Plum Island

black Caprice. Probably Paul Stevens was in on it, too, and so was Dr. Zollner.

I was sure that certain agencies of the federal government had put together a cover, and it was good enough for the media, the nation, and the world. But it wasn't good enough for Detectives John Corey and Elizabeth Penrose. No sir, it was not. I wondered if Max was buying it. People generally want to believe good news, and Max was so paranoid about germs that he'd really love to believe Plum Island was spewing antibiotics and vaccine into the air, I should talk to Max later. Maybe.

The other question was this-if they were covering up, what were they covering up? It occurred to me that maybe they didn't know what they were covering up. They needed to change this case from high-profile horror to common thievery, and they had to do it quickly to get the heat off. Now they could start trying to figure out what the hell this was all about. Maybe Nash and Foster were as clueless as I was about why the Gordons were murdered.

Theory Two-they knew why and who murdered the Gordons, and maybe it was Nash and Foster themselves. I really had no idea who these clowns were.

With all this conspiracy stuff in mind, I remembered what Beth said regarding Nash… I wouldn't cross a man like that.

I stopped about twenty yards from my Jeep and looked around.

There were about a hundred Plum Island employee vehicles in the ferry parking field now, but there weren't any people around, so I positioned myself behind a van and held out my keypad. Another feature that I got for my forty thousand bucks was a remote ignition. I pressed the ignition button in a sequence, two longs and one short, and waited for the explosion. There was no explosion. The vehicle started. I let it run for a minute, then walked toward it, and got inside.

I wondered if I was being a little overly cautious. I guess if my vehicle had exploded, the answer is no. Better safe than sorry, I say. Until I knew who the killer or killers were, paranoia was my middle name.

CHAPTER 14

I drove west on Main Road, my engine humming, my radio tuned to easy listening, rural scenes sliding by, blue skies, gulls, the whole nine yards, the best that the third planet from the sun has to offer.

The car phone rang, and I answered, 'Dial-a-stud. May I help you?'

'Meet me at the Murphy residence,' said Detective Penrose.

'I don't think so,' I replied.

'Why not?'

'I think I'm fired. If not, I quit.'

'You were hired by the week. You have to finish out the week.'

'Says who?'

'Murphy house.' She hung up.

I hate bossy women. Nevertheless, I drove the twenty minutes to the Murphy house and spotted Detective Penrose parked out front, sitting in her unmarked black Ford LTD.

I parked my Jeep a few houses away, killed the engine, and got out. To the right of the Murphys' house, the crime scene was still taped off, and there was one Southold PD out front. The county mobile headquarters van was still on the lawn.

Beth was on the cell phone as I approached, and she hung up and got out. She said, 'I just finished a long verbal to my boss. Everyone seems happy with the Ebola vaccine angle.'

I asked, 'Did you indicate to your boss that you think it's a crock of crap?'

'No… let's leave that thought alone. Let's solve a double murder.'

We went to the Murphys' front door and rang the bell. The house was a 1960s ranch, original condition, as they say, pretty ugly, but decently maintained.

A woman of about seventy answered the door, and we introduced ourselves. She stared at my shorts, probably remarking to herself about how freshly laundered they looked and smelled. She smiled at Beth and showed us inside. She disappeared toward the back of the house and called out, 'Ed! Police again.''

She came back into the living room and indicated a love seat. I found myself cheek to cheek with Beth.

Mrs. Agnes Murphy asked us, 'Would you like some Kool-Aid?'

I replied, 'No, thank you, ma'am. I'm on duty.'

Beth, too, declined.

Mrs. Murphy sat in a rocker facing us.

I looked around. The decorating style was what I call classical old fart: dark, musty, overstuffed furniture, six hundred ugly knickknacks, incredibly tacky souvenirs, photos of grandchildren, and so on. The walls were chalky green, like an after-dinner mint, and the carpet was… well, who cares?

Mrs. Murphy was dressed in a pink pants suit made of a synthetic material that would last three thousand years.

I asked Mrs. Murphy, 'Did you like the Gordons?'

The question threw her, as it was supposed to. She got her thoughts together and replied, 'We didn't know them very well, but they were mostly quiet.'

'Why do you think they were murdered?'

'Well… how would I know?' We looked at one another awhile, then she said, 'Maybe it had something to do with their work.'

Edgar Murphy entered, wiping his hands on a rag. He had been in the garage, he explained, working on his power mower. He looked closer to eighty, and if I were Beth Penrose preparing a future trial in my mind, I wouldn't give odds that Edgar would make it to the stand.

He wore green overalls and work shoes and looked as pale as his wife. Anyway, I stood and shook hands with Mr. Murphy. I sat again, and Edgar sat in a recliner which he actually reclined so he was looking up at the ceiling. I tried to make eye contact with him, but it was hard to do given our relative positions. Now I remember why I don't visit my parents.

Edgar Murphy said, 'I already spoke to Chief Maxwell.'

Beth replied, 'Yes, sir. I'm with homicide.'

'Who's he with?'

I replied, 'I'm with Chief Maxwell.'

'No, you ain't. I know every cop on the force.'

This was about to become a triple homicide. I looked up at the ceiling to about where his eyes were focused, and spoke, sort of like beaming up to a satellite and bouncing the signal down to the receiver. I said, 'I'm a consultant. Look, Mr. Murphy-'

Mrs. Murphy interrupted, 'Ed, can't you sit up? That's very rude to sit like that.'

'The hell it is. It's my house. He can hear me okay. You can hear me okay, can't you?'

'Yes, sir.'

Beth did some prelim, but related some of the details and times wrong, on purpose, and Mr. Murphy corrected her, demonstrating that he had good short-term memory. Mrs. Murphy also did some fine-tuning of the events of the prior day. They seemed like reliable witnesses, and I was ashamed of myself for showing impatience with the elderly-I felt awful about wanting to squash Edgar in his recliner.

Anyway, as Beth and I spoke to Edgar and Agnes, it was obvious that there was little new to be learned regarding the bare facts: the Murphys were both in their sun room at 5:30 p.m., having finished dinner-the elderly eat dinner about 4 p.m. Anyway, they were watching TV when they heard the Gordons' boat-they recognized the big engines, and Mrs. Murphy editorialized, 'My, they're loud engines. Why would people need such big, loud engines?'

To annoy their neighbors, Mrs. Murphy. I asked both of them, 'Did you see the boat?'

'No,' Mrs. Murphy replied. 'We didn't bother to look.'

'But you could see the boat from your sun room?'