His words should have made me nervous. He was telling me I was a suspect, but I couldn’t get past the questions in my mind. “It just doesn’t make any sense to me. Why would anybody want to kill Elysia? She made it home safely last night, I swear to God. How can she be dead?” I stared at Collazo, fighting the pressure that was building up in my throat again, wanting him to give me some understandable answer to this incomprehensible act.
He was shaking his head. Now his eyes refused to meet mine. “It looks very probable, Miss Sullivan, that Garrett is also dead.” He flipped through the pages of his notebook and sucked on the end of his gold pen. “According to the forensics report, the blood on the deck matched the type listed in his military records.”
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “So where’s his body?”
He shrugged. “It’s a big ocean. Sharks, currents, you name it. We don’t always find them all.”
“Okay.” My other hand hurt. I forced myself to relax my grip on my shoulder bag. “Even if you assume he’s dead, it doesn’t tell us why, or what happened to Elysia.”
“True. Nor does it tell us who fired the gun on the Top Ten. I thought perhaps you would enlighten me on that one, Miss Sullivan.”
“I’ve told you everything I know. I feel like I’ve been over and over it so many times.” I ran my fingers back through my hair at my temples. I was developing one of those behind-the-eyeballs headaches. “Detective Collazo, please, just tell me what happened to my friend.”
“I’m not at liberty to share certain details with you.”
“That’s bullshit. I’m the closest thing to family that girl had. I have a right to know what happened to her. She wouldn’t do drugs. What makes you think she was doing drugs?”
He ignored my question and let the silence drag out. I refused to let him win this one. I wasn’t going to volunteer anything more until he asked.
“These men who were questioning you, they left you alone finally.”
I finished the story up to our dropping Elysia off at Harbor House, glad to be able to fill the uncomfortable silence.
“Miss Sullivan, what you’re telling me is in direct conflict with what Mr. Long at Harbor House asserts.”
“I’m just telling you what happened.”
“That is precisely the problem.” He grasped the edge of his desk and leaned forward. “You are not telling me everything that happened.” Then he raised his voice, loud but not quite shouting, enunciating each word clearly and never taking his eyes off me. “You think you’re smart. You think I don’t know and I’ll never find out what went on out there, that I’ll never find your connection to all this. But I will, Miss Sullivan. You can count on it. I’ll be there watching your every move. There’s a great deal more to your story than what’s on the surface.”
“I’ve been straight with you. I’ve told you what I know.” My voice sounded thin and whiny.
“Right, Miss Sullivan,” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Sliding his chair back, he stood over me. “Long says the Daggett girl never arrived last night, that they have a curfew. She had never been late before, much less stayed out all night. He says he questioned all the staff and no one saw her. They have a sign-in log by the door and she never signed in.”
“No way. I saw her walk in the door and there was a person sitting there at the desk. Someone over there’s lying.”
“I quite agree with you,” he said, leaning over his desk, speaking in a hushed tone now and staring down at me, “that someone is not telling the truth.”
As I drove up Federal Highway to Sunrise on my way to Mike’s dock, I went over in my mind all the things I wished I’d said, all the clever comebacks, the questions that would have thrown Collazo off guard.
“Goddammit!” I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. I hated the way I’d reacted to Collazo’s insinuations. The man’s eyes were like laser beams. Why did I get all whiny and act guilty as hell?
I parked Lightnin’ in the half-empty lot of a pizza restaurant and crossed the street to the waterfront apartment building where Mike kept Outta the Blue. I passed through the first-floor parking garage and went out to the boat slips on the Middle River. The boat was all closed up, with the telltale water discharge indicating he had the air-conditioning running below. I pounded extra hard on the hull, and the main hatch slid open almost immediately.
Mike’s salt-and-pepper hair and straggly beard were barely visible through the translucent plastic of the spray dodger. “Who’s there? Oh, hey, Seychelle, come on down.”
After climbing through the gate in the lifelines and making my way around the bimini supports, I followed Mike down the companionway ladder closing the hatch behind me.
“Have a seat.” He pointed to one of the two swivel captain’s chairs in the main salon. He hopped comfortably about without his prosthesis, his scarred stump protruding from his shorts. He hardly ever wore the artificial leg on board, claiming his balance wasn’t good enough yet with it on. “Would you like a piña colada?” He motioned toward the full blender on the galley counter.
Down below, one could see that this boat was the home of a dock-bound bachelor who wasn’t really interested in any distance sailing. Judging from the nineteen-inch TV, VCR, CD player desktop computer, and humidor filled with cigars, I was surprised Mike hadn’t fried the wiring in the boat already.
“No thanks, I don’t have much time. Mike, I don’t know if you understood what I wanted from you, but I hope you can help me with some information.”
“Hey, look, I know I seem pretty stupid when it comes to boats, but there was a time folks thought I was a pretty smart cop. Still got lots of cop friends, too. I’ve already made a few phone calls.” He poured himself a coffee mug full of the yellow slush and hopped over to the other captain’s chair. “Hope you don’t mind. Cheers.” He took a long drink, then licked the ice off his mustache.
“This girl, Mike, she was just a kid, a great kid. I’d seen Ely come through some really bad stuff, but she was a survivor. She was going to make it. I don’t understand what happened. Neal’s missing, Ely’s dead, and this cop thinks I’m involved.”
“Give me a quick overview. What happened yesterday?”
I told him about meeting Ely, walking on the beach, and all the rest of it, up to dropping her off. “Mike, this detective, he’s making me crazy with his weird questions that aren’t even questions. I don’t mean to tell him things, but then I do.”
“What’s his name?”
“Collazo.”
“Shit, Collazo’s on this case? You haven’t been talking to him without a lawyer, have you?”
“I couldn’t reach my lawyer, and I’m trying to find out what’s going on, how an innocent girl who went home to bed could end up in the river the next morning.”
“Listen to me, Seychelle. Never, and I mean never, talk to the cops without your lawyer. Especially to him. Man, he’s a bit of a strange one, I’ve heard, but good, damn good. He pounds a suspect with details, making it sound like the case is all but wrapped up, scaring ’em shitless, but actually he just throws out little bits and then goes all silent and just waits till they can’t take it anymore. They start to fill in the silence. Then he throws ’em off guard by coming at ’em from another direction.”
“Exactly. God, he made me feel like such an idiot.”
Mike shrugged. “It’s his job, and he’s good at it. Too good. They say he’s one of those overachievers who tracks down every little shred of evidence . . . even working on his time off sometimes. If he thinks you had something to do with any of this, you’re in deep shit. You’d better have a damn good lawyer.”
“But I didn’t do anything, Mike.”