Patricia Cornwell - Isle of Dogs

"All right," Hammer said in an authoritative voice. "Just what exactly do you want us to do? I'm confused."

Her question was followed by silence on the line.

"Hello?" she asked.

"We're all wore out with being interfered," she heard someone say. "Talk at her and say to pass at the gov'ner that we was having a right good time of it before his meddling, and what we want is our own independence from Virginia!"

"Yass!"

"That's right! Neither more revenuers or police coming on the island! We'll take our own independence!"

"Neither more money going to tax! Neither a penny!"

"And no more telling us to hold down our catch!"

"Yass!"

"Well, you heard them," the dentist said to Hammer. "No more fishing restrictions, state taxes, policing, or interference. Tangier Island wants to secede from Virginia, and," he added, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial way, "the ransom for my release is fifty thousand dollars in unmarked bills that you are to express mail to P.O. box three-sixteen in Reedville. Please meet these demands immediately. I'm a hostage in the medical clinic and have already been beaten and am bleeding and my life is in danger!"

Before Hammer could respond to what she interpreted as madness and blatant extortion, the dentist hung up on her. She tried to find Andy to no avail and left him a voice mail explaining what had happened.

"Your mummy essay has caused considerable damage," she added at the end of her recorded message, "although I can't say as fact that anyone on the island read it. But you certainly have set the stage for making people believe that Tangier Island is being persecuted by Virginia and you'd better do something to set the record straight, Andy. Call me."

Andy did not get the message until late that night because after he and Macovich had flown back to Richmond, Andy had quickly thrown together a secret mission that had required a disguise and a borrowed civilian helicopter. He had spent the rest of the day on Tangier Island, gathering information, and when he finally got home, it was close to midnight. He played his voice mail and returned Hammer's call, waking her up.

"My God," he said. "I had no ideal If only I had known before now."

"Where the hell have you been?" Hammer's groggy voice came over the line.

"I can't tell you," Andy said. "Not now. I know that may seem rude and unfair, but I've been doing research and investigating a matter that I really don't have time to discuss at the moment. But suffice it to say that when I outlined the essays I planned to write for the website, my agenda did not include Tangier Island or dental fraud, so I've been busy-very busy-trying to find out everything I can about the Islanders, and I've got to get off the phone and start writing…"

"Andy!" Hammer was wide awake and offended. "You can't keep secrets from me! Where have you been all day? Have you heard the news? Apparently not," she added with emotion. "A woman was viciously murdered on Belle Island and the killer carved your name on her body!"

"My name? What the hell do you mean, my name?"

"I mean Trooper Truth."

"Someone carved Trooper Truth on her body?" Andy was shocked and amazed. "What…? What…?"

"I don't know what the hell what or anything else. But I think it might be a damn good idea to scrap this Trooper Truth shit and return to normal police duties before any more damage is done."

"You can't blame me for what some deranged killer did! As awful as I feel about the victim, I had nothing to do with her death and I promise to help in any way. Listen, we had an agreement and you promised," Andy reminded her. "And don't forget what I said a year ago when we discussed all this. If you tell the truth, the forces of evil don't like it, and shit happens. But in the end, truth will prevail."

"Oh, for God's sake!" Hammer replied unkindly and with impatience. "Please, don't subject me to any more of your naive philosophizing!"

"That hurts," Andy said, stung and disappointed, but more determined than ever. "Read Trooper Truth in the morning and maybe we'll talk."

Although it may wish it wasn't at the moment, Tangier Island is part of the Commonwealth of Virginia, and was happened upon in 1608 when John Smith and seven soldiers, six gentlemen, and a doctor of Physicke were exploring the Chesapeake Bay in a three-ton open barge.

While searching for fit harbors and habitations, they found themselves in the midst of many isles, which they named the Russell Isles. When they crossed the bay to the eastern shore, they found themselves confronted by two grim, stout Naturals, or Salvages, as Smith called them, who bore long poles with bone heads.

"Who are you and what do you have in mind?" the Salvages boldly demanded in the language of Powhatan, called such because this was what the great chief Powhatan, father of Pocahontas, spoke.

Smith answered them in their own language, which impressed the Salvages considerably, and I pause here to digress a moment about the importance of communication, which certainly is a timely issue in light of what happened yesterday on the very island (Tangier) that John Smith discovered. No government, including

Virginia's, should make laws and take initiatives that affect a people who speak backward. If an Islander says, for example, "Well, this is a nice one," or "It ain't rainin' none," he may mean quite the opposite, depending on his speech tune, as native Tangierman David L. Shores explains in his definitive work Tangier Island: Place, People, and Talk.

Now, in the old days, if an Islander meant the opposite of what he said, then he would signal as such by adding, "over the left," which obviously meant he was talking backwards. He would say, "It ain't rainin' much, over the left," which was only fair if he really meant it was raining like hell. Not so anymore. Only those intimately acquainted with the Islanders' use of inflection and facial expression might detect what was really meant when, as another example, a waterman says, "I have neither interest in going" or "That's a poor arster."

"What you're getting at, I guess," said my closest friend, who from now on I will refer to as my wise confidante, "is if the Islanders' reaction to the VASCAR speed traps was, 'Well, this is nice!' then what they probably meant was that the speed traps aren't nice at all and they're really pissed off about them. Based on what you've told me, clearly, the island woman Ginny Crockett was annoyed, even if she talked backward to the police, correct?"

"Exactly my point," I agreed. "The governor shouldn't do anything to or on that island without a full comprehension of backward talking. And it's pretty clear to me that the governor's administration is quite skilled at backward thinking, but not backward talking. And they've just done a brilliant thing."

'And you just had a forceful inflection in your voice and an exaggerated high pitch and prolonged your syllables while jerking your chin and raising your eyebrows when you said they've just done a brilliant thing. Does that mean you really meant the opposite?"

"Ah! I was testing you to see if you're catching on," I replied. "It's not what you say, but how you say it."

"I'm wondering if John Smith might have had a similar difficulty when dealing with the Salvages," my wise confidante mused. "Perhaps the Salvages talked backward as well."

"Well, you can be sure that how they said things was often much more important than what they said," I replied.

After a friendly visit with the Salvages, Smith set sail again, following inlets and the coast, when suddenly an extreame gust of wind, rayne, thunder, and lightening happened, that with great danger we escaped the unmerciful raging of that Ocean-like water, in Smith's words. Barely escaping with their lives, they sought shelter on one of many islands that Smith named the Russell Isles.