Homicide Detective Allen Benlow hunched over his desk reading the report from the Coast Guard dive team. His mind just didn't want to accept that four people died in a fire on a boat tied up at the dock without at least one of them getting off the bridge before the thing sank. The fact that four charred skeletons were found crammed together in that small space suggested something other than normal circumstances.

He picked up the coroner's report and scoured the details of the autopsy, grasping onto the discovery that on two of the victims there were facial wounds that possibly but not conclusively could have been caused by gunshot, although no weapon was found. The intensity of the fire didn't allow for any positive conclusion.

Only one body had identification, an Edward Hollinger and from that, Allen had determined that he was married to one Gwen Hollinger and that one of the bodies fit the physical description fairly closely. The other two were total blanks. Local police also reported that they had discovered two vehicles in an empty lot behind some abandoned factories. They had been gutted by vandals and were nothing but skeletons. Ownership via the VIN number on one was traced to Edward Hollinger, the other was a dead end.

There were no distinguishing numbers on any of the parts. Police figured the other car had been bought second hand from some auto chop shop.

While checking out Hollinger's movements, Allen also learned that Hollinger's boss, one Barry Stein, disappeared at approximately the same time and hadn't been heard from. The description didn't match the other male victim but the coincidence seemed worth pursuing.

Stein's secretary had to be medicated after questioning. Allen set up a brief canvass of known haunts and subsequently uncovered the fact that the female bartender at a place both Stein and Hollinger frequented was also missing. The owner said she hadn't been into work since a week the previous Thursday. The other female victim?

Allen grabbed his pad and listed the names along the top. Underneath, he noted everything he knew about each then settled back to hunt down the possible connections to them all vanishing at once. His gut said the female was definitely the bartender, Sandra Marchese.

By the end of the second day of his renewed investigation, twelve days after the fire, Allen had amassed a wealth of information that was beginning to form a picture he could accept as a script for what happened. According to Stein's secretary, Hollinger had taken one of many special train trips to Portsdown for her employer, where he checked into the Portsdown Inn for one night.

That had been confirmed by phone. On the same day, Sandra Marchese had begged the day off work and was never seen again, along with her car. Neighbours said she drove an old Chevy that matched the second car the police found. Benlow re-interviewed the owner of the Bottomless Bucket and discovered that Hollinger was a fairly regular customer and that he and Sandra Marchese had been known to leave together sometimes.

He finally admitted that Sandra left with a number of customers from time to time, but he wouldn't admit to anything regarding her behaviour. Benlow could guess, thank you very much. Compiling a list of these various customers, Benlow went through the tedious procedure of tracking them down and checking alibis. Pay dirt came when he found that Ernest Stark, an employee at the Toy Haven, had been fired for not showing up for work since the same day the others took a walk.

Further checks into Ernest Stark revealed that he had a suitcase stored at the home of Marchese, and it contained a list of things to do, one of which was to buy train tickets to Portsdown for the same day as Hollinger. Benlow showed a photograph of Ernie at the station and verified that it was him, and that it was the same train as Hollinger.

Benlow scratched his head and drained the cool liquid from his water bottle. Did they travel together? Was Stark following Hollinger? What was Hollinger doing there? Many trips, the secretary had said. Why the hell didn't he ask what the business was? Benlow whacked himself on the side of the head and picked up the phone.

Rosemary was reluctant to give out any information, suggesting Benlow get a warrant. Two hours later, his well-connected, well-placed contacts had circumvented the need and Allen was studying faxes of Barry Stein's personal and business financial statements.

The police forensic accountant pointed out that Stein's company, while not setting the world on fire, nevertheless seemed to be able to afford higher than average salaries and substantial bonuses for pretty run-of-the-mill business efforts. He offered the theory that there might be some worth in having the company audited.

Benlow didn't have time for that approach, whatever happened on that boat, he didn't believe ended on that boat. Hollinger had carried briefcases on each of the trips he took. Drugs? Money? There was nothing in the financials he'd been able to get to point to anything like that but it had to be something, otherwise why the special trips?

He went back to Stein's haunts, associates and friends, checking them off as he read, pausing when he came to Heidi's Tours. If somebody was planning on getting away somewhere, a friend in the tour business could be a big help. The call revealed that the number had been discontinued, and coincidentally enough, the same day highlighted by the others.

Heidi van Rugel was a sub for the Dutch Olympic gymnastic team when she was eighteen. At twenty-four, she was a fashion model for an up market fashion house in New York, and from there moved to public relations for a cosmetic company, finally setting out in her own travel business at the age of forty-three.

Another very interesting feature of van Rugel's life was the fact that she had been married four times and lost each husband through accident or illness. All were older than her and apparently quite wealthy, since combing through her personal finances Benlow uncovered the boat, the very expensive boat, The Iron Tulip, which just happened to be moored at the same marina as the burned boat.

He further discovered, going back over the files, that it was her call to the Coast Guard that alerted them - too late to help - to the fire. Allen tilted back in his chair and studied the ceiling over his desk. Curiouser and curiouser.

With his theory taking shape, he made his presentation to the Captain, Harris Warjowski, not Allen's favourite person, and vice versa. Warjowski sat, pear-shaped from head to toe, behind his desk reading the report. He slapped the paper with the back of his hand and glared at Allen through the lenses of his heavy, black framed glasses that looked like he was wearing ski goggles.

"Not much conclusive here, Benlow." The voice was deep and raspy. "Ninety percent speculation and the rest circumstantial."

"Overlooking, of course, the more than coincidental links between the victims." He couldn't resist the sarcasm. "I need a little more time and permission to possibly travel outside jurisdiction."

Warjowski laughed derisively. "Like where, Benlow?"

"I won't know until I pin a few more details down."

"Get your details and we'll see." He dropped the report on his desk and picked up another file, effectively dismissing Allen.

"Thanks, Captain."

"Yeah, right."

Benlow pulled the office door shut. "Prick."