Rosco smiled slightly. "Do you hate all rich people, or is Pepper someone special?"

"Let's stick to the Orion Orion. I don't need a headshrinker."

"All right. So, what happened last Sunday?"

Vic retrieved a fresh pack of Marlboros from a teak box on the coffee table, slipped off the cellophane, and lit up. As he spoke, smoke escaped from his mouth and nose.

"Me and Bob and Moe were off Monomoy Island on the south end of the Cape, just north of Nantucket. We'd told Colberg we'd have the Dixie-Jack Dixie-Jack back before eight back before eight A A.M. Monday, so we were heading in. Pulled some nice tuna... Anyway, we shot straight across Nantucket Sound, past the Vineyard, Woods Hole, and hit Buzzards Bay around midnight. We'd been throwin' down beers the whole way... so I can't vouch for the accuracy of the time, or the exact location of the Orion Orion when we came on it, but obviously we picked her up somewhere between the Hole and Newcastle. Dropped a towline on her and towed her in... End of story." when we came on it, but obviously we picked her up somewhere between the Hole and Newcastle. Dropped a towline on her and towed her in... End of story."

"I see... So, you're saying the fire was already out when you found her?"

Vic's left foot started tapping on the wooden floor as if an imaginary tune were playing in his head. "Yeah... It was rainin'... a surprise squall had come up."

Now Rosco scratched the back of his his head. "I'm having a little trouble with this one, Vic... We've got a squall, so we've got heavy cloud cover, right? It's also midnight-pitch-black under those conditions. And you find this boat? In the middle of nowhere? That's a big bay out there. How could you see a burned-out sh.e.l.l bobbing around? Sounds to me like the thing would be d.a.m.n near invisible-" Rosco held up his hand as Fogram started to interrupt. "Before you answer, let me tell you that I know you guys blasted through all four fire extinguishers on the head. "I'm having a little trouble with this one, Vic... We've got a squall, so we've got heavy cloud cover, right? It's also midnight-pitch-black under those conditions. And you find this boat? In the middle of nowhere? That's a big bay out there. How could you see a burned-out sh.e.l.l bobbing around? Sounds to me like the thing would be d.a.m.n near invisible-" Rosco held up his hand as Fogram started to interrupt. "Before you answer, let me tell you that I know you guys blasted through all four fire extinguishers on the Dixie-Jack, Dixie-Jack, and that CO and that CO2 residue was found all over the residue was found all over the Orion Orion."

Fogram jumped to his feet and stabbed his lit cigarette in the air. "I told you I don't like to be pushed, fella. Maybe you better just get the h.e.l.l outta here."

Rosco remained seated, but raised his voice to meet Vic's. "Pushed... ? You're going to jail, Vic. You got a picture of what that looks like? Right now you're accessory to insurance fraud. And that's on the bright side, fella fella. Who knows what else you're in for-once all the pieces fall into place... Personally, I don't think you'd be stupid enough to kidnap these women, but I've been wrong in the past. You'd better start coughing up some information, because from where I sit, you and your pals look guilty as h.e.l.l."

Vic slouched back down in his chair and rubbed at his forehead.

"Look," Rosco continued in a pseudo-friendly tone, "I've got no bone to pick with you, Fogram, I really don't, but you know how cops work; they get Bob in one room, Moe in the other... Before you know it, they're saying Vic planned the whole thing."

Vic jabbed his cigarette into a black Bakelite ashtray adorned with the Harley-Davidson logo. "I'm tellin' you, we didn't do nothin' wrong."

"But you did put out the fire? Am I right?"

After a long beat, Fogram spoke. "Yeah... we doused it... That's how we found her-by the flames. There was an explosion. Lit up the sky. We figured it was the propane tank."

"What about the women?"

"We didn't know nothin' about them. There was n.o.body on that boat. I swear it on my mother's grave."

"Why didn't you call the Coast Guard? Report the position? You know as well as I do, that's procedure."

