“Okay, already, we give up,” said Phil. “Where is it?”
“In the river,” John said triumphantly, “probably a good hundred or hundred and fifty miles back.”
“And why is that?” asked Gideon.
“Because somebody threw it in… along with Scofield.”
“You’ve lost me,” Phil said.
“It wasn’t Scofield that tossed Maggie overboard,” John said. “It couldn’t have been. He was already in the river. Someone threw him in too.”
“But she smelled his pipe tobacco,” Phil pointed out.
“Maybe she smelled someone else’s pipe tobacco,” John said. “Or maybe she imagined it. She imagined she heard scuffling, didn’t she? No, Arden was gone. Dead.”
“And you know this, how?” asked Gideon.
“Well, I don’t know it-” He smiled. “It’s what you’d call an ‘unverified supposition,’ of which you’ve made plenty, Doc – but it all adds up, and it explains a few things too. Scofield’s room hadn’t been slept in last night, remember? Well, the reason’s obvious: he never went to bed, probably never went back to his room at all. He was up here, probably asleep-”
“Probably zonked out of his mind,” amended Phil.
“Probably, which would have made it even easier for someone to throw him off.”
“But why?” Gideon asked.
“And who?” said Phil.
John shook his head. “That I can’t tell you. I’m not there yet.”
“And what then? Then he, whoever it was and for whatever reason, went downstairs and Maggie heard him, and he threw her over too? And then jumped in himself?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m assuming. Unless more than one person was involved, which is something to keep in mind.”
“But how did he get back on the ship?” Gideon asked. “When we got Maggie out of the water, everybody was standing there, perfectly dry. Everybody except Scofield.”
John shrugged. “Hey, look, all I can tell you is what I can tell you.”
“Why get rid of the chair?” Phil asked.
“Ah, see, that’s a crucial part of it. Scofield must have been cracked on the head, or knifed, or something that involved blood, and naturally it got on the chair. So it had to go too, or somebody was sure to realize what happened. Now, then – What?” he said in response to the dubious looks being directed at him. “You don’t buy it?”
“It’s not that I don’t buy it,” Phil said gingerly. “It’s plausible. That is, it’s not im plausible, but-”
“John, I think what Phil is getting at is that we could use a little verifiable supposition at this point,” Gideon said. “What are we supposed to be witnesses to? What are we going to be deposed on? A chair that wasn’t there?”
“If you guys would let me finish, you’d find out.” He cleared his throat. “Now, gentlemen, may I direct your attention to the, what do you call it, the stanchion… no, not the one you got caught on, Phil. The other one.”
They looked at it. Like its companion six feet away, it was a foot-long piece of angle iron attached at its bottom end to a metal plate, which was then solidly bolted to the floor – that is, to the top of the roof. Two parallel holes had been drilled in its upper end, and through them one of the two guy wires that stabilized the smokestack had been pulled, knotted, and snipped off.
“Not the stanchion itself,” John said, when there was no response, “the floor near it. Over here.”
“These spots, you mean?” Phil asked. “Is that what you’re talking about?”
“Damn right, that’s what I’m talking about. Doc, what do they look like to you?”
Gideon shrugged. “Could be anything.”
“Pretend you’re a famous forensic anthropologist. Pretend you’re looking for clues.”
“Well, I know what I’m supposed to think. I’m supposed to think that’s blood, right? And it could be blood, I guess.” Hands on his knees, he leaned closer. “Could also be old tomato juice or ketchup or-”
“What would ketchup be doing up here?” Phil asked. “They don’t even use ketchup in Peru.”
“That’s not the point,” John said petulantly. “The thing is, I’m betting it is blood, and I’m betting it’s Scofield’s. See, there’s some more spatter over here, right on the very edge. It was nighttime. Whoever did this wouldn’t have seen them and wouldn’t have worried about them anyway, because who’s going to notice a few spots on the floor?”
“But you did,” said Gideon.
“Damn right I did. I already took pictures, and I wanted you to witness the spots before I collected the blood. I’d be real surprised if a DNA test doesn’t show it’s Scofield’s.”
Gideon nodded doubtfully. “Well, a DNA test would settle it, all right. That’ll be a long time coming, though.”
“The blood’s all dry,” Phil said. “How do you collect dried blood?”
“Not a problem,” John said. “Watch and learn.”
From the manila envelope he took some things he had gotten from Vargas: a single-edged razor blade, several sheets of white paper, and a few letter-size envelopes, the latter items bearing an impressive, thickly embossed Amazonia Cruise Lines logo.
With the razor he scraped the crusty brown spots near the stanchion onto one of the sheets, and the ones near the edge of the roof onto another. Both sheets were then folded and refolded to keep the material inside, and put into the smaller envelopes, which were then placed in the larger manila one.
“You’ll notice that I didn’t seal the envelopes yet,” he explained for Phil’s benefit. “I’ll use some water from the sink instead of licking them. I don’t want to take a chance of contaminating them with my DNA.”
“I knew that,” Phil said.
The manila envelope and its contents were deposited on one of the alcove shelves in John’s cabin. His air-conditioner, which the heat-loving John had previously set at mid-range, was now turned up to maximo. “The cops better appreciate this,” he said. “I’m gonna freeze tonight.”
“Yeah,” Gideon said, “the temperature might plummet all the way down to ninety. Maybe Vargas can get you a couple of blankets.”
TWENTY-TWO
“I’m still having trouble with the pipe tobacco,” Phil said. “Maggie seemed pretty sure she smelled it.”
“After someone suggested it to her,” Gideon pointed out.
They had gone from John’s cabin, barely big enough to hold the three of them, to the deserted salon, first stopping at the dining room buffet table to bring out glasses of water and a basket of fruit to snack on – bananas, tangerines, and some objects that looked like cucumbers, but which Phil said had fluffy insides that tasted like lemon-flavored cotton candy, which they did.
“Yeah, someone,” John said, and looked meaningfully up at them from the tangerine he’d been peeling. “Mel.”
“But she even knew the brand,” Phil said.
“Sure, that’s what she thinks now. But you have to remember, she was in a state of shock at the time. She didn’t remember any smell until Mel brought it up.”
“So you’re voting for Mel?” Gideon said.
“No, but I wouldn’t rule him out either. He was pretty ticked off at him over the book, don’t forget that.”
“Tell me someone who wasn’t ticked off at him,” Phil said. “What about the screwing over he was giving Tim on his dissertation?”
“That’s true,” John agreed. “And Duayne had something against him too.”
“He did?” said Phil.
“Oh, sure, you could see it right off,” Gideon said. “When Scofield started talking about his daughter – Duayne’s daughter – Duayne looked as if he wanted to kill him then and there.”
“Oh yeah, you guys mentioned that before. I never noticed it.”
Gideon smiled. That was the way Phil was, quick to see the good side of people, unobservant to the point of obtuseness about seeing the other. “I assume she told her father some things about Scofield’s behavior that got him upset.”
“Not too hard to imagine what,” John said. “Okay, so if they all had it in for Scofield-”