The Stranger in the Lifeboat

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just thought … well, you know.”
Dobby nodded slowly. “We’re both mourning someone we lost,
Inspector.”
“Jarty.”
“Jarty,” Dobby repeated, smiling. He got out of the car, took a step, then
turned back. “Speaking of names, I think it’s Rum Rosh.”
“What?”
“Rum Rosh. It’s in Psalms, the original Hebrew. It means ‘God lifted my
head.’ I learned it as a kid. A priest taught me. The Irish and their churches,
you know.”
LeFleur stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“I think whoever found that raft was having a laugh on you, Jarty.”
He threw his duffel over his shoulder and walked into the terminal.
LeFleur drove back toward his office, thinking about what Dobby had said.
He pictured the first day he and Rom had met, and their trip up to Marguerita
Bay. Rom had let LeFleur examine the raft by himself. And every time
LeFleur glanced over, Rom was looking away, staring at the hills, as if he’d
never seen the place before.
But he had seen the place before. Otherwise how would he have reported
the location? And Marguerita Bay was not easy to get to; you had to park on
that lookout and walk down that path. Teenagers would often hang out there,
smoking and drinking, because they could easily hide if they saw someone
coming …
LeFleur hit the brakes and spun the jeep around.
Twenty minutes later, he was hurrying down that path to the water. When he
reached the beach, he removed his shoes and splashed along the wet sand.
The sky was without clouds, and the sea came up a turquoise blue. As he
edged around a tall rock formation, he saw a thin, bearded figure sitting in the
distance, leaning back on his palms, as small waves broke and reached his
legs before retreating.
LeFleur got within a few feet before the man turned his head.
“Rom?”
“Hello, Inspector.”