Whistler's Angel (68 page)

Gently, Kate Geller put her hand on Adam’s gun and eased it down toward the floor. She said, “Molly’s right. There’s no point. Let it go. Let’s both get in out of the rain.”

THIRTY NINE

There was still a glow in the western sky when Harry Whistler’s plane prepared to land. While airborne, he’d been briefed on the afternoon’s events through a series of phone calls from Molly Farrell and another call from Paul Bannerman.

As his plane approached from five miles out to sea, his pilot had buzzed him to look out the starboard window. He said, “Down on the water. Two o’clock.”

Donald Beasley looked first. He said, “Rescue ships. Coast Guard.”

Harry saw them. And their lights. They were picking up debris…what debris they could find…from the aircraft that had plunged in hours earlier.

Donald asked, “Just two aboard?”

“Only Lockwood and the pilot from what I’ve been told. Almost everyone else has been accounted for.”

As Harry’s plane circled for its final approach, he peered down toward the southern end of the island where the house that he’d been told about had burned. He knew that the fire had only lately been extinguished, but he’d thought that he might see where it had been from the lights. There should have been police cars, their lights strobing around it, keeping the curious at bay. But he saw little.

“Too much tree cover down there,” said Donald. “We’ll take a look later if you want.”

Harry shrugged. “Look at what? There’s nothing there anymore.”

“Little prick was lucky.”

“Well, his luck has run out. He was warned. There won’t be another truce.”

The reference, of course, was to Felix Aubrey. First Harry had heard that Carla had finished him. Next he heard that she hadn’t, according to her, but that he’d probably died in the explosion. That wasn’t true either. The firemen had found Aubrey wandering dazed, in a stupor, with no ID on his person. The police had taken him to the emergency ward. Molly saw him after he was brought in.

Carla said that she’d thought about finishing Aubrey to save Harry Whistler the trouble. But her heart wasn’t in it.
The little toad
would not have known what was happening. His mind had apparently shut down.

Harry doubted that Aubrey had gone insane on more than a temporary basis. Deep shock, however, wasn’t hard to imagine. All that shooting. The fire. Carla ripping through the house in a fuel truck. And if those were not enough to numb the man’s senses, at the end he found himself face to face with the woman who’d cut him so badly before and, as then, she had a knife in her hand.

Carla says that isn’t it. She says for one thing, he never saw her face that other time. He seemed to have had no idea who she was. Even so, she must have looked like some creature from hell, all sooty and smoldering, walking out of the flames. Come to think of it, thought Harry, if creatures were to come up from hell, a fuel truck seemed a suitable conveyance.

The other one she’d cut had also survived. Lockwood’s partner, Briggs, was alive, but not by much. The first police car to arrive had found Mr. Briggs. He was trying to drag himself out of the garage while it was almost totally engulfed. Briggs would probably lose at least one of his legs. Carla again.
She’d shot to maim, not to kill. Briggs had no ID on him either.

Donald said, “You know, she really ought to rethink that. I mean her thing about being non-lethal for a change. I mean you got to remember she goes up against people who might have a different philosophical bent.”

Or maybe it was Dennis who said that, thought Harry. Philosophical bent?
That did sound more like Dennis. Either way, Harry found himself inclined to agree.

The only fatality, not counting Crow and Breen, seems to have been someone named Robert. Poole’s man. Carla wasn’t absolutely sure about that.
She says she never saw him when she plowed into the house, but Robert had been with them, no question. She says she and Claudia checked out every room, all except for under the wheels of the truck. If that’s where he was, and that seemed the way to bet, they probably won’t even find his teeth.

The other one, named Kaplan, had also confirmed who was in the house at the time. Kaplan had been grabbed by Billy McHugh. It seems that Billy had been posted to watch several streets by which any of the Aubrey crowd might escape from this beachside community they were in. He saw a man and a young woman come out pushing bikes. They were pushing them because the young woman’s bike was bent. He recognized Kaplan the moment he saw him because Billy had heard a detailed description of the way this Kaplan was dressed. Billy says he could hardly believe his own eyes. He says Kaplan might as well have been carrying a sign that said, “In case you didn’t notice, this is me.”

Billy says he recognized the girl, the kidnap victim, because they had a description of her as well. Blond hair, black pants, maroon blouse, one sleeve missing. But the girl wasn’t acting like a kidnap victim. Not only did she have every chance to get away; this Kaplan was trying to get rid of her. But she stayed with him; they crossed the main road, and they pushed their bikes to a big parking lot that had a sign saying “Beach Parking Only.”

