Black Tide (17 page)

I stood there on the deck for a while, just looking into my empty bedroom, and then I decided on two things: one, brooding wasn't going to solve anything, so I was going downstairs and read two or three back issues of Smithsonian. And second, I wasn't going to wait around, breathlessly anticipating Felix's phone call. I was going to do a little work on my own tomorrow. I stepped back into the room, closed the screen door, and made my way through the evening twilight with no problem, heading for the lights downstairs.

Chapter Ten

As I was sleeping Thursday night and into Friday morning, the clouds had thickened, for it was raining heavily by the time I got up. It was still fairly warm and so I enjoyed standing front of my sliding-glass doors on the first floor, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, looking out at the rain falling, against the gray waves, a cup of tea in my hand. It made me feel comfortable, secure and also a bit slow. Something about rainy days dials down my energy level, and I hadn't done much since getting up an hour earlier. I had called Felix and had left a message on his machine, telling him I would be gone for the day, and, I had also received a call from Diane Woods, who was looking for a quick lunch date. Felix wasn't home, and hadn't been home for quite a while, and I guessed that in addition to renting a car, he was also renting a room or apartment as he was working his way through the maze of dealing with his "nameless wonders."

Diane seemed glad to talk to me, and I sensed that something was bothering her. Not that she was scared or anything, but just that she wanted to talk and couldn't do it over the phone from a police station. So the date was made, and in the space of a few minutes I had completed two phone calls. It had been a slightly productive morning, even though in a few hours, Seamus Anthony Holbrook would realize that I hadn't completed my monthly column and he might have some nasty questions about how I defined "productivity." I had sent him E-mail through my computer and modem, asking for the first time ever for a deadline extension.

There was even still time to make another call, to see how Paula Quinn was doing.

I thought about that as I stood there, watching the pattern of the rain on the glass of the sliding doors, hearing the muted rush of the Atlantic Ocean coming my way.

Lunch with Diane was quick. It was at the Whale's Song, a restaurant in the Tyler Beach Palace complex, which was within quick walking distance from the Tyler police station. The rain was still coming down, and as we walked up D Street, heading for the Whale's Song, I noticed a lot of older men and women standing in the doors of the shops and restaurants, looking up at the clouds. Owners, I thought, business owners who were probably cursing the weather gods for making it rain on a Friday before a busy weekend. The profit margin for most businesses at the beach was always thin, and the
Petro Star
disaster had taken a razor blade to even that slim margin. Another rainy day or two could mean bankruptcy filings in the fall, or if the bitter taste of desperation was even stronger, perhaps a fire of "suspicious origin."

We sat in a rear booth that offered some privacy, and after a bowl of chowder and tall glasses of iced tea for both of us, Diane leaned back in the booth and said, "It's been one of those weeks." Today she had on a light blue rain jacket over a white polo shirt that said "Tyler Police Softball" in red script over her left breast. Obviously she wasn't on undercover duty this week. The hood was thrown back and some of the strands of her brown hair were wet and clinging together.

"Who's on your hit list for getting you down?" I asked.

''Aah,'' she said, "the usual. The diver case is going nowhere.  Almost a week after he washed up, you'd think someone would have reported him missing. Or a rental shop would have noticed if their gear had never come back. Or even the news coverage could have triggered someone's memory, somebody's thoughts. It's been too quiet, Lewis."

"Makes you wonder how this guy fell through the cracks," I said.

"Oh, I've been wondering about that, too, along with the State Police and the Attorney General's office. You look at the fact that this guy has been missing at least a week, and when he shows up, missing the parts of his body that can help identify him, that tells you the type of people involved. So it also makes me think that this guy's hands were dirty."

"I'm sure there's a dreadful joke there about a guy's hands being both missing and dirty, but I'm not going to touch it."

She wrinkled her nose at me. "Thanks for small favors. You know, I'm of a mind to do one of two things. One is to really press hard on this case, maybe use some of Roger Krohn's contacts in Mass. State Police. Or even talk to your pal Felix Tinios, for whatever amusement that may bring."

A teenage waitress with jangling bracelets and a look that said she couldn't care how much of a tip we left came by and dropped off the check. My hand was quicker than Diane's and to forestall her frown I said, "Expense account, Diane. Don't worry.  Pressing hard is one of your options. What's the other?"

Her blue raincoat was big around the shoulders and she seemed to shrink into it a bit as she said, "It's been a long summer, and it certainly started off with a bang with that mess you were involved with in June."

"Don't remind me."

''As if you could forget. Or me. You know, in a few weeks it's going be Labor Day weekend and this summer is going to be over, and I'm taking a week off to go to Massachusetts. In those seven long, wonderful days, Lewis, I'm going forget I'm a cop, I'm going to forget what's on my desk, and I'm going to try to remember what it's like to share a bed with someone, both day and night."

''And while you're tussling with your companion and the sheets, you don't want to think about a diver with no head and hands."

"Exactly." She picked up her chowder spoon and tapped it a few times against the empty bowl. "That's even the feeling I'm getting from the state boys. It's obvious this guy was hit for a reason, and the fact that we're not getting any civilian calls tells us that he was connected. So we're not going to shed many tears for him."

“Wrapped up, then, in a week or two?"

Diane shrugged. "Unless something breaks. Which I doubt. "

I left ten dollars on the bill and looked for our waitress. She was in the far corner, talking to a busboy whose long hair was up in a hairnet and who had an earring in his left ear. I motioned to him and he smiled and went back to talking with the young lady. I gave up and said, "What else is out there, Diane? Personal problems?"

