“It…only hit me a few hours ago. Reconstructionists…Crow. I finally got it.”
“Well, I understand Poole and why he’d tie in with those people. I understand Poole siccing Crow on Philip Ragland. What I don’t understand, not me, not Molly, is why Felix Aubrey would go near the damned thing. Or why he’d break the deal by coming down here after you. Or why he’d come down here at all, for that matter.”
“I had the same problem with that,” Whistler answered.
“If Aubrey thought that you had tied in with Ragland, what’s the first thing that he should have done?”
“Call you. Remind you that you have an agreement.”
“Would he have tried to kill you before calling me?”
“That would have been much too direct for Felix Aubrey. That man has more twists than a snake.”
His father smiled. “Yeah, he does.”
“Why’s that funny?”
A shrug. “I guess I kind of enjoy the little bastard. He might have the single most devious mind that I’ve run across in my lifetime.”
“Are you thinking of giving him a pass?”
“No, I’m not.”
This conversation, although basically finished, was interrupted by Jump.
He entered the bar grinning. He said, “Leslie’s outside and there are two men with her. Is it okay with you if they come in?”
Whistler matched Jump’s smile. He said, “Absolutely.” He’d be pleased to introduce Leslie to his father. The two men, he assumed, must be the twins, although they seldom showed up anywhere together. More then likely, one of them would come in while the other one watched from outside.
Leslie Stewart entered through the plywood-covered door. At her elbow was Donald. He was half right so far. But behind them, hanging back, looking very ill at ease, was the man in the ugly striped jacket, Arnold Kaplan.
Donald said to Kaplan, “Go and sit in the corner. Me and Leslie need to talk to our friends here.”
Kaplan spread his hands in a supplicating gesture. He said, “Mr. Whistler…”
“These are both Mr. Whistler. Now sit down and shut up.”
“I just want them to know…”
“Wait your turn.”
Whistler introduced Leslie. They chatted for a few minutes. His father, as usual, turned on the charm in the presence of a young woman. In response to his performance, Leslie smiled and told his father, “Well, now I can see where Adam gets it.”
“Gets what?” asked his father.
“His looks. His twinkle.”
His father made a show of being confused. He said, “Adam…has a twinkle? This Adam? Right here?”
Donald cleared his thoat, Whistler thought, to defend him. He said, “I agree. He’s as cute as a button. But could we get some business off the table here first?”
Donald said to Leslie, “Give us maybe ten minutes. We got just a couple of things to discuss. Then I’ll call you and we’ll talk about Kaplan. That okay?”
“Okay,” she answered. “Can I bring him a drink?”
“Bring him the whole bottle. He could need it.”
Donald waited for Leslie to get out of earshot. He huddled between the two men. He said to Harry, “We were right about Aubrey. He had nothing to do with the hit on Ragland. He had nothing to do with those two meatballs who did it. He did send Lockwood down here to keep an eye on Adam after Kaplan told Lockwood…are you following this?…about what happened last night in this bar here.”
“Which Kaplan saw,” said Whistler. “He’d been watching us for days.”
“For a whole lot of days, but we’ll get to that later. This morning, Aubrey hears who the two loonies were. He knows that Poole was funding this weird church they belong to and also some murders these guys did. Long story about that. It’ll keep. Aubrey sees a chance to squeeze some money out of Poole, but for that he needs to make Crow disappear. He sends Lockwood down here to deep-six him. Lockwood, however, has ideas of his own and decides he’ll use Crow to kill Adam. Net-net is that Aubrey is more or less innocent. He came down here to stop both Lockwood and Crow because he knows how this was gonna look to you guys. It was Kaplan who blew the whistle on Lockwood when Lockwood decided that he’d do his own thing. He was ready to pop Crow and Lockwood himself, but he had to go along and try to keep them both busy until Aubrey could show up with some heat.”
He added, “Oh, and by the way, Kaplan doctored Crow’s bombs. He couldn’t get to the one Lockwood put on the boat, but he wet the other two down with some Snapple.”
“Snapple?”
“Iced tea,” said Donald. “Which is why they mostly fizzed. Not that they were that good in the first place.”
“Uh-huh,” said Harry. “And Kaplan’s role in snatching Leslie?”
“Which reminds me,” said Donald, “Aubrey thought she was Claudia. This made him crazy. It’s the last thing he wanted. He really did try to contain this.”
“Get back to Kaplan. His role in the snatch.”
“Couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it. He looked out for her, though. Lockwood intended to kill her.”
“And Leslie knows that? Now she wants to help Kaplan?”
“That would be the bottom line. It’s not that syndrome thing either. She says he doesn’t deserve to get hurt.”
Harry shrugged. “Then she’s called it. Tell him he can walk. Adam? You have any objections?”
“Not so fast,” said Donald. “This guy’s full of information. This guy knows of at least two attempts to kill Adam, both set up by Lockwood and without Aubrey’s knowledge.”
“Did he try to stop them?”
“Who, Kaplan? Why should he? Anyway, he didn’t know until later. You want to know who queered those two tries on Adam’s life?”
