The Devon Yacht Club, one of Lillian’s favored haunts.
He experienced no surge of relief, no sense of elation. Rather, he felt a chill descend upon him, the stillness and clarity a hunter experiences when first sighting his quarry, his world narrowing to a point, the periphery blurring, all else forgotten.
He stared at the page for a good while, not focusing on the print, but deep in thought, weighing his various options. They shared one piece of common ground: whichever way he chose to proceed, it was time to start drawing Deputy Hollis into the hunt.
Sixteen
Hollis had seen Chief Milligan angry before, but never like this—puce with rage, spittle flying.
‘He’s just a big old blowhard,’ he said to himself. Mary Calder’s description of Milligan had proved a source of comfort in recent days, somehow consigning the Chief to the ranks of the ridiculous, emasculating him. Confronted with the volcanic presence before him, however, her words had lost their sting.
‘Well!?’ bellowed Milligan.
Hollis groped his way back to reality. An official complaint from the Maidstone Club. Unseemly conduct. Hollis throwing his weight around.
It wasn’t looking good. Just one thread of hope. There was a chance the complaint hadn’t come from Anthony Cordwell. No. Odds were the complaint had come from the club itself, probably without Cordwell’s knowledge.
‘Well!? What in the hell do you have to say for yourself!?’
‘It’s a bit embarrassing, sir,’ he said, buying himself time to think.
‘Embarrassing!? Is that what you call it? I’ve got the President of the club on the phone accusing you of goddamn intimidation.’
‘I was acting in the club’s best interests, sir.’
He had it now, a story that should just about hold up.
‘Stop mincing your words, man.’
‘It’s like this, sir. The night of Lillian Wallace’s funeral I was on duty here in town. There was an incident on Main Street involving two young ladies. One of them had her dress torn.’
‘What?’
‘She was pretty upset.’
‘Just tell me what in the hell happened.’
‘I didn’t witness it, but it seems they were approached by a group of young men who’d been at the Wallaces’ place, you know, the funeral reception. They were a little…upset.’
‘You mean tight.’
‘As drums. Anyway, they invited the girls to a bar, and when they refused there was some kind of scuffle. That’s when the dress got torn and the men ran off.’
Milligan was going off the boil now. It was time to start boring him into submission with details.
‘I went looking for them, saw four men in a car fitting the description, and tailed them. They ended up at the Maidstone Club. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t do anything at the time. I talked the girls into not pressing charges if the dress was paid for. That’s why I went back to the club the next day, looking for this Anthony Cordwell.’
‘Cordwell, huh?’ Milligan clearly knew the name. ‘Still, it didn’t give you the right to storm right on in there.’
‘Cordwell had been dodging me all morning. If I hadn’t leaned on him he’d be up on a charge of assault right now along with his friends. This way everyone’s happy. Everyone except the Maidstone Club it seems.’
‘You didn’t tell them what you were after Cordwell for?’
‘It didn’t seem right, fair. Sure, they were drunk, they messed up, but they’d just seen their friend put in the ground.’
It was good, good enough, especially the last bit—the note of sympathy for a bunch of grief-stricken drunks tearing at a girl’s dress. That was the sort of thing Milligan could relate to.
‘Why didn’t you come to me with this?’
‘It was Sunday, I didn’t want to bother you.’
He was safe now, but it wasn’t over yet. Milligan would have the last word. He always did. Hollis could see him working up to it as he rounded his desk and settled into his chair.
‘I don’t like you, Hollis. Can’t say I ever have. And it’s not ‘cos you’re a weasely know-it-all little prick.’ He paused for effect. ‘It’s ‘cos I know what you are.’
Hollis felt the blood drain from his cheeks.
Milligan smiled. ‘That’s right. You think I’d have them dump you on me and not check you out? I know people, don’t think I don’t.’ He began playing with a letter-opener, twisting the point into the palm of his hand. ‘Hell of a cover story you New York boys came up with,’ he said, laying the sarcasm on thick. ‘Damn near fell for it, I did.’
Hollis was helpless. Anything he said would be shot down in flames. Milligan mistook his silence for fear.
‘Don’t worry, it stays in this room. Last thing I need is the good people of East Hampton knowing there’s a crooked cop on the force.’
