Vineyard Prey (17 page)

“I imagine.” But I couldn't really imagine the
Bunny renting either a room or a car when he got to the island. It would be too easy for the now-swarming police to find him or at least get a description of him, fake name or not.

“I think it's time for me to cook the spag,” said Zee, rolling to her feet. “The water's already boiling. Din's in ten.”

I followed her into Mattie Skye's kitchen. The aroma of the spaghetti sauce filled my nostrils. The old family recipe. Delish. I got the Parmesan out of the fridge and put it on the table, which was already laid, and opened the red wine.

“What I think,” said Zee, “is that this bad bunny planned a very quick kill and escape, but that something went wrong. I think that Arbuckle interrupted him and that after the Bunny killed him to shut him up, he may have abandoned his plan and already be off of the island. That would be sensible, wouldn't it? Your cover is blown, so you abort the mission and save your own hide?”

“That sounds like what I would do. The other possibility is that he's still here and sticking to his plan.”

She stirred the spaghetti sauce. “But where is he, then? Where's he staying? What car is he driving? How does he know how to get around the island without being noticed?”

Good questions.

“I'll call the kids,” I said, but that wasn't necessary. Diana's nose and ears had led her to supper, and her big second-grade brother was only a step behind.

The spaghetti was excellent but my thoughts were on rabbit.

  18 

The next morning was cold and overcast. In downtown Edgartown initial preparations were being made for the Christmas-in-Edgartown celebration, which was only a week away. The stands for the lighted trees that would line Main Street were in place, ropes and wreaths of greenery adorned with red bows were appearing on fences and doors, and candles were being placed in windows.

I cruised Main to take things in, then hooked back to Pease's Point Way and drove to the police station. There was a green wreath on the window of the locked front door. In a bow to national security policies, the station's door was now always locked in case international terrorists decided to attack. To get in, you had to push a button. I punched it and peeked through the wreath. Kit Goulart peered back from the desk and let me in.

Kit was large and pleasant. She bade me happy holidays. I returned the wish and wondered if the Chief was on the other side of his closed office door.

“He is,” said Kit, “and so are some other members of the department. I believe they're organizing a hunt for the guy who shot the guy who died in your yard yesterday.”

“The Chief never did like having people killed in his town,” I said. “You mind telling him I'm here?”

“Not at all,” said Kit, picking up a phone.

A moment later, the Chief 's office door opened and a hand beckoned me in. I went in and shut the door behind me.

The room was crowded and warm. Tony D'Agostine and a half dozen other Edgartown cops were there. They nodded hello but looked pretty serious.

“We're about to go back to checking more places that take guests and rent cars,” said the Chief. “You have any wise advice before we start?”

“How about places that sell hunting licenses?” I gave him Zee's theory about the Bunny being in the guise of deer hunter.

“You're a day late,” said the Chief. “We did that yesterday when we started checking hotels and inns.”

“Aren't there some people who unofficially rent rooms even though they don't register with any board or organization?”

“Mostly little old ladies who can use a few extra bucks. We're checking them out.” He cocked an eye at me. “Anything else you can think of? No? Okay, people, off you go.” He held up a forefinger. “And be careful. If you find anything, call in; if you find anybody who looks out of place, get backup first and ask questions second.”

Edgartown's finest went out of the office.

“All the towns doing this?” I asked.

“That's the master plan.”

If the master plan was being followed, something
good might actually come out of it because there are ten different police forces on Martha's Vineyard: one for each of the six towns, a sheriff 's department, the state police, the environmental police, and the Registry of Motor Vehicles cops. And now the DIA was here, too. If all of them were working together, for a change, they could cover a lot of ground.

The Chief was eyeing me. “How you doing? It must have been bad to have Arbuckle die in your arms like that. How's Zee taking it?”

“We're okay. I'd already moved her and the kids over to John Skye's place, so Joshua and Diana never saw anything. They'll probably know about it by tonight, though, because the news will be in the schools.”

“Dom Agganis told us what's going on.” He paused. “At least what he thinks is going on. He thinks that your friend Begay should go somewhere else until this is over. The woman, too. Kate MacLeod; isn't that her name?”

“I don't see either one of them following that advice.”

“Maybe all the law will scare the killer off.”

I shrugged. “That would be swell, all right.”

He dug in a pocket and brought out his pipe and stuck it in his mouth. I once smoked a pipe and still had a rack of them at home in case I caved into the urge again. Now I only stared in envy at his ancient briar. The Chief stared back. “I'm guessing that Zee hasn't succeeded in convincing you that you can leave this business in the hands of the police,” he
said. “You shouldn't make promises you don't keep, you know.”

I held up a hand. “I didn't make any promises. Not real ones, anyway. I may have sort of agreed that I should mind my own business, but I didn't actually promise anything.”