“I’m breathless,” said Harry.
“Well, you should be. It was Claudia.”
Whistler listened as Donald detailed the two attempts. The yacht that needed ice. That restaurant on Grand Cayman. Claudia, he realized, had been right in both cases.
Donald went on. He said, “Then there’s the tracker. It was Kaplan here who arranged for that and again it was Claudia who…I don’t know…sensed it somehow and almost crowned the kid who installed it.”
Donald saw that Adam was staring at him. Donald said, “You feel dumb? That’s progress. You should. Next time listen when that lady tells you something.”
Whistler sat slowly shaking his head. All the other instances came flowing back. Instances in which he had doubted her. Just today, on the boat, her saying that she knew that Vernon Lockwood had been on it. Her telling him that she could smell him. Her saying, before that, how all this was tied together. She’d said, “I just feel it,” and he had dismissed her. Her saying, before that, that Sergeant Moore could be trusted. That Sergeant Moore was a friend.
Moving that bullet. Maybe she really did that. Making Ragland more comfortable. She definitely did. Knowing that Lockwood intended to kill Leslie. Well, maybe not that one. Too easy.
But the knife…that throw…could she do that every time? Maybe he shouldn’t have doubted that either.
Donald was chuckling. This was also new to Whistler. He could not recall Donald ever chuckling.
He asked Donald, “What is it?”
“Random musings. Nothing much.”
Whistler had also never imagined that Donald ever had random musings. He asked, “Like what? Is this more about Claudia?”
“Yeah, a couple of things,” he said, “but first Kaplan. You know what I think we should do with him?”
“What?”
“Probationary, mind you, but I’d give him a job. This guy is pretty straight in his way.”
Whistler blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“It was Kaplan’s suggestion. You can’t say he don’t have balls.”
“And you’re saying you would actually consider it?”
Donald rocked a hand. Then he said, “Yeah, I would. Let’s remember that he tried to s
ave some lives down here, Adam. Let’s remember that he would have popped Lockwood and Crow before any more damage was done. All he had to do to get rid of Leslie was whack her one in the mouth. If he did that, he could have been gone.”
“Yeah, but still…”
“And besides, he took a bath on the deal he had with Aubrey. Guy could use the work. Why not try him?”
Harry said, “Adam? You’ll have to call this one.”
Whistler grunted. He asked Donald, “Will you check him out?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m feeling generous, not stupid.”
“Let’s talk again after you’ve done that.”
Whistler made a mental note on the subject of hiring. He wondered how Sergeant Ed Moore might feel about working out of Geneva.
Donald said, “Where was I? Oh, Claudia and Carla. What three words would you never expect Carla to say?”
“I love you?”
“No, I’m serious. Try again. This is good.”
“I forgive you?” asked Whistler.
“Who, Carla? Get real. Try again, but think social. Think women.”
“Let’s do lunch?” asked Harry.
“You got it,” said Donald. “She wants to take Claudia to lunch.”
As the shock from that revelation receded, Whistler noticed that Donald wasn’t smiling anymore. His expression had become pensive.
Whistler asked him, “Something else about Carla?”
“About Claudia.”
“Well?” Whistler asked.
“It’s too dumb. Never mind.”
“Come on, give,” said Harry. “What about her? What is it?”
Donald grimaced. He asked Whistler, “Are you sure you hit that plane?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Two clean hits on the engines, killed them both. It had no place to go from there but down.”
“Hell of a shot. But as long as you’re sure. I just wondered about Claudia being with you is all.”
“Donald…” said Whistler, “tell us what’s on your mind.”
“I hear she talks to birds. Is that true? She talks to birds?”
“What could that have to do with Lockwood’s plane?”
Donald hesitated. He said, “I don’t know. I guess nothing. It’s just that back on your boat, they had the radio on. They were talking about that plane and why it splashed. They were talking about what they think downed it.”
“Well?”
“They were saying they think it was birds.”
FORTY
Three days after the attempt on Philip Ragland’s life, Poole’s death made the six o’clock news.It was not a major story. It appeared in fourth position. It was only three sentences long.
The director of the Center for Policy Analysis had thrown himself through the eighth floor window of his office building in Washington. Poole was alone in his office at the time. No suicide note had been found. Some who knew him reported that in recent days, Stanton Poole had seemed profoundly depressed.
Whistler asked his father, “Was that really a suicide?”
His father said, “It’s over. What’s the difference?”
Poole might, in fact, have taken his own life. He might have received a telephone call telling him that he would soon be indicted and disgraced. The caller might have described in detail the public ordeal that would follow. Whistler knew, however, that the Beasley twins had not been seen on the island that day. He knew that Carla Benedict had also departed on her way back to Westport, Connecticut. He knew that soon he would begin to hear rumors that the three of them had paid Poole a visit. The story would go something like this.
The Beasley twins would have found a way into the building where Poole had his office. They would have brought Carla Benedict with them. While one twin stood guard to insure a private meeting, the other would have introduced her to Poole. The twin who remained would have told Stanton Poole that she was the one who, a year before that, had restructured the face of his man, Briggs. He would have asked her to show him her knife. He would have told him that Carla was also the one who shot off Briggs’ leg at the knee.
