I looked at his hand. No puncture wounds, no blood, but it was streaked with red.
“Damn, that hurt! ”
I was on my knees again. I had the little wooden-handled dip net, searching through the grass. At first, I thought he’d grabbed a saltwater catfish or stingray-unassertive animals with painful defensive systems. A stingray’s spine has serrated edges and two groves that run the length of it, venomous glands in each. A thin layer of skin called the integumentary sheath covers the spine, and a complicated proteinous toxin is released when that sheath ruptures upon penetration. I stepped on a small stingray once, and it took all my resolve not to sit down and bawl like a baby.
Saltwater catfish are almost as bad. Their dorsal and lateral fins are serrated like double-edged saws, and the slimy venom secreted from axillary glands in the sheaths of their spines is an extremely painful protein-based poison. Because there was no puncture mark on Tomlinson’s hand, though, I figured he’d grabbed some kind of jellyfish-the stinging nematocysts of a Portuguese man-o’war, in sufficient number, are potent enough to hospitalize a grown man.
I saw that it was neither. Lying on the deck, beneath the gumbo, was a banjo-shaped animal that was a little less than two feet long. It had the round body of a ray, but the truncated tail of a fish. Its milky gray body was covered with peculiar triangles, circles and semicircles that were suggestive of military camouflage or some weird alien, computer coding. An unusual and highly adapted animal.
“What the hell is that thing?”
I touched it gently with the tip of the wooden handle. The fish moved ever so slightly, its black eyes indifferent, gill clefts moving rhythmically, secure in its own defense system.
I said, “It’s an electric ray. We don’t get a lot of them around here, but when we dragged along that sand beach? That’s probably where he was.” I used the handle to lift it slightly, then amended. “Sorry, where she was. The way you tell is, they’re kind of like a shark. The males have elongated claspers.”
We were all three crouched over it now. I turned the misting water spray on the ray to keep it cool, and still it did not react.
Tomlinson’s eyes were wide, very excited. “Its skin was really smooth when I first touched it. Then it was like he flipped the power switch. Zap! Serious voltage that went straight to my brain, then arched down to my toes. Awesome! Like a bright red light flashed on behind my eyes and I could see a wiring schematic for my entire nervous system. Far out, man!” He paused; was looking at the ray, thinking about it. “Hey… what happened was, it hurt like hell, yeah, but it also gave me a kind of weird high. It wasn’t just painful, it was… interesting. In a chemical-electric way, I’m talking about. A really far-out sort of rush.”
Ransom said, “Lordy, Lordy, some pair, you two white men. My brother, he have a bullet cut his arm, it don’t even bother him. Mr. Thomas get a shock, he like the feeling.”
“No, no, what you don’t understand is, I am a scientist, Ransom, a very dedicated karma explorer. Pain and pleasure-they’re not that far removed. Or maybe I… what it could be is, I’ve been desensitized by some very high voltage.” He lifted his hair and pointed to the tiny lightning bolt scar. “Mother nature zapped me once. I also spent a couple weeks doing a little table dance which some Freud-geeks used to describe as electroshock therapy. Didn’t have much choice about either one, but this, yeah, it wasn’t too bad.”
I said, “This is what they call a lesser electric ray. It’s got chemical tissues”-I pointed without touching-“there and there on its body which can generate something like forty volts. Maybe not even that. But it’s got a relative in the Atlantic-I’ve found a couple in the Gulf, too-an animal called ‘torpedo ray,’ maybe because of its shape, but probably because it packs such a jolt. A torpedo ray can knock you on your butt. It’ll produce a lot more than a hundred volts.”
Before I could consider stopping him, Tomlinson reached out and touched the ray again, then looked at me, still holding his fingers to the fish, breathing fast and shallow. I watched his expression transition gradually from pain to exhilaration and then studious delight as he began to speak as giving dictation. “Not bad… not bad… whoa, got a little surge there! Yes, a very natural high. Yep, beginning to move through the cerebral cortex down into limbic Happy Valley. There… there… yes! My plumbing’s now on-line! Doesn’t really hurt, man, once you…” His eyes widened. “Oooh-lah-lah! Man, this is like a neurological cleansing!” He yanked his hand away and sat back heavily. “Phwew!”
