The guard didn't seem to know what to do for a moment. "Then I need to see some identification." When he'd handed Parrish's billfold back, he said, "What about the other gende-man? Is he a police officer, too?"
Parrish slapped the steering wheel. 'Jee-sus Christ!" Looked at me. "Ford, you ain't carrying a weapon are you?"
Actually, I was-the little Colt I'd taken from Rossi. I had it in the briefcase with the totem. Both were too valuable to leave on a boat. But I said, "Why would I need a weapon when I'm hanging out with a cop?" hoping the guard wouldn't ask to search me.
He didn't.
We drove a quarter mile through sawgrass and sabal palms, the road snaking back and forth. Then there was high pasture land, Brahma cattle grazing, everything industrially fenced. Then much higher fencing, where I was surprised to see exotic animals, mostly African. There were ostriches, several water buffalo dozing in the mud, some kind of delicate horned animal, kudus, maybe. Off by themselves, a pack of hyenas sat beneath a banyan tree, staring at us with their telescopic eyes, testing our odor with their noses. No state is infested with more dangerous exotic feral species, plant and animal, than Florida. Bauerstock, apparently, was trying to contribute his share.
Parrish said, "This is what I heard about the man. He like to go big game hunting, but he does it on his own property. Never invites guests over, just does it all by himself. That's probably why they got the thing about guns back at the gate. Delivery people come in here and take potshots at his lions and shit."
Now I could see the house, though at first I thought it was some kind of manufacturing plant. It had the size and geometric harshness; a massive square building of stucco so gray that I wondered if the psilocybin mushrooms were still affecting my color perception.
Truth was, they probably were.
"No one ever gonna call the big man tasteful. That fucking thing looks like a shopping mall."
Except for the red tile roof, the porch, the black Humvee sitting outside the five-car garage, it did, too. A shopping mall is exactly what the Bauerstock home resembled. Some careful landscaping; the same sanidzed open space, lots of galvanized light poles and a concrete blockhouse down by the river where there was a dock. The main house sat atop a massive mound that had been cleared and sodded; several acres of Bermuda grass bolted down with a sprinkler system.
We rounded a final curve and Parrish said, "Well, looky, looky there. All our eggs in one basket. Two white ones, one great big brown one. Man, am I looking forward to this!"
There was a pavilion of tile and wood on the shore of a small lake. The lake was as round as a moon crater, the water inside a stunning purple rimmed with green: a cenote, fed by an underground river. Sitting at a table beneath the pavilion were three men: Ivan Bauerstock, Ted Bauerstock and B. J. Buster. They were wearing swimsuits and robes, except for Buster, who was letting his muscles show.
By the time Parrish parked and we were getting out, Ted was already at the car, a big smile on his face, hand outstretched. I heard him say, "You just missed the girls. Nora and Delia, they headed back to the Keys not half an hour ago!"
I stared at him until he took his hand away. I said to him, "We need to have a little chat, Teddy."
I noticed that Buster was shepherding my movements. He always kept himself between me and his two employers. He did it quiedy, trying not to draw attention, but there was no doubt what he was doing. I hadn't realized how huge the man was until I was next to him. Not tall, but double-wide from his hands to his head, trapezius muscles pyramiding up to his tiny ears.
Now he sat between Ted and myself at a glass-topped table beneath the pavilion, Ivan Bauerstock and Parrish across from us. Bauerstock in his white robe, silver hair darker because it was wet; his metallic eyes stoic, showing nothing as Parrish lighted the cigar he'd been offered. Parrish, at least, seemed to be enjoying himself.
In the center of the table was the little tape recorder, everyone staring at it but Ted, who seemed bored. He kept looking out toward the line of trees, which marked the river bank where the Hinckley was moored. He did a lot of heavy sighing, too, showing his impatience.
We all listened to the voice of Frank Rossi say:
Then I realized the girl was tied to a rope. It was tied around her neck, and Bauerstock was holding her arms down, using his weight. What he was doing was killing her. And he did. He murdered the teenage girl, then he started to play with her a little bit. Reminded me of a cat. But then his old man come along and stopped him.
Ivan reached, punched off the recorder with a long finger as Ted began to laugh.
I heard the first warning sounds of anger roaring deep within me as I said, "You think that's funny?"
"Dr. Ford, Detective Parrish, let's be serious. You really believe that old drunk's story? My father and I, we tried to save Dorothy. I liked her. You know what it is, fellas? It's like a few years back, that housewife accused my father's political friend, you know who I'm talking about; she accused this very great man of rape. People can say anything. We're easy targets, for God's sake." He began to laugh again. "We all know he didn't do it, and now I'm in the same situation."
Parrish blew a cloud of smoke Ted's way. Said, "Do we?"
Ivan Bauerstock wasn't laughing. He was still staring at the recorder. "How many copies of this tape are there, Dr. Ford?"
"Several. I took all the precautions. Let me guess, Mr. Bauerstock, next you'll ask who else's heard the tape, or maybe who was with me when Rossi confessed. It doesn't matter. Frank Rossi's talked once; he'll talk again. There's no statute of limitations on rape. You think he's going down just to save you? He doesn't strike me as the selfless type."
Ted began to say something, but Ivan cut him off, saying, "Shut up, Teddy." Then Bauerstock lifted his eyes; looked into mine and said, "You realize, of course, if this terrible lie gets out, my son's political career will be ruined. That would be a tragedy, Dr. Ford. We have great plans for Teddy. Tallahassee, then Washington."
"Dad, don't worry about it! Talk to your friends at the network. All I've got to do is get on camera and tell people I didn't do it. They'll believe me. You know they'll believe me. Set it up so we turn the tables. I've been falsely accused. Isn't it about time that innocent people like me fought back? Make it work to our advantage. Why are you getting so upset about this bullshit?"
Bauerstock was still staring at me. He touched his hand to the recorder and said, "How much, Dr. Ford?"
"Pardon me?"
"How much money? Or maybe you want a job. Or maybe there's a special project that you would like funded. How about your own fully computerized research vessel? We've got the technology. It's a straightforward business proposition: How much to destroy this tape and to tell us where the other tapes are?"
I said to Parrish, "I'm trying to remember. When someone tries to pay off a private citizen, is it called bribery or extortion?" Which made Parrish grin through the cigar smoke.
"We don't have a lot of time, Dr. Ford. We're due at Naples Yacht Club by eight. We're having our boat hauled, put on a flatbed and transported inland. There's a hurricane coming, you know. How much do you want?"
I noticed a lean, dark woman walking down the mound toward us. She reminded me of the striking Indio women of South America, with her long black hair, though older. She appeared to be feeling her way, hands balanced outward. I realized that she was blind, but very familiar with the route. As she drew nearer, I realized the woman had no eyes.
I slid away from the table and stood. "Bring back Dorothy Copeland, Bauerstock. That's my price. Bring her back to life. I think you're insane, and I think your son's a freak. Let's get the hell out of here, Gary."