Cornwell, Patricia - Andy Brazil 03 - Isle Of Dogs.txt

by Isle Of Dogs (lit)

  "Why would he hate us?" Grace couldn't make sense of it. "What did we ever do to him or any Hispanic? And we're not a minority except for our practically being a royal family, and there certainly aren't many of those."

  "We don't even know any Hispanics," Faith reminded her family as she looked around the table, her horse-shaped face wavering in soft candle light. "And Papa hasn't a single Hispanic working in his administration and never has. So what do the Hispanics have to be resentful about?"

  "Probably what you just said," Andy replied.

  "Which was what?" Regina asked between chews.

  "It's been my observation that the governor's administration could use a little more variety." Andy tried to be diplomatic. "When an entire group of people finds itself excluded, hard feelings arise and can turn to violence."

  "But Bedford doesn't speak Spanish," Mrs. Crimm explained. "He sees no reason to."

  "He really doesn't see reasons for much of anything, First Lady Crimm." Andy was candid, and he almost added with all due respect, but the specter of Hammer had been hovering over him all day. "I'm convinced if he could do something about his vision, his life would dramatically improve."

  "His vision is the same as it's always been," the First Lady replied. "He envisions a Commonwealth that is uncommon and committed to the wealth and well-being of one and all, and that from this day forth, there shall be the uncommon goal that the people . . . Oh dear, I'm

  afraid I can't remember the next line. What does he say?" She scanned her daughters' bored faces.

  "The same thing he says at every inauguration," Regina replied in disgust. "He's used the same speech every time he's elected and it was stupid the first time and it's still stupid." She looked at Andy. "He thinks Virginia ought to be renamed the Uncommonwealth of Virginia, because he hates North Carolina and is damn tired of all these Fortune 500 companies and banks and movies going there instead of here."

  She reached for the butter, and the silver knife leapt from her buttery, thick fingers and fled across the heart-of-pine floor. Pony appeared out of nowhere and picked it up. He replaced it with a clean one from the silver chest.

  "Can I get you anything else, Miss Reginia?" he politely inquired.

  "That's not a bad name," Andy said in surprise. "Why don't all of us call you Reginia instead of the other?"

  "I don't want to be called something else, and I'm sick and tired of everyone worrying about what I'm called! And I'm even more sick and tired of no one ever calling me to begin with." Tears jumped out of her eyes. "Every time the phone rings it's just somebody trying to find the base unit. I don't have any friends. Not even one." Regina cried with her mouth full, chewing and miserable. "I was born in a coal mine . . ."

  "No you weren't," her mother firmly interrupted.

  "I was conceived in one." Regina became indiscreet. "I know exactly what happened when you and Papa went down into that deep, dark shaft and you had on that little hard hat with the flashlight. Imagine how I feel knowing his sperm had black dust all over it and swam straight to an egg and decided the result would be me!"

  She reached for the bottle of wine, and it slipped out of her grasp and rolled across the table and onto the floor. Pony patiently crawled under the table after the bottle of Virginia Chardonnay.

  "I'm so fucking sick of everything!" Regina bellowed.

  "You are not to use that word ever again," the First Lady told her severely. "What in the world happened to make your mouth so foul? When you were born, you didn't talk like that. And I think the F-word is filthy and unspeakably degrading and unbecoming to a young lady, especially the daughter of a governor."

  "That's the way they talked in the coal mine," Regina smugly said to Andy, and by now no one remembered that Trader was at the table or even in this world.

  Then he made the mistake of thinking like a press secretary and speaking like a pirate. "Yay. Better ye use euphetisms like darnt, doggone it, fudge, rats, for Pate's sake, that's the darntest thing I ever hear, shit, oh shit..."

  "Enough!" Andy ordered him. "I told you not to say shoot in any tense."

  "Why are you talking like that?" Regina was out with it, uncovering her ears and glaring at Trader.

  "I was born on the island as was everybody afore me," he said as he dabbed his bleeding face with a linen napkin. "I'm afraid the shock of witnessing the murder has done something to me brain."

  "Well, I don't care if you were born on the island. You can just forget the rubbish that what you're speaking is Old English or Elizabethan English or that John Smith said shit instead of shot or shoot. Now he might have said shat, but not shit. Does everybody on the island talk like you, or do you have your own special secret vernacular or something?" Regina was brutal but honestly curious. "After all these centuries, why don't you talk so people can understand what the hell you're saying?

  "Mama, I insist Papa fire this man. I can't stand him in the mansion another day. I just know I'll hear him in my head all the time and it will drive me to distraction. And I simply can't afford to be driven to distraction because there are so many distractions already and I'm bored to death of being driven everywhere by EPU. I want a car and a license and to go places without security!"

  "Shhh!" the First Lady ordered as Pony detected footsteps out front and hurried toward them.

  Momentarily, the door shut loudly in the entrance hallway and the tone of murmuring voices suggested that Bedford Crimm had not enjoyed the day much.

