“You’re sick!” Aldous spat.
“Am I? You’ve bought into the legend of pirates and their swashbuckling adventures since you were a kid. Look at your normal mode of appearance. You’re not married and never were. You own all kinds of ships. You’re rich, and you’re rich because of the sea. You know the Dragonslayer, you know Savannah and the river. And you know your pirate history. Come on, Aldous. You want to live a fantasy. You probably imagined from the first that you could kidnap a girl and convince her you were a charming rogue, an Errol Flynn or a Johnny Depp. But you could never get the right girl.”
Aldous Brentwood’s eyes widened with incredulity as he stared at Malachi. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” he shouted. “And I sure as hell don’t know what this scarf—that isn’t mine—means!”
“It was used as a blindfold, Aldous,” Malachi said. “Poor Felicia cried—cried in fear and terror and despair—when she was bound in a cabin on one of your ships. She cried, and she left traces of her DNA to prove that you were her killer.”
“I’m not—and that wasn’t on my yacht!” Aldous protested. “The police were on my yacht.” His eyes narrowed. “They didn’t find anything there—unless it was planted!”
“Planted by the police?” Malachi asked, raising an eyebrow.
“By the police,” Aldous agreed energetically. “Or...or someone!” He pointed at Malachi. “Or you. You! We don’t know you—you don’t belong here. You’re not one of us. Maybe you planted it on the yacht!”
“Aldous, get over it. I was the one who found the scarf, but I wasn’t in Savannah when this spree of kidnapping and murders began,” Malachi told him.
“But you found it, right? You went on my boat illegally. I don’t know the law all that well, but I know you can’t use evidence in court when you got it illegally. And don’t you get it? You’re harassing the wrong person. I didn’t do any of this. I’m innocent—I swear it!”
Malachi decided wearily that he believed him. Aldous was passionate in his denial. But he pushed a little further.
“Actually, I’m not a cop. I’m a civilian and I thought I heard you screaming on your yacht. I went out to see if you needed help. I saw that scarf, and took it in case you’d been kidnapped or injured—one victim was a man, you know—and it meant something. I gave it to the police.”
“That’s the biggest crock I’ve ever heard,” Aldous sneered.
Malachi shrugged. “Maybe. We know you have all the right credentials—and a rowboat and a scarf with a victim’s DNA.”
Aldous shook his head. “But...it’s not me. I didn’t do it.”
“So, how did your rowboat wind up loose and how did the scarf wind up on your yacht?”
“I don’t know! I’m telling you, someone put them there,” Aldous said. “I swear to you, I know nothing about that scarf.”
“Who else is on your yacht on a regular basis?” Malachi asked.
“I have a cleaning crew that comes in once or twice a month.” He paused. “There are ten berths there, so one of the other owners could have gotten on my yacht. And, then, of course—”
Aldous broke off. He looked ill.
“And then, of course—what?”
“Gus, Bootsie and Dirk. The three of them had keys to the dock,” he said. “They’re my best friends. They were always welcome on my yacht.”
Something cold hardened inside Malachi. Aldous could be lying, trying to shift the blame.
But he didn’t know; he didn’t have a definite sense that yes, he was guilty, or no, he was innocent. He believed Roger, and even though he wasn’t completely certain, he leaned toward believing Aldous.
That left Dirk or Bootsie.
Or...
Someone else who was always at the Dragonslayer, someone who knew everything about the way it ran, day in and day out.
Grant Green, Macy Sterling, Jerry Sullivan.
Macy? Doubtful—unless she was someone’s accomplice. Grant? Not around during the day. And yet, that could mean he was able to be anywhere else, without even having to slip away.
Jerry Sullivan, the bartender, friendly, ever listening, knowing everything and everyone. Always there from lunch until closing.
“Aren’t there any cameras around that river that might’ve been aimed at my Lady Luck?” Aldous asked him. “I’m telling you—someone was on my boat and planted that scarf.”
“Say it was planted, and the police didn’t do it. Who would it have been?”
Aldous shook his head, lost and dejected. “I...I don’t know. All I can tell you is that I’ve never attacked anyone, I just happen to be bald, and I don’t have any fantasies about being a pirate,” he said.
“I’m going to see what I can do for you, Aldous.” Malachi got to his feet.
“You’re going to let me go?”
“I’m going to ask that you stay here for the moment. They’ll get you some coffee.”