“Your wife deserves better than you,” he said. “Of course, my wife deserves better than me, too. That's true of a lot of wives, in fact. What brings you down here, anyway? Something's on your mind.”

“You're still pretty friendly with Jake Spitz, aren't you? You and he got pretty close when he was down here during those summer holidays the president and his family used to make.”

He chewed his pipe stem, then said, “Yeah, Jake and I still get along just fine. What about it?”

“I've been thinking about the Bunny—”

It was the Chief 's turn to hold up a hand. “The Bunny? That being the Easter Bunny Agganis mentioned? Isn't he supposed to be some sort of international terrorist? But didn't Arbuckle say something to you about it not being the Bunny?”

First Zee, and now the Chief. “It's just a name I've fastened on the shooter,” I said. “I don't know if the guy is the Easter Bunny, but I have to call him something, so I'm calling him the Bunny. Maybe I should call him George Washington or Captain Marvel, but I'm calling him the Bunny. Is that okay?”

“Don't get huffy,” said the Chief. “Call him whatever you damn please. Anyway, what about him?”

“I've been thinking that maybe he isn't staying in an inn or a hotel.”

The Chief frowned. “Then where is he staying? In a tent? In some house he broke into?”

“It could be, but I don't think so. I think he may be staying with a friend or even in his own house.”

The Chief took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at it for a while. “Go on,” he said.

“Here's the thought,” I said. “There are a good many Washington people who have houses on this island, including old Yalies and other IC types. McNamara, Kennedy, and Johnson are names that come to mind. They all rented or bought land here at one time or another, and you probably know the names of other bigwigs that I don't, what with national security being so popular these days and even you small-town cops being in on it.”

“So far,” said the Chief, “all Washington has given us is more work for no more money. What's your point?”

“My point is this: What if Arbuckle was right? What if it isn't the Easter Bunny or any other foreign agent who's doing these killings? What if it's somebody else, somebody with an agenda of his own? An American with a grudge.”

Thr Chief poked at the bowl of his pipe, tamping down the remains of a previous smoke. “You think it might be somebody in the IC?”

“It makes sense, since the dead people were all in that game and so are Joe Begay and Kate MacLeod, although they'll both deny it officially.”

He nodded. “Somebody in the IC who has a house on the Vineyard or has a friend who has one.”

I nodded back. “Maybe a house with a car in the garage?”

“A private house and car would make it a lot easier for him,” he said. “And if it's his own house, it would explain why he knows his way around the island. If he's a hunter, it might even explain where he got his shotgun.”

The Chief opened a drawer, got out a package of tobacco, and filled his pipe bowl. I inhaled the scent of the tobacco. Mighty fine!

“And if he was someone Arbuckle knew and trusted,” I said, “it would explain why he was able to get close with the shotgun.”

The Chief stuck the pipe back in his mouth and I knew that he wanted to light up but wouldn't because he only smoked outside. “I imagine this line of thought has occurred to the Feds,” he said. “These DIA guys aren't idiots.”

“You're probably right,” I said, “although being an idiot is no bar to government employment, so you may be wrong. What I think is that it would be a good idea for you to call Jake Spitz and see if he can get a line on anybody who smells wrong.”

“You mean like somebody in the IC who has a house on Martha's Vineyard and has taken a vacation during the past week?”

“By Jove, I think you've got it!”

He shook his head. “Do you have any idea how many people in Washington take vacations during the Christmas season? Even if you could limit it to IC people who own houses on the Vineyard or have friends who do, I can't imagine Jake Spitz or anybody else getting a line on that many people.”

I pulled a sheet of paper out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Have him start with this list.”

He looked at the paper. “Who are these people?”

“That's a list of all the names I've heard since I got involved with this business. The starred names are the dead people. If Spitz takes this job, I imagine he'll start looking at their friends and colleagues. Some people probably already have. Several of those names belong to guys, both dead and alive, who were Kate MacLeod's lovers, or so she says.”

“There's so much easy sex around these days that you'd think nobody would get mad enough to kill over it,” said the Chief, “but that's not the case. People are strange.”

Nobody knows that better than a cop.

“All right,” said the Chief. “I'll give Spitz a call. But don't expect too much. By the way, I join your wife in suggesting that you leave this business to the police. We'll all be happier. How cold is it outside?”

“Chilly.”

He got up. “I'll just step out for a short smoke.”

“Smoking is bad for you.”

“So are you,” he said, and followed me out the front door. “Why didn't you just call Spitz yourself? You two are pretty close to being friends.”

“I thought the voice of authority might swing more weight. Let me know if you learn anything.”

“I might. What's keeping your nose stuck to this smelly affair?”

“Joe Begay is a friend of mine.”

He brought out his ancient Zippo and lit up.

“Friendship can be a complicated business,” he said between puffs. “A lot of murderers and their victims were friends. Sam Arbuckle might attest to that if he could talk.”

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