He was suddenly concerned. “I didn’t hurt the fish, did I? Like drain it or something?”
I began to lift the ray by the tail-it couldn’t shock from the tail. “No, it’s fine. They spend all day cruising the bottom, shocking sand worms, then sucking them out whole. Long pink worms almost exclusively, I can’t remember the Latin name. Shocking things is what they do.”
“You’re going to release it? Doc, why don’t we keep it? You study the fish, then I’ll drop by every now and again and I’ll let the fish do little experiments on me. When I was touching it? I could feel every part of my body come to life. Every part of my body-if you catch my drift.”
I lowered the electric ray into the water, skated it back and forth a few times to make certain it was healthy, then watched it flap away with birdlike grace. “He’s always joking around, Ransom.”
He threw his hands up-the ray was gone. “Man, I wasn’t joking!”
The woman was kicking dead turtle grass and goop toward the stern, cleaning up to go. Same as with calculating the clipboards-she knew what to do without having to be told. I was already starting to like her despite the fact I didn’t know her and had been convinced I didn’t want to know her.
“You two coconut-headed men, it gonna be fun going with you and getting daddy’s money.”
She’d asked and asked, but I’d yet to give her an answer.
“We’ll talk about it,” I said. “I’ll look at the things Tucker sent you, then come up with a solution that’s acceptable. Something to make you happy.”
“Uh-huh, that good, man. What I want right now, though, is to get myself cleaned up. Gonna bathe myself, put on my little black skirt, and let you buy me that expensive lunch just to celebrate.”
I told her, okay, but first I had a phone call to make.
8
C alling from the portable phone in the master bedroom of my cottage, I listened to the fourth ring, hoping no one would answer. I felt like some guilt-ridden adolescent schoolboy who’d been caught misbehaving and who dreaded a confrontation with the principal.
I was on the verge of hanging up, when a man’s voice said without hesitating, “Okay, so we finally get a chance to talk, Dr. Ford. And if I sound a little agitated, it’s because I’ve been waiting all morning for your call. I asked them to make it clear the message was urgent. The woman at the desk didn’t tell you that? Do the lady a favor and say she told you it was urgent. I’m on the island’s corporate board.”
Caller ID is one of the minor irritants of this digital society.
He sounded middle-aged, no older. He had a very deep voice, lots of testosterone, just a hint of southern accent but an articulate airiness that told me this was a man who was used to giving orders, not taking them, a man accustomed to sitting back and listening, an intellectual counterpuncher. Oddly, his bullying threat- I could have the lady fired -seemed forced, overly theatrical. Something about it didn’t ring true.
When I didn’t respond immediately, he said, “This is Doctor Marion Ford, isn’t it?”
I answered, “There-that’s maybe not a polite way to begin a phone conversation, but it’s at least acceptable. Yes, my name is Ford. Thanks for asking. And you’re Hal Harrington.”
“Of course!”
“I wasn’t sure. Last night an FBI agent told me that you’re a diplomat. I guess I expected you to be diplomatic.”
Which caused him to stumble, interrupted his timing, and he became momentarily formal. “You
’re right. You’re exactly right. Especially when the first point of business should be to thank you for saving my daughter yesterday. I mean it. Thank you very much, Doctor Ford.”
“No need.”
“As far as I’m concerned, there is. The people who tried to abduct her are of the very slimiest variety. Lowlife opportunists. Small-time drug people who hate my stand on a particular issue, and’re looking to make a big jump in the cartel community. No one else would have tried anything so risky. They’d love to have a major bargaining chip, and I don’t doubt for a moment that they’d have killed Lindsey if they’d succeeded. Bargaining wouldn’t have saved her. I’m very thankful you were there and decided to get involved.”
“Read the reports, Mister Harrington. I didn’t save your daughter. She saved herself.”
