CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jock, J.D., and I were seated around my desk. I was scrolling slowly through all the pictures on Dora’s CD, looking for something that might be of use to us. There were close to a hundred photos of smiling people staring into the camera, engaged in their meals, looking out the large windows of the dining deck.
“There,” said J.D. “Isn’t that Katherine Brewster?”
I looked more closely. The photo showed a pretty blonde woman seated at a table by herself. Over her shoulder I saw the back of a man wearing a flowered tropical shirt and across the table from him was Betty Garrison. “That’s Katherine,” I said. “That’s the Garrisons sitting behind her.”
“Let’s see if we have any more of that area of the deck,” said J.D.
I scrolled through more pictures. I didn’t see Katherine or the Garrisons. But I did see an Asian man, sitting at a table with another man and a woman. “There’re our Asians,” I said. “Let me see if I can home in on their faces.”
I manipulated the photo program, bringing the face of the first man into sharper focus. “I’m pretty sure that’s the one who tried to knife me,” I said. “Let me get a look at the woman.” I played with the mouse, bringing the woman’s face into view, blowing it up some, playing with the resolution. “That’s her,” I said. “She’s the one who was with the guy on the boardwalk.”
“What about the other guy?” asked Jock. “Do you recognize him?”
I looked closer, manipulating the program some more. “No. I’ve never seen this one.”
“Can you make some prints of their faces?” asked J.D.
“Sure.” I fiddled with the program some more, cropping it so that I finally had reasonably good pictures of each of the Asians. I printed three copies of each one.
“Who do you think the third guy is?” asked J.D.
“I don’t know. But there had to have been two men involved. One of them broke the neck of Captain Prather, and I don’t think the woman would have been able to do that. She could have stabbed Katherine or Garrison, but I don’t think she could have gotten both of them.”
“You’re probably right,” said J.D. “From the time the boat veered off course until the lights went out was just a few seconds. I think the murders would have had to have taken place during the first few minutes when the confusion was at its maximum. The one on the bridge wouldn’t have had time to get to the dinner deck.”
“Let’s see what else we can find,” Jock said.
I scrolled some more. Nothing. I was at the end of the photographs.
“Do it again,” said Jock. “We might have missed something. Let’s look for anything out of the ordinary, not just Asian killers.”
I started the process again, slowly scrolling through the pictures, stopping at each one, three pairs of eyes scrutinizing each photo, looking for something, anything that would give us a hint of what had happened and who was involved. We found nothing.
“I think,” said J.D., “that we need to take a break and then go through them again. There has to be something in all those pictures that we’re not seeing. What time is it?”
I looked at my watch. “Three o’clock.”
“I need to get some paperwork finished at my office,” she said. “Why don’t we meet back here at five and take another look.”
Logan stopped by at four. Jock and I were still looking at photos on the computer, trying to catch a glimpse of something out of the ordinary; anything that would move us a step closer to understanding any connection between the murders on Dulcimer and the death of Jim Desmond.
“Is that porn?” asked Logan as he came through the door.
I laughed and explained what we were doing. “I found the Asians who tried to kill me the other day. They were on the boat that night.”
“You want a drink?” Jock asked.
“No, thanks. I’ve got to get home and pack. We’re leaving in the morning.”
Logan and Marie were driving to Tampa to start a weeklong Caribbean cruise.
“Be careful, Logan. Too much sun and sex might do you in,” I said. “
I’m willing to take that chance. Do you think the Asians are the same people who killed Desmond?”
“No way to tell. Besides, we’re not even sure Asians were involved in Jim’s death. We’ve got the connection to Laos and there was an Asian guy at the Hilton the night of the wedding, but that might not mean anything.”
“But these guys tried to kill you,” said Logan. “If they weren’t tied to Jim’s murder, why would they be after you?”
“I can’t see any other connection,” I said. “We hadn’t even begun to look into the Dulcimer murders at the time they tried to take me out.”
“Maybe,” said Jock, “they killed Jim that morning and decided to reward themselves with a dinner cruise.”
I stared at him, a smile playing at the corner of my lips.
“Nah,” he said. “I don’t believe it either. They’ve got to be connected somehow to both Jim and Dulcimer.”
“Let me see the pictures,” Logan said. “Maybe a fresh pair of eyes will see something you’re missing.”
“Have at it,” I said.
I went back to the first photo and started the slow scrolling. I stopped at the one that showed Katherine sitting behind the Garrisons and told Logan who they were. I stopped again at the picture showing the Asians. I scrolled some more.
“Wait,” said Logan. “Go back one.”
I backed up one picture and held it on the screen.
“Isn’t that the Garrisons and Katherine?” asked Logan.
I peered at the photo. It showed the back of a woman sitting across from a man with blond hair, wearing a tropical shirt. Behind the man sat a woman with long blonde hair, her back to us. A young man sat across from her facing the camera.
“You’re right,” I said. “This one was taken from behind Betty Garrison. We completely missed it.”
“Can you enlarge it so that we can get a better view of the guy across from Katherine?”
I used the mouse to crop the face of the man and then enlarged it. I sat back in my chair, surprised beyond words at the image I saw. I’d seen the young man before. In a photograph on the top of a console television set in the Brewster’s home. “I don’t believe it,” I said. “That’s Doug Peterson. Katherine’s boyfriend.”