Whistler's Angel (34 page)

“You as well. Don’t be modest. You above all.”

“You’ve given them millions. And it
was
idiotic. No, no, I withdraw that. It
was lunacy, sir. Show me one thing that you gotten in return, other than one of their ridiculous lapel pins. Which reminds me, I see that you’ve retired that pin. Or did one of their number come and rip it from your coat because you were tardy with donations?”

F
elix Aubrey was instantly sorry that he said it. It evoked a crackpot rationalization that Aubrey had already heard several times. Poole felt perfectly justified in diverting this money. That to do so was illegal, a crime, had no relevance. These monies, themselves, were the wages of sin. The problem with that was that Poole no longer cared whether victims of seizures were innocent or guilty. It was enough, in his eyes, that they were probably immoral. “Honest men,” he’d once said, “do not acquire great wealth. And some have been born into undeserved wealth that is better used doing God’s work.”

Felix Aubrey might not have objected to this if God’s work had involved such traditional activities as caring for the sick and the poor. Well, truth be told, he would have. Unless caring for the poor involved having them spayed, spending money on them would have been wasteful. But the work that Poole was funding envisioned nothing less than a new and more terrible inquisition. Not that Aubrey would have minded a burning here and there. He’d known plenty of people who were long overdue. In fact, he still had the list that he’d started in his teens. People who’d slighted him, bullied him, belittled him. Grown women, later, who would roll their eyes when he did nothing more than try to speak to them. Some of these, as time went on, married well, had lovely homes. Not so many have those homes any more.

Stanton Poole was still whining. Aubrey waited him out. At the moment
Poole was fretting that Whistler must know that Poole, Breen and Crow are connected. Well, he doesn’t. Almost surely. Aubrey couldn’t see how. But Poole
seems to think that if he doesn’t, he will. He thinks that Whistler will remember
those notations in the ledger – those sums that were earmarked as Recon-JC – and instantly realize that they must mean Crow and his Reconstructionist lunacy. Not likely. Not remotely. There were hundreds of notations. Whistler would have to focus on those few in particular and make an improbable logical leap. The term “Recon” could have any number of meanings. Given Whistler’s background, the first of those meanings that would pop into his mind would be that it was short for “Reconnaissance.” And “JC” could mean anything from Jesus Christ to the Junior Chamber of Commerce.

Aubrey tried to remember when last he’d seen Crow. Two years ago? Longer? Crow had come to see Poole. Whenever it was, Crow and Poole had prayed together. The occasion was when Poole advised Mr. Crow that he’d best not be seen in this building again. Leonard Breen, it seems, had murdered two people, one of whom was Breen’s former wife. He had actually, literally, stoned them to death, and had gathered an audience to witness the event. While he did so, it was Crow who kept the audience at bay, describing what they were to see, and why, and distributing literature to them.

Poole realized, belatedly, that Joshua Crow had finally gone over the edge. He pointed out to Crow, as tactfully as he could, that this sort of thing
could cause problems. He said that although it might not be a crime in God’s eyes, the law would surely take a less enlightened view. The coming of Christ would solve that problem, of course, and we know that
He
is coming any day now. Until then, however, Poole thought it would be prudent if Crow were to make himself scarce. Crow agreed to do so. He took Leonard Breen with him. Those two took their show on the road.

“Mr. Poole…settle down. I’m in need of some answers. I take it that you’ve been in contact with Crow.”

“Me? I have not. I have severed all ties.”

“That’s a fib, I’m afraid. I was here when you handed him some traveling money. I was here when you promised that you’d send him all he needed.”

“I…recall no such thing. You’re quite wrong.”

“You have aided and abetted. That’s a no-no, Mr. Poole. May we stop this little game and move on?”

“I need to pray.”

“Yes, but first let us deal with the here and the now. Did you send Breen and Crow after Ragland?”

“I didn’t. I swear it. All I ever said…”

“So, you have spoken to him. Was this recent? By what means?”

“He…sometimes leaves a message. He leaves a number on my pager. When I call, it is only to urge him to surrender.”

Aubrey curled his lip. Save that line for the police. “Yes, but why does he call? Surely not to hear that. Does he call when he’s in need of financial assistance?”

“No,” Poole said sharply. Then he added, “Well…no.”

“So the answer is ‘partly.’ Why else does he call?”

“He…wants me to know that he’s…doing good works.”

“He calls to inform you of his latest atrocity? That makes you an accessory after the fact.”

“No, no. All he says is, ‘Read the papers tomorrow.’”

“You say he calls your pager. Does he have a pager?”

Poole rose to his feet. He clapped his hands to his cheeks. “I…believe so. But I’ve never…”

“So you do have his number. You can reach him if you must.”

