“Damnit!” Charlie stopped and glared. “We’re not going to bend over backward to protect this guy. We say we don’t know anything about him. That’s the extent of our helping him. Understood?”

There were times when Charlie could not be pushed. “Understood.”

He shook his head. “Why am I doing this for you?”

“Because you love me. You love justice. This is just.”

“This is illegal. You’re a loose cannon. I don’t love that about you.”

She put her palm on his heart. “She cannot go free.”

“Do you have your gun?” he asked.

“No. Will I need it?”

They resumed walking. “She did just murder someone.”

The Stardust was impressive, long and sleek. Kelly assumed they were all still aboard, but that was not a given. She was curious to meet the powerful Carl Techer, who just happened to be suing the FBI because of their botched ransom surveillance. Vicki said he was an older version of David’s prick. As they walked up the plank, they were met by Captain Gilbert Perkins—the Gilbert Amy had spoken of. He was still at work swabbing the deck. Tall and blond and dressed in white, he looked like a hospital orderly who kept a surfboard in the closet. She smelled alcohol on his breath. Charlie flashed his badge.

“FBI. Are Amy and Carl Techer here?” Charlie asked.

“Yes. What is this about?”

“Go get them.”

“They’re asleep.”

“Wake them,” Charlie said.

Amy was the first to arrive. Maybe she had not been sleeping well. She wore a dark red robe over her pajamas. Her calm impressed Kelly. Amy had obviously learned long ago how to use the natural innocence of her face to best advantage. Gilbert was still digging up the old guy.

“Agent Fitzsimmons, Kelly. What’s this about?” Amy asked.

“Where’s David?” Charlie asked.

Amy looked around. “I don’t know. Gilbert just woke me up. David wasn’t there.”

Kelly could not contain herself. “You know where he is. My partner and I trailed your boat tonight. We saw you push him overboard.”

Amy paled and her lower lip trembled but she kept the face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered.

Carl Techer appeared seconds later. His hair was dark and there was way too much of it; the thing was an expensive wig. He moved with more authority than his son. His eyes were a steely blue that reminded Kelly of ice water. He looked fit for his age, but there was a slight quiver to his mouth and cheeks. Wall Street’s money had yet to figure out how to buy time. The man had to be in his late seventies. He wore the same color robe as Amy. That was odd.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, a strong rasp.