“I don’t know ‘bout no blood.”
“You better pray it was your blood. Because if it wasn’t your blood, it was the blood a that white whore.”
“They can’t prove that!”
“That’s what you think. You ever hear about D-N-A?”
“Woman, what the fuck you talkin’ about?”
“If you ever did somethin’ besides wreck your brain with rock cocaine, you might unnerstand. If you ever did somethin’ educational like watch TV, you might know that you in big trouble because a that washrag.”
“All I got to worry about is that bitch,” Oliver Mantleberry said.
“Yeah?” Tamara replied. “Well, I got news for you. That white whore’s whole life is wrote on that washrag. Which you would know about if you watched the O.J. trial instead a causin’ pain with rock cocaine. And chasin’ bitches all over the boulevard. Well, I on’y got one more thing to say to you: Phone up Johnnie Cochran quick as you can.”
“You don’t bring me my clothes, I’m comin’ to get ’em!” a frustrated Oliver Mantleberry shouted.
“You try it and you won’t be needin’ those pointy lizardskin shoes,” Tamara Taylor informed him. “They won’t fit good over top a the tags you’re gonna be wearin’ on your motherfuckin’ toes!”
—
“Well, shit, I might as well get drunk,” Letch Boggs said. “Just so this evening ain’t a total waste.”
“You are drunk,” Anne Zorn informed him, although she didn’t look any too sober herself.
Fortney, still not completely recovered from his hangover, was the soberest, and he kept his eyes riveted on the door when he wasn’t trying to sneak a peek at Anne Zorn’s legs.
“I still don’t know why a cop would wanna be a boat driver,” Letch said to Fortney. “Look at all these blond-haired boat nuts. Nothing about them’s real, for chrissake. I never seen so much bleach outside a Chinese laundry.”
“Working by the sea grows on you,” Fortney said. “Sitting on the patrol boat and looking at the sunset, thinking how the sun changes from egg white to egg yolk to fire.”
Anne studied Fortney then. The flesh around his eyes was smooth and tan, but when he smiled it shattered into white crinkles. She liked that. “You enjoy sunsets?”
“Yeah, I like to look for the green flash,” he said.
“I heard about the green flash all my life,” Letch said. “There ain’t no green flash.”
“I’ve seen it,” Fortney said. “Right when the sun sinks in the ocean. If it’s clear and the atmospheric conditions are right, the flash is greener than…”
Anne didn’t know he was thinking of Blaze Duvall’s eyes. She asked, “Greener than what?”
“Just green,” he said.
“You aren’t much of a talker, are you?” she observed.
“My partner says I got lalophobia,” he said. “That’s fear of talking.”
“I’ve got gamophobia,” Anne said. “That’s fear of marriage. I should’ve gotten it a lot sooner. My marriages had the shelf life of buttermilk.”
“You got kids?” he asked.
“One. She’s a grown-up schoolteacher. You?”
“None. Lucky, considering the women I was married to.”
“How about me?” Letch asked, belching. “Am I still in this conversation? I got a kid if anyone wants to know.”
“You do?” Anne was genuinely surprised.
“Yeah. He’s thirty years old. My first wife took him away when she ran off with the electrician that shortcircuited our marriage.”
“You ever see him?” Anne asked.
“Naw,” Letch said. “He lives in Oregon.”
“How about your second wife?” Anne asked. “Did she boogie, too?”
“Yeah,” Letch said. “She was a stable Mabel. I woulda stayed with that one till her pubic hair turned gray.”
Anne was starting to feel sorry for Letch because he had the guilts about Dawn Coyote when a lot of other cops would have just said it was N.H.I. Now there was a kid he never saw and a woman he missed. He was starting to emerge as a human being in her eyes! She wondered if she was drunk or what?
Then Letch reverted to type by saying to Fortney, “You’ll forget Blaze in no time. Once I fell for an outcall masseuse who was my snitch. I got so hung up on her I paid the cleaning deposit for an apartment she rented. Then I found out she did all kinds a rubs with honey, mayonnaise, you name it. I lost my two-hundred-dollar cleaning deposit because a that babe. And if you ain’t careful, that kind’ll get you on drugs, too, and a cop can’t study for a random urine test.”
