'Okay,' Fortescue said, 'so let's figure that before Termite Tommy ends up in the canal, he goes to the Palace Lounge and meets with David Rathbone. Then he leaves, and Rathbone stays and gets plastered. If that holds, then someone at the Palace might remember Tommy being there on New Year's Day. Maybe the parking valet. Maybe the bartender.'
'The bartender's name is Ernie,' Harker said.
'Ernesto,' Manny Suarez said. 'I like it. Roger, let's you and me go talk to Ernesto.'
'Let's run a trace on him first,' Fortescue said. 'I like to know who we're dealing with.'
'This is fun,' Suarez said. 'Better than selling pork bellies.'
Tony said, 'Just be sure to ask Ernie if David Rathbone met with Termite Tommy on New Year's Day.'
Roger stared at him. 'Regardless of how Ernie answers that, he's going to call Rathbone and warn him the moment we leave.'
'I know,' Harker said happily,
55.
It had chilled off to 59°F overnight, but the morning of Friday, January 26, was sharp and clear, and the radio weatherman predicted the afternoon would be sunny and in the low 70s.
They decided it would be too nippy on the terrace, so they came down to the dining room in their robes. Theodore served a down-home breakfast of fried eggs, plump pork sausages, grits, and hush puppies.
'No office for you today,' David said. 'I think we'll pay a visit to Irving Donald Gevalt and get you fixed up with a passport.'
'In my own name?' Rita asked.
He thought a moment. Then: 'No, I don't think so. We'll use the ID of Gloria Ramirez you used at the Boca bank. You'll have to provide a photo, but that's no problem.'
She glanced around to make certain Theodore was out of the room. 'David, will Blanche and Theodore be going with us?'
He shook his head. 'Unfortunately, no. Too many complications. Right now they've got fake green cards Gevalt provided. If I can work a deal, they may be able to join us later.'
'What are you going to tell your clients when we leave?'
He grinned at her. 'Nothing. They'll find out eventually. But by then we'll be long gone.'
'Poor Birdie Winslow,' Rita said. 'She'll be devastated.'
Rathbone laughed. 'Did I tell you she wanted me to move in with her? Scout's honor. She had visions of the two of us sharing a big condo on the beach.'
'What did you tell her?'
'I told her I already had a roomie.'
They went upstairs to dress and, a little before noon, drove out to the Gevalt Rare Book Center. The old man seemed delighted to see them. He called into the back room, and a few moments later his wife, still wearing her fringed black bikini, came out with two wine spritzers for Rita and David.
'None for you?' Rathbone asked.
The gaffer shook his head sadly. 'Even such a mild drink my stomach cannot stand. A glass of warm milk before I go to bed: That's my speed. This is a social visit, David?'
'Not entirely. You provided a package of paper for Rita in the name of Gloria Ramirez.'
'I remember. Any problems?'
'None whatsoever. But now we need a passport in the same name. Something that looks used.'
'Of course. Visa stamps and so forth. You have a photo?'
'We'll bring you one.'
'Not necessary.'
The young blonde went into the back room and came out carrying an old Nikon with an attached flashgun.
'The camera is ancient,' Gevalt said with his gap-toothed grin, 'but it does good work. Like me. David, could I speak to you a moment in private?''
His wife began to take close-ups of Rita while the two men moved away to a corner of the littered shop.
'Yesterday a man came in,' Gevalt started. 'He is wearing Florida clothes, but he talks like the Midwest. Hard and fast. A big-city man. He asks if I have a first edition McGuffey. I ask him what edition does he want? Is he looking for a reader, speller, or primer? He begins to hem and haw, and it is obvious to me he knows nothing about rare books. Finally he says he has heard I can provide identification papers. He needs a birth certificate and Social Security card and is willing to pay any price.'
'You ever see this guy before?' Rathbone asked.
'No. Never.'
'It's possible one of your clients talked, and this man overheard and really did need paper.'
Gevalt shook his head. 'If any of my clients talk, they wouldn't be my clients. I am very choosy, David; you know that. No, this man was law; I am convinced of it. Something about him: a clumsy arrogance.'
'What did you say to him?'
'I became very angry. Told him I was a legitimate businessman making a living selling rare books, and I would never do anything illegal, and he should leave my shop immediately. He left, but it still bothers me. It is the first time anything like that has happened. David, do you feel I am in danger?'
'Of course not,' Rathbone said. 'Even if the guy was a cop-and you're not sure he was-it was just a fishing expedition. You handled it exactly right. If the law had anything on you, you'd be out of business already. You have nothing to worry about, believe me.'
The old man looked at him, and his rheumy eyes filled. 'Worry?' he said. 'That's all I do-worry.
About that stupid man with his first edition McGuffey. About one of my motels which is losing money because the manager is dishonest. Dishonest, David! And also I fear my wife has a lover. Oh yes, I have seen him lurking around. A muscular young man and he has- oh God, David, I hate to mention it but he has a tattoo on his right bicep. And you tell me not to worry!'
Rathbone put a hand lightly on Gevalt's shoulder. 'It will all work out,' he said soothingly. 'The important thing is to think positively. I always do. Who can remember last year's problems? Everything will turn out all right, you'll see.'
The old man took out a disgraceful handkerchief and blew his nose. 'You're right, David,' he said, snuffling. 'I must think positively.'
On the drive back home, Rita asked, 'What were you and Gevalt talking about while I was having my picture taken?'
Rathbone laughed. 'The poor old man thinks his wife has a boyfriend. A hulk with a tattoo.'
'Can't say I blame her. What would you do if you found out I had a boyfriend?'
'Couldn't happen,' David said. 'If I can't trust you, who can I trust?'
56
The previous day's tapes were delivered to Anthony Harker's motel every morning at about seven a.m. He listened to the first run-through while he was shaving. He found he was listening to but not hearing the personal portions, much as one might look at something without seeing it. He closed his mind to the intimate murmurs and cries; they had, he kept assuring himself, nothing to do with him. He was interested only in names, dates, hard facts.
On Saturday morning, January 27, he heard Rita and David discussing a visit to Gevalt. Then Rathbone joked about not informing his clients before he decamped, and Birdie Winslow was mentioned. That rang a bell with Harker; Rita had given him that name weeks ago, but he had never followed up on it.
He made himself a cup of instant coffee and chewed on a stale bagel. Then he went to the office, planning to put in a full day. Work was the only relief he could find from brooding on what was tearing him apart: those murmurs and cries that had nothing to do with him.
He found a note on his desk from the night duty officer. It was a message from Henry Ullman in Boca: Please
