They didn’t, because the 407 was very powerful and soon enough was well out of range.
“Well, the thing is, I didn’t finish,” Andy tried to explain as he watched the angry mob shrink to the size of ants.
“Man, you didn’t finish painting the speed trap? Shit. That’s just too bad,” Macovich said. “ ’Cause I ain’t going back there unless it’s to buy crabs for the guv. If you ain’t buying something, you’d better not go back, either, unless you want to end up crab bait.”
“That’s fine,” Andy assured him. “I think there’s a serious case of dental fraud going on down there, but I’ll take care of it myself.”
Andy had not ended up crab bait, nor had he been foolish enough to return to the island in the same helicopter that clearly was marked STATE POLICE. He had been shrewd enough to get a buddy of his at the local charter service to let him use an unmarked Long Ranger . . .
“Andy!” Hammer stopped pacing and stared accusingly at him. “Are you with us, or did you already leave without letting me know?”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I was just thinking about the Islanders and how their true feelings about us come out when we aren’t buying seafood or souvenirs. They were actually throwing rocks at the helicopter as we flew off.”
“How awful!” Windy said with overblown emotion. “You could have been killed. I mean, throwing rocks at a helicopter is a little more serious than sticks and bones will shake like stones but words will never hear me, now isn’t it?” She certainly wished Andy were older and would ask her out one of these days. “I don’t ever want to visit an island where they throw rocks and talk inside out.”
“I see you read Trooper Truth this morning,” Hammer wryly commented as Andy feigned ignorance.
“Wouldn’t miss him for all the eggs in China,” Windy gushed. “I sure do wish he’d put a picture of himself on his website. I’m just dying to know what he looks like.”
“He probably looks like a nerd.” Andy pretended to be critical and jealous of Trooper Truth. “You know how most of these computer jockeys are. And I’m getting sick of hearing Trooper Truth this and Trooper Truth that. You’d think he’s Elvis.”
“Well, I don’t think he’s Elvis. And I no longer believe he’s the governor using a ghost name, either,” Windy announced. “Not after what I read this morning. If the governor was Trooper Truth, then he wouldn’t criticize the governor, because that would be the same thing as criticizing himself and . . .”
“What else do we know about the kidnapped dentist?” Hammer interrupted as she started pacing the carpet again and wished she could tie Windy’s tongue in a knot.
“He was born in Reedville and has been volunteering out there on Tangier Island for more than ten years, although he doesn’t like to admit it to anyone, so the police said his wife said,” Windy answered. “Because it wouldn’t help his practice back home if patients knew he got most of his experience from working on Tangierians. But at least he understands how they talk and he thinks like one.”
“How do you know what he understands or thinks?” Hammer was quite opposed to assumptions and found herself surrounded by them constantly.
“You know what they say about birds in a pod,” Windy reminded her. “Everybody on that island thinks alike, and he’d have to think like them to work on their teeth. The Reedville police also mentioned that this Dr. Fox doesn’t have an address, only a P.O. box, and his wife claims there are no photos of him because he hates to have his picture taken. Also,” she gusted through the information, “he doesn’t have his social security number on his driver’s license or anything else, and all of his phones are answered by machines, and when he takes family vacations to exotic places, he never tells anybody where he’s going.”
“I think we need to run a few checks on him,” Andy suggested, as if the idea had never occurred to him before this minute. “Sounds to me like he’s hiding something. What about his lifestyle? Money?”
“Gobs of it,” Windy said. “The police told me he has this big, huge house and all these cars and private schools.”
“How do the police know what his house looks like if they can’t find an address for him?” Andy inquired.
“Oh, Reedville’s a small place and everybody knows where everybody else lives. Besides, a huge house like his right on the water sticks out like a sore nose on your face.”
“I did think it more than a little suspicious when he said the Islanders were demanding fifty thousand dollars cash, which was to be sent to a Reedville P.O. box.” Hammer continued to pace. “He also said that they were demanding all restrictions lifted.”
