Plum Island

So, the simple solution to cheating Caesar out of the treasure on Caesar's land is to move the treasure to your own land. If you rent, however, you have a problem. So, voila, the one acre of waterfront purchased from Margaret Wiley.

Some questions remained, however. One question was, how did the Gordons know there was possibly a hoard of treasure buried on Plum Island? Answer: they found out through their interest and membership in the Peconic Historical Society. Or, someone else had figured out long ago that there was treasure on Plum Island and that person or persons had no access to Plum Island, so he, she, or they befriended the Gordons, who, as senior staff, had almost unlimited access to the island. Eventually, this person or persons confided this knowledge to the Gordons, and a plot was hatched, a deal was made, signed in blood by the light of a flickering candle or something.

Tom and Judy were good citizens, but they weren't saints. I thought of what Beth had said-'saint-seducing gold'-and realized now how appropriate that was.

The Gordons obviously intended to rebury the treasure on their land, then discover it and announce it to the world, and pay their honest taxes to Uncle and New York State. Maybe their partner had other ideas. That was it. The partner wasn't satisfied with his or her fifty percent of the loot on which presumably some heavy taxes had to be paid.

This got me to wondering how much the treasure could be worth. Obviously enough to commit double murder.

A theory, as I teach in my class, has to fit all the facts. If it doesn't, you have to examine the facts. If the facts are correct, and the theory doesn't work, then you have to alter the theory.

In this case, most of the early facts pointed to the wrong theory. That aside, I finally had what the physicists would call a unified theory-the Plum Island so-called archaeological digs, the high-priced powerboat, the expensive rental house on the water, the Spirochete anchored off Plum Island, the membership in the Peconic Historical Society, and the one acre of apparently useless land on the Sound, and maybe the trip to England. Add to this the Gordons' whimsical flying of the Jolly Roger, the missing ice chest, and the eight-digit number on their sea chart, and you had a pretty solid unified theory that tied all these seemingly unconnected things together.

Or-and this was the big or-I had lost too much blood from my brain, and I was totally wrong, completely off base, mentally unfit for detective duty, and lucky to be allowed to walk a beat in Staten Island.

That, too, was possible. I mean, look at Foster and Nash, two reasonably smart guys with all the resources in the world behind them, and they were totally off base, chasing the wrong leads. They had good minds, yet they were confined by their narrow worldview: international intrigue, biological warfare, international terrorism, and all that. They probably never even heard of Captain Kidd. Good.

Anyway, my unified theory notwithstanding, there were still things I didn't know and things I didn't understand. One thing I didn't know was who murdered Tom and Judy Gordon. Sometimes you catch the murderer even before you have all the facts or before you understand, what you do have-in those cases, the murderer will sometimes be nice and explain to you what you missed, what you misunderstood, what his motives were, and so forth. When I get a confession, I want more than an admission of guilt-I want a lesson in the criminal mind. This is good for next time around, and there's always a next time around.

In this case, I had what I thought was the motive, but not the murderer. All I knew about the murderer was that he or she was very clever. I couldn't imagine the Gordons plotting a crime with an idiot.

One of the points in my mental map of this case was Tobin Vineyards. Even now, after I'd gotten hip to the Kidd thing and come up with my unified theory, I couldn't figure out how the relationship between Fredric Tobin and the Gordons fit into the whole picture.

Well, maybe I could… I headed toward Tobin Vineyards.

CHAPTER 20

The white Porsche which belonged to the proprietor was in the parking field. I parked, got out of my Jeep, and made my way to the winery.

The ground floor of the central tower connected various wings, and I entered the tower through the visitors' reception area. The staircase and elevator each had signs reading 'Employees Only.' In fact, the elevator that Mr. Tobin had gotten off when I first met him had a key entry, so I took the stairs, which I prefer in any case. The staircase was actually a steel and concrete fire exit built within the cedar-shingled tower, and at each floor was a steel door, and there was a sign on each door: 'Second Floor, Accounting, Personnel, Billing'; 'Third Floor, Sales, Marketing, Shipping'; and so forth.

On the fourth floor the sign said 'Executive Offices.' I continued up to the fifth floor where there was another steel door, this one unmarked. I pulled on the handle, but it was locked. I noticed a surveillance camera and an intercom.

I went back down to the fourth floor where the executive offices door opened into a reception area. There was a circular reception counter in the center, but no one was at the counter. From the reception area, four open doors led to offices that I could see were sort of pie-shaped, an obvious function of the circular floor plan. Each office had a nice big window in the tower. A fifth door was closed.

I couldn't see anyone at any of the desks in the open offices, and as it was now 1:30, I assumed everyone was at lunch.

I stepped into the reception area and looked around. The furniture looked like real leather, purple, of course, and on the walls were reproductions of de Kooning and Pollock-or the staff's children and grandchildren had been allowed to hang their dribbles. A video surveillance camera was trained on me, and I waved.

The closed door opened and an efficient-looking woman of about thirty appeared. She asked me, 'May I help you?'

'Please tell Mr. Tobin that Mr. Corey is here to see him.'

'Do you have an appointment, sir?'

'I have a standing appointment.'

'Mr. Tobin is about to go to lunch. In fact, he's running late.'

'Then I'll drive him. Please tell him I'm here.' I hate to flash the tin in a guy's office unless I'm there to help him or to put the cuffs on him. It's the in-between stuff where the guy sometimes gets pissed off if you scare the staff with the tin and bully your way in. I said to the young lady, 'Tell him it's important.'

She turned back to the closed door, knocked, went in, and shut it behind her. I waited a full minute, which is really patient for me, then I went in. Mr. Tobin and the young lady were both standing at his desk in conversation. He was rubbing his short-cropped beard, looking somewhat Mephistophelian. He was wearing a burgundy blazer, black slacks, and a pink oxford shirt. He turned to me, but did not return my big friendly grin.

I said, 'I'm sorry to barge in this way, Mr. Tobin, but I'm kind of pressed for time, and I knew you wouldn't mind.'

He dismissed the young lady and remained standing. The man was a real gentleman, and he didn't even show any anger. He said, 'This is an unexpected pleasure.'

I love that expression. I replied, 'For me, too. I mean, I didn't think I was going to see you until your party, then all of a sudden, your name pops up.'

'How did it pop up?'

When I popped your ex-girlfriend. Actually, I had a more polite reply and said, 'I was just talking to somebody about the case, you know, about Tom and Judy and their love of wine and how they were so pleased to know you. Anyway, this person happened to mention that she also knew you and knew Tom and Judy. So,.that's how your name came up.'

He wouldn't go for the bait and replied, 'And that's why you're here?'

'Well, no.' I didn't elaborate. I let it sit. He was still standing, the window at his back. I walked around his desk and looked out the window. 'What a view.'

'The best view on the North Fork, unless you live in a lighthouse.'