“Nonsense. You mentioned my occupation? In my line of work, an important job skill is… well, let’s put it this way. I deal with liars and equivocators on a daily basis. If I couldn’t get a little edge here and there by recognizing what’s true and what isn’t, I wouldn’t be very effective.”
I told him, “Okay, we’re both glad your daughter didn’t get hurt. Let’s leave it at that. But there’s nothing urgent about calling to say thanks. So something else is on your mind.”
“Yes, very true. You’re an insightful man. There is another subject I’d like to discuss. Actually, what I’d like to do is share some information, then ask a favor. You’ll find it interesting; probably find it informative. The subject has to do with your past, Doctor Ford. And your future.”
With the phone wedged between shoulder and ear, I moved out onto the veranda. Through the palms, the swimming pool was a Caribbean jade. There were four or five women in lounge chairs, baking themselves black. Overhead, circling in a pale winter sky, was a pair of osprey hawks, screaming their ascending whistling call as if outraged by the intrusion of these dozing women. I watched the osprey as I said, “My future? I thought the reason you called would have something to do with your daughter.”
Harrington’s tone became both amused and accusatory. “Oh, it does, it does. This has a lot to do with her-and I find it odd, by the way, that you should refer to her as ‘my daughter’ instead of ‘Lindsey.’ Maybe one of those Freudian things, huh? You two had yourselves quite a time last night. A girl nearly young enough to be your own daughter.”
“Mister Harrington, if you surprise loved ones by spying on them, shouldn’t you expect to be the one who’s surprised? The way you spend your nights, your private time, how’d you like her to know every detail?”
“I do whatever it takes to keep track of her, and I don’t apologize a damn minute for that! I stay informed. I’ve got to, her recovery requires it. Don’t try to turn it around, Ford. You two sitting around chatting away like adults, then on the couch. I’ve got the entire transcript on the desk in front of me. Playing astronauts, for Christ’s sake! Every word you two said, at least every word before you hauled her upstairs to the bedroom.”
I’m not always conversational, but I am seldom at a complete loss for words. I now was.
“Are you still there, Doctor Ford?”
I finally found voice. “Yes. I’m listening.”
“Know what I find most offensive? The way you manipulated her. That pious act of yours: ‘Lindsey, Go home because it’s the right thing to do.’ Here, let me read a sentence or two back-”
I said quickly, “Nope, we’re not going to do that. I choose not to listen to a review of our private conversations.”
“Oh, I don’t blame you for not wanting to hear it. The girl’s a drug addict, Doctor Ford. She’s emotionally unstable. She’s spoiled, immature, and, let’s face it, Lindsey’s not extremely bright either. Two generations ago, back in Houston, my grandfather would’ve shot you down like a dog for doing what you did.”
A father ridiculing his daughter-how do you react to something like that? True, I hadn’t been on my best behavior with Lindsey. True, it was understandable the man was furious. If Harrington wanted to vent, okay. I’d stand there and take it. But I was quickly becoming irritated by the man’s cruel characterizations of the girl.
“Doctor Ford, tell me something. Is it your normal course of habit to take advantage of young women who’ve been recently traumatized? The girl was nearly killed, for Christ’s sake! Then you hustle her off to bed and treat her like some damn floozy from a Caracas whorehouse. Unfortunately, I’ve got to admit, and it pains me to say it, Lindsey tends to act like a whore whenever she gets the chance-”
Which did it. All I was going to listen to. I raised my voice, interrupting him and said, “Harrington? Has anyone ever told you that you’re an ass? Because you are. You use a word like that to describe your own daughter? In my opinion, Lindsey’s the one with the brains in the family. And the maturity. You’ve got my number. Call back when you’re calmer. Or acquire a little class.”
And I hung up.
I waited for all of twenty seconds before the phone rang. I was still on the porch, looking at the pool. I noticed Tomlinson and Ransom approaching. They’d showered, were wearing fresh clothes, Ransom in a short black skirt and green blouse, Tomlinson in a tank top and a green sarong wrapped around his waist.