“I see,” Andy said. “So they’re trying to extort our lifting the freeze on crab licenses.”
Hammer absently snatched memos off her desk and glanced through them, hopeful that the governor might finally have returned one of her phone calls. But no. There was not a single message indicating he had tried to reach her or even knew she had been trying to talk to him for months.
“And I’m sure they expect us to remove the speed traps and prevent NASCAR from coming. They think we’re going to turn the island into a racetrack,” Andy informed Hammer.
“So I understand. How the hell can they think such a thing?” Hammer’s voice rose. “The island couldn’t possibly hold a hundred and fifty thousand fans. There would be no place to put the cars and no way to get them or the drivers or pit crews on and off the island. Not to mention, no beer or cigarette sponsors want their stock cars and people like Dale Earnhardt, Jr., and Rusty Wallace on a track where alcohol and tobacco are considered sins. And Tangier’s barely above sea level, meaning the track would flood. Why the hell did you tell them NASCAR is coming, Andy?”
“I didn’t. I was explaining VASCAR, not NASCAR, and this island woman got the names mixed up, just like a lot of people are doing.”
“Well, I’m quite sure they’ll demand we get rid of the crab sanctuary, too.” She continued obsessing about the governor and his avoidance of her. “They’ve not forgiven us and never will for deciding most of the Chesapeake Bay is off limits to watermen.” One part of her talked on while another part of her got angrier with the governor. She had no doubt that were she younger or a male, the governor would be calling her constantly. “We’ll have to give the sanctuary back or unsanction it or whatever the legal process might be.”
“Superintendent Hammer?” Windy seeped back into the discussion like an unpleasant draft. “I tried the governor’s office first thing when I got in and he’s in meetings again and not talking to anybody at all.”
“Bullshit,” Hammer said, eyeing the small, brown paper–covered package Windy was holding. “Is that for me, and who is it from?”
“Yes. The return address is Major Trader. Would you like me to open it?”
“Has it been X-rayed?” Hammer asked.
“Yes, yes. You know us, we never judge a box by its cover.” Windy ripped off the paper. “Oh look! Homemade chocolates with a note that says . . .” She held up a small card and read,
“Best wishes, Governor Crimm.”
“That’s strange,” Andy commented, knowing all too well that Crimm never gave Hammer the time of day, much less presents. “I think I’d better take these.”
“What for?” Hammer asked, perplexed.
“Because it’s damn suspicious and I intend to look into it,” Andy said.
“Now, Windy,” Hammer decided, “that will be enough for now.” She motioned for her secretary to leave and not say another word. “Call the governor’s office and see if you can get him on the damn phone.”
Windy looked disappointed and unhappy at being banished, and she sure did wish her boss’s poor little dog hadn’t disappeared. Hammer was hardly ever in a good mood anymore. Andy gave Windy a little wink to cheer her up as she left.
“The Islanders don’t care about the sanctuary,” Andy said as he tucked the chocolates into his briefcase. “It wouldn’t make sense for them to care about it becaus
e they don’t fish in those parts of the bay.”
Hammer actually knew very little about fishing or the laws pertaining to it. The fishing industry did not fall under the jurisdiction of the state police, but was the business of the Coast Guard unless fishermen committed serious crimes on roads or highways, which was exactly what had just happened when they marched down Janders Road and kidnapped the dentist and threatened treason. She tuned out the part of her that was fussing with the governor.
“Explain this sanctuary stuff to me,” she said, sitting back down at her desk. “And everything else about why the Islanders don’t like Virginia.”
Andy informed her that Tangier Island had become increasingly hostile toward the rest of the Commonwealth when a recent General Assembly passed a number of bills that were entirely in favor of crabs and not the watermen who chased after them. It was true, however, that crab stocks were in serious trouble.
“A waterman brought in to testify before the legislators back in January admitted that the number of crab pots required to snag a hundred blue crabs had climbed from ten to fifty,” Andy explained. “And last year, hard-crab landings dipped below thirty million pounds and the downward trend is continuing.”
