Whistler's Angel (49 page)

He looked in. He frowned. “That’s a .25, isn’t it?”

“No good?”

“If you’d used it on Breen, that thing wouldn’t have stopped him. Not unless you put half the clip in his head. Can you shoot well enough to do that?”

“I…had one quick lesson when I bought it.”

He asked, “Do you think you could you shoot if you had to?”

“If that man showed up here? In a heartbeat.”

Against his better judgement, he reached into her purse and withdrew
the ineffectual pistol. He replaced it with his own, the Beretta from his belt. “There’s the safety,” he said, pointing. “Flip it off and its ready. But only use it if you have to, okay? Keep in mind that these bullets can pass through several walls. You don’t want to hurt the wrong person.”

“You won’t need this yourself?”

“
I’ll make do.”

“T
hank you, Adam.”

“Would you…feel better if I left my vest with you? I mean for your husband. Drape it under his blanket.”

She seemed about to say yes, but she shook off the impulse. “You wore it for a reason. You keep it.”

She had lowered her eyes. She was fingering her dress. He could see several places where she’d tried to rinse the blood that had been on her dress since last evening. She said, “I’m sorry, I know I’m a sight. I haven’t had the time to bathe and change.”

“We could send over some of Claudia’s things.”

“Thanks, but our hotel is bringing my bags.” She bit her lip as if she’d had another thought. She said, “Adam, on the subject of bewitching…” She stopped
when she saw the look on his face. She asked, “Aren’t you starting to trust me a little?”

“You want to know about Claudia. There’s not much to tell.”

“My husband thought she was an angel.”

Oh, boy. “She gets that a lot. It’s the face.”

“No, I mean he really thought that she came down from heaven. She told him not to be afraid, that he wasn’t going to die. She told him that it wasn’t his time yet.”

Claudia hadn’t mentioned that they’d had that exchange. “She came from a bar stool, Olivia.”

“I know where she came from. And I saw what she did. I still don’t quite believe it, but I saw it.”

“A lot of people saw different things.”

“Uh-huh. And I realize you’re counting on that. How do you and your father find these women?”

“I don’t know. Just…”

“Lucky? Say that and I’ll slug you.”

“How did Ragland find a woman like you?”

TWENTY NINE

Kaplan had managed to kill forty minutes by claiming intestinal distress. Twice they got in the car; twice he said, “Sorry, guys,” and went running back inside to the crapper. But that left Lockwood and Crow alone to talk. They were cooking up something. He couldn’t hear what. But it had to have been about Whistler.

Lockwood finally said, “Screw it. We’ll go out by ourselves.” Kaplan had to say, “No, I’m all done here. I’m flushing.”

He thought he might stall them for another twenty minutes by pretending that the car wouldn’t start. But Crow, it turned out, knew how to steal cars. Crow saw that he was crossing the wrong wires.

This left more than an hour before Aubrey said he’d show.

Kaplan had no wish to be driving around in a stolen car for that long. By now, the green Pontiac should have been off the island and the wacko should have been in the trunk. But the Pontiac’s owner, some checker at Bi-Lo, was probably on an 8 to 4 shift and probably wouldn’t miss it until the shift ended. There was good news and bad news on that subject.

The good news was that if the theft was reported, they’d hear that right away on Crow’s scanner. The bad news was that the cops wouldn’t treat it as a routine report of a stolen car. They would have to assume that the booster was Crow and they’d instantly have their eyes open. And if they spotted this car, what was it they’d see? They’d see two men in front and some clown in the back, sitting up, big as life, not even hunkered down, holding his golf bag between his knees with those stupid head covers on his woods.

Lockwood said, “First stop is that boat Whistler lives on.”

“I thought you said the hospital’s first.”

“New plan. Me and Crow want to check out the boat.”

“What for?”

“Just drive. We’ll decide when we get there.”

“Vern…we’ve been through this. These were not your instructions.”

“You want to argue? Get out of the car. You can walk back and stay in that house.”

“Vern…this car had a purpose, remember? It isn’t for riding around in.”

“We got time.”

“Also, this car doesn’t have tinted windows. Don’t you see how fucking weird we’re going to look?”

“Weird, how?”

“Well, there’s me in what your friend here calls ‘gaudy attire.’ There’s you in your Fed suit which also stands out in a place where the only black suits are in coffins. And your friend’s dressed in golf clothes a Polack wouldn’t wear. This is not your everyday car pool.”