“What happened to her?” Anne asked.
“She got all tweaked out one night and went along on a stick-up of a 7-Eleven with another tweak monster. They both got shot and killed. Her pal had a squirt gun and it wasn’t even loaded.”
“Lotta sadness in your life, Letch,” Fortney said.
“Actually, she woulda cost me my career,” Letch said. “The sergeant caught us in the back of the surveillance van one night. I tried to tell him she’s only giving me information, except that my Velcro ankle holster’s stuck in her hair. She had real big hair. Not to mention a nice ass and a savings account. All I ever wanted from a mate was someone to wax my carrot better than I can.”
“You’re just a sentimental sap, that’s all,” Anne said. “We oughtta go home before we all start getting weepy.”
“I wanna catch my favorite talk show,” said Letch. “I hear they’re having a guest tonight who hasn’t had an affair with a U.S. senator.”
“Not yet,” Fortney said. “We’re not going home yet.”
“Why not?” Anne asked.
“Because that little boatyard germ just walked in the door.”
Simon Cooke was carrying half a load already, after having searched for Blaze in the other joints before ending up there. He didn’t want to come there at all because this was the Kiwis’ very favorite, and he didn’t want any more contact with those assholes, especially asshole number one, his brother-in-law, and asshole number two, that big turd, Miles. But he hadn’t found her anywhere else, so there he was.
Simon hoped he could make it up to Blaze about last night. After all, it wasn’t his fault they picked a fight with him. He’d been ready and willing to do his job today and wreck the damn boat. Christ, he needed the money bad enough, didn’t he?
He’d tell Blaze that they could still do the job during the finals, now that the Kiwis had clinched the challenger trials. Of course he knew his brother-in-law wouldn’t so much as let him touch the barbed wire on their chain-link fence, but maybe he could convince Blaze that he could make it up with the Kiwi cocksuckers.
Anyway, he was down to his last five bucks and Blaze always bought him as many drinks as he could hold. Who knows? Maybe tonight was the night he’d take her home and show her what a little man could do, now that she had no more reason to be stringing along that big pile of Kiwi crap. He’d get her freckles sizzling, all right!
He didn’t spot her in the barroom, but there were his brother-in-law’s teammates swilling down the suds and bragging their asses off, the pricks.
And he didn’t notice the middle-aged, funny-looking guy in a scary Hawaiian shirt until the guy said, “Simon Cooke? Someone wants to buy you a drink.”
Simon looked over at the table the guy was pointing at and recognized the dickhead that had dumped him on his ass the other night, the one he’d thought was a sissy. He was sitting with a babe who was dressed up more businesslike than any of the sailing types.
“What’s this all about?” Simon’s nose twitched at a whiff of Letch’s breath.
“That woman wants to meet you,” Letch said. “And she’s buying drinks.”
Simon shot Letch a suspicious glance, but he was too curious and thirsty not to accept the invitation. At the table he said to Fortney, “Don’t think I can’t remember you. If I hadn’t been drunk, you wouldn’ta got away with that cheap shot.”
“Sorr
y, pal,” Fortney said.
“Sit down, Mister Cooke,” Anne Zorn said, showing him her badge. “I’m Detective Zorn. He’s Detective Boggs. And this is Officer Fortney.”
Simon Cooke gawked in disbelief, but Letch took his elbow and said, “Have a seat.” Sounding like a cop, all right.
Anne said, “Did you hear about a girl who was found this morning floating in Mission Bay?”
“No.”
“The news accounts identified her as Mary Ellen Singleton.”
“So? What’s that got to do with me?”
“I’m gonna tell you,” Anne said. “Would you like a drink?”
“Yeah. He promised me a drink,” Simon said, nodding at Letch.
“What’ll it be?”
“Gin and tonic. Double.”
“I’ll get it,” Fortney said. “We’d have to wait half an hour for a waitress.”
“What time did you go to bed last night?” Anne asked.
“Me?”
Letch rolled his eyes and said, “You.”
“Pretty late. Somebody took my car keys and I had to walk.”