  "I smell ham!" he announced in dismay. "I thought we were having seafood tonight. I am most decidedly not in the mood for ham. What happened to the crabs I had flown in?"

  "Sir, will that be all?' a trooper asked.

  "No!" Maude Crimm called out from the dining room. "Don't let him go, sweetie! We need all of the EPU to stay right here!"

  This was very much out of character for the First Lady, who was known for getting annoyed with omnipresent security details. At first, she had felt important and admired when squadrons of powerfully built EPU troopers in immaculate suits surrounded her everywhere she went and made certain her every need was fulfilled. Then she grew weary of it. Maude Crimm longed to sit in the garden or the tub or watch TV or shop on the Internet or get her cosmetic procedures without cameras or others taking all of it in. She was becoming increasingly paranoid about her privacy and nurtured a growing suspicion that the troopers saw everything she did--everything, including her endeavors to hide her collectibles.

  "What's this all about?" the governor asked as he walked into the dining room and squinted in the candlelight to make out what was on everyone's plates. "Ham," he muttered disagreeably. "1 can't stand ham. What happened to the crabs?" He fixed his unhappy, dull gaze on Regina.

  "We let them go." She was candid with her father.

  "I flew them in on the state helicopter and you let them go?"

  "And the trout," she replied, reaching for the mint jelly.

  "Sir." Andy was determined to get to the heart of the First Family's difficulties. "There's a situation I think you need to know about. A black male was just murdered while he was fishing in the river, and Major Trader has alleged that you and your wife and daughters could be in danger. Apparently, he allegedly witnessed the crime and is alleging the suspect is the same one who assaulted Moses Custer and killed Trish Thrash."

  Crimm reached for his dangling magnifying glass and was visibly startled when his press secretary came into focus.

  "Heavens!" the governor exclaimed "Shouldn't you go to the hospital?"

  Trader was afraid to speak and shook his head.

  "What happened?" the governor demanded. "I don't mean to sound unsympathetic, but it's not sanitary to bleed at the dinner table."

  Trader got up, holding a napkin to his forehead. He mutely stood on the antique Oriental rug, his eyes darting about as he tried to sort out his tangled thoughts and come up with a plan. For starters, he decided, his transient speech disorder was a good thing because under the circumstances, it was s
mart to talk in a way that made little sense to others. His condition made lying easier, and people were less inclined to question him closely. Not to mention, if he required a second party to speak, then Trader's testimony would be hearsay and not admissible in court.

  "It's awful," Faith was describing what had happened. "This monster makes people burst into flames and then speeds off. He's from New York and speaks Spanish and intends to do the same thing to each of us."

  "As much as I hate it," Mrs. Crimm said, "I think we need all of the troopers to surround the mansion until this terrible person is caught. Maybe the National Guard ought to help out, too, dear."

  The governor pulled out a chair and sat down, not sure what to do and perplexed that no one had briefed him about this emergency before now. Often, he found out bad news when he came home for dinner, and certainly this wasn't helping his submarine in the least.

  "Well, someone fill me in," the governor demanded.

  Trader wanted to offer many false details, but he knew how the governor would react to their sudden language barrier. The press secretary indicated through sign language that Andy should relay the day's events to Crimm, which Andy did.

  "What's your recommendation?" the governor asked Andy after being subjected to the story, which seemed lacking in veracity and rationality.

  "I agree in taking no chances," Andy replied. "Keep security tight, sir, but this matter needs to be thoroughly investigated. Frankly, I am concerned that there are important facts we don't know, despite Mr. Trader's alleged eyewitness account. No offense," he directed this at Trader, "but what you supposedly saw and what actually happened may not match up. I have two questions, for example: What happened to the bucket? And did anyone else happen to see the shooting?"

  Trader replied through hand signals that the bucket was at large and the only other witnesses may have been the crabs and the trout. Trader felt certain this would settle the matter.

  "If the bucket is at large," Andy pointed out, "then this might suggest that you let the crabs and trout go before the altercation occurred. Because you certainly wouldn't witness someone burning up and then think to toss the crabs and the trout in the river, now would you?"

  Trader shook his head no as he recalled the crabs and trout sailing through the air in a cascade of tap water. They splashed into the river and then he and the fisherman began to fight and say ugly things to each other. Trader must have set the bucket back on the ground, or perhaps the fisherman did. By now the police would have found the bucket and taken it in as evidence. He wasn't sure why, but he had a bad feeling that the bucket was going to cause him a problem.

  The governor lit up a Cuban cigar. "Tell me," he said to Andy. "If we could locate the crabs and trout, would that help us?"

  "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard," Regina retorted. "What good would they do, and how would you know they're the same ones we let go?"

  "DNA," Andy replied. "If they left any cellular material in the bucket, even just a trace, it could be matched back to them. For example, people don't realize how many cells their eyes shed. You rub your eyes and have eye cells all over your fingers and then you touch something and deposit these cells. Every living creature has unique DNA, except identical twins."

  "So maybe the crabs' eyes shed cells in the bucket?" The governor was fascinated. "How do you know all this?"

