“Not necessarily,” Joe said. “Were you thinking of someone in particular?”
“There’s a bunch of idiots out here,” she said. “They have no respect. I’ve called in complaints before. They know it’s me who reported them, and they throw bottles in my yard, shout names at me on my walks to the water. But it’s okay. I’ve lived here my whole life. I’ll outlast them.”
“Good for you. That’s a strong attitude,” Joe said. “What are the complaints about?”
“Bad things,” she said.
“Like what?” Conor asked.
She glared at him and didn’t answer at first. Then, “I forget.”
Conor gazed at her face. She had sun lines across her forehead and around her mouth, but her eyes were bright. She looked to be in her late forties, not much older than he was, so he didn’t think her confusion was due to age.
“Yes,” Joe said.
“What is your name?” Conor asked.
“Grace Matos,” she said.
“Well, Grace,” Joe said. “I’d like to ask you some questions. Is that okay with you?”
She nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Do you know anyone named Suzanne McKinney?” Joe asked. “Who might keep a boat at East Cove Marina?”
Joe showed her the pictures of Suzanne and Belinda, and Conor saw her lips tighten.
“You recognize them, don’t you?” Conor said.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
“You mentioned that you walk down to the water,” Conor said.
“Every day,” she said.
“When you take your walks,” Conor said. “Have you ever noticed a sailboat tied to the dock?”
“Sailboat,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s for leisure, for rich people. We’re working people here. No one here has sailboats.” She paused. “Except the people who have money. You know, like the rich one who has the parties. Him and that woman.”
The tone in her voice when she saidwomancaught Conor’s attention. It was a combination of anger and derision. “Do you sometimes see the woman on the sailboat?” he asked.
“A few times.”
“What do you know about the boat?” Joe asked.
“I was hoping you would ask about that,” she said. “I have been hoping for a long time. When the police come to see about the bad things ... I always hope they’ll go to the boat. But they never do. That’s because they’re paid off. Money can buy anything. It can buy your way out of trouble.”
“Why do you want the police to go to the boat?” Conor asked.
She blinked hard and looked away, as if deciding how much to say.
“Do you know who owns it?” Conor asked.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. Then, “Maybe.”
Conor watched her face. She seemed to be wrestling with something she wanted to say but felt she shouldn’t.
“How long has the boat been here?” Joe asked.