“Anybody walk with you?” Anne asked.
“No.”
“Where do you live?”
“Ocean Beach.”
“Pretty long walk.”
“Yeah, well, I needed the air. I had a lot to drink.”
“Didn’t anybody offer you a ride?”
“No.”
“How about Blaze?”
Then Simon put on his crafty face and said, “Oh, this has to do with Blaze? Now I see why that other guy…What’s his name?”
“Officer Fortney.”
“Yeah, he was pumping me about her last night. Now I dig. You’re investigating her, right? Well, I don’t know nothing about what she’s up to. Whatever she’s up to, I don’t wanna know.”
“Who said she was up to something?” Anne asked.
He licked his lips nervously. “That other cop was red-dogging me, wasn’t he? Whatever she’s up to got nothing to do with me, that’s all I can say.”
Anne looked at Letch, who said, “This conversation is like Roseanne in a chiffon teddy. It don’t quite fit together.”
“He sure seems nervous,” Anne Zorn said to Letch for effect. “Maybe we should advise him of his rights?”
And just like that Simon Cooke’s sullenness vanished. He looked like he might run, and he blurted out, “Okay, she asked me to drop the boat, but I said no! No way I wanted anything to do with sabotage!”
Fortney arrived just then with a round of drinks, and Letch stood up, whispering to him, “Annie’s caught herself a secret agent. Tell him not to talk till I get back from the head. I just love spy thrillers!”
By the time Letch got back, the drinking had stopped. Anne had paid the bar tab, and Fortney had Simon by the arm and was leading him outside.
A few minutes later they were all seated in Anne’s car in the dark parking lot. Simon was in the backseat with Fortney and Letch was in the front with Anne. Both Fortney and Anne had to open a window the second Letch got inside and breathed.
With his most cynical smirk Letch said to Simon, “So was she sabotaging for Muslim fundamentalists, or who?”
“Tell us about the sabotage,” Anne said, “and about dropping a boat.”
“Look,” he said. “I admit she came to me and wanted me to sabotage New Zealand’s travel-lift. But, honest, I didn’t think she was serious. Tell you the truth, I thought it was just a joke!”
“Uh-huh,” Anne said, shooting warning glances at Fortney and Letch that said: Shut the fuck up and let me handle this.
Letch just shook his head. Pathetic. This was all pathetic! He was glad he worked vice and not homicide. And he was glad he didn’t work near the ocean. Your brain must get all salt-clogged or something. Sabotage!
“How much do you know?” Simon asked.
“The question is,” Anne said, “how much do you know?”
“Not that much,” Simon said. “I mean, I never saw the chick before a couple weeks ago. I thought she was coming on to me when she started buying me drinks. Now I ain’t sure what was going on.”
“What do you think was going on?” Anne asked, utterly bewildered.
“Okay, here’s what I think now that I had a chance to work it out. I think Blaze had a deal all along with the guy she called Mister Moneybags. I think she was really serious about me taking over the travel-lift job for the Kiwi racing team.”
“Travel-lift?” Anne said.
“Yeah, like a crane. She said I could get some big money if I got the job. Because today was the last race with the Aussies, and she wanted me to sabotage the sling and drop the boat today.”
Fortney, who knew a good deal more about sailboat racing and the America’s Cup, asked, “Why?”
“So the boat’d be destroyed, of course! The Kiwis got another one, but Blaze claimed this thirty-two boat is the fast one.”
“How much did she offer you?”
“Ten grand,” Simon said, “but I thought it was a joke. I wouldn’ta did it!”
“Tell us,” Fortney said. “Did that big guy have something to do with it? The one they call Miles?”
“Don’t you know?” Simon asked.
Then Simon looked at Anne, who said, “We gotta hear it from you before we can determine if you really aren’t part of the conspiracy.”
That satisfied Simon. “Okay, she was supposed to dope him like a goddamn racehorse. She was gonna make him sick last night and I was gonna take his job today because I work for the boatyard they lease from us. But I never woulda did it!”
“Did you tell Blaze you were going to do it?” Anne asked.
