Joe started to nod, then shook his head. “Is there somewhere around here that someone could get his hands on scuba equipment or underwater apparatus?”
Julian frowned. “Around here?”
“Maybe on the road from New Orleans to the house I rented. It would have to be fairly close to the house.” Catherine and Gallo had been followed to the house, then Jacobs’s murderer would have had to backtrack a relatively short distance to pick up that wet suit and equipment and get back in time to commit the murder. “Fifteen or twenty minutes?”
Julian shook his head. “No scuba-rental places. No call for it around here.” He grinned. “No one wants to go into the swamps and swim with the alligators. The tourists want to see them, not play with them.”
“I can understand that,” Joe said. “Okay, no rental places. What about a place that would need that kind of equipment for maintenance of their facility? Is there a fishing sanctuary or a pelican—”
Julian snapped his fingers. “An alligator farm. There’s an alligator tourist attraction about fifteen miles back. I guess they’d have to use that kind of scuba stuff every now and then. Is that what you’re looking for?”
“It could be,” Joe said. “Can we go there and ask some questions?”
“Sure. Should I send the team back to the city?”
“No, have them come with us.” He wasn’t optimistic about the chance of getting evidence from the truck, but it might be a different matter at the alligator farm. The bastard would have been in a hurry if he was trying to steal equipment and get back to the house. He was beginning to feel a tingle of hope as he turned toward the sheriff’s car. “What’s the name of this place?”
“Bubba’s Alligator Farm.”
“Bubba?”
Julian shrugged. “The tourists probably like it. They’re always looking for flavor. We give it to them.” He got into the driver’s seat. “You guys in Atlanta give them plantations and ladies with hoop skirts. We give them Bubba’s alligators. But only from a decent distance.…”
* * *
THE SIGN ABOVE THE WOODEN arch of the gates around the huge dirty brown pond was inscribed with bold, red letters.
BUBBA’S ALLIGATOR FARM
BRING THE KIDS
COME FEED THE PREHISTORIC MONSTERS
“You can’t say that Bubba isn’t appealing to the basest instincts,” Joe murmured, as they drove under the arch. “And he should be a little clearer. Does he want to bring the kids to feed the alligators?”
“Good point. But you’re not being fair,” Detective Julian said. “Alligators are throwbacks to prehistoric times. Maybe he’s trying to educate the kids.”
“Yeah, sure.” Joe was glancing around the grounds. All of the alligators appeared to be clustered at the far end of the brown-green pond. Other than a long pier jutting out over the pond, Bubba’s farm appeared to consist of three refreshment stands, a gift shop, and a butcher shop sporting the sign with a beefsteak. Fresh alligator meat. “And would you let your kids go out on that pier and throw beefsteaks to the alligators?”
“I don’t have any kids.” He looked at the pier, which had only a slender cord on one side. “Nah, not a good idea. Maybe we’d better have a talk with Bubba.”
“After we talk to him about the scuba equipment. Where the hell is he? The place is deserted.”
“What are you cops doing here?” A truck had been driven through the gates behind them, and a bald man had stuck his head out the window. “I’ve got a license. You’ve got nothing on me. Has the Department of Environmental Quality been complaining? I treat my gators good.”
“No one’s been complaining,” Julian said. “Though I’m beginning to wonder why not. Are you the proprietor of this business?”
“I’m Bubba Grant.” The bald man got out of the truck. “Yeah, I own the farm. I’m just trying to make a living like everyone else. A man tries to get ahead, and all of a sudden the cops are down on him.”
“I’m Detective Julian. This is Detective Quinn. We have a few questions to ask you.”
“I treat my gators good. They’re better off than they would be in the swamp.”
“Do you use any underwater scuba equipment?” Joe asked.
“Are you crazy? I don’t let anyone in the water with the gators. Do you know what that would do to my insurance?”
“Do you have any underwater equipment you use for maintenance? What about when you have an injured alligator or you need to remove harmful debris from your pond?”
“Naturally, I keep my gators safe.”
“So you do have underwater equipment.”
“A suit, a speargun and some spears.” He added quickly, “But I’d never use them on the gators if I could help it. Only self-defense. Maybe to save a kid who fell off the pier in the water or something like that.”
“I’m impressed by your humanity,” Joe said ironically. “May I see the equipment?”
“Sure. It’s in the storeroom behind the gift shop. I’ve got nothing to hide.” He moved toward the shops. “Is this some new rule the DEQ has come up with? Do you want to talk to any of my people? You’ll have to wait for a couple hours. We don’t open until noon, and no one shows up until the last minute. You can’t get good help these days.”
“Why noon?” Julian asked.
“The gators have got to be hungry, or they don’t put on a good show. They won’t come near the pier. People like a little thrill, you know?” They had reached the gift shop, and he pulled out his key, then stopped. “What the hell?”
The jamb of the door was splintered, and the door was slightly ajar.
Bubba was cursing as he pushed the door open. “I’ve been robbed!” He ran to the cash register and checked it. “The son of a bitches thought I’d leave money in here? I’m no dope.” He glanced around the shop and frowned. “I don’t see anything missing.”
“The underwater equipment,” Joe prodded.
“Oh, yeah.” Bubba ran to a door and threw it open. “It’s gone. Who told you that I’d been robbed? Have you got the stuff? Do I have to identify it?”
“Not until we find it.” Joe was kneeling on the floor, examining a stain. “Get the forensic team in here, Julian.”
“Blood?” Julian nodded as he checked out the stain. “Our man could have done it on one of the spears.”
“If it’s his blood.” Joe glanced around the room. “Overturned stool a few yards away. Could have been a struggle.” He turned to Bubba. “You said no employees were on the premises last night or early this morning?”
“I didn’t say that. I said no one was here now. Gil Weber is caretaker and leaves about eight in the morning.” He was looking at the blood. “Gil’s an ex-Marine. I wouldn’t have hired him to guard the place if he couldn’t take care of himself.” Bubba took out his phone. “I’ll call and see if he saw anything.” He hung up a few minutes later. “No answer. But maybe he’s asleep. He works all night. That blood can’t be his. If he was hurt, there would be a trail of it, wouldn’t there? Just a couple drops, then he’s gone?”
“Maybe.” Joe turned and left the shop. He stood there and stared thoughtfully out at the muddy pond. He glanced at Bubba, who had scurried after him. “Tell me, is it common for your prehistoric friends to cluster all together like that?”
“No, they generally like their own space. They have to have a reason. Why are you—” Bubba’s eyes widened in his suddenly pale face. “Oh, shit.”
* * *
“JOE’S BACK.” EVE LAID DOWN her pencil and went to the window to watch Joe get out of the sheriff’s car and bend forward to talk to the dark-haired young man in the driver’s seat. “It’s been a couple hours. I thought that he’d be here sooner.”
“He might as well have been here,” Catherine said ruefully. “We haven’t gotten far in this sketch.”
“We’ve determined shape of the face and the nose,” Eve said. “That’s important. That scuba hood is messing things up. It’s very tight and completely hides the hair. Even the hairline would be helpful. Whether it’s receding or full. He could even have a widow’s peak. You couldn’t tell anything about that part of his face.”
“I thought I’d be more helpful,” Catherine said with frustration.
“You will be,” Eve said. “You’re distracted. You want it too much.”