Vineyard Deceit (28 page)

24

The catboat was in the barn behind Jeremy Fisher's house. I parked in the yard, waved to Jeremy, who was sitting on his porch having a pipe and watching the traffic go by at the end of his driveway, and went in to see if the boat was still as desirable as it had been the last time I'd looked at it. It was. Perfect for cruising or fishing or just goofing around. Catboats are perhaps the best possible boats for day sailing around the shoaly waters south of Cape Cod. They can sail in very thin water, of which we have a lot around Martha's Vineyard, can turn on a dime, and are so beamy that they heel very little in anything less than a gale. This one had a cuddy cabin with two bunks as well as the normal huge cockpit. It was gaff rigged and had an ancient eighteen-horse Evinrude hanging on an outboard-motor mount on the port transom. I had no difficulty imagining myself sailing down across the flats in Katama Bay or even fetching Nantucket on a fair day. Like many Vineyarders, I had never been to Nantucket. This boat would give me an excuse to go there.

I went up to the house and sat beside Jeremy and did some initial dickering. He wanted more than I was willing or able to pay, so I offered him less than that. I inhaled his pipe smoke and agreed that the Vineyard was getting so dang many cars on it these days that you took your life in your hands just trying to get to the hardware store.

He came down a little and I went up a little and things looked promising when I left.

On the way home I thought of what Jasper Cabot had
said and wondered if Nagy had really had his pistol taken away from him or whether, after Blunt told him that he had stolen the necklace, Nagy had shot him right there, then put the gun in his hand to make it look like suicide. I wondered if it made any difference who had killed Blunt, who was dying anyway. I also thought about how Blunt had managed the theft, if, indeed, he really had done it. I had a semi-idea about how it might have happened, but didn't quite have it straight yet. One thing was certain: if Blunt had stolen the necklace, he'd either had help or the necklace was still on the island somewhere. Where? With the pistol under the sand somewhere where the Padishah of Sarofim would never find it? Why not? That would be a serious blow to the Rashads, and Blunt might well have wanted to give such a blow before he died.

Too many options. William of Occam would have recommended the simplest one that accounted for everything. But which one was that? Where was old William when you really needed him?

I had a surprise waiting for me at home. A cruiser in my yard. I parked beyond it and got out. The Chief and Jake Spitz and another man got out of the cruiser. None of their faces had much in the way of expression.

“This is Mr. Wapple,” said the Chief. “He wants to talk to you.”

Mr. Wapple put out his hand. He had an average sort of grip.

“To get right to the point, sir,” he said, “I represent the White House. There are sensitive discussions going on in Washington regarding a certain foreign policy matter of which you may be generally aware. I've been asked to come up to the island here and request various parties involved in investigating last weekend's theft and suicide to, as it were, not pause in their inquiries but pursue them with discretion until the negotiations in the Capitol can be completed. I've spoken to your Chief here, to Mr. Spitz's superiors, and to Mr. Jason Thornberry and have gained
their cooperation. I hope I can count on yours as well, Mr. Jackson.” He smiled.

“I'm working for Jasper Cabot,” I said. I glanced at the Chief. His face was blank.

Mr. Wapple's smile stayed on his face. “Yes, yes. I'm afraid that Mr. Cabot has been out of his office when I've tried to contact him, but I'm sure he will agree to my request when I do get in touch with him.”

“Well, as soon as you do and he gives me the word, I'll walk away from the whole thing.”

“Maybe you shouldn't wait,” said Spitz. “I mean, hey, they don't want us to drop the case, they just want us to stay off of the Padishah's toes for a day or two. That right, Mr. Wapple?”

Mr. Wapple's smile faded a bit. “That's right, Mr. Spitz.”

“I'm the soul of discretion,” I said. “I never step on people's toes. What's happening here, Chief?”

The Chief got a little red in the face. It looked more like anger than embarrassment. He stuck his pipe in his mouth. “We're always glad to cooperate with the White House,” he muttered.

“I'm not completely convinced that you don't step on toes,” said Mr. Wapple, his smile now only a faint line across his face. “I'm told that you're not averse to causing trouble.”

“For instance?”

“You made threats to the Padishah. That issue has come up in the Washington discussions. We don't need any more of that sort of thing.”

“I didn't know about that,” said the Chief, taking his pipe from his mouth.

“I didn't either,” I said. “I did mention that if he didn't take his hands off of Helga Johanson she might kick his balls up into his brain cavity, but I don't think that I threatened him. I'd guess that the Padishah's advisors are spreading this story around as part of a negotiation for a
better deal from Uncle Sam. Not that that'll be difficult. Government guys like Mr. Wapple's boss have a long tradition of supporting fascist governments as long as they're nice to our military.”

Wapple's smile was now a memory. “And there's the matter of your invasion of the house of the young Sarofimians this morning. You used your badge to gain illegal entry and then threatened your victims with a pistol. You're liable to arrest on several counts. The President, as you know, ran on a strong law-and-order plank, but he also deeply resents the unlawful use of police authority.” He leaned slightly forward. “We cannot afford any additional actions of this sort, sir.” He turned to the Chief. “Tell him.”

The Chief looked me in the eye. “You used your badge illegally. You didn't have a warrant. You waved a gun. You're in trouble.”

