“The baby is always safe with its mommy.”
“And its daddy,” she added, smiling.
Remembering that moment, LeFleur broke down. He sobbed so hard, his legs buckled. He squeezed the kangaroo close to his sternum. They hadn’t kept her safe. It was all their fault. He thought about the words of the little girl in the notebook: I will never leave you.
But Lilly had.
News
ANCHOR: Another new development in last year’s tragic sinking of the Galaxy yacht. Tyler Brewer has the details.
REPORTER: Following the news that a raft from the Galaxy has been discovered on the Caribbean island of Montserrat, the families of the victims have renewed their call to search the ocean for any remains. Today, Sextant Capital, Jason Lambert’s former company, announced that a salvage effort will begin immediately. Bruce Morris is Lambert’s former business partner, who has since taken over the firm.
BRUCE MORRIS: “We believe the recent news warrants a fuller exploration of the fate of the Galaxy. We have partnered with Nesser Ocean Explorations, the world’s top deep-ocean exploration company, to search the area where we last heard from the Galaxy, and to send down probes to the seabed. If there’s anything to be found, we will find it.”
REPORTER: Morris has cautioned that these efforts are often unsuccessful. And even if something were discovered, it’s unlikely that it would answer all the questions. But pressure from various governments and influential families has ratcheted up since that life raft appeared on Montserrat.
ANCHOR: Speaking of that, Tyler, has the man who discovered the raft been found?
REPORTER: Not as of yet. The media here ask about him every day. But so far, no response. It’s a rather small island. So it seems unlikely someone could go unseen for very long.
Land
“Good morning!” LeFleur said cheerily when the guesthouse door swung open. “Wanna go for a ride?”
“What time is it?” Dobby grumbled, rubbing his face.
“Around eight. I’m heading to the beach where we discovered the raft. I thought you might want to see it.”
Dobby sniffed deeply. He wore a black Rolling Stones T-shirt and orange running shorts.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Actually, I would. Can you give me a few minutes to get cleaned up?”
“Sure. I’ll be in the jeep.”
LeFleur had arrived with a plan. It began with getting Dobby alone, then confronting him with what he knew. He didn’t want to run into any reporters. And there was one place where he knew that wouldn’t happen.
An hour later LeFleur was steering his jeep through the darkened landscape of the exclusion zone as Dobby gazed out the window. Gone was the lush green vegetation and sherbet-colored houses of the northern side of the island, replaced by a moonlike terrain of mud and gray dunes. Occasionally the top of a streetlight or the upper half of a house could be seen poking up from the ash.
The exclusion zone was the dead half of Montserrat, a dull, empty panorama suggesting the end of one world and the beginning of another. Twenty-four years after the Soufrière Hills eruption, the area remained off-limits.
“Why are there no other cars on this road?” Dobby said.
“Only authorized vehicles.”
“The beach is beyond this?”
“Yeah,” LeFleur lied.
Dobby looked out the window. “How long ago did that volcano explode?”
“Nineteen ninety-seven.”
“I bet you never forget that year.”
“No,” LeFleur said. “We never do.”
Eventually, the jeep reached Plymouth, once the largest town on the island. Four thousand people had lived here. Shops and restaurants had thrived. Now, like Pompeii, Plymouth was defined by its ashen ruins. Oddly enough, it remained the island’s official seat of government, but its population was zero, making it the world’s only ghost-town capital.
“This is bloody awful,” Dobby mumbled.
LeFleur nodded, but kept his eyes straight ahead. Bloody awful, it was. But worse than the calculated murder of a yacht full of innocent people? He didn’t get this Dobby, the way he reacted to things. If the notebook was accurate, then Benji’s “cousin” was incredibly good at hiding his crimes—and his guilt. But the biggest question still remained: How did Dobby get off the Galaxy? How did he escape when everyone else was lost?
“Is that a church?” Dobby asked, pointing.
LeFleur slowed the jeep and saw the remains of a cathedral. “It was,” he said. He thought for a moment. “Do you want to take a look?”
Dobby seemed surprised. “All right. If you’ve got time.”
Moments later they were entering the ruined structure, which had been burned inside and out from the volcanic eruption. Light spilled through the exposed beams that once held up a roof. Some pews still lined up parallel to each other, but others were destroyed, their loose boards and rails scattered where they came apart. The floor was covered in ash. Prayer books lay open and abandoned. Here and there some green growth was spreading, the Earth reclaiming the space.
The remains of a lectern, with four steps leading up to it, stood in the center, before a large archway that was burned black.
“Go stand in that,” LeFleur suggested, “and I’ll take a picture.”
Dobby shrugged. “Nah, that’s OK.”
“Go on. When else will you be here?”
Dobby hesitated, then shuffled his boots along the ashen ground to the steps. LeFleur waited. Beads of sweat formed on his hairline. The lectern itself was inside a round enclosure, waist high, with a railing all around. One way in, one way out.
When Dobby reached the top, he rested his arms on the dirty edges. Had he been a priest, he’d have been ready for a sermon.
“Lemme grab my camera,” LeFleur said. He reached slowly around his side, took a breath, then pulled his gun from its holster. With both hands holding it steady, he aimed the barrel straight at Dobby, whose eyes widened in shock.
“Now,” LeFleur said. “What did you do to the Galaxy?”
Eleven
Land
“What are you talking about?” Dobby yelled. “Why are you doing this?”
LeFleur’s arms were shaking. He kept the gun aimed straight ahead.
“You’re responsible for all of them,” he said.
“All of who?”
“The people on the Galaxy. You killed them all. You brought a mine onto the boat, and somehow you detonated it. Now you’re going to tell me how you did it, and how you escaped.”
Dobby’s face contorted so severely that LeFleur was sure it was an act.
“I don’t understand you, man!” Dobby said. “Come on. Please. Put the gun down! Where are you getting this from?”
“Are you denying it?”
“Denying what?”
“Are you denying it?”
“Yes. Yes! I’m denying it! Jesus, come on. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tell me!”
LeFleur blew out a mouthful of air. He freed one hand from the gun and reached for the briefcase he’d carried into the church. He produced the tattered notebook and held it out as Dobby stared.
“I found it in the raft,” LeFleur said. “It’s all there.”
For the next three hours, as Dobby crouched inside the lectern, LeFleur sat on a pew and read the pages of that notebook out loud, holding the gun in his lap. Periodically, he checked Dobby’s face for a response. At the start, he seemed incredulous, but as LeFleur continued, Dobby’s shoulders slumped and his head dropped lower.