Clark Hoyt looked like he would cry. He didn’t say another word until he’d downed two cups of coffee and eaten a croissant, smeared with a real butter pat and sugarless apricot jam.
When Lily came in a few minutes later, Simon smiled at the sight. She looked even better than he’d imagined. She was wearing black stretch jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and black boots. She looked like a fairy princess who was also a cat burglar on her nights off. Clark Hoyt, when he rose to greet her, said, “Quite a change from how you looked early this morning. I like all the black.”
Lily thanked him, poured herself a cup of coffee, and watched him eat a second croissant. He filled Lily in on what they hadn’t found so far.
Hoyt said, “I called Savich back at Disneyland East and filled him in. He made me swear on the head of my schnauzer, Gilda, that you guys didn’t have a single singed hair on your heads. It was arson, all right, but no idea yet who the perps were or who hired them.”
“Disneyland East?” Lily asked, an eyebrow up.
“Yep, just another loving name for FBI Headquarters. Hey, thanks for breakfast. You guys still smell like smoke. It’s really tough to get it all out. I should know, I was overenthusiastic with my barbeque last summer and lost my eyebrows, although my face was so black you couldn’t tell. Just lay low; keep out of sight until I get some news for you, okay?”
• It was early afternoon when Hoyt came to get them from the lodge. Mr. Monk hadn’t tried to fly out of harm’s way. Actually, he hadn’t flown anywhere. He was quite dead, head pressed against the steering wheel, three bullets through his back. The Jeep was in a sparse stand of redwood trees, and some hikers, poking around, had found him.
Lieutenant Larry Dobbs of the Eureka Police Department knew that the situation was dicey, that it involved a whole lot more than this one body, and even that the FBI was involved. He agreed to let Clark Hoyt bring out the two civilians, after the crime scene had been gone over.
Simon and Lily stood looking at the Jeep. “They didn’t really try to hide him,” she said. “On the other hand, it could have been a long time before someone accidentally came upon him. God bless hikers.”
“The medical examiner estimates he’s been dead about seven hours, give or take,” said Clark Hoyt. “He’ll know a lot more after the autopsy. Our lab guys will crawl all over that Jeep to see what’s what. Ah, here comes Lieutenant Dobbs. You’ve met, haven’t you?”
“We’ve spoken on the phone,” Simon said and shook Dobbs’s hand. Simon saw quickly enough that the lieutenant was impressed with how Clark Hoyt deferred to him.
“Do you think he was with someone?” Lily asked both men. “And that someone killed him and then moved his body to the driver’s side?”
Lieutenant Dobbs said, “No. From the trajectory of the bullets, there was someone, the shooter, riding in the backseat, behind Monk. Maybe someone else riding in the passenger seat. I don’t know. Maybe Monk knew they were taking him out to kill him. But if so, why did he calmly pull over? Again, I don’t know. But the fact is he did pull off the road into the redwoods, and the guy in the backseat shot him.”
Simon and Lily were given permission to walk over the area. They looked everywhere, but there wasn’t anything to see. The hikers had made a mess of things in their initial panic. There were five cop cars and two FBI cars adding to the chaos. There weren’t any tire tracks except the Jeep’s, which meant that the other car must have stayed parked on the paved road.
Lieutenant Dobbs eyed Simon and Lily and said, “Agent Hoyt tells me you guys are involved in this up to your eyeballs. Let me tell you, you two have brought me more woes than I’ve had for the last ten years, beginning with that jerk who attacked you on the public bus, Mrs. Frasier. Oh, yeah, Officer Tucker just found Morrie Jones a couple of hours ago, holed up in a fleabag hotel down on Conduit Street.”
“Keep him safe, Lieutenant,” Lily said. “He was part of this, too, as was Mr. Monk. And look what happened to him.”
