Second Sight

by Philip R. Craig

  “He or one of his henchmen.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. But I believe it has something to do with Christa Doyle.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “That’s the girl you’re looking for.”

  “That’s the girl I’ve found,” I said. “She’s being held prisoner at Duval’s place in West Tisbury.”

  “Prisoner?”

  I shrugged. “They let me talk to her. She seems to be drugged, or brainwashed, or both. Anyway, when I was there, I saw a green Range Rover in the garage. It’s got a big long dent on its side.”

  She smiled. “What else have you got for me?”

  “What else? Isn’t that enough?”

  “I wish it were,” she said. “How about a motive? How about an eyewitness? How about something I can take to a judge that will convince him to issue a warrant to enter that garage? Come on, Mr. Coyne. You know how it works.”

  “You must have some idea about motive,” I said. “We both know something’s cooking here on the island. People are being killed. Duval has this army of tough guys around him. They drive green Range Rovers like the one in his garage with the dented side. One of them followed me over here just now. That setup of Duval’s doesn’t look like any spiritual commune to me.”

  “What does it look like to you?”

  I shook my head. “That’s what I hoped you could tell me.”

  “Well,” she said, “I can’t. But I can give you some advice.”

  “What?” I said. I was pretty sure I knew what was coming.

  “Leave the police work to the police,” she said, “and we’ll leave the lawyer work to the lawyers.”

  “If J.W. or I get killed,” I said, “it’s on your head.”

  “If one of you guys gets killed,” she said, “it’s because you didn’t mind your own business.”

  “Check out Duval, Ms. Otero.”

  “I appreciate your help,” she said. “Please deliver my message to your friend Jackson.” She lifted her hand. “Have a good day.” She turned her attention to her computer.

  “While you’re at it,” I said, “you should check out Frank Dyer, too.”

  Her eyes didn’t leave her computer monitor. “We check out everybody,” she said. “Good-bye, Mr. Coyne.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  J.W.

  Zee had Wednesday off. The sky was bright and there was a soft wind from the southwest so it wasn’t hard for the kids to persuade her to take them and Janie for a day’s sail on the Shirley J., our eighteen-foot Herreshoff catboat. I couldn’t think of a safer place for Janie to be, and a phone call to Evangeline procured permission for her daughter to share the adventure. Evangeline also informed me that she had to be at the stage site for a morning rehearsal with Flurge and the Bristol Tars.

  I helped prepare a proper picnic basket for the sailors, approved Zee’s plan to sail first up to Oak Bluffs, then back into Cape Pogue Pond, where she’d anchor at the south end so they could have lunch and the kids could explore a beach they usually didn’t get to.

  “Some of you get to play while the rest of us have to work,” I observed as Zee climbed behind the wheel of her little Jeep.

  She kissed me and said, “Your pitiful tale moves me greatly. Notice my tears of sympathy for your sad plight.”

  She and the children drove away and I went back inside for a last cup of coffee before starting my day.

  While I sipped I ran things through my mind, trying to winnow the wheat from the chaff. It seemed clear that Duval was an important character in the odd and dangerous drama in which I’d gotten myself involved. But now soundman Frank Dyer had emerged as perhaps more than a bit player and I still didn’t have a grasp of the plot or its author, if such existed. When patterns begin to emerge amid nature’s random incidents and actions, it’s not unwise to guess that Man, the eternal planner and schemer, is at work. So I brooded about the living and the dead.

  I was ready to go pick up Evangeline when Brady, looking none too rested, made an appearance.

  “Sleep well?” I asked.

  “No.”

  Red-eyed Brady was pouring his first cup of coffee as I went out the door.

  John and Mattie Skye were finishing breakfast with Evangeline when I got to the farm. Evangeline glanced at her watch, and rose fluidly out of her chair.

  “Perfect timing. I’m meeting Flurge and the Tars in half an hour.”

