"I know that."
"You could have fired a little sooner."
"I hope you're not critiquing my performance."
"No, ma'am. Good shooting."
She asked me, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. How about you?"
"I'm just fine. Where's Tobin?"
"He's… not here."
She glanced down at Stevens again and asked me, "What's with him?"
"Just a scavenger."
"Did you find the treasure?"
"No, but Stevens did."
"Do you know where it is?"
"I was about to ask him."
"No, John, he was about to put a bullet in you."
"Thank you for saving my life."
"You owe me a small favor for that."
"Right. So, that's it-case closed," I said.
"Except for the treasure. And Tobin. Where is he?"
"Oh, he's around here somewhere."
"Is he armed? Is he dangerous?"
"No," I replied, "he has no guts."
We sheltered from the storm in a concrete bunker. We huddled for warmth, but we were so cold, neither of us slept. We talked into the night, rubbing each other's arms and legs to ward off hypothermia.
Beth bugged me about Tobin's whereabouts, and I gave her an edited version of the confrontation in the ammunition storage room, saying that I'd stabbed him and he was mortally wounded.
She said, "Shouldn't we get him medical attention?"
I replied, "Of course. First thing in the morning."
She didn't reply for a few seconds, then said, simply, "Good."
Before dawn, we made our way back to the beach.
The storm had passed and before the helicopter or boat patrols came out, we replaced the shear pin and took the Whaler out to the Chris-Craft. I pulled the self-bailing plug in the Whaler and let the small craft sink. Then we took Tobin's cabin cruiser to Greenport where we called Max. He met us at the dock and drove us to police headquarters where we showered and got into sweatsuits and warm socks. A local doc checked us over and suggested antibiotics and bacon and eggs, which sounded fine.
We had breakfast in Max's conference room and made a report to the chief. Max was amazed, incredulous, pissed-off, happy, envious, relieved, worried, and so forth. He kept saying, "Captain Kidd's treasure? Are you sure?"
During my second breakfast, Max inquired, "So, only Stevens knew the location of this treasure?"
I replied, "I think so."
He stared at me, then at Beth and said, "You wouldn't hold back on me, would you?"
I replied, "Of course I would. If we knew where twenty million bucks in gold and jewels were, you'd be the last to know, Max. But the fact is, the stuff is missing again." I added, "However, we know it exists and we know Stevens had it for a short period of time. So, maybe with some luck, the cops or the Feds can find it."
Beth added, "That treasure has caused so many deaths that I really think it's cursed."
Max shrugged and replied, "Cursed or not, I'd like to find it." He added, "For historical reasons."
"Absolutely."
Max seemed unable to take all of this in and process it, and he kept repeating questions to which he'd already gotten answers.
I said to him, "If this debriefing is becoming an interrogation, then I have to either call my lawyer or beat the shit out of you."
Max forced a smile and said, "Sorry… this is just mind-blowing…"
Beth said, "Thank us for doing a good job."
"Thank you for doing a good job." He said to me, "I'm glad I hired you."
"You fired me."
"Did I? Forget that." He asked me, "Did I understand you to say that Tobin was dead?"
"Well… not the last time I saw him… I mean, I guess I should have stressed that you need to get him some medical attention."
Max looked at me a moment, then inquired, "Where exactly is this underground room?"
I gave him directions as best I could, and Max quickly disappeared to make a phone call.
Beth and I looked at each other across the table in Max's conference room. I said to her, "You're going to make a fine detective."
"I am a fine detective."
"Yes, you are. How can I repay you for saving my life?"
"How about a thousand dollars?"
"Is that what my life is worth?"
"Okay, five hundred."
"How about dinner tonight?"
"John…" She looked at me and smiled sort of wistfully, then said, "John… I'm very fond of you, but… It's too… complicated… too… I mean with all these deaths… Emma…"
I nodded. "You're right."
The phone on the table rang, and I picked it up. I listened and said, "Okay… I'll tell her." I put the receiver down and said to Beth, "Your county limousine is here for you, madam."
She stood and went to the door, then turned back to me and said, "Call me in a month. Okay? Will you do that?"
"Yes, I will." But I knew I wouldn't.
Our eyes met, I winked, she winked back, I blew a kiss, she blew it back. Beth Penrose turned and left.
After a few minutes, Max returned and said to me, "I called Plum. Spoke to Kenneth Gibbs. Remember him? Stevens' assistant. The security guys already found their boss. Dead. Mr. Gibbs didn't seem all that upset or even too curious."
"Never look too hard at an unexpected promotion."
"Yeah. Also, I told him to look for Tobin in the underground ammo rooms. Right?"
"Right. Can't remember which one. It was dark."
"Yeah." He thought a moment, then said, "What a mess. What a ton of paperwork this is going to-" He looked around the room and asked, "Where's Beth?"
" County PD came and took her away."
"Oh… okay…" He informed me, "I just got an official-looking fax from the NYPD asking me to locate and watch you until they arrive about noon."
"Well, here I am."
"You gonna give me the slip?"
"No."
"Promise. Or I have to give you a room with bars."
"I promise."
"Okay."
"Get me a ride to my house. I need stuff."
"Okay."
He left and a uniformed officer, my old bud, Bob Johnson, stuck his head in the room and said, "Need a lift?"
"Yup."
I went with him and he drove me back to Uncle Harry's house. I got into nice duds that didn't say "Property of Southold Town PD" on them, and I got a beer and sat on the back porch, watching the sky clearing and the bay calming down.
The sky was that almost incandescent blue you get after a storm has blown out the pollutants and washed the air clean. This is what the sky must have looked like a hundred years ago, before diesel trains and trucks, cars and boats and oil furnaces and lawn mowers and chemicals and pesticides and who knew what the hell else was floating around.
The lawn was a mess because of the storm, but the house was okay, though the electric was still out and the beer was warm, which was bad, but the good news was that I couldn't play my answering machine.
I suppose I should have waited for the NYPD as I promised Max I would, but instead I called a taxi and went to the train station in Riverhead and took the train to Manhattan.
Back in my apartment on East Seventy-second Street after all these months, I noticed thirty-six messages on my answering machine, which was the maximum it would hold.
My cleaning lady had stacked the mail on the kitchen table and there was about ten pounds of the crap.
Amongst the bills and junk was my final divorce decree, which I stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet.
I was about to give up on the piles of unwanted mad when a plain white envelope caught my eye. It was hand-addressed, and the return address was that of the Gordons, though the postmark said Indiana.
I opened the envelope and took out three sheets of lined paper, each side of which was filled with neat script, written in blue ink. I read: