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is it?” Ginger called.
    “Me, Beau.” I opened the door with my key. Ginger stood near the bed, her face drawn and wary. She glanced at the manila envelope in my hand. “What’s that?”
    I came inside, shutting and locking the door behind me. I opened the envelope and handed her the picture Maxwell Cole had given me. She looked at Don Wilson’s likeness.
    “Where’d you get that?”
    “Good of Max saves the day for a change.”
    Ginger retreated to a chair in the corner of the room, where she curled up with her legs folded under her and began brushing her hair with a vengeance.
    “Huggins is on his way,” I told her. “He’ll want to go to work on this picture tonight. He’ll show it to everyone he can find on or near the ferries, passengers and workers alike. He’ll try to get to them while someone still remembers seeing Wilson, either coming over or going back.” Ginger put the brush in her lap. Her voice when she spoke was very small. “Do you think he’s still here?”
    “I don’t know. My gut instinct says yes.”
    “What can we do?”
    “First we talk to Huggins. After that, I don’t know.”
    “Can I stay here, Beau? With you?” Anxious green eyes held mine. I felt a catch in my throat, remembering the feel of her body against mine as she wept for Sig Larson.
    “I don’t know why not. I’d as soon have you here where I can keep an eye on you.
    I was going to see if there were any rooms available in Eastsound, but this makes more sense. ” She picked up her brush and silently resumed brushing her hair. I called the desk. Fred and I had gone round and round over the room problem one more time after Max gave me the picture.
    I had pulled rank on him, hoping Detective Beaumont would elicit more action than Mr. Beaumont. No such luck. His tone was somewhat guarded. “Yes, Detective Beaumont.
    What can I do for you?” “You have a roll-away bed down there?”
    “Yes. “
    “I want one up here, on the double. Mrs. Watkins will stay here with me. We have reason to believe Larson’s killer is still in the area. He may try to reach her next. Don’t leak a word of this, is that clear?” “Yes, sir. I’ll deliver it myself. Not even the maids will know. I can pick it up in the morning before I leave.”
    “And if she has any calls,” I continued, “put them on hold and check with me before you put them through.”
    “I understand.”
    “When’s your shift over?”
    “I’m pulling an extra one tonight. I won’t get off until eight tomorrow morning.”
    “All right. Have the roll-away back out of here before you go. I guess that’s all.”
    “Detective Beaumont?”
    “Yes.’
    “Someone said Detective Huggins is just pulling up at the dock. ” “Good. See if you can locate any coffee, would you?” “Sure thing.”
    When Huggins knocked on the door, he was carrying a tray with a pot of coffee and three cups and saucers. “Somebody handed me this tray. Whatever you’ve got, Beaumont, it better be good.”
    “It is, Hal,” I assured him. “Believe me.”
    Ginger poured coffee while I brought Hal up to date and showed him the photograph of Wilson. When I finished, he shook his head sadly. “It’s a pisser. The wrong goddamned people get killed. Wilson’ll end up on Death Row with Lathrop, and probably beat him to the gallows.”
    I interrupted Huggins’ grim soliloquy. “Look, Hal, I called my partner in Seattle. He’s gathering everything Seattle P.D. has on Lathrop and Wilson. It’ll be ready when you call. He’ll bring it out himself if you ask for him.”
    “Is he one of the old-timers?” Hal asked. “Somebody I’d remember’?” “No. He’s brand-new, but a hell of a nice guy.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Peters. Ron Peters.”
    He made a note of the name before turning to Ginger. “Can you remember exactly what Wilson said when he threatened you and Mr. Larson?” Ginger shook her head. “Not the exact words. Just that he’d make us pay, that it