“You got it.” Lieutenant Dobbs said then, “You know, it hasn’t been all bad. I’ve met Hoyt here, a real federal agent and all, and I haven’t had to watch Wheel of Fortune with my wife. I haven’t had a single bored minute since I got that first call from you guys. Only bad thing is this body over there. A body’s never good.” He sighed and waved to one of the other officers. He said over his shoulder, “Clark, try to keep these two out of more mischief, all right? Oh, yes, I’m going to be interviewing all the Frasiers, including your husband, Mr. Tennyson Frasier. Maybe it’ll scare them, make them do something else stupid. I understand you’ve already tried, got them all riled up. Now let’s see how they handle the law.” He waved toward the body bag containing Mr. Monk. “This wasn’t a bright thing to do.”
“Don’t forget Charlotte Frasier, Lieutenant,” Lily said, “and don’t be fooled by that syrupy accent. She’s terrifying.”
Hoyt said, “Then I’m going to wait until the lieutenant is through with them, wait until they’re nice and comfortable at their homes in Hemlock Bay again, and then I’m going to pay them a little visit and grill them but good. Savich has sent me lots of stuff. I’ve been speaking to some of our representatives in Sacramento, checking real close into Elcott Frasier’s financial situation. Lots of conflicting info so far, but there’s been a lot of flow in and out of his accounts there. Something will shake loose; it usually does. Oh, yeah, I heard that Elcott Frasier has hired Mr. Bradley Abbott, one of the very best criminal lawyers on the West Coast, to represent him and his family.” Hoyt rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be really interesting.”
As they drove back to Eureka, Simon was brooding. Lily recognized the signs. He looked single-minded as he drove, looking neither right nor left, saying nothing to Lily, who was hungry and wanted to go to the bathroom.
“Stop it, Simon.”
That jerked him around to stare at her. “Stop what?”
“You’ve got a look that says you’re far away, like maybe the Delta Quadrant.”
“Yeah, I was just thinking. About Abe Turkle. He’s a loose end, Lily, just like Mr. Monk. So is Morrie Jones, but he’s in jail, and hopefully safe there. The lieutenant is going to put a guard on him.”
Lily said, “I forgot to tell you, when you and Hoyt were talking back there, Lieutenant Dobbs told me that Morrie claims he doesn’t know a thing, that a couple of thugs hurt him when he was minding his own business in a bar. He claimed no broad could ever hurt him. Oh yes, Morrie’s got a big-time lawyer. I wonder how much money Morrie’s being paid to keep his mouth shut.”
Simon said, “Can Lieutenant Dobbs find out who hired the lawyer?”
“I asked him if he knew. He said he’d sniff around. Now, Simon, you’re brooding because you think Abe Turkle might be in danger.” In that instant, Lily forgot she was hungry, forgot she needed to go to the bathroom. “You’ve just made my stomach drop to my knees. Let’s go see Abe, Simon.”
He grinned over at her, braked, and did a wide U-turn.
“Hey,” she said, “not bad driving. Won’t this piece of garbage go any faster?”
Simon laughed. “You’re the best, Lily, do you know that? Hey, I see someone doing another U-turn behind us. Must be our protection.”
“Good. Hope he can keep up with us.”
Simon laughed.
“My dad, Buck Savich, used to tell me that if I decided to become a professional bookie, I’d be the best in the business. Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He’d say my eyes changed color whenever I lied, and if anyone noticed that, my days as a bookie would be over.”
“Your eyes are blue right now. What color do they go to when you lie?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never looked at myself in the mirror and lied to it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, though, and let you know.”
Simon turned his attention back to the road. He saw big Abe Turkle in his mind, a paintbrush between his teeth, ready
to beat the crap out of him. Then Abe’s smile when he looked at Lily. The man was a crook, but he was an excellent artist. Simon didn’t want him to get killed.
He sped up to sixty because his gut was crawling. Bad things, bad things. But he said in a smooth, amused voice, “I met your dad when Dillon and I were in our senior year at MIT. He was something else.”
“Yes,” she said. “He was the best. I miss him very much. All us kids do. As for Mom, she was a mess for a long time. She met this guy, a congressman from Missouri, just last year, still claims they’re only friends, but she’s a lot happier, smiles a lot more, just plain gets out and does more things. She adores Sean, too. He’s the only grandkid close by.”
“What did your mom think of all the legends about Buck Savich? There were so many colorful ones floating about long before he died.”
