“Spook types are professionally suspicious,” I said to Zee. “They automatically don’t believe you. They don’t disbelieve you, necessarily, but they don’t believe you, either.”
“Are you like that, Jake?” asked Zee.
“No comment,” said Jake.
“Did you know that Maggie Pomerlieu and Barbara Miller are sisters?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, we noticed that. And we’ve noticed other things, too. For instance, we noticed that Ben Miller made business trips to countries a week or two before the president and Cricket got there, and it occurred to us that it might mean something, considering the hard time Barbara had after she left the IRS. Like maybe he left the letters with people to be mailed later to the president. And we knew that Ben Miller and Walt Pomerlieu have been close since they were kids together in prep school, even before they married sisters. The old-boy Yankee network rearing its famous head. The Intelligence-International Finance Society and Marching Band we know so well. Old, rich, honorable, patriotic families and all that.” He paused. “So that’s why we filtered Joan and Ted into the Secret Service. We needed somebody to check things out from the inside. Since then we’ve had a lot of theories, but up till now we couldn’t prove anything.”
“And now you can?” asked Zee.
“I’m not sure,” said Spitz.
I thought of old New England money and of my own relative poverty, and a vision of extortion appeared in my brain. I examined it for a while, and the more I looked at it, the more I liked it. There were dangers for sure, but the rewards justified chancing them. All I needed to do was be careful.
— 26 —
It was just before noon when I called Walt Pomerlieu from our house. There was a nip in his voice when he got on the phone.
“Mr. Jackson, I’m glad you called. Where is your young charge? We haven’t heard from her or Karen since yesterday, and her parents are getting worried.”
“They’re fine,” I said. “They’ve gone fishing. I’ll be picking them up later.”
“Where are they fishing? I need to know where they are at all times, as I’m sure you can understand.”
I was sure I could. “They’re absolutely safe,” I said. “They can radio in if they have any problems. I’d like to see you privately about another matter. I’m alone at home. Can you come by?”
“What’s it about, Mr. Jackson?”
“This line may be secure at your end, but I’m not sure about my end. When you hear what I have to say, I think you’ll agree it was best not to discuss it by phone. In fact, I think you’ll agree that it’s best not to discuss it with anyone but ourselves.”
“That sounds very mysterious, Mr. Jackson.”
“It has to do with the death of Burt Phillips,” I prodded.
He hesitated. Then, “All right. At your house, you say? I’m on my way.”
I was on the porch having the first beer of the day and reading Field and Stream when he came down the driveway in one of the Secret Service’s fleet of vehicles. He parked beside Zee’s little Jeep, stepped out and looked around, then came up and rapped on the screen door. I told him to come in, and he did.
I put the magazine down on the table beside the chair, set my mug on the magazine, and got up to shake hands. “Care for a beer?” I asked. “Sam Adams. America’s finest bottled brew.”
“Sure.”
I went into the kitchen and came out with a bottle and mug. He took them and filled the mug.
“Where are Cricket and Karen?”
I sat down again and waved him into another chair. “Fishing, like I told you. They’re fine. Before we have our little talk, are you sure that your people found all of the bugs in this house? I don’t think we’ll want our conversation recorded anywhere.”
He sipped his beer and frowned. “The house is clean. What’s this all about?”
“Photographs.”
They were in an envelope under the copy of Field and Stream. I handed them to him. “I’ve numbered them in sequence. They’re most interesting if you look at them in the order they were taken.”
He looked through the first of them. “What are these?”
“They were in Burt Phillips’s camera. He took them the day that he died.”
He flipped through the rest of the pictures, pausing so imperceptibly at the ones of himself that had I not been watching for the hesitation, I’d not have seen it. “Where did you get these? I personally checked out the film in Burt Phillips’s camera. It was blank. He’d never used it.”
“I’ll bet you checked it out personally. But you found unused film because I put a new roll in after I took this one out of Burt’s camera. While he was down the road to Felix Neck, where he got himself killed.”
