Cath nodded. He'd been at confession about then, he'd wager. Which meant he'd seen nothing helpful himself. "The sun isn't being helpful either," he admitted. "Might have to try something else for keeping track of time." Even though he doubted wherever the hell they were, it was possible. He was going by his internal clock himself. He had a fairly rigorous one, didn't even need an alarm clock to wake himself up at dawn anymore.
No, for likely the first time in his adult life, Cath was innocent of any crime at all. Which would have been ironically amusing if the circumstances weren't so grim. And honestly, if he were to murder someone, he wouldn't choose the library. It was too connected with him and would be a dead giveaway.
He let out a small curse in Gaelic. The maintenance man had a family on board. It would be horrible if that sweet little odd girl's father was a murderer. Or got in the way of whomever was killing people and got himself murdered. "We should speak to him regardless. Maybe he saw something he didn't recognize before."
Cath didn't voice what he was certain the other man was probably wondering as well. Any of them could be the murderer. If he wasn't absolutely certain Mae would never keep killing someone from him (and besides, she'd never been able to hide it from him anyway, as messy and bloody as both murders had to be), he'd have considered her as a likely culprit. She was one of the most effective killers he knew and this was making her twitchy. He'd have to keep closer tabs on her from now on, so she didn't hurt herself hurting some fool who upset her.
"Two passengers and one staff," he corrected. "If you're speaking of the people who didn't answer for room check. CJ Austin was a performer. Played guitar, wasn't half bad." It wasn't nice to speak ill of the dead (or disappeared, whatever), so he didn't mention the rumours about the man and his sexual appetite. He'd wisely stayed clear of Cath's wife, which was all he asked of the male population of the ship.
Cath knew the FBI agent was trying to disassociate to keep his sanity. He'd split himself into nearly two people to be able to murder and destroy for fifteen years. But that sort of disassociation could be dangerous. People had to always be people, that way you remembered they had souls and every life counted.