“No way!” Then he hesitated and said, “Maybe in a jokey way. Like, I go, ‘Sure, baby, I’ll toss that boat for you.’ Something like that. A joke, is all!”
“Why didn’t she drug the Kiwi?” Anne asked.
“I don’t know what she did. Miles and my brother-in-law, Gordon, they threw me outta the bar after they picked a fight with me. Gordon’s a floater on the Kiwi boat.”
“What’s a floater do?” Anne asked.
“Nothing specific,” Simon answered. “He’s there is all. Just in case.”
“Sounds like a cop,” Fortney said.
“Why’d they throw you out?” Anne asked.
“Because Miles was jealous. He wanted Blaze, but she liked me better.” Then he looked at Anne and said, “Can I ask you one question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Is Blaze in jail? Did you arrest her for this? Because I can tell you one thing: I never agreed to nothing. I never woulda did something like that no matter how much money she tried to pay me. Even if I thought she was on the level, which I didn’t.”
“Do you remember I asked you if you heard about the woman they fished outta the bay? Mary Ellen Singleton?”
“Yeah?”
Anne was silent, watching him carefully in the darkness. Simon looked at Fortney, then back to her. Then he got it. “No!”
“Yes,” Anne said.
“Oh, my Lord!” Simon cried.
“You see,” Anne said. “It’s a lot more serious than wrecking a boat, isn’t it?”
“You sure it wasn’t a suicide?”
“Very sure.”
“Oh, my Lord!”
“You were one of the last people to see her alive,” Anne said. “And you’re unaccounted for from the time she walked out of that bar alone.”
“I walked home!” Simon said. “Christ, I couldn’ta killed nobody. I was too drunk to find my own cock.” Then he paused and said, “Pardon my French.”
“Maybe you were faking it,” Fortney said. “Being drunk.”
“Oh, yeah. You should know. You bought me enough drinks trying to pump me about Blaze!”
“How many times have you been with her?” Anne asked.
“Only three. Always in this joint or the one across the street.”
“Ever alone?”
<
br /> “No. Always in a crowded barroom.”
“Did she give you any idea who Mister Moneybags was?” Fortney asked.
“No, but…”
“But what?” Anne asked.
“I mean, I know who it had to be.”
“Who’s that?”
“I think Bill Koch.”
“Who?” Anne asked.
Fortney said, “The leader of an America’s Cup syndicate. His boat’s Mighty Mary.”
“Or Dennis Conner,” Simon added.
“Why do you say that?” Anne wanted to know.
“Because one a them’s gonna be facing the Kiwis in the finals. Who else’d give a shit about wrecking Black Magic?”
“Black Magic?” Anne said.
“I’ll explain the racing stuff later,” Fortney said. Then to Simon, “How did you know it wasn’t the Aussies she was working for?”
“Because she planned the deal for today! The day we knew the Aussies would be eliminated. And I was supposed to do it at the end of the day, so the Aussies wouldn’t have no reason to do it. And Young America’s gonna be eliminated in the defender races going on now, so that leaves Koch or Conner. She wouldn’t say which, but I figured Koch. Smaller balls but bigger bucks.”
“Who do you think killed her?”
Simon sat quietly for a moment. “Please, ma’am,” he asked, fear in his eyes, “how did you find out about me?”
“We’re detectives, aren’t we?”
“Well, since you already knew Blaze tried to involve me in her scheme, maybe he knows you know! Maybe he wants to shut me up like he shut Blaze up!”
“Who?” Anne asked.
“Dennis Conner!” Simon cried. “Bill Koch might pay for dirty tricks, but Dennis Conner’s got the killer instinct! I might end up with my fucking throat cut, floating in the ocean off Point Loma!” Then Simon Cooke stared bug-eyed at Anne Zorn and said, “Pardon my French.”
CHAPTER 15
Now that the babe next door had given her yapping pooch to the family across the street, Letch Boggs slept in on Friday morning. When he finally got up, he made coffee and read the article about the body found in Mission Bay, identified late yesterday as Mary Ellen Singleton of Mission Valley. It wasn’t much of a story, and there was no mention of Dawn Coyote or Oliver Mantleberry, so the media hadn’t caught on to the connection.
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