His eyes were hard. “You’re in trouble,” he said. “You’ve interfered with a murder investigation.”
“I don’t think I’m in trouble,” I said. “I think you’re in trouble. You killed Burt Phillips.”
He glared. “You’re mad.”
“I’m not even upset. What I am is poor. I just got married, and I’m going to need more income than I needed when I was single. I did a little research on you, Walt, and I know that you, being the rich guy you are, can afford to supplement my income a little. Don’t worry, I’m not greedy. You can keep that set of pictures, by the way. I have the negatives.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you being off duty when we were all away from the house and Burt got your picture coming out of our driveway in your classic Volvo. You drove in not knowing whether anybody’d be here or not. If we were here, you were just checking up, but if we weren’t you finally had your chance to do in Cricket and get away with it. You knew which bed she’d be sleeping in, and you planted your trusty radio-detonated bomb right under it. Then you planted the bugs to be double sure you’d always know what was going on. But when you came out, there was poor old Burt, and he could ID you, so you had to get rid of him. How am I doing so far?”
He glared. “You’re crazy.”
“Maybe. The plan was to kill Debby that night, after she was asleep. You told us to expect a late call from you, and you phoned on schedule. You expected to have me verify that Debby was in bed and you planned to detonate the bomb while we were talking. It would give you and Ben Miller perfect alibis. When the bomb went off, Ben would be in Egypt and you would be on the phone, probably with witnesses, other agents who weren’t in on your plans.
“But Debby wasn’t home. She was spending the night at John Skye’s house. So the plan went awry, and the next day, because Joan Lonergan took the call from my house and told you there was a problem with bugs, you had no choice but to have your agents sweep this place, and of course one of them found the bomb. Am I boring you? I hope not.”
I went on, and when I was done, he continued to glare, as if in amazement. “How many people have heard these incredible accusations? This is slander! You think you’re poor now, but when my lawyers are through with you, you’ll have nothing! Nothing!”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “So far, this is just between you and me. That’s why I waited to talk to you until after my wife went to work, and why I sent Debby and Karen off fishing. I don’t think anybody else needs to know about this.” I paused, then added, “Yet.”
His eyes left me and looked out through the screen at the yard. His head turned and then came back, and his eyes returned to mine. “Yet? I warn you, Mr. Jackson, that I will tolerate no such scandalous allegations as yours to be attached to my name.”
I made a casual gesture. “If it really is slander, I imagine you and your lawyers will have me in jail or the poorhouse when you get done with me. Serve me right, too. People shouldn’t go around saying nasty, untrue things about other people.” I drank more of my beer. “On the other hand, I’m pretty sure of myself. I guess the only way to check it out is for me to take my photos and my ideas to, say, the FBI or the state police and have them look into thing
s. If I’m as full of shit as you say I am, they’ll give you a clean bill of health and I’ll be dead meat for your lawyers. What do you think? Shall I do that?”
He thought for a while, studying me as he did. Then he said, “I don’t think you realize how damaging your accusations will be, even when they’re proven false, as they certainly will be. My reputation will be forever compromised, my honor smudged. Are you so immoral a person as to ruin an innocent man? I took you for something better.”
I gave him an admiring glance. “You’re good. I’d probably be beginning to feel a little doubtful about myself right now if I hadn’t gotten a description of you an hour or so ago from the guy who waited on you down at the photo shop yesterday, when you tried to pick up my film. It was you, all right, which means that you’re the guy who bugged this house in the first place. You’re half of the letter-writing team, Walt, and your brother-in-law is the other half.”
He got up. “Do you mind if I look through your house? I know you said we’d be meeting in private, but you’ll forgive me for not trusting you completely. I’m alone, and I’d like to be sure you are, too.”
I waved toward the living room door. “Take a look. I’ll be right here.”
