The woman, whoever she was, looked to be around forty, as Bob had been saying, with high cheekbones, twinkling hazel eyes, long blond hair on the darker side, a comely smile that would invite men of all ages to sit right down and buy her a drink. Gawking at the composite, Bruce found it hard to believe that this lovely creature was capable of such a vicious murder. Poison, maybe, but not a beating with a blunt weapon.

Polly was asked if she wanted to view any of the photographs of her brother on his patio. She said no, she was not ready for that. Butler briefly reviewed the autopsy findings with Bruce and Polly, and downplayed the gruesome parts. Not surprisingly, they had so far found no witnesses, no neighbors who saw anyone coming or going during the storm.

All the neighbors were gone, Bruce thought, but said nothing. He listened as he and Nick were fingerprinted. Because Bob was a felon, his were already on file.

When the videotaping was finished, they gathered around a folding table littered with files and reports. Butler summarized what was already known and what they expected to soon learn. They’d found blood on two walls, on the bathroom vanity, and in the rugs. All samples were at the lab to be matched against Nelson’s. They had also lifted many fingerprints but analyzing those would take time. They were trying to get information from the Hilton—registration records, surveillance footage, and so on, but for obvious reasons that was being delayed. As life returned to normal, they would gather info from other nearby hotels and condo rentals in an effort to identify Ingrid, but Butler spoke as though he knew that effort would be fruitless.

Before the meeting, Bruce had decided that the best tactic going in was to say as little as possible. The police didn’t know much anyway, and asking a dozen questions would a) yield few answers, and b) only alienate Butler and Logan. They were tired and irritated to be working on a Sunday morning, and it became obvious that the review session was only a formality. Butler made his biggest mistake when he said, “We’ve examined the golf clubs and fireplace hardware and everything else in the condo that could’ve been used as a murder weapon, and so far nothing. Assuming, of course, it was a murder.”

Polly quickly asked, “You think it was something other than murder?”

“Perhaps. There was a lot of stuff in the air, Ms. McCann.”

Logan jumped in with “Having now survived a Category 4, Ms. McCann, I can assure you that the amount of debris and junk falling and blowing around in all directions is hard to imagine. You have to see it to believe it. We think it’s possible that your brother got hit more than once with limbs, pieces of the roof, or maybe bricks, who knows?”

Bruce took a deep breath, as did Bob and Nick. Polly gritted her teeth and said nothing.

Butler knew they were not happy with this and said, “But we’re not sure, and we’ll investigate everything. It’ll take some time, as always.”

Bruce cleared his throat and asked, “What about the hard drive from his computer?”

Butler glanced at Logan, who looked at Hoppy, who appeared to be on the verge of a quick nap. Butler said, “We have the hard drive, but it’s encrypted. Our guys in the lab will play with it again tomorrow, but it looks pretty secure.”

Bruce had heard enough. He stood and said, “Anything else?”

Everyone suddenly stood and began the forced ritual of shaking hands, saying thanks, and promising to keep in touch. As Bruce walked out of the room, he wondered if he would ever see Wesley Butler again.

Driving away, he glanced to his right and saw Polly wiping away a tear, but she said nothing, not for a long time. In the rear seat Nick and Bob were just as quiet, both angry at the police, but also mentally packing their bags. Bob was now cleared to leave the island and would do so within hours. Nick was needed at college where he would party for a week to celebrate the end of summer, and then head to Venice for a rough semester abroad.

7.

Monday morning, Bruce followed Polly to the Jacksonville airport where she returned her rental. They drove to the funeral home where she finished some paperwork and wrote a check. Nelson’s body would be transferred to the airport for the flight home, with his sister riding above him in coach. Back at the airport, Bruce walked her inside and they found a coffee shop in the main terminal.

Nelson’s condo was still guarded by police tape, and Butler wasn’t sure when it would be released. Bruce knew the best mover on the island and agreed to oversee the removal of Nelson’s furniture and possessions. He would get it cataloged and stored, and in a few weeks Polly would return to deal with it. Bruce knew several of the good realtors on the island and would arrange for them to look at the condo and discuss a listing, but cautioned her that the market would be soft for some time. He had a friend who dealt in German imports and could probably sell the car at a fair price.

They sipped coffee and watched the foot traffic. She said, “Nelson’s memorial service is this Saturday. I don’t suppose you could be there.”

Bruce had been contemplating several ways to avoid a trip to the West Coast for what would be a dreadful event, but in the split second he had to come up with a believable response he completely choked. Whether he wanted it not, he was the Kerr family’s point man on the scene and they needed him. “Of course,” he managed to say with just enough conviction.

“I’ll send along the details as they come together. It will mean a lot to my parents. They’re so desperate for information.”