LITMIR.BIZ

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back here to Chester. Right now she’s tied up on a mooring down at Charlie Isenor’s yard.”

      “There was nobody aboard her?” asked the lawyer.

      “Nope,” said Scarnum.

      “Well,” said Mayor, smiling, “It seems to me you’re likely in for a pretty good payday out of this.”

      He reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out a contract and slid it across the desk.

      “Before we go any further, I’d like to sign you up. Here’s the dealio. This is my standard salvage contract. Sign here and you’ll give up 15 percent of the salvage fee to me, regardless of how much or little it is. In return, I’ll contact the owners and try to, uh, negotiate the best price I can for you. The alternative is you could contact them yourself and try to make your own deal, but in my experience vessel owners are sometimes reluctant to pay their salvage fees, and a lawyer’s letter or two helps clarify their thinking.”

      The receptionist knocked on the door and brought in two orders of fish and chips.

      As they ate, Scarnum read the contract. “How’s it usually work?” he asked.

      “Well,” said Mayor, “it’s a pretty well-defined area of law. The idea is that a salvor has an ownership stake in a vessel if it’s clearly in jeopardy of imminent destruction when the salvor salvages it. The legal principle goes back to ancient Rome. If we can show that the Kelly Lynn was likely a wreck without your intervention, then you are entitled to a payday. If she just slipped her mooring and was floating in Chester Basin, you’re likely out of luck, but that isn’t your story. If you risked life and limb to save her, your share goes up. If we can’t agree on a price with the owner, then it usually goes to arbitration. Depending on how well your story holds up, you’re likely entitled to 25 to 50 percent of the replacement value of the boat.”

      Scarnum whistled. “Minus your cut,” he said.

      Mayor smiled, his broad, pale face lighting up. “That’s the way she works,” he said. He had a bit of tartar sauce in the corner of his mouth.

      Scarnum bent to sign the contract. “How long’s it usually take?” he asked.

      “Anywhere from a few days to a few months,” said Mayor. “Depends on the state of mind and the state of finances of the owner. If it’s some hard-up lobsterman a payment away from losing his boat, it could be a while. If it’s a big outfit, could be pretty quick.

      “Until then, you are to maintain possession of it,” he said. “Nothing short of a court order ought to convince you to turn the Kelly Lynn over to anyone. Don’t use it yourself, and don’t let anyone else go aboard it. Just leave it at the mooring and don’t let anyone aboard the damn thing. If the owner can somehow get it back into his custody, the legal situation can become more complicated.”

      “Sounds like I ought to guard it,” said Scarnum.

      “I would if I were you,” said Mayor. “Or I’d ask Charlie to do so. Does he still go rat hunting around the boatyard with his pellet gun?”

      Scarnum smiled. “When he’s got a mind to.”

      “You might encourage him to be out hunting rats if any strange cars pull up. If I were you, I’d ask him to keep an eye on the Kelly Lynn for you,” said Mayor.

      Scarnum nodded.

      “Now,” said Mayor, “I need to hear your story, while the memory’s still fresh.”

      He hauled out a digital voice recorder and put it in front of Scarnum, and got him to unspool the story.

      The lawyer took notes as Scarnum talked. Every so often he’d lift his head to interrupt with a question. Otherwise, he was hunched over his pad, scribbling as Scarnum talked.

      When Scarnum got to the part where he hauled himself aboard the stern of the Kelly Lynn, the lawyer put down his pen and looked sharply at Scarnum.

      “I need a bathroom break here,” he said and switched off the recorder. But he didn’t head for the bathroom. He sat still, staring at his pad, then lifted his face to gaze at Scarnum.

      “Look, I don’t mean to insult you, but it’s unwise to, uh, embroider your story. The element of risk does factor into the payout, but exaggerating is dangerous, because if someone finds a chink in your story, the whole thing could fall apart.”

      Scarnum stared at him without saying anything. His blue eyes glinted and his mouth was thin and tight.

      Mayor stared back, then looked out the window and picked up his pen. “Okey-dokey,” he said. “My bad. In that case, I’ll tell you you’re a damn fool to have risked yourself in that way.”

      He turned back to Scarnum and smiled — the same charming, warm smile he had used earlier. “But I’m glad to have the payday.”

      Mayor switched on the recorder. “There,” he said. “That’s better. Now. Please continue.”

      When Scarnum finished telling how he went aboard the Kelly Lynn at the mooring and checked that there was no corpse aboard, Mayor kept his head down, scribbling.

      “Thank you,” he said finally. “That concludes the statement of Phillip Scarnum,” and he gave the date and time and switched the recorder off.

      “OK,” he said and pushed the pad across to Scarnum. “Read that, please, and see if it’s all right. Meanwhile, let me do a registry search on the Kelly Lynn.”

      He turned to his computer and did some typing while Scarnum read.

      He had the answer before Scarnum finished and was waiting for him with an odd expression on his face when Scarnum signed and dated the bottom of the statement.

      “It’s SeaWater,” said Mayor bluntly. “It’s one of Falkenham’s boats.”

      Scarnum stared at him, expressionless, but his cheeks flushed.He sat mute until the lawyer started to babble nervously, reading the entry.

      “Fishing vessel Kelly Lynn, registered by SeaWater in 2004, forty feet, built at Thibodeau’s Shipyard.”

      Scarnum interrupted him. “Where’s your bathroom at?” he asked him.

      Mayor stood to show the way, but Scarnum interrupted him again, lifting his hand. “I’ll find it,” he said, holding up his hand. “I’ll be right back.”

      Then he walked outside, without glancing at the receptionist, and stood on the porch of the little house and smoked a cigarette.

      When the cigarette was done, he walked back in with a rigid smile on his face. He nodded to the receptionist and stepped back into Mayor’s office.

      “All right then,” he said, smiling. “It’s one of Falkenham’s boats. That should make it easier to get paid. Man’s got no money problems I know about.”

      Mayor turned on the big smile again, standing as Scarnum came in. “You got that right,” he said. “That should make this easier.”

      He looked at his watch. “I might even get their people on the phone this afternoon. Why don’t you go back home and keep an eye on that boat? I’ll give you a call when I know what’s what.”

      Scarnum smiled back. “All right,” he said, “though I gave my phone a dunking last night. Tell you what, give Charlie a call and leave a message. I’ll call you back.”

      Mayor stood to shake Scarnum’s hand. Scarnum thanked him and turned to go but stopped in the doorway, with his back to the lawyer.

      Mayor said, “I’ll try to get this done quick and clean. Don’t expect to have to bother you much.”

      Scarnum turned back to him, without a trace of a smile. “Yeah,” he said, gazing past Mayor, out the window, his face stiff, his mouth pursed. “I don’t want to have to talk to Falkenham. I’d rather tow the fucking boat back out to the ledges and leave it

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