He went into the house, and I waited until he came out again. Hands in his pockets, he leaned a shoulder against the door frame.
“It seems we are indeed by ourselves,” he said. “So. How much will it cost me to buy your silence in this matter? I don’t care to risk an official investigation that would inevitably harm my career and my family’s reputation, even though in the end I’d be found innocent of any wrongdoing. What’s your price, Mr. Jackson?”
“I had an annual salary supplement in mind, not a lump sum.”
“And that supplement would be what?”
I told him, and he gave a faint smile.
“That could add up over the years, Mr. Jackson.”
“As I told you, I’ve done a little research about your family and its finances. You can afford me. I’m not being greedy.”
“But what’s to prevent you from becoming so in the future, Mr. Jackson?”
“Call me J.W. All my friends do, and I think we should consider each other friends, don’t you, Walt?”
“All right, J.W. What’s to keep you from becoming greedy in the future?”
“You have my word, Walt. I’m not interested in being rich. I like the sort of life I lead right now.”
He stood away from the door and picked up his mug of beer. “Look at it my way, J.W. You’ll have your story and the negatives to back it up, and you’ll be able to hand them to the FBI or whoever any time you want to. And what’s to stop you?”
“The annual supplement. If I talk, the money stops. Believe me, that’s ample motive for keeping what I know to myself.” I smiled.
“And will your wife feel the same way? Or will she want more? I recall the old saying that men cannot resist beauty and women cannot resist money.”
“My wife knows nothing about any of this, and I don’t plan on telling her. Zee is a sweetheart, but women can’t keep their mouths shut about such things. If we can work this deal out, she’ll never know about it.”
He finished his beer and set the mug down on the table. “Where are the negatives, then? What if she finds them? Or are they somewhere where she won’t find them?”
I finished my own beer. Delish, as always. “Don’t worry. I’m the only one who knows where they are, so you’re perfectly safe. Well, I suppose that it’s possible somebody might find them here someday, but even if they did they wouldn’t know what they were looking at, would they?”
His ears almost physically perked up. “Here? Are they here somewhere?”
I felt a little rush of emotion. “Somewhere, maybe. But I’d be a fool to tell you where, and you’d never be able to find them by yourself.”
He looked at me thoughtfully. And then he brought his left hand out of his pocket, and there was a small pistol in it.
“You’re a fool anyway, Mr. Jackson,” he said. “I don’t need to find them. All I need to do is burn down these buildings of yours, and I’ll burn the negatives, too. Don’t you agree?”
My throat felt like the Gobi Desert, and my voice was a croak. “Is that gun loaded?”
“Very loaded, Mr. Jackson. I know that when they find you in the rubble, they’ll discover that you were shot. But they won’t know who did it, because nobody knows I’m here.”
“Now, be careful,” I said, in a voice that sounded like tin. “Don’t shoot. If you shoot, it’ll be murder. Look, I’ll give you the negatives. Is that what you want? I’ll give them to you and I’ll never say anything to anybody. Okay? Just point that gun someplace else.”
“You and Burt Phillips are just the same,” said Pomerlieu. “You’re both full of threats. He was going to write a story about me, and you want my money. He was willing to ruin my family’s name, and so are you.”
“No. I’d never do anything like that. Look, you take the negatives. Just don’t shoot.” My tinny voice had become a whine. I could feel sweat on my forehead.
“Where are they?”
“Out in my shed. I’ll get them. Just don’t shoot.”
“Go get them.”
We went through the house and out the back door. He walked behind me. We got to the shed.
“They’re inside,” I said, “in a bundle of old tax forms in a box.”
“Get them.”
“Don’t shoot.” I stood to one side of the door and opened it.
Jake Spitz stood there, using a two-handed grip on a .45 automatic that was pointed at Pomerlieu.
“Put down the gun, Walt,” he said.
Pomerlieu’s gun was pointed at me. He hesitated.
