Hit List (Stone Barrington #53)(31)

“That’s right,” Rawls said.

Young made his call and hung up. “The local sheriff is bringing half a dozen men. I suggest you all go to bed.”

Nobody moved.

“I think we’re still dealing with the adrenaline,” Stone said. “Would you and your men like beds, Tom?”

“No, I want to be awake when they get here. He said half an hour.”

“Would any of you like a brandy?”

“We’d better keep a clear head,” Young said.



* * *



—

The sheriff and his men arrived at the dock in due course. Young gave them his instructions. “Stone, can I borrow your car?”

“There are two in the garage, keys in them. Help yourself.” Stone poured himself another brandy and sat down.



* * *



—

Dawn was creeping in when Tom Young returned. “Come with me,” he said to Stone, Dino, and Rawls.

They followed him out the door, and he led them to Seth’s old station wagon and opened the rear door. “We found him near the ferry,” he said. “I guess somebody dumped him.” He directed a powerful flashlight at the rear compartment, and everybody got a good look at the body. “Ever seen him before?”

They all shook their heads. “No, but he’s a little like the photo we were sent.” He took the sheet of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Young, who compared it to the corpse.

“Not him,” Young said. “And he has no identification on him.”





25


Young and his men stayed for breakfast. “We’ve dispatched blood samples and prints through the sheriff’s office, so we should have the results soon.

“It’s troubling that this guy isn’t the one who’s been killing people,” Young said.

“I’ll grant you that,” Stone said. “It’s equally troubling that the dead man had an accomplice—whoever drove the body away. Why do you think he was dumped on the island?”

“Because the other guy knew we’d be searching all vehicles getting on the ferry this morning, and a body would be hard to hide.”

The phone rang. Stone answered it and handed it to Tom Young. “The sheriff.”

“Morning, Harv. Whataya got for me?” He listened and took notes. “Okay, we’ll take the body to Augusta for an autopsy. Thanks for all your help last night.” He hung up.

“The guy’s name was James Weaver, a former marine. That’s why his prints were on record. There was no DNA hit, though.”

“Did they get an address for Weaver?”

“No, we’ll take care of that.”

“Search the Veterans Administration medical records,” Stone suggested. “He didn’t look all that healthy to me.”

Dino spoke up. “That’s because he was dead. People generally don’t look their best under those circumstances.”

“Thank you, Dino, good point.”

Young excused himself, and he and his men left for the dock.

“Dino, you want to see what your people can do with James Weaver, ex-marine?”

“Sure,” Dino said, and sat down with his phone.

The doorbell rang. Stone checked the peephole before opening it. Lance Cabot stood there, and Stone opened it. “Good morning,” Lance said.

“Come in, Lance. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Already had it,” Lance replied. “I’d love some strong coffee, though. Did I see uniformed police officers leaving your dock on a boat?”

“State police,” Stone said. “We had an intruder last night, who ended up dead, courtesy of Dino.”

Dino gave Lance a little wave from his chair.

“Tell me all of it,” Lance said. “Maybe I can help.”

Stone told him all of it, and Lance sent an e-mail with James Weaver’s name in it. “We cast a wider net than the police departments,” he said, sipping his coffee.

Dino hung up. “My office got the same stuff as the Maine guys,” he said. “We search the same computer sites.”

Lance’s phone rang; he stepped away to talk, then came back after a few minutes. “Weaver was black ops for us and the FBI while he was a marine,” he said. “Mostly Afghanistan and Iraq, but some domestic stuff for the Feds.”

“Maybe that’s where he met Sig Larkin,” Stone said.

“Right. They were contemporaries at the Bureau.”

“Larkin can afford to hire some associates,” Stone said.

“Looks as if he did so,” Lance said. “And it’s my guess that the vehicle driver last night was not Larkin; travel times don’t work.”

“Just the telephones,” Dino said.

“When are you going back to New York?” Lance asked.

Stone looked around. “What about it, people? We’re blown here, anyway.” Everybody made agreeable noises.

“Today,” Stone said to Lance.

“Can I hitch a ride? It’s a long hop in the chopper.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, I want to see your new airplane.”

“Then you shall.”