"You're a heartless little shit."
"Most people think I'm charming. Emma did. So did the Gordons. Now you answer my question. Do you know about the treasure?"
"Yes. Captain Kidd's treasure. Buried here on Plum Island. To be moved to another location and discovered there. Margaret Wiley, Peconic Historical Society, and so forth. You're not as clever as you think."
"Neither are you. You're mostly lucky." He added, "However, your luck has run out."
"Maybe. But I still have all my hair and my original teeth."
"You're really annoying me."
"And I'm taller than you are, and Emma said my dick is bigger than yours."
Mr. Tobin chose not to respond to my taunts. Obviously he needed to chat before he put a bullet in me.
I said, "Did you have an unhappy childhood? A domineering mother and a distant father? Did the kids call you sissy and make fun of your argyle socks? Tell me about it. I want to share your pain."
Mr. Tobin did not speak for what seemed like a really long time. I could see that the flashlight was trembling in his hand, and so was the pistol. There are two theories when a guy has the drop on you — one is to play meek and be cooperative. The other is to needle the guy with the gun, call him names, and get him riled up so he makes a mistake. The first theory is now standard police procedure. The second theory has been ruled dangerous and crazy. Obviously I prefer the second theory. I said, "Why are you shaking?"
Both his arms came up, the flashlight in his left hand, and the automatic in his right, and I realized he was taking aim. Uh, oh. Back to Theory One.
We stood looking at each other and I could see him trying to decide if he should pull the trigger. I was trying to decide if I should let out a bloodcurdling scream and go for him before he got the shot off.
Finally, he brought the pistol and the flashlight down. Tobin said, "I will not let you make me angry."
"Good for you."
He asked me again, "Where is Penrose?"
"She drowned."
"No, she didn't. Where is she?"
"Maybe she went to the main lab and called for reinforcements. Maybe you're through, Freddie. Maybe you should give me the gun, pal."
He mulled this over.
While he was mulling, I said, "By the way, I found the chest and bones and stuff in your basement under the wine boxes. I called the cops."
Tobin didn't reply. Any hope he had that his secrets might die with me were now finished. I expected a bullet any second, but Fredric Tobin, ever the deal maker, asked me, "Do you want to go half?"
I almost laughed. "Half? The Gordons thought they were going halves and look what you did to them."
"They got what they deserved."
"How so?"
"They had an attack of conscience. Unforgivable. They wanted to turn over the treasure to the government."
"Well, that's who it belongs to."
"It doesn't matter who it belongs to. It matters who can find it and keep it."
"The Golden Rule according to Fredric Tobin — whoever has the gold makes the rules."
He chuckled. Sometimes I pissed him off, sometimes I made him laugh. In the absence of another cop, I had to play both good cop and bad cop. It's enough to make a guy schizoid.
Tobin was saying, "The Gordons came to me and asked if I'd consider working out a deal with the government whereby we'd get a fair share of the treasure as a finder's fee, and the rest would go into new state-of-the-art lab equipment with some money left over for a Plum Island recreational facility, a day care center on the mainland for employees' children, some environmental cleanup on the island, and historical restoration and other worthwhile projects on Plum Island. We would be heroes, philanthropists, and legitimate." Tobin paused a second, then said, "I told them I thought it was a wonderful idea. Of course, at that point, they were as good as dead."
Poor Tom, poor Judy. They were completely out of their league when they made their pact with Fredric Tobin. I said, "So, the Fredric Tobin Toddler Town didn't appeal to you?"
"Not one bit."
"Oh, Freddie, you just act tough. I'll bet you have the heart of a young boy." I added, "I'll bet you keep it in a jar on your mantelpiece."
Again, he chuckled. Time to change his mood once more and keep him interested in the conversation. I said, "By the way, the storm destroyed your vineyards and your boathouse. I wrecked your wine cellar and also your apartment in Tobin Tower. I just wanted you to know that."
"Thank you for sharing that. You're not very diplomatic, are you?"
"Diplomacy is the art of saying nice doggy, until you can find a rock."
He laughed. "Well, you're out of rocks, Mr. Corey, and you know it."
"What do you want, Tobin?"
"I want to know where the treasure is."
This sort of surprised me, and I replied, "I thought it was here."
"So did I. It was here in August when the Gordons took me on a private archaeological tour of the island. It was right here in this room, buried under old ammunition crates. But it's not here any longer." He added, "There was a note."
"A note? Like a fuck-you note?"
"Yes. A fuck-you note from the Gordons saying they moved the treasure, and if they had met an untimely end, then the treasure's location would never be rediscovered."
"So, you fucked yourself. Good."
Tobin replied, "I can't believe they didn't share this secret with someone they trusted."
"They may have."
He said to me, "Someone like you. Is that how you knew this had nothing to do with germ warfare? Is that how you knew about Captain Kidd's treasure? Is that how you knew I was involved? Answer me, Corey."
"I figured everything out all by myself."
"Then you have no idea where the treasure is now?"
"Not a clue."
"Too bad."
The automatic came up again into the firing position.
"Well," I said, "I might have a small clue or two."
"I thought you might. Did they send you a posthumous letter?"
No, but I wish they had. I'said, "They gave me some hints that didn't make any sense to me, but they might to you."
"Such as?"
"Wel l… hey, how much do you think it's worth?"
"Worth to you? Or worth all together?"
"All together. I just want ten percent if I help you find it."
He shone the flashlight on my chest, just below my chin, and he regarded me awhile. He asked me, "Are you playing games with me, Mr. Corey?"
"Not me."
Tobin stayed silent awhile, torn between his burning desire to plug me right then and there, and his faint hope that I might actually know something about what happened to the treasure. He was grasping at straws, and he knew it on the one hand, but he couldn't come to terms with the fact that the whole scheme had come apart, that he was not only broke and wiped out, but that the treasure was missing, years of work were down the tube, and he stood a very good chance of being tried for murder, convicted, and deep-fried.
Finally, Tobin said, "It was incredible, really. Not only were there gold coins but also jewels… jewels from the Great Mogul of India… rubies and sapphires and pearls set in the most exquisite gold settings… and bags and bags of other precious stones… There must have been ten or twenty million dollars' worth of jewels… maybe more…" He made a small sighing sound and said to me, "I think you know all of this. I think the Gordons either took you into their confidence, or left you a letter."
I really wish they'd done one or the other, preferably the former. However, they'd done neither, though maybe they'd intended to. But as I suspected, the Gordons had apparently given Tobin the impression that John Corey, NYPD, knew a little something; and that was supposed to keep them alive, but it hadn't. It was keeping me alive at the moment, but not for many more moments. I said to Tobin, "You knew who I was when I came to see you at the vineyard."
"Of course I did. Did you think you're the only clever man in the world?"
"I know I'm the only clever man in this room."