Harsh words such as “fully exploited,” “overcapitalization,” and “overfishing” were fired at Buren Stringle, the head of the Tangier Island Watermen’s Association and the island’s only police officer. Legislators set a lower limit for the number of crab pots the watermen could toss into state waters. Subsequently, a Blue Crab Advisory Commission was appointed, and it further tightened the restrictions by declaring that all pots would be tagged, thus making it easier for the marine patrol to count them and see who was cheating. The sanctuary was expanded to cover four hundred and sixty-five square miles of water at least thirty-five feet deep from the Maryland line to the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay near Virginia Beach—a crafty political move that would allow a million more pregnant crabs to safely reach vital spawning grounds.
“In truth, the sanctuary does no good at all,” Andy summarized to Hammer. “The area of the bay deemed off limits happens to be a deep trough that would require extraordinary lengths of rope for every crab pot dropped in the water. The watermen have been keeping this bit of intelligence to themselves, and so far no one on the mainland, except possibly me, knows that Tangier Island has no interest in the new sanctuary or is the least bit opposed to it. Meanwhile, pregnant crabs continue to travel to their usual spawning grounds, indifferent to their new protection and not entirely aware of it.”
“Okay. So forget the sanctuary idea,” Hammer decided with disappointment. “But I can’t think what real leverage we have, Andy. The way you’ve described it, Virginia really doesn’t care much about the plight of the watermen, and the watermen aren’t really that interested in Virginia’s concerns, either.”
“The root of all problems,” Andy commented. “Nobody cares.”
“Let’s don’t become cynical.”
“What we need is some good ol’ fashioned community policing,” he said. “And I can do that through Trooper Truth.”
“Oh no,” she warned. “No more . . .”
“Yes!” Andy countered. “Let’s at least give it a chance. Trooper Truth can ask his readers to help with our cases.”
“Including Popeye!” Windy was suddenly in the doorway. “Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful if we could get Trooper Truth to ask for help finding Popeye?”
“What?” Andy asked, shocked. “What do you mean, find Popeye?”
Pain passed through Hammer’s eyes.
“Don’t be mad at me,” Windy said to her. “I know you think I just let the cat out of the box, but maybe we can find Popeye. Maybe it’s not too late, even if she did disappear months ago when you let her out to potty.”
“That’s enough, Windy,” Hammer said again. “Please leave and shut the door.”
“Well, okay, but I’m sending Trooper Truth an e-mail right away and telling him about Popeye.”
She left and shut the door. Hammer sighed.
“How could you?” Andy whispered, outraged and deeply saddened by what had happened and that Hammer had never told him. “How could you not call me the minute Popeye disappeared?”
“You were off on one of your research trips, Andy,” Hammer said in a defeated way. “And I don’t know why else, but, well, I just haven’t wanted to talk about it. There’s nothing that can be done. Hold on.” She held up a hand. “Now what is it, Windy?” she said to her secretary, who had just opened the door.
“Richmond Detective Slipper is on the line,” Windy announced.
“Thank you.” She waited until Windy shut the door again and shot Andy an ominous look as she picked up the phone and said, “Hammer.”
She listened and scratched down notes for what seemed a very long time and Andy could tell by the expression on her face that she was being told something serious and unpleasant. In fact, she looked a bit unnerved.
“As I told you yesterday,” she finally said, “the word is, nobody knows who he is. But I wouldn’t be so quick to assume that just because the name Trooper Truth was . . . Yes, right. Of course, you have to follow every lead, and of course I’ll let you know, and please keep me posted.” She hung up and turned upset, anxious eyes on Andy. “The detective on the murder case—the woman found on Belle Island. She’s been identified.”
“Who?” Andy asked.
“Trish Thrash. A twenty-two-year-old white female who went by the nickname T.T. Apparently she worked for the state and was a closet lesbian who was known to pick up other women in area bars . . .”
“What do you mean, Trish Thrash?” Andy asked, baffled and upset.