“She’d just shake her head, grin like a bandit, and say she didn’t think the tales were exaggerations at all. Then, I swear it to you, she’d blush. I think she was talking about intimate things, and it always freaked us kids out. You just can’t think of your parents in that way, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I do. I guess, on the other side of the coin, our parents look at us and see little kids who will be virgins for the rest of their lives.”
Lily laughed. “What about your parents? Where do they live?”
“My folks have been divorced for a very long time. My dad’s a lawyer, remarried to a woman half his age. They live in Boston. No little half-brothers or half-sisters. My mom didn’t remarry, lives in Los Angeles, runs her own makeover consulting firm. If they ever had any liking for each other, it was over before I could remember it. My sisters, both older than I am, told me they’d never seen anything resembling affection either.” He paused just a moment, slowed a bit for a particularly gnarly turn, then sped up again. “You know, Lily, I have a hard time seeing you as a bookie. Did you make some money for college?”
She gave him a shark’s grin, all white teeth, ready to bite. “You bet. Thing was, though, Mom decided it was better that Dad not know exactly what my earnings totaled from age sixteen to eighteen, especially since I hadn’t paid any taxes.”
“It boggles the mind.” He looked at her then, saying nothing, just looking. “Do you know that you’re looking more like a fairy princess again? I like you in all that black. How’s your scar doing?”
“My innards are fine; the scar itches just a bit. It’s no wonder you like all black since you bought all my clothes. You want me to look like Batgirl, Simon?”
“I always did like to watch her move.” He grinned at her. “Truth is, I saw the black pants and knew it would have to be black all the way.” He gave her a sideways look. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but did all the underwear fit?”
“Too well,” she said, “and I don’t like to think about it, so stop looking at me.”
“Okay.” For a couple of seconds, Simon kept his eyes on the road. Then he said, chuckling, “As I said, when I saw the black, I knew it was you. But you know, I think the biggest change was your getting all that ash and soot washed out of your hair and off your face.”
Every stitch she was wearing was black, even the boot socks. She said, not intending to, “Why haven’t you ever married?”
“I was married, a very long time ago.”
“Tell me.”
He gave her another sideways look, saw that she really wanted to know, and said, “Well, I was twenty-two years old, in overwhelming lust, as was Janice, and so we got married, divorced within six months, and both of us joined the army.”
“That was a long time ago. Where is Janice now?”
“She stayed in the army. She’s a two-star general, stationed in Washington, D.C. I heard she’s gorgeous as a general. She’s married to a four-star. Hey, maybe someday she’ll be chief of staff.”
“I wonder why Dillon didn’t tell me.”
“He would have been my best man in the normal course of things, but we eloped and he was off in Europe that summer, living on a shoestring, so I knew he didn’t have the money to fly home, then back to Europe again.” Simon shrugged. “It was just as well. Who was your first husband? Beth’s father?”
“His name was Jack Crane. He was a stockbroker for Phlidick, Dammerleigh and Pierson. He was a big wheeler-dealer at the Chicago Stock Exchange.”
“Why’d you split up?”
She tried to just shrug it off, give him a throwaway smile, but it wasn’t possible. She drew a deep breath and said, “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Okay, for now. Here we are. Keep your eyes open, Lily, I really have a bad feeling about this.” He turned right onto the narrow asphalt road that led to the cottage, looked back, and saw their protection turning in behind them.
No motorcycle.
Simon did a quick scan, didn’t see a thing. “I really don’t like this.”
“Maybe he just went into town to get some barbeque sauce to go with his snails.”
Simon didn’t think so, but he didn’t argue as they walked up to the cottage. The door wasn’t locked. He didn’t say a word, just picked Lily up under her armpits and moved her behind him. He opened the door slowly. It was gloomy inside, all the blinds pulled down. The room was completely empty—no stacked paintings against the walls, no easel, no palette, not even a drop of paint anywhere or the smell of turpentine, just empty.
“Check the kitchen, Lily. I’m going to look in the bedroom.” They met back in the empty living room five minutes later.
Agent Colin Smith stood in the open doorway. “No sign of Abe Turkle?”
