“Some of the others fed me subjects as well. They were using me, of course, but I couldn’t complain. I went from being a stringer to a featured reporter on the strength of some of the material they supplied. I heard stories from them that could have brought down whole governments. They wouldn’t let me use them, but they told them.”
“They were…probably just having some fun with you.”
She smiled. “Oh, no. I checked a few of them out. They seemed to have something on everyone.”
Yes, they did. And still do. Selective extortion. An essential tool of the trade.
Her expression became wistful. “Those were heady days, Adam. You all lived in a very rarified world.”
“One that seems to get smaller by the minute.”
“They allowed me to penetrate the outskirts here and there. Do you want to know something? I was never once afraid. But of course I had your mother to protect me.”
He shook his head. “They wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“You don’t think they might have if I’d written that book?”
“No, but you would have wasted your time. No publishing house would have touched that material.”
“I know. Your mother told me that. So did Molly.”
“And you met Molly Farrell through my mother, you say.”
She nodded. “And the poetry connection.”
“Did you know who Molly was and what she did by then?”
“I’d heard stories. I doubted them. She seemed too nice…and too young. She was only a few years older than you were. Me, too. I was only twenty-six at the time. By the way, how old is Claudia? Same age? Even younger?”
Whistler didn’t answer. He glanced at his watch. He looked down the corridor toward Ragland’s room, wishing that she would come out.
“Oh, and here,” she said, reaching into her purse. She produced the message slips that he’d seen in her hand when she stepped through the elevator doors. She sifted through several, then said, “Here, you see? It’s from Molly. She called twice this morning from a number in Connecticut. She’s asking what she can do to help.”
Oh, damn, thought Whistler. “You’ve spoken to her?”
“I only got her machine. This is her calling back.”
“When you…spoke to her machine, did you mention my name?”
“I was tempted, but no. It was clear that you wanted no part in this mess. Or that you wanted Miss Geller kept out of it.”
He said, “I do. At least until we’re gone. As for Molly, you’d do well to take her offer of help. You can’t get much better protection.” He gestured toward the private security guard who was leaning against the wall, his arms folded.
“For the moment,” she said, “I feel very safe. Is Claudia what I think she is, Adam?”
“A witch?”
“I was…going to say another Molly Farrell, for example. But since you bring it up…”
“She is neither of those.”
“If you say so.”
“And I do. There’s nothing special about her.”
She reached to touch his arm. She said, “Adam, believe me. I know that the two of you saved Philip’s life. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
He took a breath and nodded. “I believe you.”
“Would you like to see Philip?”
“No, we have to be going.”
She kept her hand on his arm. She didn’t want him to leave. “The one who shot him…Breen…isn’t here anymore. A helicopter took him an hour ago.”
“Really? Why and where, do you know?”
“To a hospital in Savannah. They’re better equipped for brain injuries, I’m told. I’ve also been told that his brain’s been sliced in two, so it’s hard for me to see why they’d bother. Mr. Breen, I’m sure, won’t be answering any questions as to where that other lunatic might be hiding.”
“And you’re…satisfied that it’s only those two? That they acted strictly on their own?”
She nodded. “Unless you know something I don’t.”
He said, “Not at all.” He knew he shouldn’t have asked. No use troubling her with the unlikely thought that Aubrey might be somehow involved. “And I’m sure they’ll find the other one soon. All he cares about now is getting away. I’m sure he won’t try again.”
Whistler said this more to ease Olivia’s mind than as a considered opinion. A fanatic might do almost anything. As he spoke, his eyes had been roaming the corridor. He’d have hoped that this floor would have been less accessible. Getting up here had been far too easy.
She seemed to have guessed what he had been thinking. She said, “I have a pistol. It’s here in my purse. I had it last night, but…you know, it was so quick.” She opened her purse to let him see it.
He looked in. He frowned. “That’s a .25, isn’t it?”
“No good?”
“If you’d used it on Breen, that thing wouldn’t have stopped him. Not unless you put half the clip in his head. Can you shoot well enough to do that?”
“I…had one quick lesson when I bought it.”
He asked, “Do you think you could you shoot if you had to?”
“If that man showed up here? In a heartbeat.”
Against his better judgement, he reached into her purse and withdrew the ineffectual pistol. He replaced it with his own, the Beretta from his belt. “There’s the safety,” he said, pointing. “Flip it off and its ready. But only use it if you have to, okay? Keep in mind that these bullets can pass through several walls. You don’t want to hurt the wrong person.”
“You won’t need this yourself?”
“I’ll make do.”
“Thank you, Adam.”
“Would you…feel better if I left my vest with you? I mean for your husband. Drape it under his blanket.”
She seemed about to say yes, but she shook off the impulse. “You wore it for a reason. You keep it.”
She had lowered her eyes. She was fingering her dress. He could see several places where she’d tried to rinse the blood that had been on her dress since last evening. She said, “I’m sorry, I know I’m a sight. I haven’t had the time to bathe and change.”
“We could send over some of Claudia’s things.”
“Thanks, but our hotel is bringing my bags.” She bit her lip as if she’d had another thought. She said, “Adam, on the subject of bewitching…” She stopped when she saw the look on his face. She asked, “Aren’t you starting to trust me a little?”