Hammer went on to explain that Trish Thrash was the victim’s name and that the city police believed the homicide was hate-related and committed by a male, possibly by whoever Trooper Truth was.
“That’s insane!” Andy blurted out at the top of his voice. “I was . . . Well, I couldn’t possibly have . . .”
“Of course you didn’t do it!” Hammer replied as she got up and began pacing at top speed. “Jesus Christ! I knew this was a bad idea! And no more writing those goddamn . . . !”
“No! You can’t punish me for what some other asshole did.” He jumped up from his chair and grabbed her arm, not roughly but firmly enough to make her stop pacing and look at him. “Listen.” He lowered his voice. “Please. I’ll . . . I’ll get this straight and see what I can do to help. I’ve never heard of Trish Thrash and don’t see how this can possibly be related to me or Trooper Truth or anything that has to do with . . . Well, let’s just hope the Richmond police don’t do anything as stupid as releasing that detail about Trooper Truth to the media.”
He was beside himself. If he was forced to reveal Trooper Truth’s true identity, then not only would a year’s work end up in the trash, but Hammer would be in hot water with the governor for allowing one of her troopers to publish uncensored by her and especially by the governor.
“Maybe I can somehow reassure the governor that Trooper Truth isn’t some deranged killer,” Andy thought out loud. “And I’ll get my readers involved in helping solve problems and bringing about justice in the Thrash case and others.”
“What we need is to get word to the governor that we have an urgent situation on Tangier Island,” Hammer replied in frustration. “Not talk to him about a murder that’s not even our jurisdiction!”
“Maybe I can track him down for you,” Andy suggested as Trooper Macovich walked into the office and overheard the tail end of their conversation.
“He always eats at Ruth’s Chris Steak House on Wednesday nights,” Macovich said.
“You two find him,” Hammer ordered, adding to Macovich, “and maybe he won’t remember you and the pool incident. For God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t play pool again.”
“Wooo,” Macovich agreed, shaking his big head. “Don’t you worry. No way I’m ever playing with that girl, not for no reason.”
He frowned a little behind his dark glasses. “But what if the governor orders me to?”
“Let him win.”
“Woooo. That ain’t gonna be easy. He can’t see nothing, Sup’intendent Hammer. Half the time, he don’t even hit the cue ball. You know, he catch a little flash of white and go after it with his stick. And last time I was there, I set down a foam cup on the side of the table and he smack my coffee all the way across the billiard room.”
“You shouldn’t be putting your coffee down on furniture in the mansion in the first place,” Hammer told him.
“I didn’t think he saw me do it,” Macovich said.
Eight
Dr. Faux was tied up in a chair and blindfolded by a bandanna that smelled like brackish water. Not especially frightened, he was mostly irritated and terribly inconvenienced. As time passed, his hopes for a speedy release and fifty thousand dollars cash were beginning to fade. He was no longer sure what the Islanders’ intentions were, but they were not known for being violent.
In fact, as far as he knew, the biggest crime in the history of the island was the theft of a safe from Sallie Landon’s house several years back. She had had her life’s savings in it, and everybody on the island had chipped in so she wouldn’t have to depend solely on the original recipes she sold in the little box she had nailed to a telephone pole near the post office. The crime was never solved.
Dr. Faux’s captors had moved him out of the examination room and into an unknown location inside the clinic where he could hear bicycles rattle past an open window that allowed a constant flow of humid air to circulate flies and mosquitoes. It would do no good for him to call out for help because the entire population was in on the conspiracy and seemed to have turned on him. For the first time in the better part of half a century, Dr. Faux had time to reflect upon his life. He sighed as he pondered lost opportunities and his unwillingness to become a missionary to what was then the Congo. God had called Sherman Faux, and little Shermie had basically hung up on the Great Creator and then refused to answer at all anymore. At last, God was punishing Dr. Faux, more than likely. Here the dentist was imprisoned on a tiny, remote island out in the middle of nowhere, and unless he came up with a clever plan, his Medicaid scamming days might very well be over.
Isle of Dogs Page 9