Part 12 (1/2)
Doris thought for a moment. Her studiedly bland expression had become a frown of concentration. ”Just a minute. I left something... cooking on the stove.”
Doris slammed the door and returned two minutes later. Before she could open her mouth, Rosco stepped up close to the entry. ”Do you mind if I come in and get a drink of water?” He coughed. ”I seem to have something stuck in my throat.”
”You have to go. I can't talk anymore.”
Rosco placed his hand on the door to prevent her closing it. ”It'll only take a second.” He rubbed his throat and coughed again. ”I don't know what it is... Must have been a piece of dust or something.”
”You have to leave.”
”Are you alone, Doris?”
”Please go.” She leaned her entire weight against the door. Although Rosco realized he could easily push past her, he opted not to. He had no legal right to make a forced entry. Instead, he stepped away, and heard Doris Quick slide the door's drop bolt in place. Then he left the small concrete stoop and walked to the back of the mobile home. All the drapes had been closed, making it impossible to observe the interior.
Rosco returned to the street, slid into his Jeep, and checked his watch. He didn't have time to wait and see who-besides Doris-exited the trailer; Lever was due at Mystic Isle Yachts at four, so Rosco eased the Jeep out of Duxbury Court, merged onto the interstate, and pulled into the marina parking lot at precisely three fifty-two.
The Orion Orion and and Dixie-Jack Dixie-Jack were berthed in the same locations Rosco had previously visited. The only difference was that both were now cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape ordering were berthed in the same locations Rosco had previously visited. The only difference was that both were now cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape ordering POLICE LINE POLICE LINE-DO NOT CROSS in bold black letters. Ripped yellow tail ends fluttered in the ocean breeze like kite tails, but those playful gestures only made the crime tape's presence more incongruous in an otherwise wholesome picture. Inboards, outboards, and sailboats, not under official scrutiny, bobbed gently along the piers. For yachting buffs, the view would have been tempting. Unfortunately, Rosco wasn't one of them. Even the rhythmic slap of halyard rope against yardarm made him feel vaguely queasy. in bold black letters. Ripped yellow tail ends fluttered in the ocean breeze like kite tails, but those playful gestures only made the crime tape's presence more incongruous in an otherwise wholesome picture. Inboards, outboards, and sailboats, not under official scrutiny, bobbed gently along the piers. For yachting buffs, the view would have been tempting. Unfortunately, Rosco wasn't one of them. Even the rhythmic slap of halyard rope against yardarm made him feel vaguely queasy.
There was no sign of Lever or his ”unmarked” car, so Rosco entered the marina office, where he found Colberg working on the Crier Crier's crossword puzzle. The boatyard owner seemed to be filling in answers with surprising ease.
He barely glanced at Rosco; his nod was even less perceptible. ”Polycrates,” he groaned in a tone that most people reserved for the discovery of poison ivy or a parking ticket.
”Lever still planning to stop by?” Rosco asked.
”Far as I know.” Colberg glanced up briefly, then resumed his efforts. It was obvious to Rosco their conversation wasn't going to have an easy flow.
He gestured toward the puzzle. ”Looks like you're pretty good at those things Eduardo.”
Colberg answered with a grunt, then added a dismissive: ”If you've been doing them as long as I have, it's second nature. Like filling out a tax form.”
”Right... Well, some folks have a little trouble in that area, too.”
Ed tapped the newspaper with the eraser end of his pencil. ”Seems this Graham babe's on a Shakespeare jag today. Macbeth Macbeth... Hamlet Hamlet...”
”You know a lot of Shakespeare, then?”
Colberg finally looked up. Cynical pride creased his face. ”h.e.l.l, I was English lit. in college. VP of the theater club, too. Big yuck, huh? Me... You try earning a living with a d.a.m.n degree like that. Course, that was before I took to the beaches.” He paused. ”Sales are where the action is my friend. Find something someone wants, dangle it in front of their nose, and sell it to 'em. Of course, in the yacht business it pays to know who has the bucks and who doesn't.”
”Like Tom Pepper?”
”Not a buyer... a looker. Don't let him fool ya.”
