A Beautiful Place to Die (17 page)

“I'll deny everything. My dad can afford the best lawyers in the United States.”

“Sure, Billy. Whether he will hire them is another question. After all, you killed his son, your brother, in cold blood. There is one thing I'm only half sure of. Maybe you can tell me. Jim's journal is missing. It wasn't in his house when I found the ring and it never got home to Oregon with his other things. The only place I can imagine it being is out in the wreck of the
Nellie Grey.
I figure Jim told you about it and you said you'd like to have a look at it before he went west, so he brought it along on the fishing trip.”

“What do I care about his journal?”

“You cared for the same reason you cared about the ring—because he might have written down the truth about how he found his father. I expect that the book probably
got burned in the fire, but there should still be bits of it out there. Enough to identify it, at least.”

Billy sat there. Then he leaned forward. “Jim was a fool. If he'd kept his mouth shut, he'd be back in Oregon right now. You're a fool, too. If you'd kept your mouth shut, I wouldn't have known what you're up to. Now I know everything you know, and you've got to go, too.”

He pulled a revolver out from under his shirt. It looked like my old police .38. It was.

“Locks on gun cabinets don't mean much, Jackson,” said Billy, with a crooked smile on his face. He pointed the gun at me. I felt sweat break out on my forehead. “Any last words?” he asked.

“A couple,” I said, trying to sound unruffled. “First, there's a locked Landcruiser blocking the end of the driveway, so you'll have a hard time getting out of here. You may make it, but your car won't. It can't knock down enough trees to reach the highway. Second, since I was smart enough to set you up, don't you imagine that I'm smart enough not to make myself a sitting duck? Remember, I'm the guy who knew you were a murderer. I'm not like poor Jim, who never suspected a thing before you killed him.

“Somebody is listening to us, Billy, and recording every word. You shoot me and your goose is really cooked. You'll go up forever.”

“You're lying. Say good-bye, Jackson.”

“Look up at that beam. See that mike? Don't worry about me jumping you. Your bullet can get to me quicker than I can get to you.”

Billy looked at me with wild eyes. Could I see insanity within them, or was that only a reflection of my fear? His smile was gone. A shadow seemed to flicker across his face. Then he glanced up, quickly down at me again, then up once more. The second time, he saw it. His eyes whipped back down again.

“We have a stalemate,” I suggested. “I have the ring, you have the pistol you're pointing at me, and someone has a tape of our conversation.”

“Maybe I can find your friend when I'm through with you.”

I heard the word “maybe” like a sailor hears a bell buoy in the fog. “Maybe” sounded like safety. It told me where I was. I took up the word for myself. “Maybe you can, but probably not. You don't even know where those wires lead.”

What immortal hand or eye framed Billy's symmetry? He stared at me, then suddenly laughed. “Hey, J.W., I got you, didn't I? You fell for this act just the way I thought you would! Here!” He reversed the pistol and tossed it at me. “How about another beer?” He laughed pretty authentically and got up and went to the fridge and brought back two Molsons. “Here, J.W. Next time, I'll buy.

“You think I didn't realize you wanted me down here for some reason? You think if I wanted that ring, I couldn't have had it? Hell, Jim said he'd give it to me if I wanted it. He showed me his journal, so why wouldn't he show me the ring? And do you think I didn't see that mike when I came in? Jesus, J.W., do you think I'm blind?

“Wise up, J.W. I didn't take the ring because Jim didn't want Dad to know who he was, and Jim and I agreed that if I took it Dad might see it sometime and start asking questions Jim didn't want to answer. You got half of the motives right, J.W., but you fucked up the other ones. Jim died in an accident and I came down here knowing that you thought you were setting me up. Jesus, J.W., you've been running around in circles for nothing. Come on, drink up. The joke's on you!”

It was pretty convincing theater. I popped the cylinder
and saw that it was loaded, then snapped it back and looked at Billy. He smiled. I smiled. I never kept the gun loaded; Billy had loaded it.

