“I’m just telling the truth. The upper deck was like an outdoor theater, a stage, dozens of chairs, a massive sound system. And every guest on that yacht had a staff member assigned to take care of them. Whatever they wanted, the staff person had to provide. Drinks. Towels. An iPad in the middle of the night. That’s how that whole trip worked. At least that’s what Benji told me. He had four people to look after from start to finish. I was standing next to him when they signed in.”

“You remember who they were?”

Dobby scratched his chin and looked down. “Yeah,” he said. “Now I do.”

“Who?”

He sighed. “One was Geri, the swimmer. One was the Greek guy, Yannis. One was the Indian woman, Mrs. Laghari—I remember her, because she looked at my clothes like they were offensive, and she asked Benji to hold a pair of earrings for her—and the last was the tall British guy, I forget his name.”

“Nevin Campbell?” LeFleur said.

“Yeah. Those were Benji’s people. He was assigned to those four.”

LeFleur shook his head. “Come on. You just named four people who happened to wind up in the lifeboat?”

“I know,” Dobby replied. “And I might as well tell you the rest. I met Jean Philippe and Bernadette, too. Benji introduced me. They were nice. Funny.”

“What about Nina, the Ethiopian woman?”

“We never met. But I saw her.”

“How did you know it was Nina?”

“Trust me, you don’t forget a woman like that. She looked like Iman, that model? She waved at Benji, and I said, ‘Who’s that?’ He said, ‘Nina. She gave me this haircut.’”

LeFleur exhaled. This was crazy. Dobby had just rattled off nearly all the passengers in the story. It was too simple. He could easily be reciting their names, making up his own tale as he went along.

“The little girl?” LeFleur asked. “Alice?”

“Never saw her.”

“What about Jason Lambert?”

Dobby bit his lip and looked away.

“What?” LeFleur said.

“Put down the gun, Inspector. And I’ll tell you a story.”

LeFleur held steady.

“Come on,” Dobby said. “You know, in your heart, you don’t believe that notebook. Put down the gun, and I’ll explain everything.”

LeFleur rubbed his eyes with his left hand. “Why do I need a whole story? What’s the big deal about Jason Lambert?”

Dobby lifted his gaze.

“Benji thought Lambert was his father.”

* * *

As the sun split its rays through the church’s broken ceiling, Dobby told LeFleur the story of Benji’s childhood.

“Benji’s mother’s name was Claire. My mother was Emilia. They were sisters. Very close sisters. When my father died, we came to America, just like Benji wrote. But he didn’t explain why we came.