Next, she tried to find any type of weapon. There were rags and brooms and paper towels but nothing that could be used as a weapon. Just then, the boat’s speed increased.
CHAPTER 66
Ben took the stairs two at a time to the homicide office, bursting in breathless, halfway hoping he’d see Lainie there and that this was all a false alarm.
She wasn’t there.
“You haven’t found Lainie?” Ben asked Shea. The distress on his face gave Ben an answer he didn’t want.
“I was hoping she’d be with you. When was the last time you talked to her?”
“Yesterday, when we left here.” Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and struggled to maintain his composure. He was worried and a little scared for Lainie. Those emotions would cloud his judgment. He needed to maintain a professional detachment in spite of his feelings.
Could he?
“She sent me a text last night, telling me that her sister remembered being on a boat,” Shea said. “She asked me to check into Vine’s yacht.”
“Did you?”
“I did. He sold the yacht about ten years ago. It’s a dead end.”
“Did you talk to Evie and see if there was more to that memory?”
Shea nodded. “She couldn’t elaborate. Did Lainie indicate that she was going somewhere, talking to someone?”
“No, but something happened when she got to her car.” Ben told them about Callen West.
“West?” Shea frowned and turned to his computer. Tapping keys, he pulled up a document. “Vine sold his yacht to an Avery West. He any relation to Callen?”
“It’s his uncle. Do you know where he keeps the boat?”
“Alamitos Bay Marina.”
“Let’s go and check out the boat.”
They took two cars, Ben followed Shea and Collins across town to Alamitos Bay Marina.
Once they arrived at the marina, Shea made an interesting observation. “West’s slip is right across the bay from Vine’s house on Appian Way.” He pointed across the water.
The slip belonging to West was at the end of the dock. Ben followed. As they approached, he could see that the slip was empty. An old man was sitting on the dock.
“That’s Avery West,” Shea said. “I saw his picture in the file.” They walked up on the man.
“Mr. West, Long Beach Police. Where is your boat?”
The old man looked up at Shea. His vacant expression was not unlike someone who was lost in the confusion of Alzheimer’s. One eye was gone; there was simply an empty socket. He feared they would get nothing useful from the man.
“Mr. West, can you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
The words were clear. Ben had hope now that he’d be able to talk to them. “Where’s the boat?”
“He took it.”
“Who took it?”
“Dallas. He’s going to kill that woman.”
