Page 40 of Line of Sight
“Where?”
Gary smiled. “In the Acadia National Park.”
Riley grinned. “Nowwe’re getting somewhere.”
“The ranger reported seeing them in the camping ground,” Gary informed him. “They were checking on everyone staying in the vicinity.”
“Seeingthem?”
Dan nodded. “She was there with some friends.”
Riley cocked his head. “Which friends?” He widened his eyes. “No, wait, let me guess.”
Gary chuckled. “You catch on fast. According to the report, the names they gave were Greg Collins, Amy Walsh, and Jason Kelly.”
“But she wasthere,” Riley protested. “She was seen in the vicinity.”
Dan nodded once more. “And the police checked on it.”
“You’re about to tell me something else that’s going to kill another theory, aren’t you?” Riley said in a morose tone.
“We didn’t like it either. The autopsy report showed Wilson was killed in the early hours of August 17. At the time, Jennifer and the others were fishing from a boat in Bar Harbor. The boat-hire company confirmed it.”
“They could have pulled into shore, got out—”
Gary shook his head. “No. There was someone from the boating company in charge of the boat the whole time. He was showing them where to fish, helping them.”
Riley stroked his chin. “So what you’re telling me is she was there—theyallwere—butnoneof them could have done it?”
“Not exactly,” Gary corrected. “She was with three people whosaidthey were Collins, Walsh, and Kelly. I don’t see any photostats of their IDs in this report. They could have been anyone.”
“And if it wasn’t them,” Dan added, “it was someone else.”
“But who?” Riley demanded.
Dan tapped on the folder with the end of a pencil. “Someone they’re being careful not to mention. Maybe the fifth person at the concert.”
“Someone we know nothing about. But there’ll be a paper trail.Someonebooked the campsite, the boat trip.”
Riley opened his messenger bag and removed his laptop. “I’m on it. I’ll find out. Just keep your fingers crossed that they keep records going back that far.”
“Hey, now wait a minute.” Dan’s eyes sparkled. “Gary, you said there was no pattern to the victims. Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place. Because it’s starting to look as if thereisa pattern after all—not for the victims, but the suspects.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Saturday, May 24, 1997
THE QUIETknock on the library door made me jump. “Come in.” It had to be Mrs. Floyd, the housekeeper.
Father never knocked, he simply entered a room.
“Sir, you have a phone call.”
I frowned. I never received calls. It had to be some kind of salesperson.
And if it is, I will have words. She should know better than to disturb me for something so trivial.
“And? Who’s calling me?” I didn’t bother hiding my irritation.
