Page 51 of Alex Cross Must Die

“Is this the one?” asked Marple, her heart pounding.

“It is,” said Stephen. “Jane Doe. They found her in Rosedale a few days ago.”

He put down the shovel and picked up a huge hammer. “You ready?”

“Go ahead,” said Marple. She mouthed a simple prayer.

Stephen jammed the claw of the hammer under the coffin lid, working it around the edge, inch by inch. Slowly, with loud squeaks, the wooden top began to lift. When it was mostly free, Stephen grabbed it with both hands and pulled it all the way off. Marple leaned forward and peered inside, then leaned back with a sigh of relief. The body in the shroud was tall and slender, with narrow hips and long legs. Nothing like the petite and curvy teenager in the pictures from Zozi’s bedroom.

“Not her,” said Marple.

“That’s good,” said Stephen, wiping sweat from his forehead. “That means there’s hope, right?”

“Possibly,” said Marple. “Or she could just be buried somewhere else.” She reached under her jacket and pulled out the customary carton of Marlboros.

Stephen took the box and smiled grimly. “These’ll put me in the ground too, soon enough.”

“But not here, Stephen,” said Marple. “At least it won’t be here.”

The gravedigger looked past Marple, squinting. “Friend of yours?”

Marple turned. About fifty yards back, a young man—late teens or early twenties—was standing in the middle of the walkway, staring in their direction. He looked slim and fit. He was wearing jeans, a denim jacket, and a white ten-gallon hat. Not exactly a New York look.

“Nobody I know,” said Marple. “I didn’t see him on the ferry.”

Stephen shook his head. “Sometimes they come over on kayaks. They all think they’re gonna see something freaky—likeGhostbusters.” He started to refasten the coffin lid.

“Thanks again, Stephen,” said Marple. She headed back down the path.

“Take care now, Margaret,” said the gravedigger. “See you next time.”

As Marple watched, the cowboy turned and started walking quickly toward the dock road.

Then he started running.

CHAPTER 53

MARPLE DECIDED NOTto spook the kid with a full-on chase. But she kept her eyes on him. She watched him run past a stand of trees and the ruins of an old building. From that point to the dock road, there was no other cover. She saw him pass through the metal gate and head toward the ferry slip.

When Marple reached the dock, the young man was nowhere in sight. As she walked up the ferry ramp, a deckhand in a Yankees cap emerged from under the metal superstructure.

“Excuse me,” Marple called out. “The boy in the cowboy hat. Where did he go?”

“Sorry. I was in the head. I didn’t see anybody.”

The Yankees fan and a second deckhand—a tall kid with a red bandana across his forehead—moved to the stern and raised the ramp. The engines fired up. Marple steadied herself with one hand on the rail and moved forward. Her heart was starting to pound. Where did the cowboy go? He had to be here somewhere.

The ferry was mostly one level, with a large open space in the middle. The only vehicle aboard was a battered DOT pickup. Marple walked over and checked the front seat and footwells. As she movedback along the side of the truck, she saw a thick tarp covering the cargo bed.

There was a large bulge in the middle.

Marple felt her adrenaline rising. She inched her way to the back of the truck, grabbed a corner of the tarp, and flipped it over.

Underneath were two fat sacks of sand. Marple moved quickly to the port side. A narrow cabin with thick plastic windows ran half the length of the deck. She pushed the door open and saw a large wooden bin against the wall. She jerked the lid open. Inside was a pile of musty life jackets. She leaned over and swept her arm through the pile. Nothing.

Marple ran to the starboard side and looked out over the rail. Suddenly, she spotted an object bobbing in the grey water about twenty yards away.

She squinted.

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