Night Moves (Doc Ford) - By RandyWayne White Page 0,46
to deal with.
“Please, please get him out of that pool. I was thinking we might go for a swim.” Cressa, at the top of the stairs, was standing with a drink her hand, bathrobe open now. Her string bikini cupped a triangle of shadows on a torso of Nordic white.
“Sorry. I’ll have to take a rain check. Better get this dog back home.”
And I left her there, with her drink and her bikini, and her mouth wide open.
—
THAT DIDN’T MEAN I didn’t come back, though.
When I was sure she was asleep, I returned to the beach house on foot, a canvas bag over my shoulder. In the bag were tools that I use overseas, seldom on Sanibel Island: night vision optics and a military Golight with an infrared cap over the lens. Cap off, the spotlight threw a mile-long beam. Cap on, the beam was invisible unless using night optics. I used the night vision to search the Arturo property. I found what I was looking for, all right, and much more. I didn’t know why Cressa was being watched, but it was the sophistication of the surveillance that concerned me most. The married mistress was being watched by pros.
13
NOON THE NEXT DAY, TOMLINSON PUTTERED UP IN his dinghy and called my name through the open windows of the lab. I wanted to talk to him about Cressa, but I couldn’t just then. I’d almost forgotten about a rush order I had to fill and now I was seriously behind.
On the counter were four Styrofoam containers used to ship live specimens. Two were already loaded, two dozen hermit crabs in each, plus heat packs to keep the animals warm on their flight. It was part of a drop-shipment order I’d received from Carolina Biological Supply: send the crabs to Eden Prairie High School in Minnesota; box and ship sixty marine invertebrates, at least eight genera, to the science department, East Stroudsburg University in Pennsylvania.
Which was why I was busy selecting a mix of small whelks, sea urchins, brittle stars, and sandworms when my self-absorbed pal hollered from outside. And why I didn’t answer. When I felt his dinghy bump my dock, though, it was time to act. I threw my rubber gloves into the sink, removed my apron, and went to the screen door, which I didn’t bother to open.
“I’m right in the middle of something,” I told him. “I can’t stop now.”
I could see Tomlinson’s head bobbing above the dock. “I know what those straps are,” he hollered back. “What looked like leather we found in the tree . . . where bark had grown over the straps? Flight 19. I can tell you now, but it would be better if I showed you.”
I replied, “If you’d ever had an actual job, maybe you’d understand—I’m working.”
“Doc, we found a parachute harness! Plus, something I should have shown you and Danny but didn’t. Here . . . it’s in here. It all makes sense now!”
I had turned away from the door but looked back to see a boney hand holding a small bag. He was waving the object like a surrender flag. Tomlinson, I realized, had taken something from the crash site.
When irritable, I’m prone to snappishness. When angry, however, I retreat into a sphere of calm. Emotion clouds clarity, which is why I opened the door and in a tone that crackled with clarity said, “When the feds bring charges against you, I’ll be the first witness. So, you bet! I’d love to see what you stole and then lied to us about.”
Tomlinson’s hand and head disappeared beneath the dock, and his became an invisible voice. “If I caught you at a bad time, just say so, man! No need to fly off the handle. How ’bout I come back, oh . . . say, around six?”
I was peeved but also curious. He’d found something interesting, that was obvious. I was eager to have a look, but I wasn’t going to fold that easily. Tomlinson’s uninhibited zeal can also be read as shameless manipulation.
“Give me an hour,” I countered, “I’ll be done by one-thirty,” then had to add, “as if being punctual means anything to you.”
The phone rang. At first, I didn’t recognize the area code but remembered calling the offices of Gun Dog Magazine, Retriever Magazine, and a couple of others. So I answered. It was one of the editors. I put the lab phone on speaker so I could work while we talked.