Ben saw the sun rise from the end of the pier. Sea Angel tossed around in a higher than usual swell from a hot wind streaking across the bay. The temperature was already high, uncomfortable, and predictions of a thunderstorm tonight were backed up by heavy humidity.
Sea AngelThe yacht was done with and Ben felt sorry for whoever had the task of cleaning it. Fingerprint residue covered hundreds of surfaces. Despite his request to search with minimum disruption, someone went over the top in the galley and emptied every drawer and cupboard.
All for little result. No blood, no unusual items or suspicious trace. One g*n, hidden under a mattress. His hopes of quick identification of an owner turned to a forced patience with the discovery of deliberate damage to the serial number. Meg insisted