Simon shook his head and said, “Nope. All that’s left is a box of Puffed Wheat, a bit of milk, not soured, and a couple of apples, still edible, so he hasn’t been gone long.”
Lily said, “He’s packed up and left. All his clothes, suitcase, everything gone, even his toothpaste.”
“Do you think he went to London with that painting he was finishing?”
“I hope not. It was really very good, too good.”
Colin Smith asked, “You were afraid he was dead, weren’t you? Murdered. Like Mr. Monk.”
Simon nodded. “I had a bad feeling there for a while. Let’s tell Lieutenant Dobbs about this. Agent Smith, if you’ll call Clark Hoyt, fill him in. You know, Abe had lots of stuff—at least thirty paintings leaning against the walls. All he had was a motorcycle. Maybe he rented a U-Haul to carry everything away.”
“Or maybe one of the Frasiers loaned him a truck.”
“Maybe. Now then, Agent Smith, Lily and I are off to pay a visit to Morrie Jones. I need to speak to Lieutenant Dobbs and the DA, get their okay. I’ve got an offer for Morrie he can’t refuse.”
Lily held up a hand. “No, I don’t want to know. Maybe by now they know who’s paying his lawyer.” Simon closed the cottage door and waved to Agent Smith.
“Don’t count on it,” Simon said as he set the pillow gently over Lily’s stomach and fastened the seat belt.
19
Saint John’s, Antigua Public Administration Building, near Reed Airport
“It’s so bright and hot and blue,” Sherlock said, scratching her arm. Then she sighed. “You know, Sean would really like this place. We could strip him down and play in that sand, build a castle with him, even a moat. I can just see him rolling over on the castle, flattening it, laughing all the while.”
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Sherlock realized Dillon wasn’t listening. She could only imagine what was going through his mind, all the ifs and buts.
It was his show, and naturally he was worried, impossible not to be. They were working through the American Consular Agent with the Royal Police Force at Police Headquarters located on, strangely enough, American Road. But they were still in a foreign country, dealing with locals who were both bewildered by the extreme reaction of the United States federal cops—all fifty of them—to one woman, who only had one arm and was supposedly coming to their airport. But they w
ere cooperating, really serious now after Savich had shown the entire group photos of her victims, including the latest one on Tortola. That one really brought it home.
Tammy couldn’t have gotten to Antigua before late morning, no way, even with a fast boat. Tortola was just too far away. The weather had been calm, no high winds or waves. She couldn’t have gotten here ahead of them, except by plane, and they’d been checking air traffic from Tortola and nearby islands. And there was no indication at all that she knew how to fly. They’d had time to get everything set up, to get everyone in position.
Sherlock gave him a clear look. “We have time. Stop worrying. Marilyn will be here in about two hours. We’ll go over everything with her, step by step.”
“What if Tammy isn’t alone? What if Tammy has been traveling around as Timmy this whole time? Remember, it was Timmy who called Marilyn at Quantico.”
Sherlock had never before seen him so questioning of what he was doing.
When she spoke, Sherlock’s voice was as calm as the incredible blue water not one hundred yards away, “One arm is one arm, despite anything else. No one on any of the islands has reported anyone jiggering about with just one arm. The odds are stacked way against her. You know all the local police in both the British Virgin Islands and the U.S. Virgin Islands are on full alert. The Antiguan authorities aren’t used to mayhem like this, so you can bet they’re very concerned, probably more hyper than we are, particularly after those crime-scene photos. Dillon, everyone is taking this very seriously.”
“So you think I should just chill out?”
“No, that’s impossible. But you’re very smart, top drawer. Just stop trying to second-guess yourself. You’ve done everything to prepare. If we have to deal with something other than just Tammy, we will.”
The local cops, of which there weren’t many, had converged on the airport. They were trying to look inconspicuous and failing, but they were trying, a couple of them even joking with tourists. All of them were used to dealing with locals who occasionally smoked too much local product or drank too much rum, or an occasional tourist who tried to steal something from a duty-free store. Nothing like this. This was beyond their experience.
The FBI Thrillers Collection Page 20