  "I've always been interested in forensic science and criminal investigations, Governor. My father was a police officer in Charlotte."

  "What is he now?"

  "He got killed in the line of duty, sir."

  This touched the governor deeply. He had always wanted a son and was not at all impressed with his daughters and rarely enjoyed their company. In truth, Bedford Crimm was starved for someone sensible and non-female to talk to, and he had forgotten that he was concerned that Andy and his wife might have an affair.

  "Let's pour a little brandy and smoke," he said as he turned a magnified watery eye on Andy. "Do you play pool?"

  "Not very often, sir," Andy replied.

  "But what about this awful man on the loose?" Mrs. Crimm worried.

  "Tell one of the other troopers the story," the governor ordered Andy to tell Trader. "Tell him to get the rest of the EPU on the case and let's have the National Guard fly around, checking for that car with New York plates, and perhaps have a presence downtown, too."

  "You may want to consider having us set up checkpoints at the tollbooths, too," Andy suggested. "In case this alleged Hispanic serial killer tries to leave the city," he added with a hint of disdain as he stared Trader right in the eye. The press secretary glanced away.

  "Excellent idea," the governor agreed, increasingly impressed with this young man. "We need to locate the crabs and the trout. Tell Trader to start looking since he's the one who saw them last."

  "Sir, you can tell him yourself," Andy politely said. "He can hear, he just can't talk or at least wants us to think he can't. And I might suggest we have a more objective person look for any witnesses."

  Andy had no doubt that should Trader find the crabs and trout, he would make sure they were never seen again. The fat, mendacious pirate-press secretary would probably boil them alive and eat them, Andy thought with disgust as he anticipated the governor's reaction when he read the essay he intended to post as soon as he could find a computer. He gave Trader a harsh, threatening look.

  "Stay away from the crabs and trout," Andy warned him.

  He waited until Trader limped off before taking the First Lady aside for a private word with her.

  "Listen," Andy said. "I hate to impose on you or intrude upon your privacy in any way, First Lady Crimm, but it looks like it may be a long night and I'm wondering if I could borrow a computer for just a minute so I can check something."

  "Why certainly," she replied, and she couldn't wait to lead him upstairs to her private parlor where she spent many secret, delicious hours sitting at her antique Chinese desk, shopping the Internet.

  She felt a tingle of salacious excitement as she led Andy up the stairs and sat him down in her chair.

  "Do you need me to show you how anything works?" she asked, leaning over him and brushing her big, trussed-up bosom against the back of his head.

  "No thank you," Andy said as her perfume excited an allergic reaction and he began to sneeze. "If you can just leave me for a moment. I'm afraid this is classified police work and for my eyes only, ma'am." He sneezed three more times.

  "What are they doing up there?" the governor jealously asked, looking in the direction of upstairs. "What in thunder are they up to? Who's sneezing?" he demanded as his wife smeared her lipstick a bit and mussed up her stiff hair as she made her way back downstairs.

  Andy posted his next essay, which he had finished early that morning. The timing could not be better, and he got up from the desk just as Regina lumbered into the parlor and demanded to know what he was doing.

  "Mama's all messed up like you two were making out," she delicately offered. "And it's just a good thing Papa can't see what she looks like!"

  "She wasn't messed up a minute ago," Andy replied. "She just showed me to the computer and left. And she looked exactly as she did when we were all at the dinner table."

  "What are you doing in here?" Regina's tiny eyes were bright with suspicion. "I bet you're Trooper Truth, aren't you!"

  "What a thing to think," Andy said.

  "Prove you're not!"

  "It's rather difficult to prove a negative," Andy replied as Regina squeezed her way past him and sat before the keyboard.

  She logged on to the Trooper Truth website and made a startled sound when she noticed there was a brand-new essay. She clicked on it immediately.

  "See," Andy said. "You tell me. Is it possible Trooper Truth could be off writing a new essay and yet be here with the First Family for a light supper at the same time?"

  "Well, I guess you're right," Regina said as she eagerly began to read.

  A WORD ABOUT ANNE BONNY
/>   The Most Notorious Female Pirate Who Ever Lived

  (Note: Many authorities on pirates differ in their accounts of Anne Bonny.)

  By Trooper Truth

  Her story begins with her birth in County Cork, Ireland, on March 8, 1700, the illegitimate daughter of a successful Irish lawyer named William Cormac and his wife's maid, whose name never made it into the records. When the scandalous tryst was revealed, William had no choice but to flee from Ireland with his new family and settle in Charleston, South Carolina, where he no doubt befriended Blackbeard and corrupt politicians. Soon enough, William became a very wealthy merchant and lived on a plantation just outside the city.

  Not much is known about Anne as a child, except that she was a beautiful redhead with a ferocious temper that prompted her to kill one of the servant women with a carving knife after the two of them squabbled. By the time Anne was old enough to pick out her own clothes, she began to dress like a man, and many male admirers began to call on her. Uninvited sexual advances were met with such violence that one suitor ended up bedridden for weeks.