  She started to collect her dishes, but Mattie waved her away. “None of that. Go rehearse so we’ll see you at your best Saturday night.”

  “Ah,” I said, “I presume that means that you Skyes have gotten your hands on some of those priceless Celebration tickets?”

  “Not yet,” said Evangeline, “but I’ll pick them up today. And I’ll also get a couple for you and Zee.”

  “At last I’ll be able to say I’ve listened to music that’s younger than I am.”

  “It’ll be good for you to listen to something besides opera and bluegrass,” said Mattie. “The twins keep John and me musically up-to-date whether we like it or not.”

  “Do you really dislike modern music as much as you say?” Evangeline asked as we drove away from the farm.

  “I just don’t listen to much of it. I don’t go to the movies much either. Modern entertainment seems mostly aimed at teenagers with lots of money to spend. I haven’t been a teenager for a long time, and even when I was I didn’t like pop music very much.”

  “Stuffy even in youth, eh?”

  We both laughed.

  At the entrance to the long driveway leading to the stage area I flashed my FBI card at a cop I didn’t know and he allowed us to enter the hallowed ground.

  The stage curtain had been pulled shut and some, but far from all, of the preparation activities seemed to have lessened.

  Large speakers now completely surrounded the field so the audience wouldn’t miss any of the sounds from the stage. Several film and television camera stations had been set up. The sound truck had been moved behind the stage so as not to block the view of paying patrons. Two long rows of low chairs had been set directly in front of the stage, to give the VIPs more comfortable seating than would be enjoyed by the rest of the fans, who would be seated on blankets on the ground in informal Vineyard style.

  I parked and we got out. Evangeline nodded toward the stage. “We’ll rehearse behind the curtain. If we don’t have any problems, it should take about an hour and a half. Otherwise it may take longer. I’ll come back here when we’re through and you can take me somewhere I haven’t been.”

  I was very conscious of the charisma that had induced several million people to shell out even more millions of dollars to buy her records and films and to see her perform.

  “Do I need to guard your body while you’re onstage?” I asked.

  “I think I’ll be all right there.” She smiled

  “In that case, I’ll see you afterwards.”

  There were cables snaking across the ground leading to lights, speakers, and other apparatus. People who seemed to know what they were doing were moving here and there, installing, checking, and double-checking gear and wires.

  I circumnavigated the stage and behind it found mobile dressing rooms and even more cables and gear. At a good distance behind the dressing rooms sat the pyrotechnics truck. The grand-finale fireworks would apparently be launched from that area.

  If the size and complexity of the preparations were an indication of things to come, the Celebration for Humanity was clearly going to be a Very Big Deal.

  I walked to the sound truck. The door was open and inside I saw Harry the soundman, wearing earphones, busy at his switches. From somewhere I heard muffled voices and recognized one as being Evangeline’s. She was talking with someone about choreography, and I realized that her voice was being picked up by one of the onstage mikes.

  Harry saw me, frowned at the intrusion, then brightened. He took off his earphones and stepped out of the truck. “You
’re Vangie’s driver, right? Johnson, isn’t it?”

  “Jackson.”

  “I almost got it right. That’s not bad for me. Well, it won’t be long now. A little fine-tuning and we’re all set.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Nervous? Nah. Well, a little, maybe. Everything is working fine but things can always go wrong. Don’t expect any problems, though. We’ll test everything full-blast later today, just to make sure.”

  “Where’s your helper? What’s his name? Frank Dwyer?”

  “You’re as bad as me, by God! Frank Dyer, that’s his name. He’s out there checking the speakers. You’ll find him if you look for him.”

  “How’s he working out?”

  “Fine, just fine. Lucky to have him. He knows his stuff and he’s a real worker. Set up the speakers all by his lonesome. Didn’t need any help at all. Nice fellah. Cute girlfriend, too. Makes me wish I was thirty years younger.”

  I wondered if my ears actually perked up. “Where’d you meet his girlfriend?”