”I always thought the sign of a good salesman was being able to sell someone something they didn't didn't want.” Rosco said this with a smile, but his eyes remained watchful and hard. want.” Rosco said this with a smile, but his eyes remained watchful and hard.
”I got work to do, Polycrates. If you want the good lieutenant, why don't you wait out on the dock?”
Rosco responded with a cheery, ”6-Down: fifteen letters-PRACTICALLY DEAD... Good luck with the 'work,'” then stepped outside just in time to see Lever's brown Ford angle into the parking lot. The lieutenant lumbered out from behind the wheel and walked to the car's trunk, where his forensics expert, Abe Jones, joined him.
Jones looked like a young Harry Belafonte-a fact not lost on a stunningly large and ever-revolving list of lady friends. Sometimes Jones's cronies at NPD even referred to him by this pseudonym, although a hearty dose of envy accompanied the jest-especially among those men who were married. Jones accepted their gibes as compliments, which only intensified the macho banter.
He and Lever each hefted a large black case from the Ford and headed toward the Orion Orion. Rosco met them halfway.
”Why does it never surprise me to find you lurking in the underbrush, Polly-Crates?” Lever said as he extended a beefy paw to Rosco.
After they exchanged a handshake, Rosco said, ”I like to keep on top of things, Al. It's amazing how uncommunicative guys like Colberg become once the cops show up.” Rosco looked at Jones and added, ”How's it going, Abe?” The detective was one of the few who had never called Jones ”Belafonte.”
”I'm not complaining, Rosco.”
Lever muttered a resigned: ”Someone who looks like he just stepped out of GQ GQ better not complain.” better not complain.”
”Exercise, Al, that's all it takes.” Jones grinned.
”You've never exercised a day in your life, my friend.”
”Well, there's many different forms of exercise, Al. I work out nearly every evening. Hey, if you don't believe me, I'll give you a list of corroborating witnesses. Maybe their phone numbers, if you play your cards right.”
”Ho, ho, ho.”
They reached the Orion Orion and immediately switched into serious business mode. Jones placed his case on the dock and sat next to it, letting his feet dangle over the boat's charred gunwale. He remained silent for nearly two minutes while he studied the wreck. Finally he said, ”What a mess. So... what do we need to know, Al?” and immediately switched into serious business mode. Jones placed his case on the dock and sat next to it, letting his feet dangle over the boat's charred gunwale. He remained silent for nearly two minutes while he studied the wreck. Finally he said, ”What a mess. So... what do we need to know, Al?”
Lever pulled a pack of cigarettes from his s.h.i.+rt pocket and waved it over the Orion Orion as he searched for a match with his other hand. ”Let's start with what started the fire and what put it out...How and when the women exited... Did they make it to the inflatable? Or were they forced to jump overboard?” as he searched for a match with his other hand. ”Let's start with what started the fire and what put it out...How and when the women exited... Did they make it to the inflatable? Or were they forced to jump overboard?”
Jones laughed, shook his head, and said, ”Hey, that's simple enough.” He slid down onto the boat.
Lever found his matches and turned to Rosco while he lit up. ”Not much to do but watch.”
Rosco shrugged. ”... You never know.”
”By the way, I called L.A. It turns out Jamaica Nevisson's blood type was A positive.”
”One call? That easy?”
”Never let it be said that Al Lever is a man without friends.”
”A pos.... Same as I pulled off the fis.h.i.+ng boat.”
”Right. But we don't know if that was boy or girl blood, do we? Mrs. Pepper was O neg.”
”Yep,” Rosco said. ”I got that from Mr. Pepper.” He decided to move the dialogue forward at a brisker pace. ”I took a gander at the Dixie-Jack Dixie-Jack before you got here, Al. It's been scrubbed down... looks like a brand-new boat. You're going to be hard-pressed to find anything worthwhile on her.” before you got here, Al. It's been scrubbed down... looks like a brand-new boat. You're going to be hard-pressed to find anything worthwhile on her.”
Jones's voice interrupted them. ”Well, this is interesting,” he called from the Orion Orion's hulk. ”What'd you say put this fire out?”
Rosco looked in his direction. ”One of the guys who towed her in said a squall blew in. He figured the rain doused it.”
”That's not what I'd call a real accurate statement.”