"What about me?"
"Your friends are worried about you."
"They damn well better be worried about themselves if they're talking about me behind my back."
"Why don't you cut the tough-guy stuff?"
"Change the subject."
"Fine." She stood and went to the railing and watched the bay, which was starting to swell and form whitecaps. She said, "Hurricane coming. May miss us." She turned to me and asked, "So, where is the treasure?"
"That's a very good question." I stood also and looked out at the rolling water. There wasn't a boat in sight, of course, and debris was starting to blow across the lawn. Whenever the wind dropped for a few seconds, I could hear the water slapping against the stony shore.
Beth asked me, "And where is our hard evidence?"
Still staring at the weather, I replied, "The answer to both of those questions may be in Mr. Tobin's home, office, or apartment."
She thought a moment, then said, "I'll present the facts as I know them to an ADA and request that the DA's office apply for a search warrant."
"Good idea. If you can get a search warrant without probable cause, you're a lot smarter than I am." I added, "A judge would be a little skittish about issuing a search warrant on the homes and business of a prominent citizen with no previous problems with the law. You know that." I studied her face as she thought this over. I said, "That's what's so great about America. You don't have the police and the government crawling up your butt without due process. And if you're rich, you get even more due process than the average Joe."
She didn't reply to that, but asked me, "What do you think we… I should do next?"
"Whatever you want. I'm off the case." The swells were turning into breaking waves now, unusual for this part of the bay. I recalled what Emma said about watching the water as a storm approached.
Beth said to me, "I know I can… well, I think I can nail this guy if he did it."
"That's good."
"You're sure it was him?"
"I'm sure."
"And Paul Stevens?"
I replied, "He's still'the joker in the deck. He may be Tobin's accomplice to murder, or Tobin's blackmailer, or a jackal waiting to pounce on the treasure, or he may be nothing more than a guy who always looks suspicious and guilty of something."
"We should talk to him."
"I did."
She raised her eyebrows. "When?"
I explained my unannounced visit to Mr. Stevens' Connecticut home, leaving out the part where I decked him. I concluded, "At the very least, he's guilty of lying to us and conspiring with Nash and Foster."
She mulled that over and added, "Or he may be more deeply involved." She said, "Well… maybe we can catch a forensic break at the two new murder scenes. That would be a clincher."
"Right. Meanwhile, Tobin will know what's going on around him, and he's got half the local politicians in his pocket, and probably has friends in the Southold PD."
"We'll keep Max out of this."
"Do what you have to do. Just don't spook Tobin because if he gets on to you, whatever evidence exists that's under his control is going to disappear."
"Like the treasure?"
"Right. Or the murder weapon. Actually, if I'd killed two people with my registered pistol and all of a sudden the cops were in my office, I'd ditch that thing in mid-Atlantic and claim it was lost or stolen." I added, "You should announce that you found one of the slugs. That will spook him if he still has the pistol. Then keep a tail on him and see if he tries to ditch the gun if he hasn't already."
She nodded and looked at me. She said, "I'd like you to work this case with me. Will you do that?"
I took her arm and led her inside to the kitchen. I took the phone off the hook and said, "Call his office, and see if he's there."
She dialed information, got the number of Tobin Vintners, and dialed. She said, "Mr. Tobin, please." She waited and looked at me. She asked, "What should I say to him?"
"Just thank him for a wonderful party."
Beth spoke into the phone. "Yes, this is Detective Penrose of the Suffolk County Police Department. I'd like to speak to Mr. Tobin."
She listened, then said, "Just tell him I called to thank him for a wonderful evening." She listened again, then asked, "Is there any way to reach him?" She glanced at me, then said into the phone, "Okay. Yes, that's a good idea." She hung up and said to me, "He's not in, not expected, and she doesn't know where to reach him. Also, they're about to close the winery because of the weather."
"Okay. Call his house."
She took her notebook out of her bag, found Tobin's unlisted number, and dialed. She said to me, "Am I calling his home to thank him for a wonderful evening?"
"You lost your grandmother's gold locket on his lawn."
"Right." She said into the phone, "Is Mr. Tobin in?" She listened, then asked, "Is Ms. Wells in then?" She listened again, then said, "Thank you. I'll call again… no, no message… no, don't be frightened. You should go to a designated emergency shelter… Well, then call the police or fire department, and they'll come and get you. Okay? Do that now." Beth hung up. "The housekeeper. Eastern European lady. Doesn't like hurricanes."
"I'm not too keen on them either. Where is Mr. Tobin?"
"He's absent without explanation. Ms. Wells has gone to Manhattan until the storm blows over." Beth looked at me. "Where is he?"
"I don't know. But we know where he's not."
She said, "By the way, you should get out of this house. All waterfront residents have been advised to evacuate."
"Weather people are professional alarmists."
And with that, the lights flickered.
Beth said, "Sometimes they're right."
"I have to head back to Manhattan sometime today anyway. I have appointments tomorrow morning with those who will decide my fate."
"Then you'd better leave now. This is not going to get any better."
While I contemplated my options, the wind took a chair off my porch and the lights flickered again. I remembered I was supposed to call Jack Rosen at the Daily News, but I'd already missed the deadline for his column. Anyway, I didn't think the wounded hero cop was going to make it home today or tomorrow. I said to Beth, "Let's take a ride."
"Where?"
"To find Fredric Tobin — so we can thank him for a wonderful evening."
CHAPTER 31
The rain was heavy and the wind sounded like a freight train.
I found two yellow ponchos in the coat closet and retrieved my.38, which I wore in my shoulder holster. The next thing to do was to get out of the driveway, which was covered with limbs and debris. I started the Jeep, threw it into gear, and ran over the fallen branches. I said to Beth, "Fourteen-inch clearance, four-wheel drive."
"Does it float?"
"We may find out."
I drove through the narrow lanes of my waterfront section of Mattituck, over more fallen limbs and past sailing trash can lids, then I found the road blocked by a toppled tree. I said, "I haven't been out in the country during a hurricane since I was a kid."
Beth informed me, "This isn't the hurricane, John." drove up on someone's lawn, around the huge fallen tree, and observed, "Looks like a hurricane to me."
"It has to reach wind speeds of sixty-five knots to be a hurricane. Now it's a tropical storm."
She turned on the radio to an all-news channel and, as expected, the top story was Jasper. The news guy said, "… tracking north-northeast, with wind speeds of up to sixty knots, which is about seventy miles an hour for you landlubbers. Its forward speed is about fifteen miles an hour, and if it continues on its present course, it will make landfall somewhere on the south shore of Long Island at about eight p.m. tonight. There are small craft warnings posted for the ocean and the Sound. Travelers are advised to stay at home and — " I shut off the radio. "Alarmist."
Beth said, "My house is pretty far inland, if you want to stop by later. From there, it's less than two hours by car or train to Manhattan, and you could leave after the worst of the storm has passed."