  “Right here. He brought her by so she could see what kind of work he does. Pretty girl. Didn’t say much. Stoned, maybe. Frank talked me into letting her sit here with him during the show and watch it on our TV. Why not? We ain’t got a lot of space but we can fit her in okay. Be an education for her.”

  “Local girl?” I almost held my breath.

  “Never asked.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Raven, like the bird. People give their kids odd names these days.”

  “Dark-haired girl about yay tall?” I held out my hand, indicating height.

  “Yeah. You know her?”

  “I may have seen her someplace. So, how did Frank get this gig? You mentioned your original guy was in an accident.”

  He shrugged. “Frank had just got through with a job and figured that on a big show like this one a guy like him could probably find some work that paid real money. I quizzed him and knew right away that he knew his stuff. No regrets at all. The guy is good.” He looked past me. “There he is now, over yonder at that speaker.” He lifted a hand and waved.

  I turned and saw Frank Dyer looking at us across the field. After a moment he returned Harry’s wave and went back to work at the speaker.

  “Where was he working before?” I asked.

  Harry thought. “Local place called the Hot Tin Roof. Over at the airport, I think he said. We don’t talk about much but our work here. And speaking of work, I better get back to doing mine. Say hi to Vangie for me.”

  I said I would and he stepped back into the truck and donned his earphones. I turned and looked for Frank Dyer, but he had moved out of sight.

  I walked around the field and never found Dyer, but I did find Jake Spitz.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Why aren’t you at the beach like the sensible people?”

  “Eternal vigilance is my calling,” he replied. “I’m just wandering around trying to figure out if there’s any way we can make this place more secure.”

  “Let me add to your worries. What do you know about a guy named Frank Dyer?”

  Spitz tilted his head and looked at me. “Who’s Frank Dyer?”

  “I think you’ve answered my question. Always nice to talk to a servant of the people. I’ll be on my way.”

  “Wait,” said Spitz. “Who’s Frank Dyer?”

  I waved toward the sound truck. “He’s the assistant soundman. His name must be on your list of people working here.”

  He produced a small electronic device, punched a few buttons, and peered at a tiny screen. “He’s an electrician. That’s all it says here. What about him?”

  “I think he’s also a Simon Peter.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think so?”

  I wasn’t anxious to tell him about sneaking into the ashram and getting myself knocked in the head for my troubles, so I combined two truths to create the falsehood I needed.

  “I took Evangeline to see Duval up at his compound. I saw Frank Dyer there, wearing the uniform, but I didn’t attach any significance to it until yesterday.”

  Spitz’s worried eyes met mine. “You take care of Mrs. Price and her daughter and I’ll check up on Dyer. You have anything else I should know about?”

  “Nothing.”

  He turned and walked away.

  Back at the Explorer I had only a short wait before Evangeline appeared and climbed in beside me. She handed me an envelope. “Here. Two passes that will get you and Zee in both nights if you want to come. Ringside seats. I don’t want to hear any talk about scalping them.”

  I thought one night would probably be plenty.

  “Thanks,” I said, sticking the envelope into a pocket. “Was the rehearsal a success?”

  She showed me the famous smile. “Flurge and I have worked together before. We won’t have any problems. Well, what do you have in mind for me for the rest of the day?”

  “I thought I’d take you with me while I talk with a man I know.”

  “Oh? What man is that?”

  “His name is Joe Begay. He was my sergeant during my very short career as a soldier. You’ll find him interesting, I think.”

  “Let’s go, then. I’m always interested in meeting interesting men. You can tell me about him on the way.”

  “You won’t learn much,” I said, but I told her what I knew as I drove to Aquinnah. Begay had been born and raised near Second Mesa in Arizona. He claimed he was part Hopi, part Navajo, and part whoever else had traveled through those arid lands. I’d met him in a faraway war just in time to have an enemy mortarman drop rounds on our patrol, sending those of us who survived to hospitals. Twenty years later he’d married a Wampanoag girl and had supposedly retired to the Vineyard.

