"Why is Mr. Herbott tied?" She was looking at Fleet, who hadn't said a word so far.}ust stood there with a mild look of relief on his face, stretching his arms and neck as if he was very tired.
"Because he attacked Captain Short with a machete, that's why. So we had to restrain him, tie him up like that. Self-defense. He'd've done the same to us. I think he needs some psychiatric help."
"That's a lie!"
The way Herbott screamed out the words made Walker think that Fleet was probably right about the last part.
"But the old man, he did kidnap you?"
"No. Absolutely not." Bambridge talking again-she couldn't get over how skinny he was.
Fleet said, "It's complicated, but, no, he didn't kidnap us."
"No one hijacked your boats? The old man? No one else?"
"They broke down, all three. Captain Short helped us."
"Then why did Herbott attack him with a machete?"
"That's complicated, too. But the attack was unprovoked-"
From the boat: "They're out to get me, I tell you. He's lying!"
"No, I'm not lying. I saw the whole thing from the bushes. The entire chain of events. If anything, you should arrest Herbott for attempted murder."
"Talk to the governor, lady, and see how far you get with that. Hah!"
To Walker, Herbott was sounding crazier and crazier.
Walker said, "Okay, one at a time, one at a time. I'm not arresting anybody. No one's going anywhere till I hear the whole story. Mr. Fleet, first you. Privately. Dr. Bambridge, you just stand there on the beach. Wait until we're done."
Herbott from the boat: "Goddamn it, untie me! You're detaining me illegally."
"I'm not detaining you, Mr. Herbott. I just don't have time to set you free. Be patient."
Walker listened to Fleet, then to Bambridge; felt sorry for the men-they were so exhausted, they were weaving. Once she had to interrupt Fleet, tell people in the crowd to step back, stay away from the boat. Another time to point Tucker Gatrell to the injured man as Gatrell came splashing up, demanding, " 'Scuse my language, Miz Walker, but what the deuce is goin' on in my bay?"
She paused long enough to watch Gatrell kneel over the man; heard him say, "Gawldamn, Henry, you back down every bad actor in these islands, only to let one of these pencilheads get the drop on you?"
Every now and then, Walker would think to herself, I found them.
By the time it was Herbott's turn, the helicopter was dropping down, scattering sand and throwing water as it landed on the beach. The thing was going whap-whap-whap, and Walker had to hold her skirt down as she ducked beneath the blades. She identified herself to the pilot; asked him to radio the Sheriff's Department and have them send a detective unit to help her get this mess sorted out. From her purse, she took one of her cards, and wrote on the back, "I've got the three missing boaters."
But when she got back to the sailboat, she realized that was wrong.
A man was standing there, one of the gawkers, a sheepish expression on his face. "The man in here?" he said to her. "When I untied him, he just shoved me out of the way and ran off. No thanks or nothing. That's him-see him up there? The one running up the road toward that white van."
TWENTY-ONE
When the paramedic told Tuck, "The IV's kicked Mr. Short's blood pressure right back up-things are looking pretty good," he thanked the man, turned to tip his hat to Agent Walker, then walked back toward his ranch house, shaking hands along the way.
People would say to him, "Glad the state ain't taking your land, but too bad about the water."
Tuck would say, "Well, maybe it kills germs, being poisoned the way it is. One way or the other, it's keepin' me young."
He wanted to sit in his chair on the porch, just look at the view, enjoy the feeling of the land being his. Let Lemar Flowers handle things when Miz Walker stopped to ask more questions, as he knew she would. Just sit there smiling, watching her face as Lemar explained the facts of life when it came to old maritime law.
"As it so happens," Lemar would say, "I am also Mr. Short's legal counsel. And I hope you don't waste the court's time by trying to involve him in some frivolous charges."
Old Lemar, he knew how to weave words together. Like that land trust business. Lemar had said, "You want to sell your nephew seventy-five acres without him knowing it? Then you put it down on paper at appraised value, but only pay yourself a buck; do it all through a set-up corporate front. Name it Development Unlimited and Key Enterprises. Let the state try to figure out what it is. That's what you call him, isn't it? D-u-k-e?"
Tuck had liked that. Only he'd changed Key to Kamikaze- thought it had more flair. And Marion wouldn't know a thing about it.
"Until you die," Lemar had pointed out. "Then he gets it, free of inheritance tax."
Lemar had sounded kind of eager when he said that. After all, he had the same deal-only Lemar just got twenty-five acres.
Tuck already had plans for who got the rest.
Which made him think of Joseph.
That damn Injun. First time a plan of mine's ever worked right, and he's not around to see it. Maybe I'll call that Cypress Gate man, have him return the chickens and give back his horse in trade. Kinda miss the noisy little bastards, plus, it would keep Joe at home.
At the road, Tuck stopped to check for traffic-couldn't wait until all these damn tourists lost interest and headed home. First time in his life he could remember having to look for cars before crossing.
That morning, before saddling his horse, Joseph had told him, "What you done was make Mango just like the rest of Florida. That's saving it?"
But like Lemar said, "You got to break a few eggs to make an omelet."
From where he stood, Tuck could look beyond the sharp curve that led up Mango Road to the Tamiami Trail. A few cars were headed away, not many. People were too busy gawking at Henry Short down by the water. Even some of the state park people, standing there as if they might be able to help, but really just fascinated by the blood.
People don't get to see blood no more unless it's on TV or in a hospital. Like they're surprised we're made of it, blood and dust.
Tuck started to cross but then paused to watch the helicopter flap off. That took a minute or so, and the next time he glanced up the road, there was Joseph! That big black horse, Buster, had been quarter-gaiting in close to the mangroves, which is why Tuck hadn't seen him in the first place. It was always something Tuck took pleasure in, watching Joseph ride-though he would never have admitted it. The big man could sit a horse. Held himself on the saddle so that he flowed right along with the animal, no effort at all. Like he was doing now: Joe holding the reins in his left hand, wearing jeans and a pretty blue shirt one of the trailer park women had made for him. Had something in a white bag tied to the saddle horn, and… something else that was different, too, but Tuck couldn't figure it at first. But then he realized, Joseph wasn't wearing his roper's hat. Joe almost always wore his hat, especially when he was riding, but now he was bare-headed, except for a bright red ribbon of rag he had tied around his forehead so that the ribbon snapped in the wind.
Gawldamn, now he's even startin' to dress like an Injun.
Joseph looked up and waved, a look of amusement on his face. Tuck waved back, then stood there figuring how he'd work it. Joseph would ride up and say, "How'd the meeting go?" But Tuck decided he wouldn't answer right off. He'd say, "You want to know so bad, whyn't you stay here, see for yourself?"
Let Joseph stew a while, then just let the story slip out kind of matter-of-fact, like he'd expected to beat the park people all along, no problem.