From the back, Crow asked Lockwood, “Is this man your subordinate?”

“Yeah, he is and he’s going to shut up now.”

Kaplan did. He kept driving. He reached Sea Pines Circle. The wacko said, “Wait. I know where we are. That restaurant. Let’s drive by that restaurant.”

“We already checked it,” said Kaplan.

“The owner and the barmaid. They were part of this, you say?” He had asked this question of Lockwood.

“Yeah, they’re all in this with him. They were out on his boat. You did good when you messed up their restaurant.”

“Let me see it.”

“Vern…?”

“Our friend here wants to see it; let him see it.”

Kaplan groaned within himself. He should have shot them at the house.

Lockwood must have told Crow about Whistler’s breakfast meeting while he was on the phone with Mr. Aubrey. Kaplan entered the circle, made a three-quarter turn, and came out within sight of the restaurant.

“There it is. You happy?”

“Get closer,” said Crow.

“Nooo…I don’t think so.” He tapped Lockwood’s arm. “Take a look. It’s crawling with Feds.”

He’d spotted two men in suits and two more in blue jackets with big FBI letters in yellow on the back. The two in blue jackets were taking pictures of the tire tracks that Crow left when he drove through the pedestrians. The two suits were near the bar that was set up outside. They were talking to the owners, this time both of them together, and Leslie, the barmaid was standing nearby. She had changed her clothing since they’d driven by earlier. She’d put on dark slacks and a burgundy blouse and she’d run a brush through her hair. She seemed too well dressed to be tending bar, especially for a lunch crowd outdoors.

“Yeah, I see them,” said Lockwood. “Keep going.”

“Too late. The girl spotted us. No, wait. Maybe not.”

Leslie’s face had turned toward them, but she wasn’t looking at them. She was looking at a car that was directly behind them. Kaplan glanced at his mirror and he muttered, “Oh, shit.” The car right behind them was a cop car.

But its occupant, it turned out, wasn’t watching them either. As Kaplan kept going, the cop car turned in. It pulled into a space and a deputy got out. Leslie was already walking toward him.

Kaplan said, “See that cop. He’s that sergeant, name of Moore. He’s the
deputy who was with them on the boat.”

“They’re in everything, aren’t they?” said Crow.

“Come again?”

“The mud people. They’re everywhere. They’re in everything these days.”

Kaplan asked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The blacks. But no matter. They are all going to hell. As are all of the Hebrews, Mr. Kaplan.”

Kaplan grimaced. “Hey, dick-head, do me a favor. Take your golf bag and lay it down on the floor. You look like you’re doing a puppet show back there with your dumb smiley face and your tiger.”

Crow hissed, “You’re not wise to provoke me, Mr. Kaplan.”

Lockwood slapped at Kaplan’s arm. “You heard my friend. Cut the crap and just drive. Make a turn up ahead and let’s go look at the boat.”

“Make a turn where? There’s no other road. We have to go back the way we came.”

“Then pull in someplace and we’ll wait a few minutes ‘til the barmaid goes back to the bar. That make you happy?”

Thank God, thought Kaplan. Another few minutes killed. “That does make me feel better. Thank you, Vernon.”

Lockwood used the time to further mess with Crow’s head. “The cop’s there,” Lockwood told him, “to back up Whistler’s story. Him, the barmaid…and now it looks like both the owners…are still covering for Whistler and the girl.”

Crow nodded. “Yes, you’ve said that. But why?”

“Because like I told Arnold, they all knew each other. They’re in some kind of cult that worships Satan.”

“Vern…”

“The bartender…name’s Leslie…she’s a priestess with this cult. When they have their black masses, she does all the chants. See the outfit she’s wearing? Red and black. That’s what they wear. It was her who first spotted your partner coming in. She’s the one who gave the knife to the other one, Claudia, so that Claudia could throw it at Leonard.”

“Hey, Vern…”

“Arnold saw the whole thing. You can ask him.”

“Vernon…” Arnold Kaplan’s expression was pained. “Where the hell are you going with this?”

Lockwood ignored him. He had turned to face Crow. “And you know something else? They were laughing about it. Out on the boat they were doing imitations of how Leonard was twitching and shaking. They thought that was very hilarious.”

“Fucking Vern!!”

“Arnold watched from the dock. He had binoculars. Right, Arnold?”

Kaplan started to protest, but instead he said, “Shit.” He said, “Keep
your heads down. Don’t look.”