'I don't know. It's not really old. It's a reproduction of one of those classic Chris-Crafts with two windshields like they used to make in the thirties or forties.'
'Maybe there's a dealer…'
'Shit, that's gonna take forever. They know we talked to Sandy in the chauffeur's house and that she got the location out of Calvin Sheets. That's gotta be the reason they were hitting her, trying to find out how many people she told. If they know Sandy knew where Chooch was, they're gonna move him. He won't be up here anymore.'
'We've gotta take this one step at a time,' she said evenly. 'Let's start with the phone book. There's one in the kitchen.' She walked away from him, into the kitchen, turned on the light, and grabbed the Arrowhead directory. Then she started looking in the YeUow Pages, under 'Boat Dealers.' 'Here. Butterfield Boats, an Authorized Chris- Craft dealership.'
'It's nine o'clock at night, Alexa. They're closed.'
She was already flipping to the Bs in the white pages. 'Leo Butterfield, Lake View Drive. Can't be too far from here. We can call him or pay him a visit. Connect the dots… What's it called?'
'Police work,' he said dully. 'Our faces are all over TV. We'll probably do better on the phone.'
'Okay. Who makes the call, you or me?' she asked.
'The head of the department up here is a guy named Sheriff Conklyn. Let meLet's hope these guys don't go fishing together.'
Shane had pulled the phone out of the kitchen four days ago, so they returned to the one in the living room. He dialed the number and after a minute a woman answered.
'Mrs. Butterfield? This is Sheriff Conklyn at the substation. I need to talk to your husband,' he said.
'Just a minute.' Her voice sounded puzzled.
So far, so good. She didn't seem to know Conklyn personally. Chances were her husband didn't, either.
'This is Leo Butterfield. What is it, Sheriff?' a baritone voice said.
From his tone, Butterfield didn't seem to know Sheriff Conklyn. 'Mr. Butterfield, sorry to bother you at home, but I'm trying to run a trace on a classic reproduction wooden Chris-Craft. You deal in that line of boats, I understand.'
'That's right.'
'I can't be too specific, but I'm looking for somebody who lives up here who may have bought one of those classic designs in, say, the last two or three years.'
'We got a few of those boats on this lake. It's a rare item. They're beautiful, but not for everyone. I service most of them myself.'
'Can you give me the owners' names from memory?'
'Think so… Let's see… Carl Nickerson bought one last June.
Shane made a writing sign in the air, and Alexa grabbed a pen.
'Carl Nickerson,' Shane said. 'Go on.'
She jotted it down on the back of the phone book.
'Bert Perl has one'
'Bert Perl,' Shane repeated, and she wrote it down.
'Logan Hunter,' Leo said. 'The movie producer.'
'Logan Hunter,' Shane said, and Alexa closed the book and looked up.
'Does he have a dock? Where's he keep it?' Shane asked.
'It's the old mansion on Eagle Point Drive on the Shelter Cove side. The one built by Clark Gable in the forties, looks like a Transylvanian castle.'
Chapter 48
They parked off the road and got out of the car. The house was down by the water, two blocks away.
Shane and Alexa walked down Mallard Road to Eagle Point Drive, where they found the public dock that accessed Shelter Cove. They walked out on the wooden float and stood on the blue and white platform, looking back across the moonlit waters to the huge house that loomed majestically against the distant snowcapped mountains. Its slate roof was glistening in silver light, its four roof turrets, each crowned with metal spikes, punching holes in the cloudless sky. The twenty-thousand-square-foot mansion had been designed in the forties and resembled a medieval castle, complete with stone arches and dormer windows.
The lights were on downstairs, and from the distance, across the cove, they could see occasional movement inside. From time to time people passed in front of the first-floor leaded-glass windows. Parked on the grass, near the water, was the same Bell Jet Ranger that had brought Shane up to the lake after he'd been kidnapped in front of an entire movie company on Spring Street.
Tied to the dock was a classic reproduction wooden Chris-Craft.
'Sandy told me that Logan Hunter was a closet gay. This must be his getaway house. Good place for slam- dance weekends.'
'Boy, do I hate this layout,' she said, still studying the mansion carefully. 'The house sits on high ground, acres of grass all around. Porches and too many windows… Tactically, we're fucked.'
'Come on… don't be so negative. We lickety-split across the lawn, slip through an open window, find Chooch and Brian, make the rescue, bust ass, and we're gone zim, zam, zoom.'
'Shane, we need backup.'
'Who did you have in mind, the Power Rangers?'
'If Chooch Sandoval and Brian Kelly are being held here and we get them out, they make the kidnapping case for us, and we're halfway off the hook. If we get caught, we're dust anyway. I think we need to call in a Code Six Mary.' She was referring to the LAPD radio designation for officer assistance required due to extreme militant activity. 'We'd have to time it right, but once we know Chooch and Brian are there, let's just dime ourselves out, let Sheriff Conklyn sort the frogs from the princes.'
'What if Chooch and Brian aren't here,' he said, 'and we don't get killed, but arrested? Then we're sitting in jail, trying to talk our way out of four killings in Florida.'
'No plan is without some operational deficiencies.'
He shot her a withering look.
'Okay, let's go in, scout it, then back out to a safe spot and do a nine-one-one,' she said, revising her idea.
He thought about it for a long moment, then said, 'I'd rather take it one step at a time and see what develops. But, either way, I think we should tee up the Code Six Mary before we call it in.'
'Good idea… but how?'
'Gimme your phone.'
She handed the cell phone to Shane. He got Information, then called the Arrowhead Sheriff's Department. After asking for Sheriff Conklyn, he was transferred, then got the tall, balding man on the phone. 'Guess who?' Shane said.
'I don't have the faintest idea…'
'Turn on your TV. I'm starring in every newscast.'
'Shit… Scully?'
'I'm looking for you to take me in, Sheriff. I want you to make the bust. You'll be famous. It's probably at least good for a shot or two on Oprah, but I have a few conditions…'
Conklyn paused, and then Shane heard a click, so he knew the rest of the conversation was being T and T'd taped and traced.
'Why me?' Conklyn asked.
'If you're tracing this call, it's just gonna come back to a cell station in Arrowhead. I'm up here now, but I'm not quite ready to turn myself in yet. I want you to make the arrest because I've got problems with some of my