The happy couple in matching colors, immersed in conversation.
Sharing a joint, too, from the way it looked. Tomlinson holding fingers to his lips, head tilted as if in analysis, then exhaling slow smoke-all distinctive-then handing the cigarette to Ransom, who was using her hands to talk, right at home with the process.
When the phone rang, I punched the button to hear Harrington say, “Okay, so you passed the first test. Congratulations. I’m relieved. You should be relieved, too.”
I said, “Pardon me?”
“I apologize for doing it, but I needed to know. It was important. I had to find out how you really feel about Lindsey. Do you respect who she is?-a very gifted and complicated person. I had to find out before going any farther. A simple test of character. Would you defend her? Would you tolerate someone speaking badly of her-even her own father?”
I said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Not at all. In the last eighteen hours, I’ve learned a great deal about you. But I have no idea what kind of man you are. I had to make a quick assessment, and there was no better way-”
I interrupted him again. “Harrington, I stopped taking tests years ago. Most of us do when we become adults. So call me when you want to have a mature conversation-”
“Don’t hang up on me again, damn it!”
I wanted to. I came close to putting the phone down and walking away. But there was something in the man’s tone, an edge of worry and desperation that made me pause. So, instead, I took a couple of breaths, controlled my anger, and said, “No more tricks, no more devices. If you want to talk, we’ll talk. But no more manipulating.”
He seemed relieved. “Okay, okay. You have my word. But you have to understand my thinking. Why I need to be careful. I don’t apologize for wanting to find out if you have genuine respect for my daughter. You could have used her very easily. Many men would have jumped at the chance. She was indebted to you. As much as I love her, I also know that she doesn’t always think before she acts. Plus there are times when she’ll do absolutely anything to make me angry, because she knows-”
I finished the sentence for him. “Because she knows it’s the only way to get your full attention. We discussed that-but then, you already know. You have the tape, don’t you?”
“I’ve known it for a while-and regret that it’s the truth. I mean, it was the truth. But not now. In the past, it wasn’t easy for her to get my full attention. I admit it. You’re exactly right. I also admit I haven’t been a very good father. I know that, too. Years ago, when Lindsey’s mother died, something went out of me. Some emotional component-but you don’t need to hear about that.”
I said, “You don’t want to tell me about how your little girl let you down? What was it? She either
reminded you too much of your late wife, or maybe she didn’t come close enough.”
He gave a snort of self-deprecation. “Pew! Cocktail party psychology, but you’re a little too close for comfort. There’s a Mayan maxim that goes ‘Only through a stranger’s eyes is our vision perfect.’ Something like that, so maybe it really is that obvious to outsiders. From the time Lindsey was three, she was the mirror image of Linda-that was my wife’s name. I didn’t realize the truth. Or wouldn’t admit it. It hurt too much to be around my daughter, and we tend to avoid the things that hurt us, don’t we? I screwed up. I was inattentive, and maybe figured out the problem way too late. But I adore my daughter, Ford. Please do not question that. Don’t even insinuate it because I won’t tolerate the suggestion.”
Harrington’s tone was returning to normal. The forceful administrator, in charge once more.
“There’s a reason why I’m telling you this.”
“I’m sure there is, Mister Harrington.”
“Hal. Or just Harrington.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to help me. But I don’t want to discuss it on the phone. Not these phones, anyway. It’s personal and confidential. Do you understand my meaning?”
What he meant was that the phones might be tapped. With the FBI investigating an attempted kidnapping there was that possibility.
I said, “If you’re saying you want to meet in person, I don’t understand the point. I don’t see how I can possibly help you.”
“I worded it badly. I want you to help Lindsey.”
“Lindsey? I’m more than willing to help Lindsey in any way I can. But how?”
“You can start by granting me a small favor. Take the island ferry to the mainland. It leaves every half hour. Walk or drive to any pay phone you want and call me. I’ll expect to hear from you by… say, two P.M. Is that clear?”
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