for them when they went out. You forget how hard it is to find a baby-sitter once you don't have to use 'em anymore. The wife and I figured they'd wind up married sooner or later—I mean, as soon as the divorce was final. I was real sorry when they broke up."
"When did that happen?"
He shrugged. "Not long ago, I guess. Week before last maybe. Linda came over and they had a hell of a row. I heard 'em yellin' back and forth. As long as they'd been together, I'd never heard 'em exchange so much as a cross word. When they left, Linda's kids was both cryin' fit to kill."
"Did he say what the fight was about?"
"Not really. He was real upset about it. I figured it had something to do with work, but he never said what. All he told me was that sometimes a man has to do what's right no matter what."
"And Linda Decker hasn't come back around?"
"No. Not even after the article about the fire was in the paper. That kinda surprised me. I expected to see her. I mean, they'd had a fight and all, but I woulda swore she'd care about what happened to him. Course, she mighta been out of town and just didn't hear about it. That could be it."
"So you haven't seen her at all?"
"Nope. Not since the night they had that fight."
"Do you know if anyone from the department has talked to her?"
Corbett shook his head and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. "I doubt it. You know how it is. After the fire some guys came around lookin' for the next of kin, and Linda wasn't that. I gave 'em his wife's name, and Linda's too, although I got the feeling that there wasn't much chance anybody'd be interested in talkin' to an ex-girlfriend. I was gonna give it to your detective friends this morning, but they said the same thing, that the wife's name was enough. Said they'd get Katherine to identify the body."
"Kramer and Davis didn't bother to take Linda Decker's name?"
"Maybe they wrote it down. I don't recollect exactly, but they said that with an accident like this the wife would be all they'd need."
An accident. Jim Harrison at Harbor Station had called it that too, but that was a Coast Guard finding made in a vacuum with no knowledge of an ex-girlfriend and an ex-wife. A jealous ex-wife.
"Somebody already mentioned that to me," I said. "Something about the gas-fume sensor or the blowers being out of commission. What do you think?"
Red Corbett tossed the butt of the second cigarette into the water with a contemptuous shake of his head. "Well sir," he said finally. "It sure don't sound like the Logan Tyree I knew."
I had been chatting easily with Red Corbett, but that remark put me on point. He had my undivided attention. That kind of comment is a shot in the arm for homicide detectives. It's what makes them go combing through whole catalogs of victims' friends and acquaintances. Something in the circumstances surrounding the death that doesn't fit, something that isn't quite right.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Logan loved that boat. He worked on her and tinkered with her every spare minute. He kept her shipshape."
"You mean if something wasn't working right, he would have noticed right off and gotten it fixed."
"You're damn right!"
"Did you tell Detectives Davis and Kramer that?"
Corbett laughed. "Are you kiddin'? I didn't tell them two nothin'. They didn't ask."
I felt like I had stumbled into something important, and I didn't want to let it loose. "You wouldn't happen to have this Linda Decker's address and phone number, would you?" I asked.
Corbett gave me a wily toothless grin. "I sure do. Like I said, me and the wife looked after her kids a couple of times. Linda lived with her mother and she left us her mother's name, address, and phone number just in case there was an emergency. We never had any call to use it, but it's still written down inside the cover of the phone book. You want it?"
I nodded. Corbett turned and walked unsteadily back toward his boat. In a few minutes he reappeared on deck, trailed by a woman who appeared to
"When did that happen?"
He shrugged. "Not long ago, I guess. Week before last maybe. Linda came over and they had a hell of a row. I heard 'em yellin' back and forth. As long as they'd been together, I'd never heard 'em exchange so much as a cross word. When they left, Linda's kids was both cryin' fit to kill."
"Did he say what the fight was about?"
"Not really. He was real upset about it. I figured it had something to do with work, but he never said what. All he told me was that sometimes a man has to do what's right no matter what."
"And Linda Decker hasn't come back around?"
"No. Not even after the article about the fire was in the paper. That kinda surprised me. I expected to see her. I mean, they'd had a fight and all, but I woulda swore she'd care about what happened to him. Course, she mighta been out of town and just didn't hear about it. That could be it."
"So you haven't seen her at all?"
"Nope. Not since the night they had that fight."
"Do you know if anyone from the department has talked to her?"
Corbett shook his head and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. "I doubt it. You know how it is. After the fire some guys came around lookin' for the next of kin, and Linda wasn't that. I gave 'em his wife's name, and Linda's too, although I got the feeling that there wasn't much chance anybody'd be interested in talkin' to an ex-girlfriend. I was gonna give it to your detective friends this morning, but they said the same thing, that the wife's name was enough. Said they'd get Katherine to identify the body."
"Kramer and Davis didn't bother to take Linda Decker's name?"
"Maybe they wrote it down. I don't recollect exactly, but they said that with an accident like this the wife would be all they'd need."
An accident. Jim Harrison at Harbor Station had called it that too, but that was a Coast Guard finding made in a vacuum with no knowledge of an ex-girlfriend and an ex-wife. A jealous ex-wife.
"Somebody already mentioned that to me," I said. "Something about the gas-fume sensor or the blowers being out of commission. What do you think?"
Red Corbett tossed the butt of the second cigarette into the water with a contemptuous shake of his head. "Well sir," he said finally. "It sure don't sound like the Logan Tyree I knew."
I had been chatting easily with Red Corbett, but that remark put me on point. He had my undivided attention. That kind of comment is a shot in the arm for homicide detectives. It's what makes them go combing through whole catalogs of victims' friends and acquaintances. Something in the circumstances surrounding the death that doesn't fit, something that isn't quite right.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Logan loved that boat. He worked on her and tinkered with her every spare minute. He kept her shipshape."
"You mean if something wasn't working right, he would have noticed right off and gotten it fixed."
"You're damn right!"
"Did you tell Detectives Davis and Kramer that?"
Corbett laughed. "Are you kiddin'? I didn't tell them two nothin'. They didn't ask."
I felt like I had stumbled into something important, and I didn't want to let it loose. "You wouldn't happen to have this Linda Decker's address and phone number, would you?" I asked.
Corbett gave me a wily toothless grin. "I sure do. Like I said, me and the wife looked after her kids a couple of times. Linda lived with her mother and she left us her mother's name, address, and phone number just in case there was an emergency. We never had any call to use it, but it's still written down inside the cover of the phone book. You want it?"
I nodded. Corbett turned and walked unsteadily back toward his boat. In a few minutes he reappeared on deck, trailed by a woman who appeared to
Similar Books
