Whistler's Angel (38 page)

“You’re clear on what to say?” Aubrey asked.

Poole nodded, eyes closed. “I’m not a very good liar.”

“That may be, but you are a most excellent believer. Believe this. You won’t enjoy prison.”

As they waited for the call, Aubrey found himself wondering what the Devil would think of all this. One often hears the phrase, “Give the Devil is due,” but we really never do, he thought, do we? Old Lucifer has to work at such an awful disadvantage. Bad location, to be begin with. Rotten cli
mate. Poorly lit.
Tens of thousands of clerics preaching against him and never a word of his side of the story. That’s what happens, of course, when God writes all the books. One would think that he’d open a web site, at least.

Beelzebub.com. It could be a moneymaker. Think of all of the businesses that would leap at the chance to advertise their wares on such a site. Arms merchants. Porn dealers. And the Mafia, what’s left of it.

Poole’s fish phone chirped. Poole blanched, then wiped his palms on chest before picking it up with his fingertips. He cleared his throat, swallowed, and said, “Yes?”

He listened for a time, then reached for a pen. He scrawled the words,
“very distraught” on a pad. Aubrey saw it and whispered, “We’ll fix that.”

Poole was saying to Crow, “I’m so sorry about Leonard. But it isn’t for naught. You’ve done better than you know. Are you safe at the moment? Are you alone? Are you in hiding?”

Poole listened to Crow’s answer and nodded to Aubrey. Crow’s response was in the affirmative.

“Now listen to me carefully.” Poole had lowered his voice. “There is more important work that needs to be done. I can’t elaborate just yet, but you’ll be very excited. My immediate concern is to get you off that island. I have people on their way. They will help you.”

Poole listened again. He made a note on his pad. Aubrey read it. The note read, “What about Breen? He doesn’t want to leave Breen in their hands.” Aubrey took the pen and wrote, “Already made arrangements. Breen to be rescued, leave everything to us. Get Crow’s location, then get off the phone.”

Poole repeated the first part and went on to the second. “Joshua, where are you at the moment?….No, no, an address, a specific location…You don’t? Very well. Go and look.”

Poole whispered to Aubrey, “He doesn’t know the address. He’s gone out to check the street sign. You say you’ve already made arrangements for Breen?”

Aubrey sneered. “Of course not. Breen no longer matters. By the way, has Crow ever seen Lockwood?”

“Not that I can recall. I don’t think so.”

“Describe him. Can’t mistake him. Always wears a dark suit. Neck is wider than his head; he was born without lips and his eyes are as dull as a
goat’s. He’ll be with a man named Kaplan. I’ve never met Kaplan. Tell Crow that he can trust both these men with his life.”

A minute later, Crow was back on the phone. He gave the address. 22 Lagoon Road. He described the house, painted blue with black shutters. He gave its approximate location. Poole wrote it all down, then described Vernon Lockwood, omitting the reference to his eyes. He told Crow that Lockwood will be bringing an associate. He said that both are reliable men, and that Crow will be in very good hands.

“Are they what? Are they saved? Well, we’re…working on that. I’m sure that they’re both committed Christians at heart. For the moment, let’s put that aside.”

Poole covered the mouthpiece. An exasperated sigh. He said to Aubrey, “He’s correcting me now. He’s saying that one never puts that question aside.” Poole removed his hand. Crow was saying something else. “Repeat that please, Joshua. Will they what? Bring money? Oh, all that you’ll need. You will not have to worry about money.”

Very true, thought Aubrey. “He’s to wait there,” he whispered. He looked at his watch. “They should arrive in another two hours at the most.”

“Two hours,” Poole repeated. “Go nowhere. Stay indoors. Your deliverance will soon be at hand…..um, say again?”

Poole listened. He grimaced. “No, forget about Ragland. We’ll take care of him. No, you mustn’t…very well…they will help you finish Ragland. God cannot be mocked. I agree.”

He disconnected. He was wringing his hands.

Aubrey said, “That last part…them helping him get Ragland. You were not being serious, I trust.”

“No, no, that was only to shut the man up. I am not entirely stupid.”

Aubrey picked up the pad with the address and the directions. He said,
“What you are is entirely too modest. You have the makings of an adequate liar.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Calling someone named Arnold Kaplan a Christian might strain this fellow’s credulity a mite. On the whole, though, you didn’t do badly.”

Stanton Poole bit his lip. “You will see this to its end?”

“Oh, yes. And with dispatch. When Lockwood checks in, I will give him his instructions. I will have him take hold of your lunatic friend and…”

Poole’s hands went to his ears. “Just…deal with it. Please.”

“Good as done,” said Aubrey. He rubbed his two palms together. “Now let’s go and have a look in your safe.”

TWENTY TWO

Kate Geller was airborne, somewhere over Missouri. She could hardly believe that she was doing this. She supposed that she’d panicked when she couldn’t reach Claudia and when Harry said that he couldn’t either.

