“Can’t you do it?”
“I don’t have access to NCIC right at this moment.”
Silence. Then, “I’ve got to get going. Lehman’s lawyer’s gonna be here any minute.”
31
The Apalachicola Police Department offices took up the second story of City Hall near the Apalachicola River. From its proximity to the water, the building could have been a cotton warehouse when the town was a bustling port.
A giant standing fan dominated Chief Redbone’s office, blowing like a blizzard across the cluttered space.
A large man with thinning blond hair and a strawberry complexion, Clyde Redbone heaved himself out of his chair and held out a hand. In his late forties, more muscle than fat, he looked like a former linebacker.
“I’m Laura—“
“Cardinal. I know. Couldn’t forget a pretty name like that. My secretary told me you’d be coming by.” He directed her to a leather couch against the wall that had seen better days. “Sit down, take a load off.”
He skimmed his bulk expertly from behind his desk and aimed the standing fan at her. “How’s that?”
Gale force, but in this heat and humidity, necessary. “Thanks.”
“Something to drink? Coffee? Co’Cola?”
She asked for water and he filled a mug with water from the cooler. He sat down and folded his hands on the green felt blotter. He wore a short-sleeved shirt that exposed massive arms mottled with freckles run together under a nest of blond hair. “What can I help you with?”
“I’m interested in a man named Jimmy de Seroux. Do you know him?”
He leaned back and regarded her through watery blue eyes. Something going on behind them, but she couldn’t tell what it was. “I know Jimmy, but not well. Good piano player.”
“I’m trying to locate him.”
“Think he lives over on Fifteenth Street.” He reached for the phone book.
“I know where he lives. I thought you could give me assistance.”
He stood up and reached for his hat, hooked on an old-fashioned hat stand beside the desk. “Why not?” He checked his watch. “Tell you what. It’s lunch time. I was just going to go down to the park and have my sandwich. We could talk there. I try never to miss my half hour outdoors.”
Girls’ voices from the stairwell, giggling and strident.
“Hi, Daddy!”
“Hi, Daddy!”
A couple of teenage girls—twins—clattered into the office on tall sandals. One blonde, one redhead. The blonde wore her hair long and straight, parted in the middle. She wore a short, flouncy skirt. The redhead wore short shorts, much more makeup, and enough chains to pass for Marley’s Ghost. Identical twins, but each of them had developed her own look. Laura guessed it was a way to maintain their individuality.
Redbone looked stricken. “Holy moly, you walked down the street like that?”
From the looks the girls gave him, Laura had the feeling he’d said words to that effect before.
“Can we take the car?” asked the blond one. “Graham wants us to help him look at boats.”
“You think that kid can afford a boat?”
Gum snapped. “Dad. We’re just looking.”
“Graham should be studying for the SATs, and so should you. By the way, this is Laura Cardinal from Arizona. That one who thinks she’s in the navel academy is Amanda, and this is Georgette.”
Georgette lifted her hand in a tiny, lacquered wave, Amanda rolled her eyes.
“Please? Can we have the car or not?” asked Amanda, for all her makeup and chains sounding like a southern belle in training.
“Yes, you can have the car. But you gotta be back by five. Your mother’s cooking roast chicken. Got that?”
They were already out the door, their thank you’s banging off the walls behind them.
Redbone shook his head. “Don’t ever have girls,” he said. “They’ll give you an ulcer, then break your bankbook.”
“There was a girl,” Chief Redbone said, in response to Laura’s question. He had to talk loud over the riding mower negotiating the lawn at the far end of Battery Park. They sat at a picnic table under a canopy of oaks, eating sandwiches bought from a deli on Market Street. Laura had asked the guy at the deli for a hoagie, and he’d looked at her as if she’d come from another planet. Chief Redbone interceded and got them over the language barrier. Next time she’d ask for a sub.
Laura looked out the little marina at the edge of Battery Park, enjoying the sight of the sailboats drowsing in the paint-peeling Gulf sun. Watching them rocking gently in the hot light had a soporific affect.
“Linnet Sobek,” Clyde Redbone said. “Thought she was a runaway.” He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “She ran off twice before. Got herself in all kinds of trouble. You know. Boys, drugs, getting drunk, fighting.” He shook his head, his eyes sad. “Only thirteen years old.”
Thinking about his daughters?
“Couldn’t really blame her. She had a rotten home life. Mother was a meth head. Lots to run away from.”
