Kemble said, "If this is about the marina, I'm the owner's representative, anything that concerns the vessel..."
"It's not about the marina," Silvino said, without looking at him. He looked at Octavia. "Please."
She took him out onto the side deck, forward, where the wind came over the bulwark in hard cold gusts and nobody could hear them. He opened his fist. In his palm was a small black thumb drive with the logo of a hardware store chain on it, the kind you could buy at a register for nine dollars.
"Friday night," he said. "Camera nine. It's the fuel dock camera, but it gets the end of your pier. The foredeck. You can see the crane." He turned the drive over in his fingers. "The captain asked me Saturday if we had anything. Around half past seven, he said. I told him I couldn't say. That's what I was told to tell him. Company policy. Footage only goes out to the police, or with a subpoena, or through Boston." He looked up at her. "It's not half past seven, ma'am. It's after eleven."
"I know," she said.
He blinked. "You know?"
"I found out this morning. I didn't have proof. I had a hospital wristband and an ambulance run sheet."
"Well." He held out the drive. "Now you got proof."
She did not take it yet. "Silvino. What happens to you if you give me that?"