Part 5 (1/2)
”Yes?” The accent was blue-collar Boston, the tone defensive and hostile.
”Good afternoon, ma'am.” Rosco tried for a rea.s.suring smile. ”I'm looking for Moe Quick. Do I have the right address?”
”Who wants him?”
Rosco pulled his identification from his jacket as he spoke. ”My name's Rosco Polycrates, ma'am. I'm a private investigator looking into the fire on that sailboat Sunday night... the one with those women aboard... I just wanted to ask Mr. Quick a few questions. Apparently, he towed the boat in... Are you his wife?”
”I don't know anything about no women.”
”Yes, ma'am... Are you his wife?”
”I-I shouldn't be answering questions like this.”
”No, ma'am, you're right. It's good policy to be careful with strangers. If I could talk to Mr. Quick...”
”He's not here.”
”I see. When do you expect him home?”
”Don't know.”
”You are his wife? Am I correct?”
”Yep.” The word came out like a short, barked Yip Yip.
”Well, Mrs. Quick-”
”Doris. Call me Doris, I don't like Missus. It makes me feel old.” She smiled suddenly, and the expression shed years from her face and stern demeanor. Rosco could almost see her as a twenty-year-old facing a hope-filled future.
”All right, Doris. Maybe you could tell me where your husband's place of work is-”
”Can't do that.”
”Why is that, ma'am?” Rosco could feel his reasonable manner deserting him.
”He works all over. That's why I never know when he'll be home. He doesn't like to check in...” Something troublesome momentarily weighted the words, but Doris dispensed with the emotion with a determined shake of her head.
Rosco's voice turned gentler. ”He works all over?”
”Yep. [Yip.] Him and Bob... They're truckers. Long distance.”
”Bob? Would that be Bob Stingo Stingo? The man your husband went fis.h.i.+ng with this past weekend?”
”Yep. And Vic. Vic Fogram... Owns the Red Admiral down near the docks... He went, too... Got some nice tuna.”
”I see. So, Mr. Stingo and your husband are off on a run, is that what you're telling me?”
”Yep. They're partners in the rig. Left this morning. St. Pete.”
”Florida? They're on a run to St. Petersburg?”
Doris took a small step backward. ”Look, mister, I don't think I should be talking anymore. I don't know nothin' about that boat business. Moe Quick's who you want to talk to, not me. I don't answer for him; he don't answer for me. We're one of them 'modern couples' you hear about.” She laughed briefly as if this term were a wry private joke, then started to close the door.
Rosco stopped her. ”Fine... that's fine, Doris, but how can I contact your husband?”
”You can't.” Again, the door edged shut.
Rosco gritted his teeth and tried again. ”When do you expect him... Doris?”
”No telling... four, five days... 'I expect him when I see him'-that's what they say.” Doris smiled at this second witticism, and again, her stony image was transformed. The metamorphosis was so rapid and so eerie that Rosco found himself wondering if there were more to this woman than the underprivileged, undereducated person she presented.
He retrieved a business card from his wallet. ”See that your husband gets this, Mrs. Quick.”
”When I see him... And I see him... And if if I remember,” she announced regally. ”And the name is I remember,” she announced regally. ”And the name is Doris Doris... as in Doris Day.” Then she slammed the door without another word.
Arriving at his office, Rosco called the Coast Guard. Their full search-and-rescue operation had resumed, but, as yet, they could supply no updated report on the missing women. Lieutenant Evans, the ”on-scene commander” in charge of the operation, was as abrupt with Rosco as his CPO had been with Tom Pepper; clearly, his level of frustration was also rising. ”We'll contact Pepper the moment we spot anything,” he said, and Rosco got the message. Don't call us; we'll call you Don't call us; we'll call you.
He hung up with a polite, ”Thank you, sir,” then checked his contact at the phone company, who informed him that Genie's cell phone had not been activated since the day of the dinner dance. Finally, Rosco punched in Tom Pepper's number, and brought him up to speed, summing up his report with an earnest: ”I know it's not much, Mr. Pepper, but until they locate that dinghy, you can't give up hope. Survivors have lasted weeks in open boats... As far as instigating a lawsuit against Mystic Isle Yachts, there may be possibilities of negligence, but it's too early to tell... We'll have to wait for forensics to issue a report on the cause of the fire...”
The monologue was received in total silence. At its conclusion, Rosco wondered if the line had gone dead, and said so. A strangled ”I'm still here,” was Pepper's pained reply, after which Rosco heard a heavy breath that meant the man was finally marshaling his forces. It was the sound of a person accustomed to fighting numerous battles.
Pepper began asking pointed, intelligent questions, and repeating the responses as if writing rapid notes on a legal pad. He requested the name and manufacturer of the inflatable tender, the type of outboard motor with which it was equipped, the fire-extinguis.h.i.+ng system aboard the Orion, Orion, and the maker of the vessel's propane stove. Some of these facts Rosco supplied; others he promised to deliver. and the maker of the vessel's propane stove. Some of these facts Rosco supplied; others he promised to deliver.
Pepper ended the conversation with a falsely robust: ”Keep up the good work, Rosco... Oh, and by the way, you were right about the press. It looks like World War Three is being a.s.sembled in my drive... steadi-cams, satellite trucks, the works; they sure do love a disaster... There are a lot of sick people out there in TV land.”
”Let me know if you need additional help,” Rosco said as the line went dead. Then he sat pondering the situation for several moody minutes. The deeper he delved into the case, the more complex it seemed to become. He couldn't help feeling as if he'd been handed a bucketful of eels. Stingo Stingo, he doodled on a pad, Quick, Fogram, Colberg, Dixie-Jack, blood... St. Pete Quick, Fogram, Colberg, Dixie-Jack, blood... St. Pete.
Then he grabbed the phone again, called star-1, and gave Belle an abbreviated version of the day's events. His recitation was finally broken by a gentle: ”You're doing everything you can, Rosco... If Genie and Jamaica are still alive, the Coast Guard will find them... We have to believe believe that...” Then she a.s.sumed a brighter mood. ”What are you doing now?” that...” Then she a.s.sumed a brighter mood. ”What are you doing now?”
Rosco recognized the question as an invitation to come to her home. It was one of the many things he liked about her: the ability to say one thing and mean something else.
”I can't, Belle, I've still got work to do.”
”Can't what?”
”Come over.”
”Who asked you to?”
He smiled into the phone. ”Never mind.”