Part 17 (1/2)
Under a ”Geraldo”-type mustache, Flack's mouth was a pulpy red, and he had a long blue-black bruise on his right cheek. He hadn't shaved for three or four days, and his body gave off the rank odor of nerves and cunning. Lever's a.s.sessment was correct; the man would be a tough nut to crack; he'd been around.
Rosco continued to stare; he kept his arms folded across his chest.
After several minutes Flack decided to speak; his missing teeth produced a pained and irritable lisp. ”What is this? The old 'good cop, bad cop' routine? You guys watch a lot of TV in this burg, do you?” He stressed ”TV” as if any yokels not residing in L.A. existed solely through stories fed them by the entertainment industry.
”I'm no cop,” Rosco said. ”I work for the man whose house you broke into.”
”I didn't break into anyone's house, dude.”
Rosco smiled evenly. ”The police cuffed you in his kitchen, from what I hear.”
”Pepper and some two-bit Brit thug dragged me there... 'Blimey, matey, look what we have 'ere... a bloomin' 'orse thief-'”
”That's your story, Flack; I've got two policemen upstairs who maintain they found you in Pepper's kitchen... But, hey, the facts will come out in court, right? No point in our wasting time determining whose human rights might have been violated.”
Flack looked up; he seemed to take Rosco's measure. ”What's this about? I don't have to talk to you.”
”That's your decision-Mr. Flack. But let me present my employer's view on this matter. If he drops charges, you're out of here in an hour. If he presses them... you're going to jail. Probably only for a year, but you will do time, and it'll be hard time. This is Ma.s.sachusetts, not California. I'm sure you're smart enough to realize that Mr. Pepper is a powerful man in this 'burg'...”
Flack's head drooped again; he stared at the stained floor. After a beat he muttered, ”Where's The Hollywood Globe The Hollywood Globe attorney? I don't have to speak without legal counsel present.” attorney? I don't have to speak without legal counsel present.”
”Good for you, Flack. So, you know your way around a station house, and Miranda Miranda v. v. Arizona Arizona? It doesn't surprise me. However, I don't operate under police guidelines. I'm just a messenger-here at Mr. Pepper's behest. The questions I'm asking are his. And he'd like them answered in a timely manner. In an hour or two he may not feel so lenient. Your bail's been set for a quarter of a million dollars-kinda high for a crime of this type, wouldn't you say?”
Flack ran his fingers through his limp and greasy hair, then wiped his palms on his trousers. ”What does he want to know?”
”First off: your obsession with Jamaica Nevisson.”
Flack's wiry chest produced a snort of contempt. ”Those pictures have paid my rent as long as I can remember, dude. Let me tell you something, PR's a two-way street. Jamaica Nevisson needed me as much as I needed her. I wouldn't expect some bozo hick to understand the PR biz, but it was Jamaica's people-her agent, manager, press wrangler, et cetera-who put me onto her in the beginning. Her career would have gone nowhere without coverage in The Globe The Globe-or lack thereof.” The statement was followed by a smug laugh.
”Since you raise the issue of privacy, do you mind describing how you got those nudies of her on Catalina Island?”
Flack chortled again, shaking his head in amazement as if he were dealing with a five-year-old. ”Her 'mysterious male companion' set up the photo op. See, he's a newbie trying to jump-start his career. Just like everybody else on the Coast... So he supplies all the details of the trip, and I follow them out to the island... Buff young guy posing on muscle beach... Now he's hot, and Jamaica's not. C'est la guerre, C'est la guerre, dude, as the Frenchies say.” dude, as the Frenchies say.”
”And you followed them out to Catalina on a boat?”
”No, dude, I swam... I've always had this thing for sharks.” Flack stared at the ceiling; sarcasm curled his thickened lips. ”Welcome to Hicksville, Reggie,” he muttered, then reclined on the bunk as if finished with the interview.
Rosco ignored the performance. ”I a.s.sume this frenzy over Jamaica's disappearance has also benefited your career, Mr. Flack... Do you mind telling me when you arrived in Newcastle?”
The photographer lifted his head and squinted at Rosco. For the first time he seemed worried about his answer. ”Last week, why?”
”I can always check with the airlines, but I was hoping you'd cooperate and supply something more specific-such as what day and hour? Was it before or after the Orion Orion blaze?” blaze?”