“Call him now? After this? I would have to be insane.”

“No, what would be insane is to let him be caught. What do you suppose
h
e would say to the police? Will he agree that you didn’t ask him to shoot Ragland?”

“He would. All I said was that Ragland was scheduled to address a conference being held on that island.”

“Its topic?”

“It’s nothing connected with us. It’s some group that’s in favor of infanticide.”

“So this group is pro-choice. You told Crow that was the topic?”

Poole was rubbing his face. “I…may have mentioned it in passing. It was merely a discussion. I never intended…”

“No, you never do, do you? This time, however, you have a problem. Its solution can benefit us both.”

Poole looked up at him hopefully. “You can...help to resolve this?”

“I can save your skin. I can make this go away. How much cash is in your safe at the moment, Mr. Poole? Say none, and this conversation is over.”

“I keep a fund for contingencies. A few hundred thousand.”

“A good start. It’s now mine. In addition to that, I will want an amount
that equals what you’ve given to Mr. Crow’s church.”

Poole stared, his mouth open. “You’re talking three million.”

“Not talking. Extorting. I’m extorting three million. You’re refusing? Then have a good day.”

“Wait a minute. What next? What if I agree?”

“You will make one more call to Mr. Crow’s pager. You’d better hope that he returns it. I will tell you what to say. After that, you will never hear from him again. Do you wish to know how I can assure you of that?”

“I must…trust in your good judgement. As always.”

“So the answer is no. You’re going to leave this to me.”

“But Whistler…he’s involved…what will you do about Whistler?”

He can wait, thought Aubrey. First things first. This took precedence. The task at hand was to put Mr. Lockwood in contact with our inconvenient friend, Mr. Crow. How to do so had already taken shape in his mind. Mr. Lockwood will see to it that we see no more of Crow. That accomplished, Aubrey would then make the call that would put Whistler’s face on every front page.

“He’ll have problems of his own, Mr. Poole.”

Claudia, thought Whistler, had apparently been right. All Moore wanted was to know that he’d done the right thing in letting them distance themselves from the shooting. Perhaps admiration figured into it somewhere, admiration of Whistler for his Special Ops past. Or perhaps that admiration was directed more toward Claudia. Moore seemed not a little enchanted by her. Whistler felt sure that Moore would take no action on those charges still pending against her. He’d observed, but he would not report.

Whistler, however, would have one more score to settle if he ever met up with Felix Aubrey again. They had buried the charges against Claudia and her mother but had not, as they’d claimed, had them wiped off the books. He supposed that he should not have been surprised.

He would need to tell his father, but later, not now. His father would ask him how he came to find out and he’d have to admit that he wasn’t quite truthful

about having no involvement in last night’s events. For now, though, he just might get out of this clean. There was no need to worry his father.

As for Aubrey’s deceit, his father might not even care. He might say,
“
Big Deal. He kept a card up his sleeve. It’s not much of a card. He knows he can’t go to trial. There’s no one left to testify, remember? The most he could do would be to have them picked up and kept on ice for a few days, tops. If he does, and tries to deal, I’ll snatch his mother if he has one. Forget it. Let him think he’s been clever.”

“Yeah, but then what’s the point of him keeping them open?”

“Adam, you heard. It’s observe, but don’t detain. He’s just trying to track you for his own peace of mind. As long as you don’t do anything that threatens him directly, he’s not going to risk taking action.”

“You’re so sure?”

“Tell you what. I’ll send someone to torch Aubrey’s house. Just a little
token gesture to show our disappointment that he’s been less than diligent in showing good faith. How about it? Would that make you feel better?”

“I don’t need the sarcasm. Never mind.”

“Then count your blessings. One is that cop. But if I were you, I’d slip out of there tonight. Head due East and don’t stop until you hit Bermuda, which is where I wish you’d gone in the first place.”

Whistler didn’t need to hear another “I-told-you-so,” not even one that
he was imagining. Getting out, and soon, was a thought nonetheless.

Except he wouldn’t feel right, ducking out on these people. Especially Leslie, who had lied to Moore for them. And Moore, who might possibly have risked his job by trying to give them a break. On the other hand, there’s Claudia, who might find it therapeutic to put some open ocean between herself and this island. He would see. He would see how the day goes.

Leslie and Phil had tied up and come aboard in response to the breakfast

invitation. Leslie volunteered to set the table on the deck. She went below for a tray of plastic dinnerware. The printout on Claudia was still on the table. Moore slid it toward Whistler, who put it away. He did not conceal the want sheets on Breen and Crow because he’d already shown them to Leslie and Phil. He said the one with Crow’s photo was being distributed to every place of business on the island. It would shortly be flashed on local TV and probably on CNN.