, then went down deeper. He reckoned he had eight feet now, but he couldn’t hold his breath much longer, what with the exertion.
Then, above his head, the water began to explode.
39
Ed swam, his lungs bursting, until he bumped his head hard on the hull of his boat. Breathing hard, he pulled himself along the deck to the stern, where there was a boarding ladder. Arriving there, he realized that he had left the dock lights on and one of them hung directly over the boat, illuminating every square foot of it.
Ed breathed hard for another half a minute, to get enough air into his lungs to shout, then he hollered, “Sally!” No response. Once more. “Sally!”
She opened the door wide and stood there, sheltered from the view from the house next door. “Ed?”
“Turn off the dock lights, then the inside lights, and stay low and well away from the windows.”
“Done!” she shouted back and closed the door. A moment later the dock lights went off, then the interior lights. Ed, who was freezing now, pulled out the boarding ladder built into the stern, climbed up and over, and lay in the darkened cockpit, heaving in air and trying to gain strength. Finally, he was able to crawl forward through the saloon and down the companionway ladder to the head below, where he showered off the salt water and rubbed himself down with a thick, dry towel. Then he shucked off his wet clothes and wrapped the towel around himself, waiting for what remained of his body heat to warm him.
That done, he found a change of clothes and got into some khakis and a polo shirt, dry underwear and socks, and a spare pair of Top-Siders. He found a bucket and stuffed his wet clothes into it, and tossed it into the cockpit. He crawled back up the stairs and into the saloon, where he found a bottle of whiskey, poured himself one, and sat on the floor, drinking it and pondering his circumstances. He had one more lap to run in this race: from the boat, up the boardwalk, across the front porch, and into the house, where the thought of a warm woman waiting helped him recover his strength.
He transferred his pocket things from wet to dry pockets, then he realized that somewhere, on the run or the swim over, he had lost his 9mm auto from its holster. He made his way back below, and using his flashlight, lifted the mattress on the double bunk, tapped in the combination of the safe there, and retrieved a .380 pistol and another belt and holster. He strapped it on, secured the safe, and crawled back above.