"Further inquiries by my attorney turn up the fact that you are no longer employed by Chief Maxwell as a consultant in this case, and that, in fact, you were not employed by the township when you spoke to me."
"Well, now, that's a debatable point."
"Debatable or not, you have no official status here any longer."
"Right. And since I'm not the police any longer, you can speak to me. That works."
Fredric Tobin ignored this and said, "My attorney promised to cooperate with the town police, until he discovered that Chief Maxwell doesn't need or want his or my cooperation. Chief Maxwell is annoyed that you came and questioned me. You have embarrassed me and him." Mr. Tobin added, "I am a generous contributor to key politicians here, and I've been very generous with time and money to renovate historic homes, put up historical markers, contribute to the hospital and other worthy charities, including the Police Benevolent Association. Do I make myself clear?"
"Oh, absolutely. About ten sentences ago. I just came here to see if I could take you to lunch."
"I have a lunch date, thank you."
"Okay, maybe some other time."
He glanced at his watch and announced, "I really have to go."
"Sure. I'll go downstairs with you."
He took a deep breath and nodded.
We left his office and went into the reception area. He said to his receptionist, "Mr. Corey and I have concluded our business, and it will not be necessary for him to return again."
Wow, talk about polite. This guy could slip you the greased weenie, and you wouldn't even feel it for a few days.
Mr. T put his key in the elevator lock, and it arrived in short order. We got in, and on the way down, to break the awkward silence, I said, "You know that Merlot I bought? Well, it came in handy. This is really stupid, maybe funny, but I don't think you'll find it funny-I had to use the stuff to clean birdshit off my windshield."
"What?"
The elevator door opened, and we walked out into the common area. I said, "A big gull dive-bombed my windshield." I explained. He glanced at his watch again. I concluded, "The half I drank was very good. Not too forward."
He said, "That's a terrible waste of vintage wine."
"I knew you'd say that."
He went through the door that connected to the visitors' reception area. I walked with him.
Out in the parking field, I said, "By the way, the lady who made you pop into my head-remember?"
"Yes."
"She said she was a friend of yours. But a lot of people claim to be your friend, like the Gordons, but they're just acquaintances who want to bask in your reflected light."
He didn't reply. It's hard to bait a man who's playing Lord of the Manor. Mr. Tobin was not going to lose his cool.
I said, "Anyway, she said she was your friend. Do you know Emma Whitestone?"
He may have broken his stride a bit, then continued on and stopped at his car. He said, "Yes, we dated about a year ago."
"And you stayed friends?"
"Why not?"
"All my ex's want to murder me."
"I can't imagine why."
I chuckled at that one. I mean, it was odd that I still kinda liked this guy, even though I suspected that he'd murdered my friends. Don't get me wrong-if he really did it, I'd do my best to see him get the hot squat, or whatever this state decides to use when they dispatch the first condemned murderer. For now, if he was polite, I'd be polite.
The other thing that was so bizarre is that since the last time we'd spoken, we had developed something in common. I mean, we had both gone where few men had gone before… well, maybe more than a few. I wanted to kind of slap him on the back and say, "Hey, Freddie, was it as good for you as it was for me?" or something like that. But gentlemen don't kiss and tell.
Fredric Tobin was saying, "Mr. Corey, I sense that you think I know more than I'm telling you about the Gordons. I assure you I don't. However, if the county or town police wish to take a statement from me, I'll be happy to oblige. Meanwhile, you're welcome here as a customer, and you're welcome to my home as an invited guest. You are not welcome to my office, and you're not welcome to question me any further."
"Sounds reasonable."
"Good day."
"Have a good lunch."
He got into his Porsche and off he went.
I looked back at the Tobin tower flying the black Tobin flag. If Mr. Tobin had any physical evidence to hide, it might be at his waterfront home or perhaps in his apartment on the top floor of that tower. Obviously, a consent search was out of the question, and no judge was going to issue a search warrant, so it looked like I'd have to issue a midnight search warrant to myself.
Back in my Jeep and on the road again. I called my answering machine and retrieved two messages. The first was from an unidentified Snippybitch from the NYPD Absence Control Unit telling me my physical was moved up to next Tuesday and asking me to acknowledge the message. Whenever the bosses can't get ahold of you, they ask personnel or payroll section or health services division to call you about something that you have to reply to. I hate sneakiness.
The next message was from my former partner, Beth Penrose. She said, "Hi, John. Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner, but it's been crazy here. Anyway, I know you're not officially involved with the case, but I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you. Why don't I come out tomorrow afternoon? Call me or I'll call you, and we'll come up with a time and place. Take care."
So. The tone was friendly, but not as friendly as when we'd last spoken in person. Not to mention the kiss on the cheek. I suppose it's not a good idea to be too gushy on an answering machine. More to the point, whatever heat had developed during that intense two days would naturally cool off when she returned to her turf and her own world. It happens.
Now she wanted to discuss a few things with me, which meant she wanted to know what, if anything, I'd discovered. To Beth Penrose, I had become just another witness. Well, maybe I was being cynical. Though maybe I had to move Beth Penrose out of my mind in order to fit Emma Whitestone in. I was never good at balancing multiple relationships. It's worse than carrying a dozen homicide cases at the same time, and a lot more dangerous.
Anyway, I needed a gift for Emma, and I spotted an antique shop on Main Road. Perfect. I pulled over and got out. The wonderful thing about America is that there are more antiques in circulation than were originally made.
I rummaged around inside the musty place and the proprietress, a nice little old lady, asked me if she could help.
"I need a gift for a young lady."
"A wife? Daughter?"
Someone I don't know well but had sex with. "A friend."
"Ah." She showed me a few things, but I'm totally clueless about antiques. Then I had a brilliant idea and asked her, "Are you a member of the Peconic Historical Society?"
"No, but I belong to the Southold Historical Society."
Good lord, there were certainly enough of these things around. I asked, "Would you know Emma Whitestone?"
"I surely do. A very fine young lady."
"Exactly. I'm looking for something for her."
"How nice. What is the occasion?"
Standard postcoital token of affection and thanks. "She's helped me do some research in the archives."
"Oh, she's very good at that. What were you looking for?"
"Well… this is silly, but ever since I was a kid, I was fascinated by pirates."
She sort of chuckled. Maybe cackled. She said, "The famous Captain Kidd was a visitor to our shores."
"Was he?"
"There were many pirates who came through here before the Revolution. They plundered the French and Spanish in the Caribbean, then came north to spend their ill-gotten gains, or to refit their ships. Some settled in these parts." She smiled and said, "With all that gold and jewels, they quickly became leading citizens." She added, "Many an original fortune around here was founded on pirate's plunder."