Without a doubt, he'd gone off the rails a while ago. And May was wondering if this was because of the first murder that had been committed. In terms of timing, the stress might have had an effect. And because of that, he'd kept a low profile since then, until now. Maybe he thought enough time had passed, and he’d felt compelled to kill again.
They climbed out of the car in the marina's parking lot and headed down to the water. May saw that several of the boats were still occupied. There were a lot of tourists thronging around. Music was playing from somewhere along the shores of the lake. She guessed that private security people would be patrolling at this hour, keeping things safe as the evening darkened. So, they would need to be active, too, walking and searching for him.
"Joseph Keenan. Do you know where he is?" she asked the closest employee, the attendant at the gate.
He frowned thoughtfully.
"I think he went out that way. Someone's boat came loose from their moorings." He pointed to the north of the marina.
Grateful for the direction, she and Owen started their search, keeping their eyes peeled for this man. At least now, they had a good visual indicator, in the form of a boat that was being returned to its berth.
There, ahead. May saw the ripples, the hint of a wake, that indicated someone was returning a boat. Perhaps this was him. She increased her speed, striding across the marina's paved walkway. The small motorboat was now being turned, ready for parking in its berth.
And when they looked at the man who was at the controls, May knew this was their suspect. Apart from the blue cap perched on his head, he looked identical to the photo.
"Joseph Keenan?" May called out.
The man spun around at the sound of his name. He stared at them, his eyes wide with fear. Then, he yanked at the throttle, fighting with the controls as he hurriedly altered direction. And then, speed. The motorboat lurched forward, away from the pier.
"Stop! We need to speak to you. We’re police!" Owen shouted.
But Keenan gunned the motor and the boat surged forward. He was getting away! May's heart raced as the boat sped off from the marina. They had to catch up.
The boat was heading out into open water, and it was clear that Keenan must have a reason for trying to get away. He was not going to wait to be questioned by police, and he obviously didn't want to give any answers. They had to chase him down, as fast as they could. Eagle Lake was huge, and there were more than twenty marinas dotted around its shores and hundreds of other places where you could pull to shore and disembark all alone. He could easily disappear, and do so for a long time, if he got enough of a head start.
May looked around in a panic, hoping a solution would present itself.
A couple of berths further down, she saw a boat sales kiosk. Speedboats, new and second hand, were being offered for sale, and for a test run on the waters.
A client was busy returning a sleek and new-looking speedboat. Assessing it as she rushed over, May guessed it would be fast enough to catch the fleeing suspect. But now, they needed to explain to the salesman why they wanted it.
Honesty would be the quickest, May thought.
"We need to take this boat," she said, as she ran up to the salesman. "It's an emergency. We're police officers, and we need to catch a suspect."
Already, Owen had his badge out and was holding it close, so that the astonished man, who had a large, bushy mustache and a genial demeanor, could see it clearly.
"Police?" he echoed, astounded.
"Yes," May said. "We need to take that boat. Right now. We can pay you for the ride, but we'll need to use this boat now."
"But . . . but it's a test model. I can't just allow it out on the lake. Have you ever sailed before?"
"I'm an experienced sailor," Owen tried to reassure the worried salesman, as May squinted into the darkness, trying to keep track of which way the suspect had fled. She could see his wake—but only just. It was a faint, shimmering outline in the darkening water.
"We shouldn't be long. With any luck, only a few minutes." Owen smiled winningly.
The other boat was soon going to be invisible. The longer this salesman stalled, the more minutes it was likely to be. Panic clenched at her insides as she thought they might lose him. All he had to do was speed to shore elsewhere, hotfoot it onto land, and if he was lucky and prepared, they might never find him.
May's gaze flickered to the fleeing boat again. "Please," she said, "we're running out of time. We're on a murder case. We really need to question him. Imagine if your clients started leaving this area because of an unsolved murder? It has business repercussions," she pleaded.
The man sighed. And then, suddenly, he relented. "I guess you can use it. You'll need life jackets. And to sign this disclaimer. Just be careful. I don't want any damages," he said, handing Owen the key."
To May's consternation, the man shoved a clipboard at her. It held a very long, very complicated looking form.
May quickly scribbled her signature, hoping she wasn't signing her life away. Or committing her life savings to any damages incurred. Not that she had many of those. Life was expensive. And faced with the choice between buying a good winter jacket and a pair of boots, or squirreling money away, May found herself going for the clothing, every time. After all, being out and about so much, she needed the right gear.
In a rainy Minnesota fall, a good pair of boots and a jacket was always worth the money.
