“A reasonable question. I am a retired officer of the New York Police Department, where I spent eleven years as a detective, specializing in homicides. Lieutenant Bacchetti, here, commands the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct of the NYPD, and Ms. Barker is a retired military police officer and chief of police in the state of Florida.” He didn’t mention Lance.

“Well, that’s all very impressive,” the sergeant said. “I’m interested to know what you’ve learned about Mr. Stone’s state of mind, but do you have any other evidence that this was anything but a murder-suicide?”

“Take a look at this,” Stone said, beckoning the trooper to the desk. He took a pencil from a coffee mug on the desk and placed it in the hole left by the bullet. “Note that the angle of the bullet’s trajectory was only about twenty degrees off the vertical. I think that might indicate someone standing over Mr. Stone and firing a bullet into his head. Also, in your scenario, he would have fired with his left hand, and he was right-handed.”

“My crime-scene investigator, an experienced man, concluded that Mr. Stone laid his head on the desk before firing the fatal shot. That would account for the angle. I didn’t know he was right-handed, but there was nothing to prevent him using his left hand.”

“Our consensus, based on Mr. Cabot’s investigation into Mr. Stone’s state of mind in the days and weeks before his death, is that an unknown person shot him in the head with a silenced pistol, then went upstairs and shot his wife and daughter.”

“You’re entitled to your theory, Mr. Barrington, but my investigation has not found any reason to believe that any person on this island had a motive to kill this family. I should point out that they resided in London for many years and they came into contact with the locals only for a few weeks a year and that no one knows of any local who had any animosity toward the family. Indeed, they were very popular summer residents. Also, my investigation revealed that no summer residents had yet arrived on the island at the time of the deaths. Mr. Stone’s brother and his family arrived only yesterday-we have the ferry operator’s testimony for that-and only one aircraft was parked at the airstrip, that belonging to a local. The people who live nearest the strip tell us that no aircraft landed or took off on the day or the day before the deaths. It’s a small island; people pay attention to who comes and goes.”

“Did you take any photographs of the crime scene?” Stone asked.

“Yes, but I didn’t bring them with me. If you come to the inquest, I’d be glad to show them to you, and the gun, as well.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate your taking the time to come to the island to brief us. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The trooper handed Stone an envelope. “Here’s the original of the death certificate,” he said. “You’ll need it to file the will for probate.”

They shook hands, and the trooper left.

Stone turned to the group with a questioning look.

“The sergeant has some good points,” Dino said. “He did his job.”

“He didn’t spend much time on state of mind,” Stone said.

“I wouldn’t have spent much more time on that, in the circumstances,” Dino said.

Holly spoke up. “You didn’t mention to the trooper that Caleb Stone had been disinherited by Dick. That’s motive.”

“Not really. It would be motive if Caleb had known that he was about to be disinherited, but there is no indication of that. Caleb was very surprised to learn that Dick had made a new will. I’d be surprised to learn that they’d even communicated in recent months.”

“I can check Caleb’s home and office phone records, as well as Dick’s,” Lance said.

“Yes,” Stone said, “I would like you to do that. Maybe you’d better get started.”

LANCE WENT TO WORK on Dick Stone’s Agency computer while Stone called his office.

“The Barrington Practice,” Joan said.

“Hi, it’s me. What’s up?”

“I trust you were met at the airport?”

“Yes, and we’re comfortably ensconced in the house. There are three phone lines, one for the fax.” He gave her all of them.

“How long will you be there?”

“I’m not sure; there’s a lot to do. There’s the inquest tomorrow morning, and I have to file the will for probate.”

“I take it you’re now the proud owner of a Maine house?”

“In a manner of speaking. I can’t seem to get used to the idea.”

“Oh, by the way, for your information, the three witnesses who signed the will, besides Seth Hotchkiss, were the pilot, copilot and flight attendant on the private jet that delivered the Stone family to Rockport the day before they died. Apparently, they were considering buying into some sort of fractional jet program, and the trip from D.C. to Rockport was a sort of test run.”

“Good to know.”

“There’s no interesting mail. Can I reach you at this number?”

“For all of today; tomorrow morning, try the cell. I’ll talk to you sometime tomorrow.

“Bye-bye.”

Stone hung up and turned to Lance in the little office. The printer was spitting out sheets of paper. “What are you learning?” he asked.

Lance picked up the papers and consulted them. “Our boy, Caleb, is married to the former Vivian Smith; two sons, Eben and Enos, who share a birthday. Caleb graduated Yale and Yale Law in the bottom half of both classes; he is employed by the Boston law firm of Marsh, Andrews, Fields and Schwartz. Note his name is not on the letterhead. He’s been with the firm since law school but took twelve years to make partner. He heads their estate planning division, and given the number of the firm’s employees, I’m inclined to think he is the firm’s estate planning division.

“He belongs to a couple of good clubs, lives in a respectable suburb of Boston, summers here, and from his tax returns and credit report, it appears that he lives at the very limit of his income while still managing to pay his bills on time. I think he will be very relieved when his boys finish Yale next year.”

“Any criminal record?”

“None. He appears to have trod the straight and narrow his whole life long.”

“If he’s as financially strapped as you say he is, he must have been very disappointed, indeed, when he read Dick’s will.”

“No doubt. I expect he’s reassessing his retirement plans as we speak. One good thing: Since he now has no hope of ever seeing Dick’s and Barbara’s money, he has no motive to kill you.”

“Yes, well…”

“Caleb has led the most boring of all lives, I expect,” Lance said. “One of quiet desperation, as the saying goes. I hope his family loves him, because it seems to me that’s about his only comfort.”

“My experience of him is that he’s not an easy fellow to love,” Stone said.

Seth Hotchkiss came into the room. “Anything I can do for anybody?”

“Seth,” Stone said, “let’s you and I have a talk.” Stone led the caretaker outside, and they took seats on teak furniture on the stone patio. The sun was pleasantly warm, though Stone knew that by nightfall there would be a chill in the air. After all, it was only June in Maine.

“What can I do for you, Stone?”

“Tell me what Dick’s and Caleb’s relationship was like.”

“Well, you remember what it was like when they were boys?”

“Yes.”

“It was pretty much like that, except that Dick seemed to do better in life than Caleb, had a better job and a nicer wife. Dick was able to build this house, while Caleb had to be content with propping up the old family place. Funny, I would have stayed on there out of loyalty, but Caleb fired me a week after his parents died in that car crash. Dick hired me the same day, and I’ve been very happy ever since.”

“Caleb inherited the house?”

“They both did, but Dick signed his half over to Caleb, said to me he didn’t want any part of it; the place was filled with unhappy memories for him.”