At two in the morning, half asleep, bad dreams, she thought, “What’s the harm in booking a flight?” She probably wouldn’t take it; they were probably just fine, but she thought she’d feel better if she had one reserved. She got up and went in to her computer.

The earliest flights, it showed, were all full. One departure would leave Denver at 6:10 AM, non-stop to Atlanta, change planes to Savannah. From Savannah there was an Air Taxi service that would take her to Hilton Head Island. Given on-time connections, no major delays, she could be there by 2PM Eastern.

This was silly, she thought. All those hours in the air. Then showing up
and learning that she’d done it for nothing. She’d arrive at…where was it?
T
he Palmetto Bay Marina and find them both sunning themselves on the deck.

Too dumb, she thought. It made much more sense to stay put by the phone. On the other hand, it would be a nice surprise. It had been much too long since she’d seen them.

Okay, she decided. She would book it just in case. She wait-listed herself on the 6:10 flight and on one that would leave at 7:50. Harry called once again, still no luck getting through, and she told him she was thinking of grabbing a flight. He said don’t, just sit tight, he’d get back to her.

Now she was wide-awake. She flipped on the TV. Perhaps there would be more news of the shooting. She surfed all the channels and found one station that was showing the restaurant where the shooting took place. Police cars all around it, windows shot out. The camera scanned the restaurant; she could see inside. She saw an ambulance crew taking one victim out and policemen milling around. There were people at the bar. A couple. Just a glimpse. Then the camera swept past them. All she saw, really, were the tops of their heads. They were both hunched over the bar, looking down, as if having a private conversation. The woman wore a green blouse. Her hair was something like Claudia’s. Several shades darker, but that might have been the lighting. And the man’s shoulders seemed considerably narrower than Adam’s, but of course that’s what happens when you hunch them. Still, it could have been Adam. It could well have been them both.

She wished that she’d recorded the segment she’d just seen. She could play it back freeze-framed and be more certain. She turned on her recorder and stayed with that station, but the segment was not shown again.

By then it was almost five in the morning. She threw a bag together and drove to the airport. She told herself, “What you’re doing is stupid. You’re letting your imagination run wild, convincing yourself that that had to have been Claudia. You saw her for maybe a half of a second. Go back home. Get some sleep. Wait for Harry to call. You probably won’t get a flight anyway.”

But there she was; she was almost at the terminal. She found herself parking and going inside. She found herself watching as the Delta flight boarded and she heard the clerk call for any wait-listed passengers. Before she knew it, she was on board. What the heck, she decided. This visit’s overdue. She would try them again from the plane.

She fell asleep in an aisle seat. By the time she woke it was two hours later. She checked her watch. Half past ten, Eastern time. The seatback in front her held a phone. She tried the boat’s number, same result, no one answered. She considered calling Harry Whistler again, but Harry, she assumed, would not have gotten through either. And he’d probably give her a good bawling out for getting on that plane without telling him. She’d be there in a few hours. She would call Harry then. She would call him as soon as she saw for herself that his son and her daughter were well.

An ocean and part of two continents away, Harry Whistler was having misgivings of his own. Adam had assured him that he wasn’t involved in that mess of the previous evening. But Adam had seemed just a trifle too breezy in dismissing his father’s concerns.

The more he thought of it, however, the more he felt sure that Adam was probably telling the truth. Even if Adam had been near the scene, he would have known enough to mind his own business. Secondly, he’d know better than to get involved with a high-profile character like Ragland. Add to that, the assailants had since been identified as a pair of religious fanatics. Two men he’d never heard of from a church he’d never heard of. No conceivable connection with Adam.

He placed a call to Kate to tell her as much. He could now tell her that they're fine, they're having breakfast, not to worry. The boat’s out at anchor; they’re out of harm’s way, not that there was any harm in the first place.

No answer from Kate. He got her machine. It was barely after six in the morning, her time. He said, “Oh, Kate, please tell me you didn’t. Please tell me that you’re not on an airplane.” He tried her twice more, still no answer.

He went to his computer and hit several keys. A long list of codes filled the screen. He chose one of these and hit several more keys. A list of flights came on. He typed in one more code. This time a passenger list filled the screen. He scanned it and muttered, “God damn it.”

He tried the boat again and got another machine. He tried Adam’s cell phone. Again, there was no answer. With a growl, he cursed Adam under his breath. When he’d asked him to leave the phone on from now on, that meant be available, be reachable. He slid his chair to a different screen. He typed in another series of digits and waited for a blip to appear on the monitor. It appeared, but the boat’s position had changed. The boat seemed to be back at its slip.

He returned to his console, hit a few more keys, this time the code for a pager. In less than a minute, his telephone rang. Donald Beasley was calling him back.

“Donald, I’m afraid I need to fly to the States. This is very short notice, but can you two go with me?”

“You gotta ask? Yeah. But how short? Like right now?”

“Oh, heck. Never mind. This doesn’t make any sense.”