Avery smiled. “I’m working. But, no, that house is, uh . . . long gone.”
Avery didn’t mention that the “house” was a ten-thousand-square-foot mansion on the beach, and that it was not “gone” as much as confiscated by the government, like every other piece of property her family had owned. She also skipped the fact that her mother was dead, her father was a crook, and that her time in New York this summer had much greater repercussions than shedding light on Victoria Ford’s guilt or innocence. Just life’s little details, Avery thought as she sipped her beer. The minor things she kept to herself when meeting new people.
Their burgers arrived. Between bites, Walt asked her, “Spending every summer in Wisconsin . . . was that a drag as a kid?”
“Just the opposite. They were the best times of my life. The sailing school was well known and prestigious. Still is today. At least it is within the small, cultish group of people who want to drill the art of sailing into their children from the time they’re old enough to walk. The wait list is years long, literally. Some of my parents’ friends jumped onto the list as soon as their kids were born. No kidding. It was the only way to get a spot. That, or your parents had a lot of money and a lot of clout.”
“Your parents had that?”
Avery shrugged. “Something like that. But however they managed to get me there, those summers were special. For me and my brother. God, he loved that place.”
Memories of Christopher momentarily distracted her. After a stretch of silence, she realized Walt was staring at her, waiting for her to continue.
“It’s right on the lake. The camp. Kids from around the country went there to learn to sail. A couple kids from England, too. I used to love their accents. When I was a kid I dreamed of moving to London just so I could talk like them. It was strange, the friends I made. We’d see each other only in the summers and never talk for the rest of the year. But as soon as the school year ended, all I wanted to do was get to Sister Bay. And when my sailing friends and I reunited each summer, it was like we were never apart. Camp kids have that sort of bond.”
“You stayed the entire summer?”
“Eight weeks. Every summer.”
“What, did you sleep in tents?”
Avery laughed. “You’re not a camp kid, are you?”
Walt shook his head. “My summers consisted of baseball in the streets of Queens. Sending me off to camp would have been like a prison sentence.”
“Only camp kids understand. No, we did not sleep in tents. We stayed in cabins, complete with bathrooms and even toilets. Yes, Wisconsin has such luxuries as running water and indoor plumbing.”
Walt opened his palms. “I’m not ripping on Wisconsin. I just don’t know anything about summer camps.”
“I’m just giving you a hard time. But the camp really did have these great big, beautiful cabins. A dozen of them—real Northwood Wisconsin log cabins where all the students stayed. Six to a cabin. Some wild things happened in those cabins.”
“I can only imagine. Through high school you did this?”
“Through college, too. I went back as an instructor.”
“Do you still sail?”
“All the time. I have a small Catalina in LA. I try to get out on the water”—Avery’s voice trailed off as her mind flashed back to the crime scene photos—“once a week.”
“What’s wrong?” Walt asked.
Avery shook her head, put her burger down, and took a sip of beer. She pointed at Walt’s glass.
“Finish that up. We need to go back to your hotel. I need to look at the crime scene photos again.”
CHAPTER 39
Manhattan, NY Saturday, July 3, 2021
THEY HURRIED BACK THROUGH THE EMPTY STREETS. AVERY WAS SILENT as she stood next to Walt in the elevator. When he opened the door to his suite, she walked over to the desk and sat down. She pulled the photos in front of her again and paged through them until she found the ones she needed, positioning them side by side on the surface of the desk.
“Look here.”
Walt leaned over her shoulder. “What am I looking at?”
“See this knot?” Avery asked, pointing to the knotted rope attached to the leg of the safe. “And these?” She pointed to the knots tied around Cameron Young’s wrists.
“Yes. The medical examiner made a note on those. Hold on.”
Walt sat down next to her and pulled the autopsy report from the box. He paged through it for a moment.
“Here.” Walt placed the report on the desk and pointed at the sentence where Dr. Lockard had made his remarks. “The medical examiner described the knots as alpine butterfly knots. He said they were commonly used in mountain climbing.”
“He’s wrong,” Avery said.
“About what?”
“They’re not mountain climbing knots, they’re sailing knots. I tie them nearly every weekend.”
“Sailing knots?”
“Yes. They’re bowline knots. I’m sure of it.” Avery looked up from the photos and spoke in a singsong voice. “Up through the rabbit hole, round the big tree; down through the rabbit hole and off goes he.”
Walt raised his eyebrows.
“It’s the jingle used to remember how to tie the knots. I learned it when I was a kid in Sister Bay. Telling you about sailing camp jogged my memory.”
“Okay,” Walt said, shrugging his shoulders. “So they’re sailing knots. What does that tell you?”
“It tells me that whoever tied them had to have used both hands.”
“Right. The medical examiner made the same point. The knots could only be tied using both hands, and it was therefore impossible for Cameron Young to have tied his own hands. It’s one of the ways we ruled out suicide.”
“So, where’s the blood?” Avery asked.