Again Flack turned evasive. ”Come on, dude, what difference does that make?”
”As I said, it's easy enough to check with the airlines...” Rosco stood as if to leave. ”Mr. Pepper doesn't like leaving loose ends-especially when it involves finding his wife-”
”Hold on.” Flack swung off the cot and hurried across to the cell's bars. ”I arrived last Sat.u.r.day night-nine, ten o'clock... As soon as I heard Jamaica had lit out of L.A., I booked a flight.”
”Who told you she'd 'lit out'?”
”Sources, dude, sources...” Flack started to sneer, then reconsidered the remark. His tone and body language grew wary. ”Okay... the same guy she sailed to Catalina with. It's worth his while to keep her name in the papers.”
”So you were here Sunday... You could have followed the Orion Orion into Buzzards Bay.” into Buzzards Bay.”
”Hey, hey... back up there... What are you saying? That I torched the boat?”
”Who said it was torched?”
Flack forced an unsteady laugh. ”Torched... accident... who cares? Listen, if I'd been there when those babes bit it, I would have gotten photographs of the whole d.a.m.n shooting match.”
”Who's to say you don't have them already?” Rosco stood for a moment, regarding Flack while the photographer mimicked unconcern. ”Do you know what W. R. Hearst wired to his ill.u.s.trator Frederic Remington after sending him to Cuba in 1898?”
Flack shrugged. ”That's what you cowboys talk about around here? Ancient history? Sorry, dude, that was a little before my time.”
”'You furnish the pictures; I'll furnish the war.' Some folks will stoop pretty low to sell a few newspapers... Or jump-start a career.”
The photographer opened his mouth to speak, but Rosco cut him off. ”Don't waste brain cells on a response, 'dude.' Like you said, before your time... And possibly beyond your ac.u.men.”
Then he turned and walked to the corridor. In the greenish glare from a line of fluorescent overheads, he saw Abe Jones leaving the forensics lab, a dark brown file folder in his left hand. Rosco trotted to catch up. ”It looks like NPD has everyone working today.”
Abe let out an elongated groan. ”Overworked, is more like it... What happened to your eye?”
”Cut myself shaving... Did you get the DNA tests on the blood samples I turned in?”
”They won't be ready till Tuesday.” Jones tapped the file folder. ”I'm finished with the rest of it though-taking the results to Al now.”
”Any surprises?”
Jones thought for a minute. ”The fire was started by the two oil lamps-as I'd figured during my initial examination. Fingerprints were scarce. The few I lifted belonged to the women or to Colberg, but I also found a couple that didn't match. They've been sent to the FBI for a.n.a.lysis... I'll stay with my original theory that the propane tank blew and knocked out most of the existing fire. But someone definitely appeared at the scene later and finished the job with CO2 extinguishers.” extinguishers.”
”Fogram, the guy who leased the Dixie-Jack, Dixie-Jack, admitted he and his buddies doused it,” Rosco said, then added a slow, ”So, that's it, huh?” admitted he and his buddies doused it,” Rosco said, then added a slow, ”So, that's it, huh?”
”Not completely, no. The most intriguing data isn't from the Orion Orion or the or the Dixie-Jack Dixie-Jack. It's from the inflatable.”
”Oh?”
”First: the remaining portion of the Orion Orion's towline had been singed, but cut clean-not untied. The rope ending that was still attached to the inflatable isn't singed, although the sever marks cleanly match those on board. I'd say the women escaped in the dinghy rather than jumping overboard. The fact that it was cut points to a hasty escape, probably panic; even experienced sailors can run afoul of a well-tied knot-especially in the dark with an escalating blaze. Next: Colberg maintains the outboard was ga.s.sed up when the yacht departed. When we retrieved the inflatable, the tank was almost empty, indicating that it had been run for almost two hours.”
Rosco mulled over the information. ”The women could have reached any sh.o.r.eline in the bay in two hours: Woods Hole, West Falmouth, even back to West Island...”
”In all probability, yes. But here's the real kicker, Rosco... The inflatable had no salt water in it.”
”What're you getting at?”
”I'm not talking about deposits in and around the seats; of course there were traces of salt there... I'm talking about the bladder itself. If the dinghy had been punctured in Buzzards Bay and rendered unseaworthy, salt water would have seeped into the air pocket-and I would have found it.”