Randy White - Dead Silence

Tomlinson let the sun bake his face for a moment, letting me think about that, before saying, “Your daily workouts are about as public as it gets, compadre. You either jog to the pool and swim laps there or you run a couple miles on the beach, then swim to the NO WAKE markers off the Island Inn. How many miles a week are you doing now, five or six? I’ve never seen you in better shape in your life. And the way you do it, so public and all, it won’t be hard to find witnesses.”

I said, “There’s nothing illegal about working out. You were telling me about the girl Heller tried to rape.”

“Oh… well… she grabbed her stuff and got the hell off that boat, while you… while the guy wearing glasses… swam Heller out beyond the lights. She says she ran to the main road, and called her sister.

“Because she was afraid, or maybe embarrassed, she didn’t tell anyone what happened until three days ago, when she finally went to a doctor. But she chose a private clinic in Miami for some reason. And she tried to use a fake name.”

I said, “Hmm,” not sure what that was supposed to mean. Miami was across the Everglades on the Atlantic Coast.

Tomlinson said, “The doctor didn’t buy her story so he contacted social services. They’re the ones who called police. Amazing story, huh?”

I said, “Lucky timing. I’m glad for her,” and meant it.

“There’s nothing lucky about Universal Mind and divine intervention.”

“If you say so.”

“The girl thinks Heller would have killed her. He’d already beaten her pretty bad, which is why the sister made her get X-rays. The guy wearing glasses saved her life.”

I caught myself as I reached to straighten my glasses and instead looked at my watch. “I hope she’s okay. But if Heller was still alive the last time she saw him, it doesn’t prove anything.”

Tomlinson agreed. “He was struggling, splashing, definitely alive, from what my law enforcement friend told me. But isn’t a dead Cheesehead in the water a little like a trout in the milk? Considering who you are, I mean, and what that asshole mutant did to Javier?”

“Cheesehead,” I said. “I get it, Heller’s from Wisconsin. Who’s the cop?”

“You know him. He’s one of the few I trust.”

I was impressed that Tomlinson wouldn’t compromise the guy by using his name. My friend’s contempt for the police borders on pathology. But there are a few he likes: the head sheriff ’s deputy on Captiva and a surfing pal from Naples. And there were rumors that the island’s marshal might have been his distant relative.

I said, “He didn’t tell you the girl’s name?”

“No. She’s in some sort of profession but young. Smart, too, from the way she handled herself. Smart enough to know her guardian angel dropped everything else that night to save her. She saw what she saw, though.”

I started up the steps that led to my house and lab, saying, “The girl was in shock, that’s the way it sounds to me. People in shock imagine all sorts of things.”

At the door, I added, “I’ve got to pack a few things, then button up the place and get going… with your permission, of course.”

Now was not the time to press for the meaning of Ten Man, or Tenth Man. I couldn’t stay on Sanibel. The investigation into Heller’s death was just getting started. Most serious crimes are solved within the first seventy-two hours or not at all. I didn’t want to be around when the investigation peaked.

Inside the house, I checked the message on my new phone. It was from Harrington, not Barbara.

Return New York fastest possible means. Subject may have escaped, possibly hiding. More info when airborne.

Subject: He was referring to Will Chaser.

The boy had escaped? Well… possibly, he’d escaped. Even so, it was good news, and a relief to have something to smile about. Maybe the kid wasn’t a typical teen after all. I’d put off contacting his foster guardians but was now eager to talk to them and learn what sort of boy the kidnappers were dealing with.

I found the SAT pilot’s card in my wallet and dialed his number. He’d told me a smaller aircraft was available out of nearby Naples if I wasn’t carrying “unconventional” personal items. He also said that his plane would be at Fort Myers Municipal, refueled and ready, by two. I chose Fort Myers, adding that I would call to confirm.

I had a little more than an hour to collect my things and get to the airport.

In the lab, I checked the aquaria, reconfirmed I was still in possession of a few small, important ancillary items, a passive-electronic fish tag among them, and left a note for Janet Nichols, who takes care of the place when I’m away.

I also put out a new gadget: a bulk feeder loaded with food for Crunch amp; Des, a black cat who has granted me intermittent ownership obligations. I try to keep the cat happy because otherwise he’ll omit the lab from his rounds for weeks if I miss a single day’s feeding.

Finally, I pushed my bed aside and opened the hidden compartment under it built flush into the floor. It contained items I couldn’t risk leaving for the cops to find.

When I looked in the fireproof compartment, though, I was suddenly no longer smiling.

Tomlinson was waiting at the bottom of the steps when I exited a few minutes later, my briefcase several pounds heavier than when I had arrived.

Glaring down at the man, I said, “Where is it?” I reached for the key ring inside the breezeway, preparing to lock the doors.

He didn’t reply.

I said, “You know what I’m talking about. No one but you could’ve figured it out.”

As I flipped through keys, Tomlinson said, “I swept the lab for evidence, I already told you, but not just my stash. I called your hotel last night and there was no answer. It was an emergency. Doc, I had to do something. My cop friend had just told me about the witness.”

I said, “Rooting through my private property is going way too far, pal.” I hung the key ring in its regular place and turned, adding, “But thanks, I guess. I can see your point.”

I could also see something else, too. Dangling from Tomlinson’s index finger was Bern Heller’s gold Rolex.

He smiled, “Your prints aren’t on it, just mine. I made sure of that.”

“Masterful,” I told him. “When you talk about astrology, I do my best not to listen, but aren’t you a Gemini? I’m trying to decide which twin to slap.”

Tomlinson liked that. “Twins would’ve gone schizoid, man, dealing with the crap I’ve got going on. I’ve got a full-time staff. Are you mad?”

“For trying to save my butt? No. But it won’t work even if I went along with it, which I won’t. You were out of the state, staying with your rich Long Island friends, the week of the sixteenth.”

“Sort of, sort of not,” he countered. “I was in Sag Harbor, which is more like a foreign country, not just a different state. Out there, people like me are considered entertainment, not houseguests. My name won’t be on any lists. Plus, the superrich don’t talk to cops. The cops go straight to their attorneys, don’t even bother trying.”

I said, “That doesn’t give you much of an alibi.”

“So what, man? If it wasn’t for thin ice, I never would’ve learned to skate. If the cops question me, I’ll have a clear conscience for the first time. A new experience: It’s what I live for.”

He was twirling the watch on his finger now. I sighed as I took a look around. In the distance, tourists milled on docks at the marina. JoAnn Smallwood and Kathleen Rhodes, both looking good in beach wraps, were swaying toward the Red Pelican carrying what looked like covered dishes for the weekend party.

Reading my mind again, Tomlinson said, “I hate it, too, missing another Friday night at the marina.” He curled his bony fingers around the watch. “Doc? I called your hotel at least ten times last night. I don’t want you to think I make a habit of snooping through your private stuff. This is his, isn’t it?” He meant the watch.