Vic looked off to the sleeping area as if the answer might lie in his bed. He let out a tired sigh and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "Look, we were all looped to the gills by that time. The last people in the world we wanted to see was the d.a.m.n Guard. I pulled the Dixie-Jack Dixie-Jack up to the up to the Orion, Orion, and Moe and Bob started hosing her down with the extinguishers, making a party of it... I mean, they started really goofing around. Spraying each other while they were at it. Laughing their fool heads off. Anyway..." Vic looked at the bed a second time. "Anyway, I wanted to get out of there, leave the boat, but Moe saw the word 'Orion' painted on the stern and said he recognized it as one of Colberg's charters." Fogram lit up again, then said, "I need another beer." and Moe and Bob started hosing her down with the extinguishers, making a party of it... I mean, they started really goofing around. Spraying each other while they were at it. Laughing their fool heads off. Anyway..." Vic looked at the bed a second time. "Anyway, I wanted to get out of there, leave the boat, but Moe saw the word 'Orion' painted on the stern and said he recognized it as one of Colberg's charters." Fogram lit up again, then said, "I need another beer."

As he walked to the refrigerator, Rosco noticed how unsteady his gait had become.

"What we figured," Vic continued when he returned, "was that Colberg had towed the Orion Orion out and torched it himself. You know, for the insurance-like you said. He's done it in the past, trust me on that. Everyone knows it... Anyway, we didn't think anyone was on that boat-honest. Look, I did my time in the Navy. I'd still be out there looking for those broads if I didn't think this was another Colberg torch job... That tough talk about Pepper's wife... That was just yak, that's all." out and torched it himself. You know, for the insurance-like you said. He's done it in the past, trust me on that. Everyone knows it... Anyway, we didn't think anyone was on that boat-honest. Look, I did my time in the Navy. I'd still be out there looking for those broads if I didn't think this was another Colberg torch job... That tough talk about Pepper's wife... That was just yak, that's all."

"So, why did you tow the Orion Orion back?" Rosco asked, uncertain how much of the tale to believe. Or whether to believe it at all. back?" Rosco asked, uncertain how much of the tale to believe. Or whether to believe it at all.

"Moe wanted to play a big joke on Colberg. Set him up. Let him come to work on Monday and find the tub sitting there like a ghost come back to haunt him. Moe thought it would be a real hoot... So we sat around on the Dixie-Jack Dixie-Jack waiting for the sun to come up so we could see the expression on Ed's scrawny face." waiting for the sun to come up so we could see the expression on Ed's scrawny face."

"But you didn't get what you bargained for?"

Fogram shook his head and swigged at his beer bottle; Rosco had the distinct impression the man was hiding something. He shifted tack, a.s.suming a sympathetic and credulous pose.

"And you didn't see any sign of the dinghy out there?"

"Didn't see it, didn't hear the outboard... I told you, Polycrates, I was in the Navy. I swear I would have picked up those babes and brought them in. No matter who they were. I wouldn't leave n.o.body out there. I got a decent, legit business in this town. I'm not a crook."

Rosco studied Vic closely as he asked his next question. "What would you say if I told you that the police found samples of Jamaica Nevisson's blood on the Dixie-Jack Dixie-Jack."

The response was a measured: "I'd say you're a liar, pal."

"It was all over the gauges."

"The gauges? h.e.l.l, man that was plain old fish blood. We filleted them. Tuna meat's red and b.l.o.o.d.y. Ask anyone."

"Sorry, Vic. The police lab says there's some of both. Tuna and human... A positive. Same as Jamaica Nevisson."

Fogram stood and walked between Rosco and the sleeping area. "You're talkin' outta your hat. I got nothin' more to say."

Rosco also rose. "This isn't going to blow over, Fogram. It's going to get worse. Call me. You've got my card."

"That ain't likely to happen."

"You never know..." Rosco sniffed the air and gave Vic a broad smile. "Nice perfume... Say h.e.l.lo to Doris for me when she wakes up."