“I think it would be nice if you went down to the police station and made a statement,” I said. “I don't think it was smart of you to keep all this information to yourself. It gave me some funny ideas and it may give other people funnier ones. A statement from you might clear the air a lot.”

Billy smiled. “Sure. That's a good idea. I'll do that right away. Just as long as nobody tells Dad. Jim didn't want him to know. . . .” His voice trailed off as I looked at him over the sights of the pistol. I felt my finger tighten on the trigger. “Hey!” he said. “What are you doing?”

I squeezed the trigger and saw the hammer rise a bit. “Bang!” I said. I lowered the gun. “Just a joke, Billy.”

“Sure.” Billy laughed. “I'll pay for the damage I did to the gun cabinet, don't worry about that. You know, I saw your shadow when you were watching me through the window. I just messed things up as part of the joke, you understand.” His eyes kept straying up to the mike. “Well, I better be going.” He stood up. “How about the ring, J.W.? I'm thinking that maybe it's best that Dad have it after all. I mean, Jim's dead, so it can't matter to him anyhow. Besides, I'm going to give my statement to the police and it's bound to leak out anyway, don't you think?”

“I'll keep it,” I said. “I'll be going downtown to make a statement of my own. I'll talk to your dad, then think about whether he should have it or whether I should send it out to the Norrises in Oregon.”

“Oh.” He licked his lips. “Well . . .” He drank from his beer and looked around for a place to set it down.

“Hey,” I said. “I hear they're going to bust a bunch of
people down here one of these days. Sylvia, maybe. Some other people. Some people you know. I'll bet that if you were to help the good guys out, they might not nail you as hard as they can right now, what with you being a pusher in college and all. You know what I mean? It would be nice if they could get some of the bigwigs, don't you think?”

“What do you mean?” He emptied his bottle and stood up. I did the same.

“I mean it would be something in your favor if you could name some names and give some testimony to the DEA and the others who'll be making this bust. If you could tie Sylvia directly to the operation, a lot of people would think you were a terrific person.”

“I don't know anything about Sylvia. I'm through with all that now.”

“Oh, come on, Billy, grow up. You can name names. You can name one in particular, and you know who I mean.”

“No, I don't.”

“I mean Maria Sylvia, your source. She likes young guys like you, and one way she keeps them is by supplying them with some chemical adventure to supplement her maturing charms. I imagine she's supplying the tennis pro or whoever else is on her string, so you needn't think you'll be betraying your own true love if you testify. You be a good citizen and maybe the narcs can tie Sylvia to his wife's habit of dispensing chemicals to her swains. I mean, she has to get her drugs from somebody, doesn't she? You do that and maybe I won't push for the cops bringing the
Nellie Grey
up from the bottom and going over her with a fine-tooth comb.”

“What makes you think that Mrs. Sylvia gave me any drugs?”

“She's got something that makes the boys love her, and you got your stuff from somebody named Sylvia. It wasn't the old man and it wasn't your ex-buddy Danny Sylvia, because he's been in California while you've been at Brown. Who else would it be but your good friend Maria Sylvia?”

“You can't prove it.”

“Who's talking proof, kid? Right now I have a good case against you and I think I can convince the cops to dig deeper than you might want them to. I don't have to have proof. All I need to have is evidence. And I've got that.”

Billy's brain was busy. “If I testify, you'll let this other thing drop?”

“I said I wouldn't push it.”

He thought some more. “I want the ring and I want the tape.”

“Afterward. After you talk to the cops about you and Jim and after you testify against Maria Sylvia and your other pals in the drug biz. After all that, you can have the ring and tape. Not before.”

“Tapes can be copied. You could give me one and still have another one.”

“You have a paranoid streak in you, Billy. You've got to learn to trust people.”

“Sure.” I could almost see thoughts and counterthoughts racing through his mind. “You're wrong about me killing Jim, you know. You're wrong about that.”

“Okay, Billy, we've got that taped. Anything else you'd like to get on the record?”

“You can't prove anything. No one can, because I didn't do anything.”

