I liked the idea of seeing Susan. I hadn’t seen her in four days. Lately I had found myself missing her when I didn’t see her. It made me nervous.
The beach was crowded and a lot of kids were swimming off a float anchored fifty yards from shore. Down the curve of the beach there was a point and beyond I could see part of the Kennedy compound. I found some open beach and sat down and took off my shirt. A fat woman in a flowered bathing suit eyed the gun clipped to my belt. I took it off and wrapped it in the shirt and used the package for a pillow. The woman got up and folded her beach chair and moved to a different spot. At least people were consistent in their response. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the water and the children and occasionally a dog. Down the beach someone’s portable radio was playing something about a man who’d been crying for a million years, so many tears. Where have you gone, Cole Porter?
It was a mess, too big a mess. I couldn’t walk away from it. How big a mess, I didn’t know, but a mess. More mess than even Shepard could handle, I thought.
I got up, clipped the gun back on my hip, stuck the holster in my hip pocket, put on my pale blue madras shirt with the epaulets and let it hang out to cover up the gun. I walked back to my car, got in and drove to my motel. It was nearly noontime.
From my room I called Susan Silverman at home. No answer. I went to the restaurant and had oyster stew and two draft beers and came back and called again. No answer. I called Deke Slade. He was in.
”Spenser,“ I said, ”known in crime-detection circles as Mr. Sleuth.“
”Yeah?“
”I have a couple of theories I’d like to share with you on some possible criminal activity in your jurisdiction. Want me to come in?“
”Criminal activity in my jurisdiction? You gotta stop watching those TV crime shows. You sound like Perry Mason.“
”Just because you don’t know how to talk right, Slade, is no reason to put me down. You want to hear my theories or not.“
”Come on in,“ he said and hung up. He didn’t sound excited.
Chapter 11
”What’s Hawk’s full name?“ Slade said.
”I don’t know,“ I said. ”Just Hawk.“
”He’s gotta have a full name.“
”Yeah, I know, but I don’t know what it is. I’ve known him about twenty years and I’ve never heard him called anything but Hawk.“
Slade shrugged and wrote Hawk on his pad of yellow, legal sized lined paper. ”Okay,“ he said. ”So you figure that Shepard owes money and isn’t paying and the guy he owes it to has sent a bone-breaker down. What’s Shepard’s story?“
”He has none,“ I said. ”He says he’s in business with Hawk and it’s got nothing to do with me.“
”And you don’t believe him.“
”Nope. First place Hawk doesn’t do business, with a big B like Shepard means. Hawk’s a free spirit.“
”Like you,“ Slade said.
I shook my head. ”Nope, not like me. I don’t hire out for the things Hawk does.“
”I heard you might,“ Slade said.
”From who?“
”Oh, guys I know up in Boston. I made a couple of calls about you.“
”I thought you were too busy keeping a close tail on the litterbugs,“ I said.
”I did it on my lunch hour,“ Slade said.
”Well, don’t believe all you hear,“ I said.
Slade almost smiled. ”Not likely,“ he said. ”How sure are you he was beat up?“
”Shepard? Certain. I’ve seen it done before, fact I’ve had it done before. I know the look and feel of it.“
”Yeah, it does stiffen you up some,“ Slade said. ”What’s Shepard’s story?“
”Says he fell downstairs.“
Slade wrote on his yellow pad again. ”You got thoughts on who hired Hawk?“
”I’m guessing King Powers. Hawk normally gives first refusal to Powers.“ Slade wrote some more on his pad. ”Powers is a shylock,“ I said. ”Used to…“
”I know Powers,“ Slade said.
”Anyway, he’s in trouble. Bad, I would guess, and he’s too scared to yell for help.“
”Or maybe too crooked.“
I raised both eyebrows at Slade. ”You know something I don’t,“ I said.
Slade shook his head. ”No, just wondering. Harv has always been very eager to get ahead. Not crooked really, just very ambitious. This leisure community he’s building is causing a lot of hassle and it doesn’t seem to be going up very fast, and people are beginning to wonder if something’s wrong.“
”Is there?“
”Hell,“ Slade said, ”I don’t know. You ever looked into a land swindle? It takes a hundred C.P.A.s and a hundred lawyers a hundred years just to find out if there’s anything to look into.“ Slade made a disgusted motion with his mouth. ”You usually can’t find out who owns the goddamned property.“
”Shepard doesn’t strike me as crooked,“ I said.
”Adolf Hitler was fond of dogs,“ Slade said. ”Say he’s not crooked, say he’s just overextended. Could be.“
”Yeah,“ I said, ”could be. But what are we going to do about it?“
”How the hell do I know. Am I the whiz-bang from the city? You tell me. We got, to my knowledge, no crime, no victim, no violation of what you big-city types would call the criminal statutes. I’ll have the patrol cars swing by his place more often and have everyone keep an eye out for him. I’ll see if the A.G.‘s office has anything on Shepard’s land operation. You got any other thoughts?“
I shook my head.
”You find his wife?“ Slade asked.
”Yeah.“
”She coming home?“
”I don’t think so.“
”What’s he going to do about that?“
”Nothing he can do.“
”He can go get her and drag her ass home.“
”He doesn’t know where she is. I wouldn’t tell him.“
Slade frowned at me for about thirty seconds. ”You are a pisser,“ Slade said. ”I’ll give you that.“
”Yeah.“
”Shepard take that okay?“
”No, he fired me. Told me that he was going to sue me.“
”So you’re unemployed.“
”I guess so.“
”Just another tourist.“
”Yep.“
Slade did smile this time. A big smile that spread slowly across his face making deep furrows, one on each cheek. ”Goddamn,“ he said and shook his head. ”Goddamn.“
I smiled back at him, warmly, got up and left. Back in my car, on the hot seats, with the top down, I thought something I’ve thought before. I don’t know what to do, I thought. I started the car, turned on the radio and sat with the motor idling. I didn’t even know where to go. Mrs. Shepard sure wasn’t happy, and Mr. Shepard sure wasn’t happy. That didn’t make them unusual of course. I wasn’t right at the moment all that goddamned happy myself. I supposed I ought to go home. Home’s where you can go and they have to take you in. Who said that? I couldn’t remember. Cynical bastard though. I put the car in gear and drove slowly down Main Street toward the motel. Course at my home there wasn’t any they. There was just me. I’d take me in any time. I stopped for a light. A red-haired girl wearing powder blue flared denim slacks and a lime-colored halter top strolled by. The slacks were so tight I could see the brief line of her underpants slanting across her buttocks. She looked at the car in a friendly fashion. I could offer her a drink and a swim and dazzle her with my Australian crawl. But she looked like a college kid and she’d probably want me to do some dope and rap about the need for love and a new consciousness. The light turned green and I moved on. A middle-aged grump with nowhere to go. It was a little after one when I pulled into the parking lot at my motel. Time for lunch. With renewed vigor I strode into the lobby, turned left past the desk and headed down the corridor toward my room. A fast wash, and then on to lunch. Who’d have thought but moments ago that I was without purpose. When I opened the door to my room Susan Silverman was lying on the bed reading a book by Erik Erikson and looking like she should.