Carla would have sat quietly during this recitation. She would have kept her eyes locked on those of Stanton Poole. Her cheek would have shown a disturbing twitch of the kind one associates with madness. She would have caressed her long and thin knife as she sat.
The twin doing the talking – Donald, most likely - would next have described what she’d done to Felix Aubrey. Poole had seen for himself the extent of Aubrey’s injuries and was aware of how badly he’d been crippled. But he hadn’t been told how slowly, and precisely, and painfully, the incisions had been made. Donald might have asked Carla to demonstrate by showing him where she would begin. Or Carla might have laid out a few other tools. A corkscrew. A saw. A pair of pliers.
Donald Beasley might have told him that he had two choices. The slow way or the quick way, the window. He might have told Poole that they would much prefer the knife. Poole would now have ten seconds to decide.
It may or may not have happened that way. They might have had to throw him out the window and been done with it. Whatever the story, it would spread over time. It might vary in a number of details. But Carla would be a constant. And her knife would be a constant. One other constant would have been that Poole had died because he’d broken his word to Harry Whistler.
There might be those who would challenge the story, citing the fact that the building was secure. Coded cards were needed at every entrance. Coded cards were needed in the elevators as well. Without the proper card, the elevator would not have stopped on the floor where the Center had its offices. Those cards were said to be impossible to duplicate. No uninvited visitor could possibly have gained access without having been issued a card. But Whistler remembered what was in Carla’s hand as she emerged from that house in North Forest Beach. She was carrying two wallets in her hand.
So, no matter what the truth might have been, no matter whether Poole was with them or alone when he threw himself from that window, the story would be some version of the former. If the story were doubted, either Donald or Carla would probably produce one of those coded cars and lay it on a table. Enough said.
Whistler’s father had always known the value of such stories. He knew how to use reputations.
Felix Aubrey, with treatment, had largely recovered from a state that had been near-catatonic. Still hospitalized and under close guard; he was in FBI custody.
Whistler’s father had decided to go easier on Aubrey. This turned out to be at Kate Geller’s urging. He’d been persuaded that Aubrey was more or less innocent of much that had happened on the island. More than that, Felix Aubrey had been genuinely horrified when he thought that Whistler had already been killed and that Claudia had been kidnapped by Lockwood. True enough, he might have seen to it that Adam Whistler‘s photo would appear in the media, worldwide if he’d had time, but otherwise he’d kept the agreement.
The agreement, in any case, was now null and void. Aubrey knew that his ledger would soon be made public. He’d already agreed to cooperate fully with the various legal authorities. Aubrey, as far as Harry Whistler was concerned, was welcome to make whatever bargain he could in order to avoid a term in prison. He was welcome to avail himself of Witness Protection whether he served time or not. Harry’s friend, Roger Clew, the State Department official, had flown down and visited Felix Aubrey to make sure that Aubrey understood his options.
Once he was relocated – and Harry Whistler would know where – Felix Aubrey was told that he must never again step beyond the city limits of that place. While there, he would spend nearly all his free time performing community service. Specifically, for three nights a week, he would serve as a cook in a shelter for the homeless. He would join a church, never failing to attend. He would volunteer as a Sunday School instructor and he’d work with the Scout troop if it had one. If no troop, he’d volunteer to be a crossing guard at the nearest elementary school.
Kate Geller, on hea
ring this, said to his father, “You have a weird sense of humor, Harry Whistler.”
It had also caused Adam to shake his head. He had said to his father, “You don’t really expect him to do all that, do you?”
“At the start? Sure, he will. He’s pretty snake-bit by what happened to Poole.”
Whistler asked, “Is it true that you’ll know where he is?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And that you’ll have someone watching him?”
“No, but he’ll think so.”
“And you know that this Sunday School, crossing guard business isn’t likely to become his life’s work.”
“Hell, no. But, as I’ve said, he’s such a devious little bastard that it ought to be fun to see how he schemes out of it.”
“You almost sound as if you like him.”
“Not like him. Enjoy him. He has an interesting mind.”
”I’m…never going to hear that you’ve hired him, am I?”
His father said, “Hey, you know? That’s a thought.”
“It’s a terrible thought. Tell me you’re not serious.”
He said, “Adam, as you know, we use all kinds of people. As you’ve seen, they’re not all seminarians.”
Kate Geller had agreed to move to Geneva, especially since Claudia would be based there for a while. And Kate, by the way, knew perfectly well that his father had bought her garden center. She had told him, “You got ripped on the price.”
“Yeah, but look at the company it bought me.”
She said, “It bought you two years. Or ‘til you’re back on your feet.”
“But you will move in, won’t you? I mean, no separate rooms?”
“I think we’re beyond the separate rooms stage.”
“Want to marry me, Kate?”
“Ask again in two years. That’s if I haven’t murdered you first.”
“Fair enough.”
“Will you let me redecorate? Add some touches of my own?”
“Ask me again in two years.”
Whistler's Angel (The Bannerman Series) Page 41