“Yes, Amos. I’m sure. The gent was a hundred and two.”
“You’re telling me this guy bought a new boat when he was eighty-six?”
“What, you think you lose all interest in life just because you’re old?”
“We’re talking about a boat, not life.”
Zia shot Noah an exasperated look. “You see what I have to put up with?”
Noah said again, “Tell me what happened.”
“What we know came from his live-in carer.” Zia flipped a page. “Jenna Greaves, age twenty-nine, gives a Miramar home address. Specializes in late-stage home care. Works all over the place. Or she did. Ms. Greaves became employed by Dino Vicenza nineteen months ago. When the old man was up to it, Ms. Greaves drove him to the Santa Barbara harbor, wheeled his chair out to the boat. She gained her pilot’s license, apparently paid for by Vicenza. She took him on short cruises, nothing much. Out to the Channel Islands, tour up the coast a ways. Two weeks back, he sold the boat to his attorney, Sol Feinnes.”
Amos said, “I know that name.”
“Local guy. Born and raised in San Lu. I’ve come up against him a couple of times in court. Straight shooter. He doesn’t handle much criminal. He’s okay, for a guy who walks the wrong side of the legal line.”
Amos said, “So Feinnes bought the boat . . .”
“Vicenza owned a dockage off Shell Beach. Had it since the early seventies. They don’t sell them anymore. Worth a small fortune now. Last week, Ms. Greaves brought the boat up the coast. The old man had apparently entered into serious decline. She was clearing the decks, so to speak.” Zia pointed to the nearest breach in the hull. “The attack happened two nights later. Problem is, the new owner hadn’t bothered with some of the minor details of boat ownership.”
Amos nodded. “No insurance.”
“There you go. Ain’t it a shame when bad things happen to defense attorneys? I cried real tears.”
“So the boat is here . . .”
“Declared a total loss. Slated for the next police auction, which is in two days.” Zia started for the stern ladder. “Want to have a look inside? I got to warn you, it only gets worse.”
Noah followed Zia up the ladder, wondering why Amos had brought him to survey such tragic wreckage. Amos remained on the tarmac, observing them from below. When Zia climbed over the stern railing, he called down, “You coming?”
“I’m fine here.”
“We’re twelve miles from the Pacific, bro. No chance of seasickness.”
“You’re not even close to being funny.”
Zia winked at Noah. “Suit yourself.”
The rear deck faced three partial floors. The control system was duplicated: one in a pilot’s cabin on the middle deck, the other on a flying bridge high as a seagoing tower.
Both sets of controls were smashed beyond repair.
Zia led Noah across the trashed outer living area and up the main steps. He gave Noah a few minutes to survey the demolished flying bridge. Then they descended what was left of the internal staircase and entered the main parlor. The floor was shattered in several places, and all the windows were smashed. The floor was ribbed with cracks and fissures that ran the entire length of what once had been a very elegant chamber. Around the edges were downward-aimed holes that exposed both the bilges and the warehouse. Zia pointed at one corner of a fuel tank anchored to the lower hull and said, “Good thing they directed their firepower outwards. Else we’d be hunting the seabed for scraps the size of kitty litter.”
The secondary control system was placed inside an air-conditioned cabin, there for use in inclement weather. All four screens were smashed. Only one window remained intact. The white-leather seats were ripped open. Steering wheel shattered. Ditto for the gauges, engine controls, even the compass.
“Ax, best we can figure.” Zia pointed to the stairs leading into the main cabin, then glanced back. “Look who found his courage.”
Amos pretended not to hear him. “Somebody was sure upset over something.”
Zia started down. “It gets worse.”
The dining area, kitchen, corridor leading to the two master suites . . .
Wreckage.
“Forensics did a quick and dirty. No reason to do more. Nobody on board. Nothing the caregiver or new owner could identify as missing. Surviving family has shown no, repeat no, interest in even checking it out.”