The car they went to was a red Cadillac. It was an old El Dorado with fins. Billy heard Kaplan saying, “Now will you go away?” The girl said, “Arnie, you can’t use this car. Let’s catch a bus, go down to mine and I’ll drive you.” But it seems that driving a red Cadillac was not quite as dumb as Billy thought. It seems that Kaplan had another, less conspicuous car stashed and all he wanted to do was get to that one. And Kaplan had been trying to get rid of the girl so that he could strip down to less conspicuous clothing that he had been wearing underneath all this time.

To make a long story short, McHugh proceeded to detain him. McHugh paralyzed Kaplan with a punch to his kidney while telling the girl, “You’re okay now. Don’t scream.” She almost screamed anyway. Billy has that effect. She threw herself over Kaplan and said, “Don’t hurt him again. This man saved me.”

Billy wasn’t going to hurt him. At any rate, not yet. All Billy intended was to take him to the boat and hold him until he could be questioned. Billy told the girl that she could go, but she wouldn’t. She wanted to stick close to protect her protector. Billy drove them both to the boat.

“You know what that sounds like?” said Donald, “That syndrome.”

“Stockholm syndrome?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Well…you go have a talk with them. You sort it out. I’ll be busy with Adam and Kate.”

Harry’s Gulfstream jet was on its final approach. That approach took it past the hospital complex. At that point, the plane was at 400 feet. Harry saw that there were police cars and fire trucks still ringing the hospital building.
Olivia and her husband were still there, no doubt, although probably on a less smoky floor. Aubrey and Briggs were there as well, under guard. Molly and Kate had gone back to the boat to meet up with Adam and Claudia. Carla had gone there as well to take a shower and to borrow some of Claudia’s clothing.

He’d have thought that Molly would have been held after helping that lunatic burn himself up. But Adam and Claudia seemed to have some clout with a Deputy Sheriff named Moore. Moore had merely told her not to leave the island until she was told that she could go.

Speaking of bombs…Harry turned to Donald Beasley. “Molly says that boat’s clean now. Are we sure?”

“If John Waldo cleaned it, it’s clean.”

Donald pointed out the window as the Gulfstream touched down. “See that ambulance?” he asked. “That must be the one. Back door’s open. They found the co-pilot.”

Harry knew that. He knew that they’d found him alive. Another of Carla’s half-measures. On seeing the ambulance, on seeing this runway, he was able to envision a good deal more clearly what had seemed incomprehensible when Molly reported it. Not so much that Adam took out both that jet’s engines at a range of almost a mile and a half. That’s what an M-87 was for, but it’s still one hell of a shot. Adam, of course, had done things like that before. Well, not a jet maybe, but choppers, same range. What had been hardest to imagine was Claudia offering to let him rest that rifle on her shoulder. That and seeing with no scope, just her naked eye, that Adam had made two killing shots.

Boggles the mind. That sweet girl from the ski slope. Add to that what she did at that house, busting in there with Carla, no hesitation, after hearing things that Carla couldn’t hear. And of course that knife. The throw that saved Ragland’s life.

Donald had said, “A plain knife? Like what comes with forks and spoons?”

“That’s the story. You doubt it?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Donald. “That one, I’d have to see.”

“Well, I wouldn’t count on her giving demonstrations. But look into it and tell me what you think.”

The Gulfstream was down. It had taxied to a stop. Two rental cars were waiting near the terminal building. A man with a clipboard stood near them.

Donald asked, “Why two cars? We’re not all going to the boat?”

“You two get down there. Check in with Molly. I’m going to that restaurant

where the shooting took place. I need to have a private
talk
with Adam.”

“The place called Jump & Phil’s? Molly said it’s boarded up.”

“That’s what makes it a private
talk
, Donald.”

FORTY

The two owners, Jump and Phil, were there to let them in. They had long since been told that Leslie was safe and that they’d be seeing her shortly. Whistler introduced both men to his father. He introduced Jump by his true name, John Griffin, and Phil by his full name, Phil Henry.

Harry said to them, “I hear you’ve both been good friends.”

Jump said, “We try to please our valued customers.”

“Well, I very much appreciate what you didn’t say.”

“We don’t know what you mean. You guys hungry?”

“No, we’re fine.”

“You’re sure? We’re long on the Mustard Crusted Grouper. It was last night’s special until we had to close early.”

“No thanks. We’re fine. A couple of scotches?”

“Coming up,” said Phil. “Nothing else? You guys sure?”

“No, we just need to talk.”

“Try not to bust the place up.”

Harry and Adam took seats at the bar. Harry asked, “Is this where you were sitting?”

“Claudia was sitting where you are.”

“She was here; you were there. The shooter was where?”

“He came in that front door, walked straight through to that fireplace.”

“All that time he was moving?”

Whistler nodded. “Uh-huh.”