“He probably frightened you,” I said. “Maybe you should stay the night with me and I’ll comfort you.”
“Comfort?” Susan said. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
“Yes,” I said.
28
On an overcast morning with the temperature in the high thirties, Hawk, carrying a shoulder bag and wearing jeans with a black muscle shirt, came into my office and poured himself some coffee.
“No jacket?” I said. “It’s November.”
Hawk flexed a biceps.
“You got the guns,” Hawk said. “You put off the winter sleeves long as you can.”
“Where’s the piece?” I said.
“What make you think I’m packing,” Hawk said.
“Hawk, for crissake, you haven’t gone anywhere without a gun since you were a pickaninny.”
“Pickaninny?” Hawk said.
“I value tradition,” I said.
Hawk grinned and opened his shoulder bag and took out a huge, silver.44 Mag with a bone handle.
“Case we get assaulted by a polar bear,” he said.
“Good to be ready,” I said.
“Understand the Gray Man after you again.”
“He is,” I said.
“Why don’t we just kill him,” Hawk said.
“Can’t,” I said.
Hawk shrugged.
“No harm to ask,” Hawk said.
“No.”
“Susan says it be about the business on Tashtego,” Hawk said.
“It be,” I said.
“Would you be, by chance, mocking my authentic ghetto dialect?” Hawk said in his Laurence Olivier voice.
“No,” I said. “I be down with it.”
“Love when honkies be trying to talk black,” Hawk said. “It’s like a guy in drag.”
“You in on this now?” I said.
“Yep.”
“Because Susan called and said so?” I said.
“Yep.”
“Any other reason?”
Hawk grinned.
“Don’t want to lose the only guy left in the world who uses the word pickaninny,” he said.
“Okay, lemme fill you in a little.”
We went through a second pot of coffee as I told Hawk what I knew, which didn’t take long, and what I didn’t, which was extensive.
“And so you been doing what you do, which is to poke around in the hornet’s nest until you irritate a hornet,” Hawk said.
“Yes.”
“Not a bad technique,” Hawk said, “long as you got me to walk behind you.”
“And it has the added pleasure of being annoying.”
“Yes,” Hawk said. “That a plus.”
“Any thoughts?” I said.
“It’s not enough that I am the world’s deadliest human being?” Hawk said. “You asking me to think, too?”
“Or whatever it is you do,” I said.
“Well, maybe it ain’t a kidnapping,” Hawk said. “No ransom request.”
“That we know of,” I said.
“A visit from the Gray Man? Telling you to buzz off? You know a lot of kidnappers make house calls?”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t a kidnapping,” I said.
“He wanted a simple kidnapping for money, he didn’t have to put together an army complete with helicopters.”
“He got away with it,” I said.
“So far,” Hawk said. “But he lucky, and he good. No way a pro like Rugar going to choose that kind of a setup to kidnap somebody.”
“Somebody chose it,” I said.
“Maybe it’s something else, and the kidnapping is a head fake,” Hawk said.
“What something else would it be?”
“How many people got killed?”
“Six by Rugar,” I said. “One by me.”
“Maybe that be the plan,” Hawk said.
“A murder disguised as a kidnapping?” I said.
“Like you haven’t thought of what I’m saying.”
“I have,” I said. “I’m just being devil’s advocate.”
“Nobody better,” Hawk said.
“It’s still awful amateurish,” I said. “I can’t see Rugar doing it that way.”
“You saw him do it,” Hawk said. “And seven people died, counting the one you killed. That’s what we got for facts.”
“And if it’s not a kidnapping,” I said, “then maybe we can start thinking of this as a murder case and start looking for motive.”
“We don’t have to decide,” Hawk said. “We can look into all possibilities.”
“Probably can exclude the guy that went over the cliff,” I said.
“We know the motive there,” Hawk said. “And we can at least drop the security guys to the bottom of the list.”
“It’s not quite a fact,” I said. “But it’s a pretty good bet that the thing was an inside job.”
“And it a pretty good bet that somebody knew how to get hold of Rugar.”
“So it might be smart to look for a guy who knew the island, and might have a connection to Rugar,” I said.
“Got anybody in mind?”
“It’s not much, but Bradshaw knows the island, he used to own it, and he has worked overseas for the government.”
“Doing what?” Hawk said.
“Information officer,” I said.
“Things are not,” Hawk said, “always as they seem.”
“True,” I said.
“So we look into Bradshaw, and we also see if we can find someone who would want to kill the minister or the groom,” Hawk said.
“Still a big order for a two-man unit,” I said.
“Yeah, but the two men,” Hawk said, “be us.”
29
Hawk and I met Ives at the bar in the Seaport Hotel on a Friday night. The hotel was an easy walk from the federal court-house, where Ives had a desk. He was sandy-haired and tweedy, with a blue oxford shirt and a rep-stripe tie.
“Ah, Lochinvar,” Ives said, “and his raptor friend.”
“How about the end of the bar,” I said.
We sat on the first three bar stools, Ives between me and Hawk. “I assume you are seeking information,” Ives said, “to which you have no legal right, and for which you have no clearance.”
“Exactly,” I said.
“And you are planning to pay for the drinks.”
“I am,” I said.
Ives smiled and ordered Johnnie Walker Blue on the rocks. I had the same thing with soda. Hawk ordered champagne.
“We don’t sell Krug by the glass, sir,” the bartender said. “I can give you a list of what we do serve.”
“I’ll have a bottle,” Hawk said.
“I assume you wish to discuss our mutual friend the Gray Man,” Ives said.
“You know what I’m involved in?”
“Tashtego,” Ives said.
“Pretty good,” I said.
“I’m a listener,” Ives said. “It is my profession.”
“He still working with you guys?”
“Mr. Gray has joined the private sector.”
“No more money from his uncle?” I said.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“So who pays him now?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Ives said.
“Can you find out?” I said.
Ives smiled and sipped some scotch.
“Probably,” he said.
“Have any idea what he’s been doing recently?”
“Other than Tashtego? No.”
“Can you find that out?” I said.
“Probably,” he said.
Hawk was silently drinking champagne, alert to every movement of a young woman in a tight black dress at the end of the bar. You could never be sure where danger lay. I had typed up a list of salient people in the Tashtego affair. I took the list from my inside pocket and placed it in front of Ives on the bar.
“Recognize any of the names?” I said.
Ives took some glasses from his breast pocket and studied the list.
“There are several names anyone would know,” he said after a time. “Reubens, for instance. Everyone who loves music knows who he is. The Lessards are prominent residents of the Main Line. Of course, Peter Van Meer right here in Boston. Great wealth.”
“You know what I’m after,” I said. “Anyone who had a connection to Tashtego and would have the wherewithal to hire Rugar.”
“Bradshaw,” Ives said.
“What about him?”
“Government employee,” Ives said.
“Information adviser, I’m told.”
Ives smiled.