didn't happen that way at all.'
The detective allowed me a pointed look of assessment. 'Oh, really.'
I chose my approach carefully. Proper attitude of respect; sufficient deference. I had suggestions to make, but no need to offend the investigating cop.
'It's possible the whole thing was carefully planned.'
'All sorts of things are possible, Mr. Ford. I'm telling you the way it probably was.'
'I realize that. I also realize that you're a lot more experienced at this sort of thing than I am. But know what might be interesting? Get a quick video of everyone here. Or anyone sitting off by themselves in a car, watching. I read somewhere that the sickos who light fires almost always try and find a private place to watch. That's how they get their kicks. Maybe it's the same with grave robbers. The people who did it? They might be in the area right now.'
I received a stony look in return, and a very chilly, 'There's an idea. Man, I learn so much on this job.'
It's been my experience that most people in the emergency professions are good at what they do. They have to be, because there's so much depending on them. Parrish was behaving like one of the weak links. The type who used his shield as a power lever or an excuse. Or maybe he just no longer cared enough to invest the effort.
I got the same cold reaction when I said, 'If I was serious about robbing a grave, know what I'd do? I'd do some research first. I'd check the city records and see what I could learn about how the girl was buried. The cemetery is maintained by the city, isn't it?'
Caldwell said, 'But there wouldn't be anything in the files about the type of coffin. Whether it was steel or wood. That's where you're wrong.'
'I wouldn't know that. The perpetrators wouldn't either, but it's a logical place to check. Then I'd go to the newspaper, ask to see the archives. I'd read everything I could about what happened here fifteen years ago. I'd try to find the name of the funeral home that handled the burial, maybe even call and ask them questions under some guise. Pretend to be a reporter doing a story. That could work.'
Caldwell said, 'We handled the funeral. I wasn't here at the time, but it was our shop.'
I looked at Parrish. 'See? An easy place to start. So then you take the video from here and start to match photos. The municipal building is bound to have a security camera. Maybe the newspaper, too. Even if they don't, you say to clerks, 'You get a visit recendy from anyone you recognize on this video?''
Parrish said, 'Gee, there's another good idea.'
It wasn't working, but I wasn't going to give up. 'One more thing. These people seem determined to take what Dorothy found. So, I'd speak to an archaeologist and find out exactly where she was digging fifteen years ago. A golden medallion, a wooden totem, beads-they all have monetary value. Chances are, if they're really serious, they've done die research and are digging in the same area. Or have already dug there. Find one golden medallion, there might be more.'
Parrish was done listening to it. His nostrils flared slightly as he said, 'Very helpful suggestions, Mr. Ford. Really appreciate it, too. All I got to do is drop the twenty or so current cases I'm working on to bust some vandals. Of course, the cases I'm working on are crimes against real live people. Like, for instance, up 'round Golden Gate, we've had a string of sexual assaults on children. Real nasty ones. I've got three different disappearances, too. Three women, none associated with the other, just left home or work one day and never came back. Disappeared in a way that's got the feel of serial killer to them. I'm talkin' about a real freak. Someone doin' for a reason and likes it. Delia Copeland's child, she's been dead, for what? Fifteen years. There's not much anyone can do for her.'
I said, 'Which means you're not going to do anything.'
'I wish that's exacdy what it meant, but it doesn't. What I should be doing is banging on doors right now, reading profiles. Doing serious work. Instead, I'm down here in rich people's land looking for vandals. Know why?' He looked past me to the road. 'That there's why. You're lookin' at the reason. A man named Mr. Ivan Bauerstock.'
I turned to see a black Humvee, doors open, men in dark suits ducking out. The oldest of them leaving the driver's seat was a very tall, gray-haired man with the bearing of someone used to giving orders and staring over the heads of lesser men while his orders were being carried out.
I watched three younger men wait for him. One of the three had a pumpkin-sized head and the body mass of a competitive weight lifter. I watched them listen to the older man intendy, all eyes focused. Then they followed him toward us, into the cemetery.
'Ivan Bauerstock, one of the biggest men in Florida. Bauer-stock as in Bauerstock Industries. Bauerstock as in catde and citrus. Man, he got his own road construction business, condo projects, you name it. Now I hear he's heavy into computer software and the Internet, all that shit. You never heard of the man?'
I said, 'I've heard of him. His companies, anyway. What's he have to do with this?'
' 'Cause he owns half of Marco, one thing. Another, his son and that dead girl used to be friends. Now Mr. Bauerstock wants his growed-up little boy to be a state senator. So they've come back to say goodbye. Show how much they care, with the press all around to see. Maybe get his son's picture in the paper saying how he's putting pressure on the sheriff's department to arrest the bad guys.'
I said, 'That sounds like more than a guess.'
There was a cautionary edge to Parrish's voice, the black dialectic emphasized, as he replied, 'No, that just a wild guess, man! I got nothin' better to do then sit around diss'in people can get me fired'-he snapped his fingers in my face-'that quick. Mr. Bauerstock, he the one friends with the President a few years back. Slept in the Lincoln Bedroom, flew Air Force One all the way to China or some damn place. You know how much cash something like that cost? So what the chances him callin' my boss and telling us exactly what he want done?
Him and the sheriff, it just a coincidence they in the same party, man.'
I decided that maybe Parrish wasn't a weak link after all. 'Someone as powerful as Bauerstock would order the sheriff to put his best man on the job.'
Parrish touched a finger to his own chest in mock surprise. 'Me? Aw-w-w-w, now I'm embarrassed. Thing is, Mr. Bauerstock's son, Teddy, he's actually a pretty good guy. Couple days ago, he shook my hand and listened to what I had to say about some stuff.'
'That's what politicians do. Or so I hear.'
Parrish was nodding. 'I know, I know, but I got the feeling this one, he might be different. Seems to care about people, not just the ones with money. See that man with him? That's B.J. Buster; played linebacker for the Bucs but kept endin' up in jail, till Bauerstock hired him as his bodyguard.'
'A politician with a heart of gold.'
'Oh man, you wouldn't believe the people Mr. Bauer-stock's hired to take care of his future President son. Just the way he sees it, too. Teddy, they say he's got that glow, the one you can't see till he's on the television screen. Excuse me, I mean Theodore. That the name they using now. He got the glow.'
I wondered vaguely and bitterly if the linebacker knew the steroid freak who was in Mexico with Kathleen.
'So now Mr. Buster is a model citizen. All thanks to the man running for office.'
Parrish chuckled. 'I wouldn't trust B. J. Buster far as I could throw him. Once a con, always a con. Which Teddy Bauerstock can't see and why the fool won't be getting my vote.'
Nope, this was not a weak link. I said, 'In that case, I'd like to start fresh. Here's what we do: first I apologize, then I explain why I'm here. I'm the friend of a friend. The little girl's mother needs some outside help. Which is why I pissed you off making suggestions.'
Parrish's voice returned to normal as he said, 'I feel bad for the woman, don't get me wrong. It was a hell of a nasty thing to do, dig her little girl up. But it's not a top priority. There's lots more serious crap goin' on out there. But know what?' He allowed me the slightest of smiles. 'A couple of your ideas, they weren't that bad. You got pretty good instincts.'
I said, 'If you want any help, the private citizen type, contact Delia. She'll know how to get in touch.'
Caldwell had been listening, keeping up. 'One thing Mr. Ford suggested, I can talk to our receptionist, see if anyone was asking about Miss Copeland.'
'There you go,' said Parrish. He turned to me. 'You want to check out the casket, see what's missing? I don't think they got in there. I think our man scared 'em off. But you take a look and keep the mamma happy. Then we put that little girl back in the ground again.'