“You're repeating yourself now, Billy.”

“It's that Bonzo, isn't it? It's him you've got on the other end of that wire. Who else would it be? You could talk him into anything.”

“He loaned me some equipment. He thinks I'm recording bird calls.”

Billy stared at me, comprehension appearing on his face. And as he comprehended, fury filled his eyes. First hot, then cold hate reached out toward me. Then the hate pulled back and hid, and Billy's voice was almost normal. “He's not there, then. He never was. Nobody was. You lied. There isn't anybody listening.”

“Nobody. But there is a tape. And it's yours once you testify for the narcs.”

“Okay, but I want to get out of here right now.”

“Okay, kid. I'll ride up the driveway with you and move my truck.”

I let him watch me tuck the .38 into my belt. Wasn't it Mao who said that political power comes from the barrel of a gun? We got in his little yellow car and drove up to the Landcruiser. I backed it off enough for him to get by, and he roared out onto the highway the way drivers of such sportscars seem to feel they must drive—with a lot of engine and brakes. His tires squealed as he raced away.

I drove down to the house and made a copy of the tape, which I put in the shed with the drugs I'd been accumulating over the past few days. I examined my gun cabinet. The lock was broken, but the only items that had been removed were the pistol and its ammunition. The long guns were still there. A more proficient killer would have
used a shotgun on me, but Billy was never a shotgun user, having refused to learn the gunner's craft from his father. I doubted if he knew one shotgun from another. Or one pistol from another, for that matter. He'd found my old .38 and was going to do the job with that. But he hadn't. And when I had my chance, I hadn't either. I'd wanted to, but I hadn't. I wasn't sure why.

I put the pistol in its holster and put both under the front seat of the Landcruiser, then I drove downtown and found the chief walking from the post office, an armful of mail clutched under his arm.

“Say,” I said, “I always wondered about this. Do you guys get junk mail, too? Or is it just us civilians? I can't believe that all that stuff is legitimate police business.”

“I could carry the legitimate stuff in my shirt pocket,” growled the chief. He did not look happy to see me as I fell into step beside him. I dug out the original tape.

“Here,” I said. “I think you'll find this worth listening to right away. Emphasis on right away. Capital letters—RIGHT AWAY.” I put the tape in the chief's shirt pocket and followed him into the police station. Helen Viera was at the desk.

“Helen,” said the chief, “find that tape recorder we've got, will you? It's around here somewhere.”

I gave her an encouraging smile and followed the chief back into his private office. “Gee,” I said, “you mean you're actually going to do it? You're actually going to play it? I don't even have to pay you or kiss your shoes or anything?”

“You can lick my boots later if you want to,” said the chief, unloading his mail onto the desk. Helen came in, put a small cassette recorder on the desk, and went out again.

“It'll take about half an hour,” I said, sitting down on
one of the hard chairs the taxpayers of Edgartown had purchased for their men in blue. “I think you may find it interesting.”

I watched enviously while the chief stoked up his pipe. He shook out the match, popped the tape into the machine, and sat back in his chair. I observed that it was nicely padded, unlike mine. A professional perk, no doubt.

When the tape was done, the chief opened his eyes and looked at me. “Did he really point a gun at you?”

“Indeed he did. My own.”

“I think a good lawyer could shred this tape faster than Colonel North, but I guess we'd better have a talk with Billy anyway, just to let him know we've got an eye on him. How can you be so sure that a big bust is actually coming down soon?”

“I have a source in Boston. An old pro news guy who knows how to dig. If you want to know how good he really is, I can tell you that the bust is scheduled for tonight.”

“Jesus Christ! Don't say that!” The chief involuntarily looked around the empty room in case any invisible people were listening. They weren't. Then his expression changed. “You didn't get that from anybody down here, then?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He stared at me. “How upset was Billy when he left you? Upset enough to get another gun? His daddy's got plenty of them.”

“I don't know.”

“I'll have somebody stay with you, if you want. Just until we find Billy.”