Fogram swung his left fist while Doris Quick bolted upright in the bed and yelled something indecipherable. Rosco ducked the first blow, but Vic countered with a hard right, slamming his beer bottle into the corner of the detective's left eye and instantly opening a half-inch gash below his eyebrow.

"Get the h.e.l.l outta here before I kill you!" Fogram raised the bottle over his shoulder and heaved it toward the door frame behind Rosco's head. Beer suds and shards of amber gla.s.s rained down upon him as Vic continued to advance. "I'm gonna kill you, I swear..."

Rosco found the doork.n.o.b and jumped for the wooden landing. Fogram was right behind him. For a moment the two men stood, suspended in time one story above the grimy pavement. They stared hard at each other. "Get lost, Polycrates. And don't show up here again. This is hara.s.sment. That's what it is. I'll get a lawyer."

"That may not be such a bad idea... Thanks for the fifteen minutes," Rosco answered. "And the memento... I won't forget it too soon."

Rosco walked down the stairs, reentered the garbage-strewn alley, and dabbed at the cut with his handkerchief while he slipped behind the wheel of his Jeep. Then he twisted the rearview mirror to study the wound. The bleeding was slowing; it wouldn't require st.i.tches. But his cheek and brow were already showing signs of swelling.

"Great," he muttered, "just, great. 'Another Black-eye Sunday Morning.' Sounds like a C and W tune..." He lifted his jacket to his nose. "I smell like a booze hound... And Bud, too... At least, it could have been an import..."

He balled up the handkerchief, applying it like a compress while he activated his phone and checked for messages. There was one from Belle, requesting that he "beam in" for some "vital information."

"Guess who just called?" she demanded the second she answered the phone.

Rosco didn't have time to answer; Belle's voice hurried forward before he could open his mouth. "Bartholomew Kerr." Her tone indicated that this was the important news she'd wanted to share.

Rosco ma.s.saged his swelling eye. "Little early for gossip, isn't it?" he asked, then decided: Ice. I've got to get some ice. It seemed ironic that the Red Admiral with its steady supply lay in plain view. He considered telling Belle what had just transpired, but opted against it. "What did Biz-y Buzz Biz-y Buzz want?" he said instead. want?" he said instead.

"He just heard a peculiar story. It seems your pal Al Lever made an arrest late last night."

Rosco sighed. His eye and cheek were beginning to throb. "Anybody I know?"

"Did you ever hear of a guy named Reggie Flack?"

24.

After speaking with Belle, Rosco had U-turned on Water Street and headed the Jeep east on Fifth in the direction of Newcastle police headquarters. The eight-block ride had given him time to make two more phone calls: the first to Al Lever to ensure that he hadn't yet left the NPD building, the second to Tom Pepper.

"Mr. Pepper, the police picked up Reggie Flack last night-"

"Tell me something I don't know, Polycrates. Where the h.e.l.l do you think they picked him up, Disneyland? He was in my kitchen."

"What... ?"

"He didn't start out there." Pepper said this with a low chuckle. "Anson and I caught the slimeball crawling through the rhododendrons at two A A.M. last night. After I made the creep eat his camera, we hog-tied him and called the cops. Flack's going to rot in jail for twenty years if I have anything to say about it."

"I'm headed to the NPD now. I'll see what information I can get out of him."

"Well, good luck. He wouldn't say peep to me. Threatened to sue me for knocking out a few of his teeth, though. h.e.l.l, he's lucky I didn't finish him off. If I had a gun, I would have. And I would have been within my rights."

Rosco refrained from groaning and saying, That's debatable. Instead he only asked, "You're pressing charges, then?"

"Absolutely!"

The viciousness of Pepper's tone set Rosco's teeth on edge. "I'll keep you posted," he said in an attempt to defuse the situation.

"You do that! That's what I'm paying you for." The line went dead before Rosco even had time to consider an answer.

Arriving at the south side of the NPD building, he slipped his Jeep into a parking s.p.a.ce marked OFFICIAL USE ONLY OFFICIAL USE ONLY, then walked up the main stairs and tapped on the gla.s.s paneled door marked HOMICIDE HOMICIDE.

