Camilla had taken my advice and gotten herself some tea. She was still ashen, but compared to Abella she looked absolutely hearty. Overall, the rest of the family came off surprisingly well. There was a serving tray on the table that held a plate of sliced cake, a coffee urn, and a pitcher of cream. Several of the mugs were in use. Were it not for their voices, kept respectfully low, and the poor, pathetic girl in their midst, it might have been just another rainy autumn day at the river for these American aristocrats.
As I studied the room, a niggling itch formed at the back of my throat. I took a head count. Nine on the island, Tim had said, including Jasper. Norton stood at attention by the living room door. That left seven. There were five people seated, plus the man by the window. Someone was missing.
“Wellington,” I said. “A word?”
Tim followed me into the foyer as the others looked on, and brought his head close to mine. “How’s it look up there?” he asked. The movement was minuscule, nothing our witnesses would notice from a distance, but I felt him rock on his feet. Whether he was keen to hear what I’d found out or nervous, I didn’t know.
“Messy,” I said. “There’s enough blood to fill a kiddie pool. If Jasper’s still alive, he won’t be for long.”
“Really?” Tim looked shocked. He dropped his gaze to the burnished floorboards. “Wow,” he said eventually. “Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting that. You thinking drugs?”
How did Abella sleep through the stabbing? How did Jasper’s attacker get him out of a second-floor bedroom without a fight? “Could be,” I said. “Nothing visible in the drawers or luggage, but we’ll see what forensics says.”
“So the guy took a knife to the gut and disappeared.”
“Looks that way. There’s no easy escape route to the ground. The house is all clear and in order, except there’s a room upstairs that’s locked.”
“That would be Jasper’s older brother, Flynn Sinclair. I tried to round him up while you were with Camilla, but he’s refusing to leave his room. I nearly had the same problem with the kid.” He cut a glance at the gorgeous teen on the couch. “She belongs to Miles Byrd—middle-aged guy with the hipster glasses,” he said. “Her dad seemed impressed I was able to coax her down here at all. I’m sure she’s dying to get back to her busy schedule of Snapchatting and brooding.”
“You told them not to use their phones, right?”
Tim nodded. “First thing.”
“Good. We don’t need folks getting the media all keyed up before we have a handle on the case.” McIntyre liked to talk about the era before cell phones, when it took hours for news of a crime to circulate in town and days to reach the rest of the county. Now witnesses could take a murder public in seconds. McIntyre’s good old days were my Shangri-la.
Tim chewed his lip. “No ETA on the Watertown team, and these people are getting antsy, Shane. I’m not sure how long I can keep them in the parlor.”
“The parlor?” I repeated, amused. “How posh.” Nodding at the ceiling, I said, “Guess that settles it. The first interview goes to Flynn.” Frankly, I was a little disappointed. My chat with Jasper’s girlfriend would have to wait. At the same time, I was eager to get to know Jasper’s family, these people who’d allowed one of their own to disappear. Behind us, a man cleared his throat. “Tell them to get comfortable,” I said, taking a step toward the room. “It’s going to be a long day.”
“There’s something else,” Tim said. “Philip Norton.”
His tone stopped my forward momentum short. “What about him?”
“I’m not sure. There’s something familiar. I thought so the minute I saw him, but I can’t put my finger on it.” He shrugged. “Could be he has one of those faces.”
“Well, if anything hits you, let me know. You get the name of that trapper?” It was a long shot, but if he’d been on the island in the hours before Jasper disappeared, we’d need to give the man a call.
“Talked to him a few minutes ago, guy by the name of Billy Bloom,” Tim said. “He was on the premises for about four hours yesterday and left after the last of the family arrived, like Norton said. I described Jasper. Bloom saw him briefly on the dock. No contact other than that. According to Bloom,” Tim said, “he found the remnants of some yellow perch, extra stinky. He went straight home to shower, then to the Riverboat for some beers.”
“Any witnesses?” I asked, though I knew the answer. The Riverboat Pub was always jammed on Friday nights.
“Matt says Bloom was in there from seven p.m. to midnight—Matt Cutts, the bartender,” Tim said. “Bloom got so hammered Matt took his keys and called his wife. I talked to her, too. Says he was snoring next to her all night and still sleeping it off this morning.”
Tim had been busy. There were benefits to his community ties, and I reminded myself to give him a pat on the back about his swift recon work later on. It would have to wait, because behind me I heard another flagrant attempt to get our attention.
“Showtime,” I said. “Ready?”
Tim nodded, and together we turned to face the room.
I liked to think we looked intimidating in our dark rain gear and heavy boots. Tim’s shoulders were muscled and his hair was slick and black from the rain. I had height and my badass facial scar to offset my freckles and frizzy hair. I wanted to send a message: this is a serious situation, and you’re getting a serious response. Only Abella stared back at us with a mixture of wonder and fear. The others looked annoyed and a little bored.
“You’ve all met my colleague. I’m BCI Senior Investigator Shana Merchant,” I said. “I’ve had a chance to take a look at Jasper’s room.”
Slowly, their stalled energy sputtered to life. They were interested in what I had to tell them, at least. That was something. “Let me start by saying we appreciate your cooperation. Based on the evidence I’ve been able to gather so far, it appears Jasper was attacked.” A sloppy sob erupted from Abella, and the man by the window rushed to her side. From her settee the other woman shot them both a look of loathing. “I can’t tell you more than that right now, but please know we’re doing everything we can,” I went on. “This is a tough situation, but with any luck we’ll find Jasper safe and sound.”
“Situation?” Camilla repeated. “You saw that bed. Someone tried to kill my grandson.”
“I assure you, we’re all on the same page about that.”
The lounging woman snorted. “I sincerely doubt we’re on the same page about anything. My grandmother is very upset. Who do I need to call to get someone from the city out here?”