The white-haired man, who introduced himself as Carter McRae, said to us, “Before we sit down and get real comfy-like, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions. Does Miz Sally want to find out if Geoff’s dead ’cause she misses him? Or is it ’cause she’s worried about losing the insurance money?”
I answered. “Neither. She wants to give most of the money to her church. Ethically, she can’t do that if her husband’s still alive.”
The older man nodded, apparently pleased. “That there’s the only answer I’d have believed. Okay, so now I’d appreciate it if you’d haul out one of those cell phones ev’body carries these days and dial up the lady. Sally knows me. Not well, but she knows who I am. If you’re such old and good friends, you won’t have to bother lookin’ up her number now, will you?”
We were dealing with one tough, shrewd old guy.
DeAntoni had a phone and the number. After he’d dialed, McRae held his hand out, put the phone to his ear, pushed open the double doors, and walked out onto the veranda. I watched him through the glass. As he spoke into the phone, he maintained the same mild smile, but his sad eyes brightened slightly. Beyond and below him were cypress trees knee-deep in water; Spanish moss draped over limbs like blue mist.
“Something’s wrong with him,” Tomlinson said softly, looking through the window. “Something happened to hurt him recently.”
DeAntoni said, “What makes you think that? The guy’s ballsy. He likes his whiskey, but there’s nothing in the world wrong with a man liking his whiskey.”
“It’s pure pain. I can see it.” Tomlinson started to add something, but stopped because McRae was coming back into the room. As he handed DeAntoni the phone, the older man looked at me, saying, “You’re Ford. Sally says you two’ve been friends since you were kids. Talks about you like you ought to be wearin’ shining armor and a halo”-his eyes narrowed slightly as he finished-“but I’d bet a good pointer dog she’s wrong about that. The halo part. Which is just fine by me. I don’t like saints. Righteousness-that’s for people who don’t have the spine to live like men.”
I told him, “Your dog would be perfectly safe. I’ve known Sally a long time. She’s a good one. A nice person.”
“I couldn’t agree more, son. Which is why you gave the only answer that was gonna keep me sitting here, drinking your whiskey. I met the lady six, seven times and, each time, I liked her better. Gwendie-my wife-she felt the same. Which is why I’ll be happy to talk a spell. You’ve met those couples who just never seemed to fit? Where you think the wife’s got way too much spunk and class and pure built-in funny for the husband? Or just the opposite: The wife’s a dud, and the husband’s got all the star quality?”
“Sure. Too often.”
“Damn right, son, way too often. They got an unhappiness about them that seeps across a room. My point being that I could never picture Sally with Geoff. We ran in the same circles, belonged to the same clubs. To me, what they seemed to be was two strangers who always arrived in the same car. Not like those good couples you meet every now and again. A man and woman who can be at opposite ends of a big party, but’re still right there together. Partners joined at the heart.”
Tomlinson said gently, “Like you and Gwendie.” McRae seemed to look deeper into his Scotch glass before downing it in a gulp. He was about to reply when the bartender reappeared, carrying our food. Kurt was visibly surprised to see the four of us at the same table. When he asked, “Is everything okay here, Mr. McRae?” he was really asking if the older man wanted him to get rid of us.
“Fine, Kurt, just fine. Turns out, these gentlemen and I have some old mutual friends. Hell of a coincidence, runnin’ into ’em here.”
As he walked away, McRae said in a low voice, “One of the choirboys. That’s what I call ’em. The Church of Ashram staffs this place with their own people-which is why he got so pissed off when you made that remark about Jerry.”
DeAntoni said, “Jerry?”
“Jerry Singh, the head guru. Shiva, the big shot who calls himself Bhagwan. The weirdo you were talking about. Only here, we call him by his real name ’cause he found out damn quick that men with enough money to afford membership aren’t going to tolerate all his religious nonsense. So he pretends to be just one of the boys. Actually seems to enjoy it.”
I asked, “Then why do you tolerate his people as staff?”
McRae said, “Why? Because they’re superb, that’s why. Because they’re the best I’ve ever seen at what they do. Remember that recluse a few years back, one of the world’s richest men? He only hired members from this one particularly strict religion. They did everything for him, cooking, all the secretarial stuff, even took charge of his gambling interests out there in Nevada.
“It didn’t make sense to me at the time ’til I spent a few weeks at Sawgrass. Same principle applies here. Jerry’s people-the choirboys, his choirgirls-really believe in what he says. They don’t drink or smoke, and they sure as hell aren’t going to steal. They’re not employees; they’re disciples. To them, he’s a kind’a God, so they treat us the same way, ’cause that’s what he’s commanded. Which means they follow orders, no questions asked. You ever see Jerry on stage? Attend one of his services?”
Tomlinson said, “I’ve read about them.”
McRae said, “You won’t see a better show in Vegas. Who’s the famous magician, the one with the long hair? Lots of smoke and dramatic lighting? Jerry’s shows are just as good or better. The man’s a hell of an actor. He’s got a great sense of dramatic timing. He’s fun to watch, and I think that’s one reason his followers do exactly whatever he tells them to do.”
McRae added, “They work their asses off. They’re always on time, always polite. They keep the grounds just like they keep the kitchen-immaculate. Cleanliness is one of the Ashram’s tenets. So’re obedience and hard work. They’re as efficient as little robots. See Kurt? He’s bringing me another Blackadder right now. The glass’ll be spotless, and it’ll be filled with a good, full pour. Never had to say a word. I never do.”
McRae paused as the bartender served. Waited patiently until he was gone, then continued, “You can ask ’em to do anything you want-literally almost anything -they’ll do it. If I tell Kurt, call security and have you gentlemen escorted out, they’d do it so quick and smooth, people slurping soup out on the veranda would never know there was trouble. I wouldn’t have to tell them why, give them a reason, say another damn word. Once they got you off alone, from what I’ve heard, you three’d never risk coming back again, either.”
He paused, thinking about it, holding his Scotch to the light, seeming to take pleasure in its amber flush. He said, “People like me, men who fought hard to make their fortunes in the world, we like that. Unquestioned obedience. Hell, we demand it, but it’s getting harder ’n’ harder to find with all the damn do-gooders out there, and bullshit laws.” McRae leaned toward me, focusing on me with his sad, old eyes, “There’s only one thing you can’t expect of staff here.”
I said, “What’s that?”
“Trustworthiness. You can’t trust them. Whatever they hear, whatever they see, they’ll take straight to Jerry if they think he should know. Which is why I’m sure he’ll hear that the four of us were talking about Minster. Tonight at the latest, if that lil’ Yankee hasn’t called Jerry already.”
DeAntoni asked, “So what’s wrong with that, Mac? It’s a free country.”
“I know, I know, I’m just warning you. Jerry’s ruthless-you have to be ruthless to run an organization the size of his. He’s not going to be happy about a member talking to outsiders-especially me, ’cause he knows how I feel. First time I heard about it, the way Minster supposedly fell off that sports fisherman at night, I never did believe it. Personally, I’ve always believed Geoff’s still alive.”
Carter McRae told us he’d been suspicious of Minster’s disappearance for a simple reason: He was acquainted with the three men who were with Minster that night. He told us their names. One was a well-known Florida politician, another was an international investment banker, the third a retired State Supreme Court judge. They all lived in the same exclusive little Coconut Grove community, Ironwood.