be home free.'
'And never bothering to check the post office box, they were ignorant of the condominium and the treasure.'
'Knew nothing about it, and couldn't open the box anyway without the key.'
'So then where in hell-'
'But wait. Of course just about then they had the mishap at the James Longstreet, killed Allan Hart in a foolish and desperate panic, and from then on had me on their tail, poking my nose in and disrupting things. As soon as I explained my theory to Laura-who was an excellent actress by the way, surely she had untapped talent in that department-she was alarmed. She had Schilling stick himself under his car so he could get a good look at me as I left her place. There were two people who could blow their cover: Danny Murdock and Yours Truly.'
'You think Murdock helped kill Kincaid?'
'Nah. He probably didn't even know Kincaid was killed. Probably Laura fed him some cock-and-bull story about taking over the arrangements for her husband. As far as Murdock the bombed boatbuilder goes, the only illegal thing he knew about was falsifying a certificate. BUT, they told him: listen, if a guy named Adams, who looks like such and such-or anybody else-comes asking you questions about Penelope, you call us on the double and we'll bail you out.'
'Mmmm. Hmmm,' said Joe taking a deep sip and leaning back; 'so the night you approached him at the bar he did as instructed.'
'Sure. And I figured later it probably took Schilling no more than fifteen or twenty minutes to arrive outside the bar and station himself there, waiting for me to emerge. What place is fifteen minutes from the Schooner Race?'
'The Kincaid residence.'
'Uh huh. Which further strengthened the link between Laura and Schilling. No, I wasn't at all surprised to find her in that warehouse pointing an automatic rifle at my throat. Not the slightest.'
'Now how did O'Shaughnessey get involved'?'
'Because the Garda Siochana was tracking down the rash of assaults in the Republic perpetrated by the militant wing of the UFE the Ulster Freedom Fighters. They're the Protestant counterpart to the IRA. A guy named Reggie Thompson is their leader. Reggie's a tough customer-former Special Air Service Commando. They've vowed to head south, and give the Irish a taste of their own terrorist medicine, They're already charged with about twenty murders; Claim to have a base somewhere in the Wicklow Hills…'
'But I still don't see how-'
'How it links to America? Because Schilling switched sides. After dealing with the IRA for two months or so, he discovered another group who'd pay double for the same merchandise.'
'Reggie Thompson and the UFF?'
'Yep. So he told the IRA he was fresh out of small arms-even those he'd promised to deliver some time ago. This was a big mistake.'
' 'Cause the IRA found out he was supplying weapons to the enemy.'
'Exactly. Actually, O'Shaughnessey tells me it was Laura who made the initial contact with UFF's men. That's why the IRA was so anxious to put her away. It wasn't long before the Provos, and their stateside contacts in Boston and Southie had discovered the double-cross on the part of the arms suppliers and put the hit notice out on both of them. They were dead ducks from that time forth. It was O'Shaughnessey's job to infiltrate the ring with a faked identity, then lie in wait to make the big haul, getting everybody in the organization, including most especially the UFF contacts. How successful he ultimately was only time will tell. But the big guy who saved my life-'
'What was his name anyway?'
'O'Shaughnessey won't tell me, although he knows.'
'They that close, the Garda and the IRA?'
'Not close at all. Stephen says if I knew the man's name my life would be endangered. And I believe him. But as I was about to say, Thug Number One, the Big Man, made a mistake when he stole Schilling's cruiser and blew up the Coquette. There was nobody from UFF on board. The boat, as its French name implies, belonged to the other customers-'
'The militant French separatists?'
'Yeah. The Provo blew up a bunch of Quebec nationalists who were, O'Shaughnessey thinks, going to take Ms. Kincaid and Schilling up to the Maritimes.'
'While they left the Rose Boating temptingly in Gloucester Harbor.'
'Yes, and tempting enough so I bought her at state auction.'
'With some of my money.'.
'With some of your money. Which you will get back.'
'Who the hell'd buy that spaghetti strainer now?'
'I am going to have it repaired and sold, don't worry. The electronic gear, fittings, and engine alone are worth more than what she cost us.'
'And you still believe Kincaid hit the jackpot…'
'I'm convinced of it. The letter from A. J. Liebnitz which you have laid eyes on should convince you as well. You yourself saw the space along the Rose's keel reserved for the treasure. Now if you're ready, I want you to phone the Essex Realty Company of Manchester, and ask for the key to the Kincaid domicile. Say it's an investigation and we're taking a crew in to get prints and the like. We want to go alone, with no salesperson.'
He rose and swaggered toward the pay phones.
'Remember, Joe. Official police business. No salesperson-we want the key only.'
'Whaddayuh think I yam… dummer somethin'?'
Gee, I hoped he wasn't too bombed to convince them…
CHAPTER TWENTY-EYGHT
At quarter to six, after the last visitor had left the Kincaid mansion, we were allowed to proceed there- alone-with the key. I jingled it in my hand, happy as a kid on Christmas morning, as we trudged up the curved walkway and then around the side yard, with its creeping bent lawn, marble statues, and Japanese garden. Under my arm I carried a Polaroid SX-70 camera.
'Christ Almighty, some spread.'
'Now look over there.'
'What? That patch of earth? A buried treasure'! C'mon Doc, you've read too many Argosy magazines. He wouldn't bury it for Chrissake, use your-'
''Course he wouldn't. He buried an oil tank there. I know because I checked with the realtor earlier for records of any recent house improvements. I called the company that installed the tank. I know the tank was connected to the appropriate pipes too.'
'Well then why-'
'But. I also checked a bit further. I even spoke with the man who operated the backhoe prior to the installation. The tank measured just under ten feet long. Pace the turned earth and you see it's about eighteen feet long. What else is down there'?'
'Look. After losing two grand on that old [fishing boat I am not about to get a shovel and start digging.'
'We're not going to do any digging. When I first started really thinking about this, I was on the phone for an entire day calling various stores, supply houses, and rental agencies. Walter Kincaid, in his own name, rented an air impact hammer and a small compressor last April. He also rented a small cement mixer. The agency has the records. But the really interesting thing is this: he bought a septic tank.'
'No shit.'
'Ah, the very phrase I was seeking. That indeed is the interesting part: no shit; The town of Manchester has had sewers for almost fifty years. Ergo: no need for cesspools, septic tanks, so forth. So why the septic tank?'
We went inside. It was just dark. The expensive furniture was covered with white dropcloths.
'It was the backhoe man who tipped me off about the septic tank. It was dropped in the hole and covered