"Yeah?" Lever grumbled from the other side.

Rosco stepped through the door. "You don't have any ice in here, do you, Al?"

"What happened? Don't tell me Pepper belted you, too?" Lever reached into his lower desk drawer and tossed Rosco a chemically charged cold compress.

"Thanks... Someone clipped me with a beer bottle. I'll get over it... You're working Sundays now?" Rosco twisted the plastic package to start the cooling reaction, then placed it over his left eye.

"Thanks to you, Polly-Crates. I had a ten o'clock tee time. Kissed that baby good-bye a couple of hours ago."

"Hey, Al"-Rosco shrugged-"none of this is my doing. It all would have ended up in your lap anyway."

"Hmmph." Lever lit a cigarette and began coughing.

"What's with Flack?"

Lever inhaled again. "He's not a talker... insists he's waiting for The Globe The Globe's attorney to get down from Boston. Bail's been set at a quarter mil."

Rosco whistled softly and said, "Wow. That much? How come?"

"Pepper's got friends in very very high places. Judge Lawrence considers Flack a flight risk. Thinks he'll skip back to L.A.... Well, now he has a little incentive to return for a hearing if he does." high places. Judge Lawrence considers Flack a flight risk. Thinks he'll skip back to L.A.... Well, now he has a little incentive to return for a hearing if he does."

"What're you charging him with?"

"Trespa.s.sing, invasion of privacy, and criminal mischief."

"... And two hundred and fifty thousand dollars bail?" Rosco laughed. "That has to be some sort of record, even if he is from Los Angeles... Mind if I talk to him?"

"He's down in the hole. Be my guest." Lever coughed again. "d.a.m.n these allergies. You'd think they'd let up by October, wouldn't you?"

"A 'killing frost,' that's what you need to get rid of pollen, Al."

"Since when did you take up gardening, Polly-Crates?" The question wasn't unkind.

"Maybe it's not allergies, Al, have you considered that?"

"Don't say it, Rosco. You... the wife, h.e.l.l, even my doctor's turning against me since he quit smoking. Now get out of here; I got work to do." As Rosco headed for the door, Lever added, "Enjoy your conversation with our quarter-of-a-million-dollar man. Ask him if he likes being a local celebrity."

"The hole," as Al liked to call it, was composed of six large holding cells in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the building. The compound sat at the end of a corridor bordered on the right by the Newcastle morgue and on the left by Abe Jones's forensics lab. The walls were inst.i.tutional green, and the lab and morgue doors were reinforced stainless steel with small shatterproof windows. When Rosco reached "the hole," the heavily barred door was opened by a uniformed officer.

"Hey, Rosco," he said, "what happened to your eye?"

"Walked into a door... How've you been, Terry?"

"No complaints."

"I'm here to see Flack."

"Lever okay it?"

"Yep. Call him up if you want."

Terry grimaced. "He missed his Sunday-morning golf game-"

"So I heard."

"Flack's in number two," was Terry's wry response.

A double set of three cells lined a center aisle; each holding area was separated only by iron bars, privacy not being a luxury afforded to inmates of "the hole." Number two was the center facility on the left. One and three were empty; four, five, and six, to Rosco's right, held one man apiece-obviously gents who'd done too much Sat.u.r.day-night partying. All three were asleep on metal cots suspended from the cinder block walls. The place smelled like an airless locker room after a wrestling match-and that was a genteel description.

Rosco dragged a folding chair to the door of cell two, dropped into it, and propped his feet up on the bars.

Flack made no indication of acknowledging his visitor; instead, he hunched over on his bunk, his feet planted on the concrete floor and his forearms resting loosely on his knees. One hand nursed a purple jaw. Although not a large or powerful man, he gave the impression of muscle and rage. When he finally lifted his head, Rosco recognized him as one of the two photographers Tom Pepper had pursued the afternoon of the incident at the Coast Guard station.