be me telling everything I know about the Fitzsimmons case—starting with the fact that you couldn’t possibly have killed the woman that night because she was already dead by the time you came ashore.”
“But you never saw her body, Ms. Armstrong.”
“No—and it’s Angie—but I saw the lump. And those snake pics I took, don’t you think the Palm Beach Post would put one on the front page, along with my harrowing first-person account? But we don’t make that move unless the cops and prosecutors won’t back down.”
“They know I’m innocent. They know.” Diego told Angie about Chief Crosby discovering another conch pearl on the same railroad tracks.
She said, “Yeah, he showed it to me.”
“Then how is it possible I’m still sitting here?”
“Because the whole country thinks you’re a political terrorist, knocking off rich old white ladies who love the President. A hard ugly mood has taken hold, and you’re the metaphorical bug under the boot heel.”
“Squashed flat.”
“Not just yet,” said Angie, sliding her chair forward. “Tell me everything you told the police chief.”
“I told it to the Secret Service, too.”
“So now tell it to me, beginning the night you and the others got off the boat.”
“What’s the point?’’ Diego said wearily.
“I’d like to hear the story in your own words.”
“Meanwhile, the dude in the cell next to me, he got busted for doing a llama on the ranch where he works.”
Angie said, “Okay, yes, that’s truly awful.”
“It wasn’t even his llama. You get what I’m saying? He took the damn llama on a date!”
“We’ll get you out of here, Diego.”
“I’m so over this. Not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m sick of talking to people and then nothing happens. Nada.”
“Just one question, then,” said Angie. “Do you know Keever Bracco or Uric Burns?”
“No!” Diego practically shouted. “Jesus Christ.”
“Never met ’em?”
“No, no, and no! I already told Chief Crosby, and also the Secret Service man.”
Angie said, “I believe you. I do.”
“That’s what they told me, too, but I’m still here. Me and the llama fucker. Sometimes he falls asleep jacking off in the sink. You get the visual? And yet after all this I still want to be an American, which is insane.”
“Try to hold on, Diego.”
“What are my other options?”
Angie rose to leave. “If any of the deputies ask, I’m your lawyer’s paralegal.”
“Don’t forget your pretend briefcase.”
“Hey, did it not work like a charm?”
“You hear those crazies chanting out there?” he said.
“The protesters?” Angie asked.
“Yeah. Who else.” Diego closed his eyes to listen.
“Honestly, I don’t hear them.”
“Well, I can,” he murmured. “All day, all night.”
* * *
—
She met Spalding for a late lunch at the crab shack on the island. He brought along a co-worker named Christian. Angie was annoyed when friends tried to set her up, especially if the friend trying to set her up was somebody with whom she’d once plotted having sex.
Christian was from Denmark and naturally spoke flawless English. He was handsome enough—bleach-toothed, blond and blue-eyed—but he was too short. Angie’s ex-husband stood six-one, and she’d grown accustomed to feeling a chest against her cheek during stand-up hugs. The young Dane was only five-seven in thick-soled Rockports. Angie knew that having a height requirement for prospective dates was shallow criteria but—in the words of Emily Dickinson, Selena Gomez and Darius, the guy who sprayed her apartment for roaches—the heart wants what it wants.
Spalding said that Christian worked the winter season at Casa Bellicosa.
“Guess what his job is, Angie?”
“Pastry chef?” She could be clumsy when aiming for polite conversation.
“God, no.” Spalding laughed. “Chris, tell Lady Tarzan what you do.”
“I service the President’s personal tanning beds,” Christian said, raising his beer mug in a wry self-toast.
Angie was intrigued. “And how does one secure such a prized position?”
“I worked for the manufacturer in Hamburg. One day the Secret Service called and said they needed a technician to take care of two new Cabo Royales—those are our premium models—one here in Palm Beach, the other at the White House.”
“I assume those machines were custom-built,” Angie said.
“I can’t really talk about that, but…”
“Like, big enough for a manatee.”
“No comment,” said Christian, grinning. “The pay was good, and they promised free health insurance, including dental. So right away I said yes. Two visas arrived the next day, one for me and one for my fiancée. Unfortunately, she got homesick after a few weeks and went back to Germany—”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Angie interrupted, “how does one ‘service’ a tanning bed? Meaning what exactly