  During those twenty years he’d worked for some group he never identified doing jobs he never described in places he never named. Since he still went away for a few days from time to time, it was my guess that he still worked for someone, but I never asked him any who, where, why, or what.

  “Which,” I said to Evangeline, “is probably the reason we’re friends.”

  “Fascinating,” she replied. “And why are we visiting him today?”

  “To ask him to get me information about Frank Dyer. Joe Begay has a lot of contacts.”

  “Frank Dyer?” she said, perplexed. “Isn’t he the man working with Harry? Why do you want to know about an assistant soundman?”

  “Maybe for no good reason, but he’s got me curious because I’ve started tripping over him wherever I walk. You can listen in when I make my pitch to Joe. Both of you may think I’m out of my gourd.”

  “I’m much too sweet to tell you you’re out of your gourd, even if I think so.”

  “I should have you give lessons to Zee.”

  Joe Begay and his family lived in a small house not far from the beach, north of the famous multicolored clay cliffs. When I pulled into his yard, Joe was sitting on the porch smoking a self-rolled cigarette and drinking a beer. It looked like a good way of life.

  Evangeline, in dark glasses and a brunette wig, followed me to the house. Joe watched us with sleepy eyes and rose smoothly from his rocking chair.

  “Joe, meet Ethel Price. Mrs. Price, meet Joe Begay.”

  They exchanged handshakes, slightly ironic smiles, and murmurs about the great pleasure the meeting was giving them.

  “I do believe we have met before, Mrs. Price,” said Begay, “but on that occasion your hair was blonde and you were not wearing shades.”

  “I believe you are correct, Mr. Begay.”

  “It was a rather large gathering in Edinburgh Castle. I was the one without a kilt.”

  “Surely you were wearing something, Mr. Begay.”

  “A bit more than you were, as I remember. You were providing entertainment for the ladies and gentlemen. It was the high point of the evening.”

  “It was one of those political alliance gatherings, wasn’t it? Ministers and generals of a United Europe c
elebrating themselves?”

  “Indeed. And now I find you here with J. W. Jackson.”

  “And I find you here, far from Edinburgh.”

  “Everyone has to be somewhere.” He glanced at the sun. “It’s past noon in Scotland. May I offer you a beer?”

  “You may.”

  He waved us to chairs on the porch and disappeared into the house.

  “More evidence of a small world,” I said.

  “I’d forgotten his name but I remember the size of his chest.”

  Begay returned with beers for all. We sipped. Delish. There is nothing as good as a cool beer on a warm day. Well, maybe a cold beer on a hot day.

  “Now,” said Begay to me, “you don’t have any fishing rods with you, so you want something. What is it?”

  “Anything you can tell me about a man named Frank Dyer. He’s in his thirties, I’d guess. He’s an electrician who’s working as a soundman setting up the Celebration for Humanity. He’s also a Simon Peter. Simon Peters are the security people for Alain Duval. You know who Duval is?”

  Begay nodded but said nothing.

  I went on until I’d told him all I knew or had been told about Duval, the Simon Peters, and Dyer. “Lately, everywhere I look I see Dyer,” I concluded. “I’d like to know whether I should worry about him more or stop worrying altogether.”

  Begay sat for a few silent moments, then got up. “There’s more beer in the fridge,” he said. “I have to make some phone calls.” He went into the house.

  “You were right,” said Evangeline. “He is an interesting man.”

  “Married, too.”

  “I saw the ring, Mr. Jackson.”

  “To one of Zee’s best friends. Their daughter’s about the same age as yours. Another beer?”

  “Please.”

  We were finishing our second beers when Begay came out of the house. “The wheels are turning,” he said to me. Then he looked at Evangeline. “Would you two care to stay for lunch? Afterward we can take a walk under the cliffs.”

  “How charming of you,” said Evangeline. “We’re delighted to accept, aren’t we, J.W.?”