“I’ve seen that will,” the lieutenant said. “It was amended on Fourth of July weekend to name Norton as sole beneficiary of the entire estate.”

“Camilla trusted him. She knew he’d take care of Tern. I’m sure she had visions of life carrying on there the way it always had. Camilla thought she was doing her grandson a favor by taking the estate out of the equation. Money was tearing the family apart, and she didn’t want Jasper caught in the middle.”

Tap. Tap. The tip of the lieutenant’s pen struck the cover of a fat manila folder on his desk. “As you know,” he said, “a team of forensic analysts have been out to the island. They found ketamine in what remained of Camilla’s wine, and also in Norton’s belongings. We’re looking into how he obtained it. Probably off some city kid who summers up there.”

“Norton lived in A-Bay for a long time. I’m sure he’s got connections,” I said. “There are a couple of vet offices in the area, and ketamine’s used as a sedative. Maybe he got it there.”

My knowledge of date-rape drugs caused the lieutenant to quirk his eyebrow again. I didn’t bother to explain I had a personal interest in finding out where that shit came from.

“As for the blood on the sheets,” he said, glancing down at the folder, “the medical examiner collected family reference samples from Jasper’s siblings. It was a match for Jasper, and your initial visual analysis was right. Based on the amount of blood found at the scene, the medical examiner believes Jasper’s condition was grave. That said, we had search parties all over Tern Island, divers in the water, and found nothing.”

Aside from Miles’s body. He didn’t say it. There was no need. Mac had been keeping me abreast of all new developments since the second we got back to shore. Miles tried to save his daughter, but it was too late for redemption. I’d heard Jade was in California now, living with her mother. With Philip Norton at the Clinton Correctional Facility, there was nothing left for the kid in New York.

In the end, it wasn’t Jasper’s body that intruded on my dreams in the nights after I left Tern Island, but Abella’s. The girl had been so inconsequential to Miles and Norton’s plan, but she’d been targeted anyway, and that made her death all the more painful to swallow. The day before I met Lieutenant Henderson to go about the painful task of explaining how a missing persons case became a double homicide, I’d pilfered the Beaudry family’s phone number from the station’s digital files and called Abella’s parents. Their English wasn’t as solid as their daughter’s, but there was no misinterpreting the sentiments they wished to express to the investigator who allowed their child to die.

Surreptitiously, the lieutenant checked his watch. “Well, Merchant, that really only leaves Flynn Sinclair. Wellington says he threatened you.”

There were plenty of excuses to choose from. Tim’s official account made it easy to cover my ass. He’d back me up, no matter what I said. But what I said was, “I don’t know why I shot him.”