like it was coming from someplace far, far away.
“It?s been ghastly,” she said in a tiny voice. “The newspapers in Atlanta and New York have been
calling. TV stations. I don?t know what to say.”
“Let somebody else do the talking. Let Donleavy do it. Besides, when they get down here they?re
going to find a lot more to interest them than you.”
“I?ve done a lot of thinking,” she said. “Can we talk a little later on? I?ll be at the funeral home until
seven. Can we have a drink after that?”
“Sure.”
“I?ll be at the townhouse,” she said. “It?s on Palm right up the street from the hotel. The Breezes.”
“I?ll see you about seven thirty,” I said.
“Yes, thank you,” she murmured, shifting her attention back to the hearse.
I watched her drive away, remembering what DeeDee had said about Doe being a princess and
everything always working out well for her.
The Stick drove back to the park like a human being, apparently having had enough action to hold
him for an hour or two. The fog had lifted and a warm drizzle had started. We found Baker emptyhanded.
“I have just about cleared the shelf,” he said. “But I been thinking, this killer might just have thrown
the gun up under the pier. For one thing, it would not have made as loud a sound such as throwing it
out in the river would have.”
“What?s under there?” I asked.
“One helluva mess,” Whippet said around his chewing tobacco.
“It?s liken I told you, sir,” Baker said. “Cables, old rope, ship propellers, lust a lot of junk. The
weapon could have slipped down amongst all that there, but it might be stuck close up to the surface
of it also. I?ll certainly give her a try.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I looked at my watch. It was barely one o?clock but it seemed like days since dawn. I sat down under
a tree to think while the Stick went off for hot dogs and Cokes. Then I remembered the tape recorder.
I took it out and rewound it. There was an hour?s worth of tape, all of it full, none of it worth the
bother. The Stick came back and we listened as we ate.
We could hear Raines? voice, muttering, sometimes yelling in agony. Once it sounded like he was
giving football signals. Another time he said Doe?s name very distinctly, but nothing before or after it.
Nothing else was intelligible.
I looked at Seaborn?s window several times, but if he was there, he wasn?t showing himself. Someone
had already placed a black wreath on the side door of Warehouse Three.
