Chapter Fifty-Two

CLAY SPEARS SEEMED filled with foreboding even before I’d explained my and Susan’s plan to lure Shauna Bulger into the boathouse on the bay. The sheriff leaned against a pillar by a red kayak with his huge arms folded, watching me skeptically, trying to find an out. Susan perched on a workbench near him, chewing her nails. The silence while Clay contemplated our proposition was punctuated by small waves that whispered through the creaking boards at our feet. It was a beautiful night out there in Gloucester, the water calm and black and the stars peppering the wide skies. Susan and I had called Clay, and we’d all arrived at the marina almost simultaneously, slipped into the boathouse silently to talk about our plan.

Clay had heard what we wanted to do. He did not look enthused.

“You know,” Clay said, “I’m busy. It took me just about all day to track down the phone number you wanted.” He sighed and looked through the windows at the setting sun. “I was managing my team and some guys I borrowed from Ipswich, searching all of Driver’s properties one by one. And here I am, at the same time, asking every scumbag in a Driver Construction uniform that I come across what phone number they were using to contact Marris.”

“We’re really grateful, Clay,” Susan said.

“Marris was a sometime prostitute,” Clay went on. “A drug cook’s girlfriend. She was also a known thief, in and out of jail all the time for hocking stolen goods. You know how many phone numbers she’s had in the last month? At least five. All burners. All untraceable.”

“You’re a saint, Clayton Spears.” I nodded.

“Now that I finally have the number,” Clay said, “I know that, according to you guys, it’s probably the phone number that Shauna Bulger is using to contact Norman Driver.”

“It makes sense,” Susan said. “We’re guessing Shauna would have found the phone on Marris’s body. It would have had Driver’s number in it.”

“So, what I don’t get,” Clay said, “is why I shouldn’t just put a trace on the number and locate Shauna Bulger myself.”

“Because our plan is better,” I said. “It’s safer.”

“It’s safer?” Clay squinted.

“Yes,” I pleaded. “Look. If you track Shauna down and try to approach her with a bunch of sheriffs, she might fire on you. She’s really unpredictable right now. She’s hell-bent on killing Norman Driver. If you find her, or a member of the public spots her and calls it in, someone could get hurt in a shootout or god knows what else. The best thing we can do right now is take care of this ourselves, Clay. Quietly and carefully.”

Clay looked at Susan, tapping one stubby finger on his biceps, his scowl heavy.

“We don’t have a lot of time for you to ponder this, Clay,” Susan said gently. “If Driver gets to Shauna first, we’re in big trouble. We don’t know if he had contacts within the police who would do the exact same thing for him—track the phone to find her. And if Shauna dumps Marris’s phone, our whole plan falls in a heap. We need to do this now. Right now.”

Clay looked at me, his scowl collapsing into a defeated pout.

“Why do I have to hit you?” he asked me. “Why can’t Susan do it?”

“Because she’s my girlfriend, buddy,” I said, smiling despite myself. “It’s harder for her.”

“You sure?” Clay asked. “I’ve heard you two argue over who folds the laundry.”

Susan and I laughed. Clay took the zip ties off the workbench by Susan and heaved a huge sigh.