"That's criminal!" Hammer said in disgust as she vaguely recalled being interviewed for the superintendent's position, and Trader's offering her a silver bowl of chocolate-covered peanuts, which she refused because she didn't eat sweets or anything else fattening.
"Oh, there's more," Andy ominously said. "I've been doing some pretty thorough checking on Trader. For starters, his mother's maiden name was Bonny."
"I don't see the significance."
"You're about to." Andy met her eyes as the sun began to go down and shoppers hurried to and from their cars, oblivious to the very important conversation that was taking place in their midst. "The Bonnys are originally from Tangier Island. Trader's mother married a waterman named Trader and Major Trader was born on the island on August the eleventh in 1951. He was delivered by a midwife, who apparently had a very difficult time with the birth because he came out feet first, which sort of seems appropriate since he inverts the truth and upends everything moral and decent."
"So you're suggesting that initiating VASCAR on Tangier Island was a deliberate set-up on Trader's part," Hammer supposed.
"Oh, yes. And one thing is certain, Trader knows the Islanders, all right, and probably still knows people on
that island. Yet he's made no effort whatsoever to intervene for at least one very good reason."
"Which is?"
"The Bonny family is descended from pirates," Andy replied. "And I'm afraid I have more bad news," he added, and then he told her about the trash bag and envelope left at his house last night.
Hammer listened to the entire story without interrupting once, which was most unusual for her. But she was clearly shocked and concerned.
"According to some of the e-mail tips Trooper Truth's been getting," Andy went on, "Trish Thrash went by the initials T.T., and of late people had been teasing her about being Trooper Truth. Because of the initials, I'm saying. And she was getting a big kick out of it and often commented that she wished she was Trooper Truth because she wanted to be a journalist but ended up a data entry clerk for the state."
He fell silent, deeply saddened by the thought of the poor woman never realizing her dream and then wishing she were Trooper Truth, and now she was dead.
"So do you think she met the killer and talked to him?" Hammer supposed. "Maybe she told him the same quirky anecdote about people teasing her about Trooper Truth and that she wished she was Trooper Truth, and she then trusted this stranger enough to go off with him somewhere?"
"That's exactly what I think, but I'm hesitating on the gender issue. Other tips I've gotten indicated T.T. wasn't likely to go off with a man and certainly wouldn't let one pick her up unless it was at work, where she lived a lie because she feared repercussions from her bigoted boss. So her M.O. was to dress rather tough and hang out in bars on nights and weekends, looking for same-sex company. She apparently called a friend the night of her death and said she was going to Tobacco Company, which is a very nice place and not the sort of hangout where you'd expect whacko people. So I'm assuming whoever T.T. met, it wasn't anyone people would notice or not trust. Not that I'm saying she met anyone in Tobacco Company. We don't know where she met her killer, not yet. I-through Trooper Truth-have been forwarding all this information to Detective Slipper, by the way. So hopefully he's following up on it."
"But what none of this begins to explain is why the killer left evidence at your house, Andy," Hammer said, her face tense with fear. "I'm worried about your safety, for God's sake! This is a vicious psychopath and now he's stalking you!"
"Frankly," Andy said, "I'm not convinced that the killer is a man or is working alone. Let me remind you that Moses Custer was also cut with a razorlike weapon."
"A woman highway pirate who is committing hate crimes?" Hammer asked dubiously.
"It's such a ridiculous misnomer for people to assume that women aren't violent and capable of the same awful things men do," Andy replied. "Hate is hate. And I think it might be a good plan for me to address that in Trooper Truth soon."
Cat was unfolding his own plan while this steamy conversation was going on miles away on the other side of the James River. The road dog had borrowed the
Land Cruiser, which this minute was parked at the state police hangar, inconspicuously tucked between two other civilian cars. After hours of waiting, Cat was finally rewarded when Macovich appeared in the sky and landed the 430 that he had just flown to Tangier Island to pick up fresh seafood.
Macovich had to admit that those Tangierians were the strangest people on earth. Although they had declared war on Virginia and were flying a flag with a crab on it, the instant they realized Macovich had shown up for the single-minded purpose of buying something, they took down the crab flag and hoisted the Virginia flag. Then they doubled the price for the governor's dinner.
"I don't guess you know anything about that dentist you got hid somewhere on this island." Macovich had at least made an attempt to investigate the kidnapping while the lady at the cash register gave him change in pennies.
"The dentist? I haven't seen him of lately," the woman replied. Macovich didn't believe her and couldn't help but notice that she had the worst crowns he had ever seen.
"He cap your teeth?" Macovich asked.
"Yass." The Tangier woman, whose name was Mattie Dize, flashed Macovich a snow-white, chalky smile as he pocketed ninety-two pennies.
"Wooo," Macovich replied, shaking his head. "Glad he ain't my dentist. Now, listen here. I think it would be smart if you folks out here calmed down and let that dentist go on home to his family. What good is it doing to be hiding him somewhere? The rest of Virginia don't I want no trouble with you Tangierians."
Mattie's eyes narrowed and she sucked in her bottom lip as she smacked the cash drawer shut.
"The gov'ner don't want no hassle with you folks, either," Macovich continued as blue crabs clattered and a trout flopped in the bottom of the white plastic bucket. "I mean, I could just start breaking down doors until I found the dentist and then lock up every last one of you, but I'm being nice about it. And 'sides, I need to get this seafood on back to the gov'ner before it dies 'cause the First Lady don't like dead fresh seafood."
Macovich had at least tried to mediate, he thought as he shut down the helicopter back at the hangar and noticed a hard-looking youth who was dressed like a member of a NASCAR pit crew and talking on a cell phone.
"He's here," Cat was telling Smoke.
"Who is? It'd better be good, you waking me up in the middle of the afternoon."
"That big black mother cop. He just landed in the chopper."
"No shit?" Smoke was instantly alert. "Well, just get your ass over there and take that lesson, and why isn't Possum there instead of you?"
"He working on something in his room," Cat said.
"I'm going to kick his ass," Smoke groggily said as he rolled over and went back to sleep.
Cat casually strutted toward the helicopter Macovich was refueling with a big hose attached to an Exxon truck with JET-A in large letters on it. Cat buttoned up his NASCAR windbreaker and pulled a NASCAR cap low over his eyes, grateful he had gone to every race at the Richmond International Raceway and had already been well supplied with NASCAR memorabilia-such as clothing, cigarette lighters, posters, mugs, pens, and air fresheners for the rearview mirror-long before he knew these items might be important to his work.
Macovich watched the NASCAR man walking toward him and got excited. What he wouldn't give to be part of a NASCAR pit crew! This guy looked like the right stuff: swaggering, rough, strong but small enough to fit inside a stock car. He was smoking a Winston and wearing dark glasses and probably had a beautiful sexy blonde waiting for him at home.
"I'm here on orders of my driver, whose name you still can't know," Cat said, flipping open a colorful lighter with Winston Cup and Jeff Burton's signature on it. "Let's get started."