“Right on the Delaware?”

“Then, sure. Myself, I always fished in the bay, downriver.” Jackmann retrieved the fourth rod, brought it to the back of the boat, and handed it to Mary. “The river takes you to the C amp; D canal, then down to the Chesapeake. But in the bay, you can get weakies, tons a weakies, now that they’re back.”

“Weakies?”

“Weakfish, like a sea trout. No pin bones, my wife grills them.” Jackmann nodded. “I used to know a contractor, his father bought a house on the weakies he sold. There’s stripers in the rips, too. It’s the current from the ocean, and plenty of guys fish in the rocks, for tog.”

Stripers? Rips? Tog? Okay, whatever. Mary set the rod down. “But what about the port? Could you fish off the port? Did people do that, before the war?”

“Sure. Then, you could fish right off the port. Lots of Italians from South Philly did that right off of Washington Avenue. I didn’t know any of those guys. I was a college boy.”

“But Saracone knew Amadeo. I’m thinking they knew each other from fishing together, or the lunch truck.”

Jackmann snorted. “Had to be the truck. Gio didn’t fish.”

Mary blinked. “I saw a stuffed fish on the wall, in his den. It was big.”

“Then he bought it.”

Mary felt sure, now. Jackmann had the ring of authority. “Gio owned boats, though. Fishing boats.”

“Sure. Boats weren’t about fishing, for a guy like him. Boats were about showing off. The kinda boats he had anyway. Gio loved boats. He collected boats. Sold ’em used, kept buyin’ more, until the end when he got sick.” Jackmann closed the lid of the box, with a heavy slam. “His last boat was a Bertram 60. A sixty-footer. Staterooms, master bedroom, unbelievable. Beautiful yacht. The Bella Melania.”

“You went out with him on the boat?”

“Sure.”

“You fished, he watched?”

“I fished, he drank my Bud.”

Mary was trying to piece it together. “You think Saracone and Amadeo could have met because of the lunch truck?”

“Who’s Amadeo?”

“Brandolini.”

“Possible.” Jackmann paused on the deck, resting a hand on his back and stretching it back and forth. “Gio went all along the river with the truck, and he spoke English and Italian. He was the friendly type, always with a big smile. So it’s possible he got to know your friend, Brandolini, that way.”

Mary considered it. It would explain a lot. How they knew each other even though Saracone didn’t fish. She was trying not to be completely discouraged, but she didn’t know much more than when she came. Jackmann stepped down, knelt on the deck, and opened a small hatch in the middle of the boat as Mary watched him, hating life. Then she blinked. The hatch was round and thick, about eight inches in diameter. Where had she seen that before? All of a sudden, she realized.

Amadeo’s drawings. The circles on the papers in his wallet. Mary couldn’t believe her eyes. She had forgotten about them. She pointed at the hatch. “What is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That hatch!” It was Amadeo’s drawing, come to life! Or at least, to plastic! Mary jumped into the boat, which rocked in response, and scrambled to kneel down on the deck over the hatch. Just like on the drawings, there was even a small steel catch on the side. Mary pressed it in and out. “Is this a hatch? What does it do?”

“It’s a type of hatch. It’s an inspection port. The fuel gauge is underneath.”

“And the spring?” Mary pushed the catch in and out, and it sprang back each time. “This is a lock. It’s automatic, this mechanism.”

“Yeah. Keeps it watertight. Now I gotta go, hon.”

“One minute.” Mary closed the lid of the hatch and read the outside. Embossed on the top in plastic were two letters: GO. GO? Go?

“That’s Gio’s hatch.”

“What?” Mary raised her eyes slowly, as it dawned on her. “Gio’s hatch?”

“He named it after himself. Get it? GO.”

“What do you mean by ‘Gio’s hatch’?”

“Gio invented it, the lucky bastard. Got a patent on it.” Jackmann bent over and closed the hatch. “There’s no patent anymore, it’s just the brand name, GO. But it’s the top of the line in that type of hatch.”

“Saracone invented it?” Mary repeated in disbelief.

“Yeh. It’s used on fishing boats, then got picked up for commercial boats of all kinds. It was the first to have the automatic closer. It was such an innovation, Gio was able to sell licenses on the patent and get a grant back on each one, giving him the royalties and the credit on the ap. Helluva businessman, Gio was.” Jackmann clucked. “I don’t think he worked a day in his life after that thing got patented, way back in -”

“1942?”

“Right.”

“He patented it.” Mary came fully up to speed, flashing on the laundry line in Amadeo’s backyard. It was practical, useful, ingenious. An invention. Amadeo was the mechanical one and he was the fisherman, too. He had three fishing boats when Saracone was driving a lunch truck. In one blinding moment, it all fell into place. Amadeo had invented this hatch, and Saracone had strangled him for it, under a lonely tree in Montana, in the midst of a world war.

“Yeah.” Jackmann shook his head. “I never woulda thought Gio was the mechanical type, but there you have it. Probably made fifty mil off that thing.”

“Fifty million dollars?”

“Easy, and Justin told me at the funeral that now that his father’s gone, he’s gonna sell the whole shebang to Reinhardt.”

“What do you mean?”

“Reinhardt’s the second biggest hatch maker. The competition. Justin told me he’s selling the trademark, the rights, and all. Next week. They’ll put the GO hatch out under the Reinhardt trademark, for a boatload of dough. It’s one big payday for the kid.”

Not if I can help it. Finally, Mary had figured out why Saracone had committed murder.

Now all she had to figure out was what to do about it.

And go do it.

Right now.

Forty

Mary was back in her semi-repaired war room at Rosato amp; Associates, where it had all started, typing furiously online. She had practically run here from the marina and hit the office on fire. She still couldn’t believe it. She had figured it out. She had Saracone. She would bring him to justice. She would set it right. For Amadeo. It was after hours, and the office was empty. The glass window behind her was black and opaque, and the conference room reeked of stale coffee. Mary had already called in reinforcements, but for now the only sound was the clacking of her keyboard.

The website of the United States Patent and Trademark Office came onto her laptop screen, and she clicked to Search Patents, where she was stumped. The search for issued patents by keyword went back only to 1976. The GO hatch would have been patented in 1942 or thereabouts. Damn. Mary had learned enough about patents in law school to know that they were frequently altered and improved, in some cases to extend their life past the permissible term of seventeen years. She moved the mouse and in the box, typed: “Saracone” in “all fields” AND “hatch” in “all fields.” Onto the screen popped:

Results of Search in 1976 to present db for:

Saracone AND hatch: 24 patents.

Hits 1 through 24 out of 24

Bingo! The screen showed twenty-four listings, which set forth the patent number, the title, and a short description of the patent. She skimmed the first four, but none of them seemed to have anything to do with hatches. Still it looked like Saracone had been busy, if it was the same Saracone. Mary clicked the first listing and started reading. It was a patent issued to Giovanni Saracone just last year, for a larger hatch than the one on the boat deck, and one that had the same configuration as the one on the boat deck. And according to the site, the GO hatch was used on bunkers in disaster areas.