“You want to know about Claudia. There’s not much to tell.”
“My husband thought she was an angel.”
Oh, boy. “She gets that a lot. It’s the face.”
“No, I mean he really thought that she came down from heaven. She told him not to be afraid, that he wasn’t going to die. She told him that it wasn’t his time yet.”
Claudia hadn’t mentioned that they’d had that exchange. “She came from a bar stool, Olivia.”
“I know where she came from. And I saw what she did. I still don’t quite believe it, but I saw it.”
“A lot of people saw different things.”
“Uh-huh. And I realize you’re counting on that. How do you and your father find these women?”
“I don’t know. Just…”
“Lucky? Say that and I’ll slug you.”
“How did Ragland find a woman like you?”
TWENTY NINE
Kaplan had managed to kill forty minutes by claiming intestinal distress. Twice they got in the car; twice he said, “Sorry, guys,” and went running back inside to the crapper. But that left Lockwood and Crow alone to talk. They were cooking up something. He couldn’t hear what. But it had to have been about Whistler.
Lockwood finally said, “Screw it. We’ll go out by ourselves.” Kaplan had to say, “No, I’m all done here. I’m flushing.”
He thought he might stall them for another twenty minutes by pretending that the car wouldn’t start. But Crow, it turned out, knew how to steal cars. Cr
ow saw that he was crossing the wrong wires.
This left more than an hour before Aubrey said he’d show.
Kaplan had no wish to be driving around in a stolen car for that long. By now, the green Pontiac should have been off the island and the wacko should have been in the trunk. But the Pontiac’s owner, some checker at Bi-Lo, was probably on an 8 to 4 shift and probably wouldn’t miss it until the shift ended. There was good news and bad news on that subject.
The good news was that if the theft was reported, they’d hear that right away on Crow’s scanner. The bad news was that the cops wouldn’t treat it as a routine report of a stolen car. They would have to assume that the booster was Crow and they’d instantly have their eyes open. And if they spotted this car, what was it they’d see? They’d see two men in front and some clown in the back, sitting up, big as life, not even hunkered down, holding his golf bag between his knees with those stupid head covers on his woods.
Lockwood said, “First stop is that boat Whistler lives on.”
“I thought you said the hospital’s first.”
“New plan. Me and Crow want to check out the boat.”
“What for?”
“Just drive. We’ll decide when we get there.”
“Vern…we’ve been through this. These were not your instructions.”
“You want to argue? Get out of the car. You can walk back and stay in that house.”
“Vern…this car had a purpose, remember? It isn’t for riding around in.”
“We got time.”
“Also, this car doesn’t have tinted windows. Don’t you see how fucking weird we’re going to look?”
“Weird, how?”
“Well, there’s me in what your friend here calls ‘gaudy attire.’ There’s you in your Fed suit which also stands out in a place where the only black suits are in coffins. And your friend’s dressed in golf clothes a Polack wouldn’t wear. This is not your everyday car pool.”
From the back, Crow asked Lockwood, “Is this man your subordinate?”
“Yeah, he is and he’s going to shut up now.”
Kaplan did. He kept driving. He reached Sea Pines Circle. The wacko said, “Wait. I know where we are. That restaurant. Let’s drive by that restaurant.”
“We already checked it,” said Kaplan.
“The owner and the barmaid. They were part of this, you say?” He had asked this question of Lockwood.
“Yeah, they’re all in this with him. They were out on his boat. You did good when you messed up their restaurant.”
“Let me see it.”
“Vern…?”
“Our friend here wants to see it; let him see it.”
Kaplan groaned within himself. He should have shot them at the house.
Lockwood must have told Crow about Whistler’s breakfast meeting while he was on the phone with Mr. Aubrey. Kaplan entered the circle, made a three-quarter turn, and came out within sight of the restaurant.
“There it is. You happy?”
“Get closer,” said Crow.
“Nooo…I don’t think so.” He tapped Lockwood’s arm. “Take a look. It’s crawling with Feds.”
He’d spotted two men in suits and two more in blue jackets with big FBI letters in yellow on the back. The two in blue jackets were taking pictures of the tire tracks that Crow left when he drove through the pedestrians. The two suits were near the bar that was set up outside. They were talking to the owners, this time both of them together, and Leslie, the barmaid was standing nearby. She had changed her clothing since they’d driven by earlier. She’d put on dark slacks and a burgundy blouse and she’d run a brush through her hair. She seemed too well dressed to be tending bar, especially for a lunch crowd outdoors.
“Yeah, I see them,” said Lockwood. “Keep going.”
“Too late. The girl spotted us. No, wait. Maybe not.”
Leslie’s face had turned toward them, but she wasn’t looking at them. She was looking at a car that was directly behind them. Kaplan glanced at his mirror and he muttered, “Oh, shit.” The car right behind them was a cop car.
But its occupant, it turned out, wasn’t watching them either. As Kaplan kept going, the cop car turned in. It pulled into a space and a deputy got out. Leslie was already walking toward him.
