'It is not a criticism! My dear Ford, at a time when our most personal behavior can be scrutinized instantaneously, only those who lie automatically and without remorse will rise in the political ranks. Why? Because only they have nothing to fear!' He chuckled at my discomfort. 'I will get the information for you. A day, maybe two. That's all it will take. Do you have a fax number? An e-mail address?'
I gave Rasmussen the Mandalay's fax number, but when I started to thank him, he interrupted. 'Wait! I want something in return.'
'If you're talking about billing, I can pay you. That's not a problem.'
'Not money. I have plenty of money. It is something else. An explanation.'
I waited, feeling increasingly uneasy.
Listened to him say, 'Nearly fifteen years ago, a member of the Communist organization, Students for a Democratic Society, disappeared from a bar in Aspen, Colorado. The night he disappeared, there were members of U.S. Naval Intelligence in that same bar. With them was a member of SEAL Team One, along with a representative from Studies and Operations Group, your top secret organization. The name of the bar was The Slope. That man's body was never found. Another SDS member was also targeted to be killed. This was in retribution for the bombing of a Naval facility in San Diego.'
I said softly, 'I'm familiar with this story, Dieter.'
'I know that you are! I skied in Aspen last winter. The name of that bar has changed, but the picture is still on the wall of you and your SEAL colleagues. You were there that night because one of the men killed in that bombing was your close friend. I have two questions: Were you with Naval Intelligence? That is unclear. Or were you the SOG member?'
I spoke carefully. 'I was never in the military, Dieter.'
'Yah, I knew it! The SOG member in the bar that evening, he was very gifted. Very famous in the craft, a, how do you say, der Attentaeter. He was a man who sometimes went by the name of North. Did much work in Cuba. So my second question is this: Why haven't you? Why haven't you extinguished him?'
'Who?'
'You know him. Him.'
I said, 'I am completely lost. Is any of this supposed to make sense?'
'Of course you don't understand me. But please, answer.'
'Did you sail all the way to Dinkin's Bay just to ask me strange questions?'
He thought this was hilarious. I listened to him roar. 'Yah! It was a consideration! I knew it must be an interesting place, the two of you at one small marina. But your answer! Why was this second Communist subversive not extinguished?'
Looking through the apartment's sliding doors, out onto the boat basin, I could see Tomlinson aboard No Mas, sitting cross-legged on the cockpit locker. He was eating fish; had a glass of red wine balanced on the stern coaming. He appeared to be talking to the glass. Talking to his wine? Yes, no doubt about it. He looked like a stork with dreadlocks. He seemed to be really enjoying the fish.
He'd batked the entire snapper, yet hadn't invited me to dinner? I'd loaned him my fine Loomis rod to catch the damn thing. Come to think of it, he hadn't even thanked me.
I said, 'Dieter, I have no idea what you're talking about.
But, if I did, I'd say the party in question, the Communist? If he doesn't start being a little more thoughtful, his days may be numbered.'
It was nearly sunset. Because he knew I was still expecting more calls, Jack, the owner, told me I was welcome to carry around the restaurant's portable phone. 'If you're down here to help Delia, we want to take care of you any way we can,' he told me. 'This place may be kind of strange and funky, but we're family.'
Trouble is, they couldn't find the portable phone. Then Salina remembered that Tomlinson had carried it out to his boat and never brought it back.
I asked her, 'Where is Tomlinson?'
She became evasive and amused. 'Tommy-san? Oh… I think, but I'm not sure… it may be that Betty Lynn took him over to her trailer to, you know, show him around.' Laughter. 'Like Jack said, we're trying to take care of you boys.'
Betty Lynn, the stocky deep-south blonde who couldn't fit safely into a tank top, so had to wear a jogging bra beneath her Mandalite waitress outfit.
Tomlinson. He had always been extremely selective about liaisons until the mother of his young daughter had married a Boston politico. It had put him in an emotional tailspin. Since then, he'd demonstrated the jaunty sexual abandon of a lovebug.
I walked out the dock to No Mas, stepped aboard, swung down the companionway steps and there, on the wooden door to the ice box, was the beige telephone handset.
As I reached for the phone, it rang. I picked it up and heard Salina's voice say, 'Doc, honey? Man's on the line, he says he wants to speak to you.'
Then I heard Detective Gary Parrish's voice. 'Yeah, Doc honey, it's me. You got a minute?'
Tomlinson had left the uneaten portion of the fish out on a wooden platter covered with aluminum foil. He'd baked it with onions, fresh chilies, lots of mushrooms, and he'd made fish gravy.
Despite his many oddities, the man is a fine cook.
I removed the foil, stooped, got a fork and began to eat, as Parrish said, 'Only thing I've had time to do is try and find the girl's runaway daddy, Dart Copeland. Wanted to ask him a few questions. You see him whispering to Mr. Bauerstock? But when he walked away from that funeral, it's like the man disappeared. You expect me to know anything else, you're too impatient for this kind'a work.'
I said, 'Oh? My luck's been a little better.'
I told him what I could about my conversation with Bauerstock. Without going into specifics, without breaching the confidentiality I'd promised, I presented a very clear image of who wanted the totem badly enough to exhume Dorothy: Ivan or Ted Bauerstock. Perhaps both.
Parrish whistled, 'Man, the chance to take down Ivan Bauerstock. That snobby rich man, he got the overseer attitude. I can see it when he looks at me. Wouldn't I love to put the bracelets on him.' He paused for a moment. 'But if the man knew where the wooden carving was buried, why'd he bother having someone rob Mrs. Copeland's trailer?'
'I don't think they did know at first. Delia's address was on file with the city cemetery, so she was easy to find. She hadn't sold the carving, hadn't donated it. They could have searched their computers on that, too. So the reasonable assumption was that she'd kept it. I think one other person knew where the totem really was, the big guy who was at the funeral. The guy with the red face, Frank Rossi. When Ivan or Ted dropped the word, Rossi probably told them about the grave.'
Parrish chuckled. 'That reminds me, man. We got a report this other big white guy from the funeral beat the Johnny-cakes outta two of the local crackheads. One of them Tony Rossi, Frank's boy. 'Bout ripped one'a their ears off, put the other one in the hospital. Families decided not to press charges. Who knows why? You wouldn't know anything 'bout that, man?'
I said, 'I know enough about Frank Rossi to not much care.' Then I told Parrish what he'd done to Delia, adding, 'So after he robs her, he date-rapes her. A woman who's absolutely crippled by grief. He and his son aren't going to get a lot of sympathy from me.'
Parrish said, 'You eatin' something?'
I told him.
'Man oh man, fish gravy and mushrooms. That's Bahamas soul food, man!' Then he said, 'We got that goin' on here now.'
'Bahama's cooking?'
'JVo. A version of it, date rape. Only worse. We got the whole staff workin' on this one. That's why don't expect me to be doin' much about Mr. Bauerstock and his politician son. Thing is… wait, tell me something first. Anybody else around to hear you and Teddy talkin' about how much his daddy wants that carving'?'
'No.'
'Then it's his word against yours. All the people on Mr. Bauerstock's payroll in this state, how you think that'd go? So I best spend my time tracking down this very bad man we got roamin' around the Everglades.'
'The date rapist, you mean? Any man who rapes a woman should be put away for life. Or killed. Or chemically
