He had simply not been a very important person. That morning, though, one man who read about Frank Krauser's death in the online newspapers had been searching for just this kind of thing. What he read made his lemony face pucker with concern.
2
His name was Remo and he would have made a lousy used-car salesman.
"You don't exactly have a face a man can trust," said the sailor with the shotgun.
"That's actually one of the nicer things anyone has said about my face," Remo replied. "You fire that gun and you'll put a big hole in your sails."
"The first big hole will be in you. You're the killer, aren't you, eh? You killed Rudy from the Queen Bee, didn't you?"
"I didn't kill Rudy, and I didn't kill the captain of the Turnbleu."
The man with the shotgun stood up straighter, his face narrowing. The frigid wind tossed his long, greasy brown hair, and the icy droplets of rain collected on his yellow rubber waders, forming rivulets that trickled all the way down his body to the deck. "The Turnbleu was Finster's boat. Finster's dead?"
"Yes." "They find the body?"
"No, just a lot of red stuff that used to be inside of it."
"Why you telling me this?" the sailor demanded. "You proud of killing innocent men?"
"I didn't kill those sailors, but whoever did is working his way down the winner's list, and you're next."
The narrow-faced man looked more stricken. "Finster was leading the pack after Rudy disappeared. If Finster died, then I'm in the lead."