“Who told you all that?”

He nodded at Spitz. “He told me what you told him. And Helga Johanson backed him up.”

I looked at Spitz. He shrugged.

“There's no reason that this issue needs to be pursued,” said Wapple, suddenly suave. “I'm sure that all parties will benefit from, say, three days of circumspect activities regarding the whole matter of the Padishah and last weekend's unfortunate occurrences. I suspect, Mr. Jackson, that at the end of that time your Chief may be more understanding of this morning's incident.”

It was clear that he didn't know the Chief, who did not like his officers screwing up their work or his department's reputation.

“The Padishah and his party are scheduled to return to Sarofim in three days,” explained Spitz unnecessarily.

I got out my wallet, took out my brand-new badge, and put it in the Chiefs hand. He took it without hesitation. “Sorry it didn't work out,” I said. I looked at Mr. Wapple. “If you think you can hang an arrest on me,
hop to it. By the time you manage it, if you manage it, the Padishah will be long since home in the family harem. And while you're trying to scare me with your law-and-order presidential plank, ^you might give some thought to who's going to testify against me about this morning's adventure. Zee Madieras? Ha! Those Sarofimian college students? They know that Zee can hang a kidnapping charge on them if she decides to. I don't think they'll testify to anything. Helga Johanson? Hell, if I did something illegal, she was in on the whole thing.” I walked over to Wapple and put my nose close to his. “I already had one threat hanging over my head before you decided to wave yours at me. I don't like threats or threateners. They tend to make me edgy. I get uncooperative. If you'd gotten Jasper Cabot to ask me to back off, I'd probably have done it. But now I think I'll stay with it. You fly back and tell the President to send somebody else to see me the next time he wants me to do him a favor. Now get off of my land.”

I turned away and winked at Spitz, then spun back at Wapple. “Off! Go bully some little kid or kick a dog or something.”

Wapple's face was white. The Chief turned away and coughed.

“Come on,” said Spitz, taking Wapple's arm. “You've done your best, sir. I'm sure Mr. Jackson will cooperate. Let's give him a chance to cool down. Come along.”

“These negotiations in Washington are important,” cried Mr. Wapple as they led him to the cruiser. “National security could be involved! Don't you forget that, you . . . sir!”

“A pox on your negotiations!” I shouted. “And another one on national security!” I thought that had a fine theatrical ring to it.

They drove away. I went inside and found a Yuengling and washed Mr. Wapple out of my mouth. As someone once observed, life is just one damned thing after another.
I felt pretty good and realized that the badge had been a weight I was glad to be rid of. It was too tempting to use it exactly the way I'd used it, and I'd not been pleased with the way I'd felt afterwards. Good riddance.

I looked at my watch. Zee would be off work in a couple of hours. If I was right about Colonel Ahmed Nagy being the foreign threat to her and me, I only had three more days to worry about her. I went out into the yard and stepped over the chicken-wire fence into the garden. The Bad Bunny Bunch hadn't found a way through yet, but they were an ever-present danger. Maybe I could sic Mr. Wapple on them.

I did some weeding and checked on my latest planting of green beans. In not too long I'd have another mighty beanfest to share with Zee. I could make a whole meal out of nothing but fresh-picked green beans boiled and served with a just a bit of butter and salt. Fresh vegetables almost never need much help to be delicious.

By the time my bottle of Yuengling was empty I had come to my cauliflower row. I have an annual fight with cauliflower and rarely produce much that's impressive. This year was no different, but I did have a couple that were doing very nicely. I admired the bigger of them and suddenly had an irresistible yen for fried cauliflower. I went inside and got another beer and phoned the hospital. The lady who answered the phone in the emergency room took my name, said just a moment, and a bit later said that Zee was busy.

Sure. Zee had been a little irked this morning. Maybe she still was. I went out to the garden again and harvested the head of cauliflower that had caused my tastebuds to leap into action. Inside, I washed it and cut it up into handy nibbling-size pieces and put it in the fridge. Then I got into the LandCruiser and drove to the hospital. On the way I passed Ocean View Lane. Were Anwar and his friends still there, or had I scared them across the Sound to America? I parked in the emergency room parking lot
and went inside through the glass doors. Zee, looking terrific in her white uniform, was standing at the reception desk writing in a folder.

“Hi,” I said. “I've come to invite you to share a deep-fried cauliflower with me.”

She looked up, then looked down again and wrote some more. “Just the three of us, I presume.”

“Just the two of us. I can explain everything.”

“I'll bet you can. You've had all day to think up your story.”

“I come in peace,” I said. “I know you're mad, but you shouldn't be. There's a perfectly sensible explanation. I want to give it to you.”

“All right, give. I'm listening.”

The receptionist on the other side of the desk gave me a matronly smile and listened without apology. I wondered if she was the one who had answered the phone.

“I'd prefer to give it over a chilled glass of Absolut and a hot plate of fried cauliflower,” I said.

Zee said nothing.

“Sounds good to me,” said the receptionist. “If she doesn't want to listen to you, I will!”

“Okay,” I said. “And tomorrow you can pass the message on to Mrs. Madieras, here, if she wants to know it. What time do you get off?”

“I'm out of here at six.”

“All right, all right,” said Zee, “I'll come for cauliflower.”