Kaplan said, “See that cop. He’s that sergeant, name of Moore. He’s the deputy who was with them on the boat.”
“They’re in everything, aren’t they?” said Crow.
“Come again?”
“The mud people. They’re everywhere. They’re in everything these days.”
Kaplan asked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The blacks. But no matter. They are all going to hell. As are all of the Hebrews, Mr. Kaplan.”
Kaplan grimaced. “Hey, dick-head, do me a favor. Take your golf bag and lay it down on the floor. You look like you’re doing a puppet show back there with your dumb smiley face and your tiger.”
Crow hissed, “You’re not wise to provoke me, Mr. Kaplan.”
Lockwood slapped at Kaplan’s arm. “You heard my friend. Cut the crap and just drive. Make a turn up ahead and let’s go look at the boat.”
“Make a turn where? There’s no other road. We have to go back the way we came.”
“Then pull in someplace and we’ll wait a few minutes ‘til the barmaid goes back to the bar. That make you happy?”
Thank God, thought Kaplan. Another few minutes killed. “That does make me feel better. Thank you, Vernon.”
Lockwood used the time to further mess with Crow’s head. “The cop’s there,” Lockwood told him, “to back up Whistler’s story. Him, the barmaid…and now it looks like both the owners…are still covering for Whistler and the girl.”
Crow nodded. “Yes, you’ve said that. But why?”
“Because like I told Arnold, they all knew each other. They’re in some kind of cult that worships Satan.”
“Vern…”
“The bartender…name’s Leslie…she’s a priestess with this cult. When they have their black masses, she does all the chants. See the outfit she’s wearing? Red and black. That’s what they wear. It was her who first spotted your partner coming in. She’s the one who gave the knife to the other one, Claudia, so that Claudia could throw it at Leonard.”
“Hey, Vern…”
“Arnold saw the whole thing. You can ask him.”
“Vernon…” Arnold Kaplan’s expression was pained. “Where the hell are you going with this?”
Lockwood ignored him. He had turned to face Crow. “And you know something else? They were laughing about it. Out on the boat they were doing imitations of how Leonard was twitching and shaking. They thought that was very hilarious.”
“Fucking Vern!!”
“Arnold watched from the dock. He had binoculars. Right, Arnold?”
Kaplan started to protest, but instead he said, “Shit.” He said, “Keep your heads down. Don’t look.”
“What’s the matter?”
“The barmaid, damn it, is now watching us. She’s pointing us out to the cop, for Christ’s sake.”
“Okay, go. Not fast. Just keep going.”
Leslie wasn’t sure of what she’d just seen. That Pontiac was one of hundreds of cars that had cruised by the scene of the shooting that morning. Passengers gawking. A few slowing to take snapshots.
This car was older, more beat up than most. But the thing that had caught her eye, she supposed, was the odd mix of passengers inside. In the back, a golfer sat holding his clubs. Clubs are normally carried in the trunk. And the two men in front weren’t dressed to play golf. The one in the passenger seat wore a suit. He was dressed like these FBI agents. And the driver, a man who seemed upset about something, was dressed like a…wait.
Wait, she knew him.
She was sure of it now. She had recognized the driver. Straw hat, tinted glasses and that hideous striped jacket. She did not know his name or anything about him except that she’d seen him at th
e bar several times. And the car he drove then was a red Cadillac. She had seen it when he pulled up and parked it.
And that man, she now remembered, had been there last night. He’d come in a few minutes after Adam and Claudia and had sat at the opposite end of the bar. He would have to have had a clear view of the shooting, but if so, he didn’t stay to be interviewed.
She’d said, “Ed, see that car? The green one? Three men?”
“The Pontiac? What about it?”
“Well, the man at the wheel…Oh, it’s nothing. Never mind.”
The green Pontiac had passed them. It was moving away. The FBI, she’d decided, didn’t need another witness. And if this one, indeed, had seen everything that happened, he would only make things difficult for Claudia.
She said, “Ed, those agents are finished with me. I’m going to drive down to the hospital.”
“That’s why you changed? You look very nice.”
“Well, I couldn’t go in shorts and a sweatshirt.”
“What about Phil? Didn’t he want to go?”
“He still does, so does Jump, but they can’t until later. Their insurance adjuster’s coming over. I thought I’d stop on the way and see if Claudia wants to come. She told me that she’d like to see him.”
“Mrs. Ragland would like that, but you’ll need advance clearance. I can call her from my unit if you wish.”
She answered, “Sure, thanks. That will save me some time. Tell her I should be there in about thirty minutes. Tell Phil I should be back here by two.”
THIRTY
Olivia Ragland wanted to know what Whistler had been up to these past sixteen years. She said, “Last I heard, you went into the service.” He told her that was pretty much it.
“So you’ve gone your own way? A more normal existence?”
“It has been. For the past year, at least.”
“And your father is well? Is he still in Geneva?”
Whistler answered yes to both questions.
“He’s someone who knows what it’s like to be shot. Did it have any lasting effect?”
Whistler squinted. “My father? When was he ever shot?”
“You’re saying he wasn’t?”
“I think I’d have known.”
Whistler's Angel (The Bannerman Series) Page 29