It’s dawn on a chilly October morning and “Big” Ed Masterman, rowing in his single scull, is intent on finding his focus, his rhythm. Intent on reaching that exhilarating psychic zone that comes with nature, solitude, and heart-pounding exertion. Suddenly, his smooth-running boat bangs into an object. It’s a body lying just below the surface of the water. Shocked and in disbelief, he picks up his speed to 46 strokes per minute, racing to his finish line. Only then does he let his mind stop. He realizes he has recognized the face.
So begins Body of Water by Daniel J. Boyne, one of the premier writers of rowing non-fiction. But here, the author of books on the Kelly dynasty and the famed women’s Red Rose Crew for a change tackles a mystery.
The dead rower is Finley Sparks, a snotty Harvard kid that Masterman had once coached. The rower’s father, Sheldon Sparks, is a wealthy, well-connected businessman who had gotten Masterman fired from his Harvard coaching job over an issue involving Finley. Further complicating the father’s relationship to Masterman is Sparks’ latest trophy wife – Masterman’s former fiancé!
Of course, Masterman becomes a suspect in the murder. But Boyne gives us reasons to suspect all the characters – the Harvard cop who’s tight with Sheldon Sparks, Sparks’ trophy wife whose strand of hair is found where it shouldn’t be, the ne’er do well who’s exposing himself to Harvard coeds, Finley’s former boss who wonders if the kid stole his client list, and two of Finley’s teammates who loved nothing better than a dare.
Trying to solve this crime is the young detective who, mixing business with pleasure, has started a dalliance with the beautiful, hard-charging, motor-cycle riding medical examiner.
To weave this fast-paced tale, Boyne draws on his world of Harvard and rowing, with all its striving, rivalries, and romances. He also lets us see through his own (Masterson’s) eyes the natural beauty of his river, the Charles, and what it feels like to be a rower on it in spring.
“Red-winged blackbirds had already returned, shifting from branch to branch along the shore, uttering their percussive trills as he passed. He also spotted a pair of hooded mergansers bobbing about, unwilling to leave their winter abode….Soon he found himself going under bridges and past historic landmarks without registering their names or relevance. The river was just the river, with its ever-changing aspects.”
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