45
The Registry of Motor Vehicles told Quirk that Sarno Karnofsky had two Mercedes sedans and a Cadillac Escalade, registered in Massachusetts. Quirk told me and gave me the plate numbers. I had the three numbers written on a piece of paper taped to my sun visor as Hawk and I sat in my car with the motor off and the windows open to let the sea breeze in. Hawk had parked his car beside me and come to sit in mine. We were in a parking lot along with maybe fifty other cars, at a public beach, on the mainland end of the causeway that connected Paradise Neck with the rest of the town.
'So we going to sit here,' Hawk said, 'until hell freeze over or one of Sonny's cars comes off the Neck.'
'Exactly,' I said.
'And then we follow the car until we find Bonnie.'
'Right,' I said.
'You think that'll work?' Hawk said.
'I have no idea,' I said.
'So why we doing it?'
'Because I don't know what else to do,' I said.
Hawk was wearing black Oakley sunglasses and a white silk T-shirt. He watched a tanned young woman in a small black bathing suit walk toward the beach.
'That be your version of Occam's razor,' Hawk said. 'I'll do it because I don't know what else to do.'
'Occam's razor?' I said.
Hawk shrugged, his eyes still following the woman in the meager bathing suit.
'I read a lot,' Hawk said.
I nodded. The young woman sat down on a blanket near another woman in an equally insufficient bathing suit.
'You got a better suggestion?' I said.
'No.'
'Then you agree we might as well do this.'
'Yes.'
An overweight woman wearing flip-flops and one of those two-piece suits with a little skirt walked by. She was pale-skinned. Her stomach sagged. Her hair was very blond and very teased. We watched her pass.
'The lord giveth,' Hawk said, 'and the lord taketh away.'
'Have you ever thought we might be guilty of sexism here,' I said.
'Yes,' Hawk said.
A silver Mercedes sedan cruised past us, coining from the Neck. We checked the plates. It didn't belong to Sonny.
'For all you know,' Hawk said, 'Bonnie moved to Scottsdale twenty years ago to work on her tan.'
'Sonny's going to all this trouble to cover her up,' I said. 'He might want her close.'
'Or he might want her far,' Hawk said.
'Well, yes,' I said. 'That too is a possibility.'
'So we could be wasting a lot of time.'
'Remember Occam,' I said.
To watch the causeway, we had to sit with our backs to the ocean. But we could hear it and smell it and feel the breeze coming off it. Across the causeway, we could see the harbor, where the masts of the pleasure boats stood like marsh reeds. Herring gulls wheeled and squawked and got into a loud scrum over a remnant of hot dog roll on the edge of the street in front of us. A red Porsche Boxster went by with the top down. A slate gray Lexus SUV came by in the other direction. Then nothing. Then, after awhile, a blue Subaru Forester.
'Probably a servant,' Hawk said.
'Can't be sure,' I said. 'The Yankees are a thrifty lot.'
A black BMW came by, and a dark brown Mercedes sedan. Wrong license number. We could smell hot dogs cooking in the snack bar in back of the beach house. At 2:30, Hawk took action. 'Want a hot dog?' he said.
'Two,' I said. 'Mustard and relish.'
'Want to pay for it?' Hawk said.
'No.'
Hawk nodded. 'Irish are a thrifty lot,' he said, and moved off toward the stand.
We had eaten our hot dogs and drunk our coffee and taken turns at the men's room in the beach house. An Explorer and a couple Volvo wagons had gone by. An unmarked police car with a whip antenna pulled into the parking lot and stopped behind us. The driver got out and walked toward the car. He was a young guy, medium- sized, built like a middleweight boxer, moved like an athlete. He wore a short revolver on his belt and handcuffs and a badge. He came to the car on my side.
'How you doing,' he said.
