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He’s standing close to the edge of the water, far closer than I know he’s comfortable with, and peering under the dock.
“What about them?” Iask.
“They aren’t evenly spaced,” he explains. “But only in thissection.”
“He’s right,” Sam nods. He points to the supports further down the dock and then the ones closest to the building. “Those are all positioned evenly. But the ones in the middle areoff.”
“Like one was removed and then added back later,” I say. “She wasn’t suspended from the planks of the dock. She was tied to the piling. The top of the burlap bag was tied around the beam. Likely low enough that at least part of her was in the water all the time. She looked like one of therocks.”
“There was probably another rope or two around her as well,” Sam says. “To distribute the weight and make sure the bag didn’t break free and end up loose in thelake.”
I can visualize what happened now and as I visualize the burlap bag containing Mary Ellen’s body lashed to a beam beneath the dock, partially submerged, the mist feels like her breath on my face. Stalking back up to the door of the building, I go inside and start to release one of the canoes.
“What are you doing?” Sam asks, following meinside.
“I want to go out on the water and see what it looks like from out there,” I tell him. “Merriweather was known to come into the lake frequently, right? Part of it is on the edge of his land, so there was nothing the camp could do about it. But there was also nothing in the reports that said he bothered anybody. He was just there.
“And if I don’t miss my guess, he probably didn’t come out when the campers were in the lake. If he was as reclusive as Garrison says, he wouldn’t have wanted to be around that many people. He would know he would get attention, and any time there are teenage boys involved, especially when they are near teenage girls, things can get unpleasant quickly. He would have come out at night or early in the morning. And after the camp shut down, he would have been able to explore whenever he wantedto.”
“His own personal heaven,” Xavier says softly.
There’s a hint of longing in his voice, a touch of understanding that says he can commiserate with the man who just wanted to wander the trees and be alone. Someone who saw things differently than others around him and didn’t know how to put them into words. Or didn’t feel it was necessary to. It didn’t matter if he did. It wasn’t like he could make them understand what he experienced any more than they could explain to him what they did. It would be describing to the deaf the song of sparrows.
“The police warned him to stay off of the grounds of the camp,” I say. “Remember? He had been in the woods and they found him, and he explained that he was taking a walk and accidentally crossed over the property line. There’s no boundary or fence or anything. It would be easy for him to get lost in his own thoughts and end up on camp property. Even knowing the woods as well as he did, I imagine the edges of camp property weren’t used all that much. He could just come and go as he pleased without beingnoticed.
“There were no other recorded encounters between him and the police, which leads me to believe he heeded their warning and generally stayed closer to his home. He would have kept close to the edge of the lake so he wasn’t in the camp water. But eventually enough time passed and people weren’t coming anymore. The police stopped patrolling as regularly. In one of the articles I read, it said barriers were put up at all of the access points to prevent people from driving near the camp to deter people from coming in and vandalizing it. I’m sure there were still people who did, but it kept away mostpeople.”
“And he got bolder,” Samsays.
I nod. “He was drawn to the grounds, to the lake. He wanted to explore. And it brought him right up to the shore. I want to know what hesaw.”
I get the canoe untied from the frame and Sam helps me pick it up and carry it down the dock. We set it into the water at the point where the pitch brings it closest to the surface and I climb down into it. I take a second to adjust to the shift of the water beneath me, learning to balance my weight and keep the vesselsteady.
“You should be wearing a life jacket,” Xavier calls over. “Camp rules. It says so right on the sign inside the boathouse.”
“I’m not at camp,” I say. Silence. “Get one forme.”
He goes back inside and returns with two life jackets. He hands one toSam.
“You’re going with her,” he insists. There’s no room there for Sam to protest.But he doesn’t bother. He puts the jacket on and climbs down. I notice Xavier standing on the dock wearing another lifejacket.
“Are you coming, too?” I call tohim.
“Solidarity,” hereplies.
“Ah,” Isay.
He holds up a fist and I return the gesture. As I take hold of one of the paddles and start to push away from the dock, he rushesforward.
“Wait. I’m coming withyou.”
“You are?” I ask. “Are yousure?”
“If you get eaten by something out there, it’s going to leave me alone here, and I don’t know how I’d make it back home. So, I might as well come withyou.”
Xavier is nothing if not logical and reasonable.
With Xavier perched in between us like he’s going to navigate us down the Mississippi River, Sam and I start paddling out into the lake. I don’t have a problem with water. My childhood memories in Florida preserve it as one of my favorite places in the world, and when I have the chance to escape normal life and the pressures of the FBI for a little while, my first thought is to go bury my feet in the sand and listen to the waves. I’m perfectly comfortable swimming and boating. I’ve taken an airboat tour through the Everglades that Xavier thinks of as his own personal corner of Hell. But even I feel slightly uneasy gliding out over the dark water of the lake.