“Put it down, Mr. Pomerlieu,” said Zee, stepping out from behind the shed, well off to Pomerlieu’s right. She held her Beretta 380, and she, too, was using the two-handed grip.
Ted and Joan drifted into view from the trees to his left, pistols in hand. “Put down the gun, Walt,” said Ted.
Still, he hesitated.
“We have agents all around us, and they’re closing in right now,” said Spitz in the gentle voice I’d heard earlier in the Fireside. “You can’t get away. And even if you managed it, we’ve got everything on tape. You’re not the only one who can plant a bug, you know. Now put the gun down.”
Instead, Pomerlieu raised it and put the muzzle in his mouth.
“Don’t,” said my voice. “Think of Maggie.”
He looked at me.
My voice went on. It sounded something like Spitz’s. “Do you want Maggie to see you after you pull that trigger? Do you? Don’t you love her? And another thing: You’re innocent until they prove you guilty in court. So far, all they have is a taped talk and guesswork. They don’t have any proof. Maybe they’ll never have it. Think of that. Think of Maggie. Think of your boys.”
He stared at me. Then, keeping his eyes on me, he took the pistol out of his mouth and dropped it on the ground.
— 27 —
“I imagine that a suicide in the backyard would have put the kibosh on the big clambake,” said Joe Begay. “The ambiance of the setting wouldn’t make for happy times.”
“I guess not,” said Toni, opening a last littleneck and placing it in its half shell on the platter with the others. She dropped the other half of the shell into the bucket at her feet.
The bucket was half filled with half shells, and there were now three platters of littlenecks awaiting the arrival of the afternoon guests. I got up and put the platter in the fridge along with the other two, and we turned our attention to preparing clams Casino. Earlier that morning I’d taken all of the shellfish out of the freezer, and now they were beginning to thaw, which made them easy to open. They would also taste just as good as if they were fresh from the pond.
It was Sunday, and we were sitting on the back steps, outside the kitchen door. It was about noon, and Joe and I had bottles of Rolling Rock beside us.
Pregnant Toni was having iced tea. The August sky was pale and blue, and the wind was hushing through the trees. I let my eyes survey the yard. I’d mowed the lawn that morning, and things looked pretty good.
Zee stuck her head out of the door behind us. “Let’s get it on, here. The garlic butter is ready to go and the bacon’s been cut. I need clams.”
So we opened cherrystones on the half shell and put them on cookie sheets. Zee topped each clam with a bit of garlic butter, a little square of bacon, and just enough seasoned bread crumbs to sop up any stray juice, and put the cookie sheets into the fridge, which was getting pretty crowded. Besides the littlenecks and the Casinos, there were trays of stuffed clams and bags of mussels and steamers. To get all the shellfish in, I’d had to take a lot of other stuff out. Principally bread and veggies, which were now spread out on the kitchen table. I had plenty of food, and later I’d put beer, wine, and soft drinks into coolers of ice.
“You guys should join us,” I said to Toni. “John and Mattie Skye and the girls will be here, and a kid named Allen Freeman from over on Chappy, and I think Acey Doucette might be coming.”
“Acey Doucette? I didn’t know you and Acey were close.”
“I left that invitation up to Karen Lea. If she wants to invite him, I told her he’d be welcome.”
“I hear you might be buying his Land Rover.”
“That’s what Acey thinks, and if I had more money, maybe I would. But I don’t have more money, so I’m keeping the old Land Cruiser for a few more years. I invited the chief, too, but I don’t think he’ll come. He says he sees all the VIPs he needs to, and after a while one looks a lot like the next one. Besides, I think he’s already met Joe Callahan. In the line of duty, as they say.”
“Well, I haven’t,” said Toni, “and I’d like to.”
“Join the party, then.”
She looked at Joe. “Okay?”
“I’m not your boss,” he said, “I’m your husband. If you want to do it, we’ll do it.”
A Deadly Vineyard Holiday Page 22