She smiled and said, "Hardly. Here, look. Got some pictures back from our last break together. Actually got a weekend off, toward the end of June. And if I'm lucky, I might get another mid-week break in a few more days."

Diane slid the photo envelope over and before opening it up I looked around. The nearest table was empty and the waitress was still chatting with the busboy that had novel grooming. I slid out a few photographs. There were scenic shots of beaches and a lighthouse, and there were a few of Diane and a couple more of another young woman about Diane's age, strolling along a sidewalk near some shops. Both had summer dress on --- bathing-suit tops and shorts --- and in one print, they were sitting at an outdoor restaurant's round table, holding up drinks and laughing. Both had sunglasses on, and Diane's companion --- Kara Miles --- had an arm around her. In another print, they were still holding the hands were kissing. Kara had short blond hair, with the sides almost razored down, and she wore a multitude of earrings in her ears.

"Kara's looking fine," I said. "You two were in Provincetown?"

Diane nodded. "The same. And that's where we'll be going once Labor Day comes and goes and these tourists return to their lives."

I put the photos back into the envelope and slid them over to her, and they disappeared into her raincoat. "It must be nice to have a place like that to go to."

She shook her head. "Tell me about it. It's almost like a refuge, a place where you can feel normal. You feel real light, knowing that you don't have to carry around this pretense, this goddamn heavy mask."

"Not concerned about running into someone from your hometown?"

Diane said, "Oh, just a bit, but what's the risk that someone from a beach resort would travel three hours or so to go to another beach resort?" She looked around and leaned forward some said, "But I do have a problem, Lewis, on that same subject. Personal matters. And I need your help."

"My help? On a personal matter?"

Her face seemed to flush and I couldn't remember the last time I had seen Diane embarrassed. She cleared her throat and said, "It's Roger Krohn. You know, the Mass. State Police detective?"

"Sure. The guy with the out-of-state grin who wants to become the next police chief of Tyler, if the current chief doesn't come back from his medical leave. "

"Yeah, the same." She looked around again and said, her face screwed up in what looked to be a combination of dismay and resignation, "He asked me out."

Oh my. So the silly boy went ahead and did it. "He did what?"

Her face had some additional color in it. "He asked me out, Jesus, do you know how awful that was? I can't remember the last time a guy asked me out. We were going over some files and he asked me out on a date. Even said it was going to be a date, not a dinner between co-workers."

"So what did he say when you said no?"

The color in her face deepened. Something tickled at me and I wasn't sure if I should laugh or show some sympathy. "Diane, what did you tell him?"

Diane couldn't look at me and gazed down at the empty chowder bowl, as if she had discovered something fascinating there, and she said, "Well, I hemmed and hawed. I told him I couldn't, because I was seeing someone else."

"Oh. You don't mean you told him about Kara, do you?"

Even with her embarrassment, I sensed the beginnings of a smile about her face. "No, I didn't. I just didn't say anything. And then he asked me who I was seeing…"

''And? " She looked around and then looked at me and shrugged. "I told him I was dating you, Lewis."

I didn't feel like laughing. "You told him what?"

"I told him we were dating, Lewis. Look, you don't know the type of lies and deceit that I have to go through on a weekly basis, and I didn't want to get him asking a lot of questions if I just stayed quiet. So I said that you and I were seeing each other."

"Marvelous," I said.

Then Diane said, "Wait. It gets better."

"It does?"

"Um," she said, and then giggled. "He was real apologetic. He felt bad about putting me on the spot like that, and he wanted to know if the two of us would go out on a double date with a friend of his who's coming up to the beach next week. So I said yes. Dinner for four at Roger's rental condo."

Oh my. "Diane…. "

“Lewis, look. It'll be a hoot. One night, pretending to be my boy toy. Just look at it as a favor. You know, I might be working Roger Krohn in a couple of months, and this'll be a chance for me to get on his good side. And it'll also be a chance for you, knowing what kind of things you get involved with."

I was starting to feel a rush of the giggles and I was going to say something rude, but something else came up. ''A favor?"

She nodded, biting her lower lip. "Yeah, a favor."

“All right." I looked over and saw that the waitress and the boy were gone, and that we were practically alone in this part of the restaurant. It was getting late and I was resigned to leaving the ten-dollar bill on the check and walking out. A big tip for bad service, but not everything was perfect, even in beachfront restaurants.

I said with a smile, "For the pleasure of my company and a few public displays of affection in front of Roger Krohn and his friend. I'm going to need a favor or two from you. Some traces on a few people that are connected with a story I'm working on. I'll give you their names, DOBs and Social Security numbers, and you give me what's there in the computer files."

Diane stuck her tongue out. "Good thing I'm not asking you to sleep with me. God knows what you'd be demanding then."

I started to get out of the booth and Diane followed me, zipping up her raincoat. "We could always try it and see what happens.”

She kicked at my shins and missed. "Losing your aim?" I asked,

"I'll lose you," she said, and then --- surprisingly --- she slipped her arm through mine. "Here. Let's play pretend at least until we get back to the station."

I've always liked the touch of a woman, so I said sure. It was still raining fairly hard when we walked back to the station, but not once did her touch waver.

Two hours later on that rainy day Cassie Fuller of the Scribner Museum of Art was looking at me across from her desk, her chin resting on her folded hands, elbows on her clean desk. A fresh red rose was in the silver vase, right next to the miniature statue of Michelangelo's David. At her elbow her IBM clone hummed along, the screen blank. The rain was still coming down and it seemed as if the museum was doing a brisk business that afternoon. Justin Dix, the museum's security director, was out for the afternoon at a museum conference in Boston and Cassie gave me an inquiring gaze as I sat there, water beading down my green parka shell.