CHAPTER TWENTY
The Rose was sitting out there in Gloucester Harbor swinging lazily around her hawser like a pregnant duck. Joe had two men staked out watching her, They'd spoken to other crews as well. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of the men of the Rose. Nor had the harbormaster. This didn't surprise me. I considered that the Rose had been just a bit too easy to find, just a wee bit too conspicuous. I departed the harbor with Mary and we drove down through Manchester. We headed along Rudderman's Lane.
"No answer at all? How many times did you try?"
"Once. The operator said the phone had been disconnected. Either Laura Kincaid has changed numbers-getting another unlisted one-or else-hah! I was right. Look."
The Kincaid abode was for sale. The sign was in front, and the downstairs curtains were all drawn,. We stopped and got out to look. Mary drooled over it.
"Gee Charlie, I wonder what they're asking for it."
"I figure half a million minimum. If you think it's nice outside, you should see the interior."
We walked around. If anyone asked what we were doing, we had a perfect excuse. The lawn was as trimmed as ever. New grass was beginning to sprout thickly over the ugly scar in the lawn where the oil tank had been put in. Mary said she wondered where Laura had gone. I was wondering the same thing. Out of curiosity I rang the bell. Waited. Rang again. We heard the same distant pealing of Westminster chimes, but nothing else. Nobody home.
"Level with me, Charlie. What the hell's going on? I want to know. Now. I'm sick of all this screwing around. What the hell's going on in your mind?"
"A number of things. One: I don't think Laura Kincaid is as rich as she led me to believe. I don't know why I think that, I just do. Two: wherever Jim Schilling is, he's not going to come back to the Rose for a long time. The Coast Guard search, and the watch on the Buzarski place when the pinch takes place-will all tell him that the Rose is poison. If he's going to run any more batches, it'll be by some other means."
"Oh wait. I forgot to tell you, but while you were on your little cruise, Joe and I looked over your notes and your spare chart of Billingsgate Sound. We came up with a pretty neat theory to explain how the boat happened to get grounded on the shoal in the first place."
When we were home she showed me. She took a pair of dividers and placed one point on Billingsgate where we'd first seen the stranded boat. She then extended the other leg toward Wellfleet Harbor.
"Now, Charlie, I remember you said that Penelope was lucky to make it into Wellfleet without sinking."
"Right. She barely scooted in."
"Now you also said, from looking at the pictures you took of her, that she'd been near sinking before."
"That line of oil slick could've happened either after her collision or after leaving Billingsgate Shoal. It probably happened after she struck."
"So she came close to sinking twice, in all probability. Assuming she got this far almost sinking, it's then reasonable to assume that she could have traveled about the same distance the first time, right?"
"Ah hah! Yes, yes. You're saying that the point where she struck is the same distance from Billingsgate as Wellfleet."
"Look."
She drew the far point of the dividers in a big circle on the chart. The point swept past the neck of Great Island, went out into the bay, swung back, and came to rest within the circular dotted line on the chart encircling the zone marked Prohibited Area. And right smack in the middle of it was the symbol of a wreck and the words target vessel, do not approach within 1000 yards. It was a clever bit of reasoning. If correct, it meant that the Penelope (now the Rose) had struck on the wreck.
"Wouldn't it make sense, Charlie, to go to a place that's prohibited?"
"It sure would. Especially at night. If you had a rendezvous to keep, it'd be perfect, knowing no other vessel's going to come within a thousand yards of where you are."
A lot of small craft violate the warning during the day, especially fishermen because the wreck attracts fish and lobster. But at night it would be just about foolproof. And they could use the old wreck as a drop too; hide the stuff inside it and scoot, then the pickup could take place hours later.
"Sure. But supposing they had an accident during the rendezvous and struck part of the wreck, or the rocks around it. Then they would probably head for the nearest harbor."
"Uh huh. But if they were taking on Water too fast they would know they could never make it, so they'd head for the nearest safe place, which happened to be Billingsgate."
We looked at the chart. Mary drew her fingernail along the easternmost edge of the shoal.
"They slid the boat up here in the falling tide," she said. "Then they worked on the hull or whatever in the dark."
"And I happened to see them. I bet they still had the guns aboard too. I think that's why Allan Hart died."
"Really, how come?"
"Well, they're sitting in the harbor waiting to get the hull fixed and who appears but a diver, poking around under their hull. Also, do you remember the diving cap Allan was wearing? Remember it was loaned to him, a U.S. Navy cap?"
"They saw it and panicked."
"Could have happened. They could, have beaned him right there in the harbor thinking he was on to them."
"But why did they let the boat be hauled up into that place?"
"What choice did they have? They had to skedaddle and you can't do that with a boat that's going to sink. They had a quick patch job done and then split. We saw them leaving. I've never seen a boat more determined to make time than the Penelope was."
“So you think our theory is pretty good?" she asked.
"I think it's just dandy. I had considered the Longstreet before but never in a specific way. Your little explanation seems to put the cap on it. Also, they haven't shelled the wreck in two years, so even though it's officially prohibited, and no doubt treacherous, it's safe from bombs. Yeah-you and your brother are to be congratulated."
“You're pretty sure Rose is a decoy?"
"Yep. I bet you Schilling and his people are operating out of Plymouth. It's pretty far from Gloucester; it's near Boston and Southie, and it's big."
"Well we're going to drop this thing anyway, right?"
The phone rang; it was Brian Hannon.
"Just touching base, Doc. Remember, don't go anywhere far without letting me or my office know, huh? I've got people watching your house and loved ones. You try to go
anywhere, I'm gonna follow you like B.O."
"You remind me a bit of B.O."
"That's not funny."
I thanked him and hung up.
"I wonder if Jim's put Whimsea up for the winter yet?"
"One more fishing trip?"
I nodded.
"My hand's almost as good as new. That means I'll be returning to work shortly. I'd like to enjoy thoroughly what little screw-off time is left to me. I think I'll give him a jingle."
But before I reached the phone, it rang out.
"This Doctor Adams?"
"Yes, who's this?"
"Now listen heer, Doctor. I'm tremendous upset you set yer goons ta watchin' that barn, don't ya know? They're muckin' up me plans. Now you call 'em off or there'll be the devil pay. You tell 'em. I was kind the first time but twawnt be again-"
The line went dead.
"Who was that?"
"Wrong number," I answered, and dialed Jim DeGroot.
"I am amenable to such an excursion, especially since you have volunteered to buy all the gas," said Jim languidly as he stretched his feet out on the rattan stool of his screen porch. We were sitting out in the fall sunshine, watching the colors beginning to turn, and exercising our livers. "But we'd better do it this weekend 'cause it's getting close to the end of the season. Think there'll be any stripers there?"