Wolfe left, saying that he would pick her up the next morning, and with her dog on a leash and her duffel bag slung, she boarded a shining, elderly mahogany launch. Twenty minutes later, after a passage over calm, boat-flecked Gardiners Bay, they disembarked at a little dock at Wooten’s Island.
Marlene let Sweety off his chain and walked up a path dressed in tan gravel between thick fir hedges. This led to a wide lawn, shady under old maples and sycamores, and the house itself, a Tudor manse like a small Nonesuch, done in soft-looking carved stone the color of lips. Weathered garden chairs and a round table were arranged on the velvety lawn, and there was a walled rose garden off to the left of the house, with the bright blooms showing over the wall.
Music came floating out from an open leaded-glass casement, the same liquid phrase repeated several times, as they approached the front door. Marlene knocked on it with a massive iron knocker, feeling like a gothic novel heroine despite the fairness of the day. The music stopped.
Edie Wooten opened the door, smiled at Marlene, and gave a little yelp when she saw Sweety.
“What is that?”
“It’s a Neapolitan mastiff. His name is Sweety. He’s perfectly harmless, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”
Sweety shook his monstrous jowls and flung drool in all directions to demonstrate how harmless he was. The two women sat down on a pair of Adirondack chairs, and chatted about how each of them was getting on, avoiding such topics as getting your clothes slashed by a maniac and shooting someone in the middle of a carnival. A stout gray-haired woman in an apron came out, whom Edie introduced as Bridget Marney, the housekeeper. Bridget Marney looked suspiciously at Sweety, who had found a shady spot under a yew hedge, and Sweety returned the favor. Bridget brought out a sweating pitcher of iced tea and glasses on a tray, and departed.
“Is he a guard dog?” Edie asked, having observed how closely the dog had watched the servant.
“Yes, he is,” said Marlene. “I’m going to have to be away working this tennis match for the next couple of days, and I want you watched. Sweety’ll do the job, maybe better than I could.”
“We have cats,” said Edie. “Will he eat them?”
“No, but he’ll eat anyone who comes into the house except you and me.”
Edie’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that a bit extreme?”
Marlene sighed. Somehow she still didn’t get it. Except for a couple of million dollars and a cello, she was just like Tamara Morno. “No, it isn’t. Look, I am extremely worried about you. This guy was never into violence before. Something seems to have set him onto a different track. Now he’s taken a knife and ripped up your possessions. He has to know you’re here, and he’s going to come after you. Luckily, this place is a lot more defensible than your apartment or a concert hall. When he does come, I want to nail him, physically. Now, is anyone else besides you and Mrs. Marney on the island? 1 mean, for the next couple of days.”
Edie seemed surprised by the question. “Well, yes, there’s Bridget’s husband. Jack takes care of the boats and the grounds. And Ginnie-”
“Ginnie’s here?”
“Naturally she’s here. She and some of her friends are in the east cottage.”
“Jesus, Edie! How could you do that! Her friends? Tell me Robinson’s not one of them!”
Edie’s face stiffened. “It’s her house, Marlene. I mean, she owns it. She can have anyone there she likes. Besides, I thought we had disposed of this notion of yours that she’s the one who’s been doing all these awful things. Or Vincent.”
Blind as a bat, thought Marlene. Why do I even bother? She took a breath and said, as calmly as she was able, “Okay, she’s a saint. Does she come in and out of this house much?”
A significant, embarrassed pause. “No, not at all. I have my life and she has hers. The island is fifteen acres, after all.”
“Good. So, what we need to do now is introduce Sweety to your couple, and after that he won’t let anyone else into the house. You might want to convey that message to your sister and her guests.”
“He’ll bark at them, you mean?”
“No, Sweety doesn’t bark,” said Marlene. “He’ll just hold them until I come back, which might be an annoyance, especially if they need to go to the bathroom.”
Edie coughed around her iced tea. “God! This is just for a day or so, yes?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll be back full-time, or I’ll send Wolfe, day after tomorrow at the latest. Earlier if we can catch the guy who’s stalking Trude Speyr.” Marlene explained briefly about Manfred Stolz and his goal in life.
“Is he dangerous, do you think?” Edie asked.
“Fairly. No, I take that back. Very,” said Marlene, and, to satisfy her irritation at this sweet, oblivious woman, added, “About like yours, I’d say.”
EIGHTEEN
“Just do me one favor,” said the district attorney. “Next time you beat up a reporter, could you try to make sure that he’s not a member of one of our fine identifiable minorities? This strikes me as not too much to-”
“I didn’t beat him up, Jack,” Karp interrupted in an exhausted voice.
“… too much to ask. I know you didn’t, but that’s what it looked like. The phone’s ringing off the hook. I got the borough president telling me to pull you off the trial.”
Karp breathed into the phone. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.
“Should I? You’re not having much of a game, if yesterday was any evidence.”
“I can do it, Jack.”
“I hope,” snapped Keegan, and then, after a pause, “How’s Marlene?”
“She’s fine. She’s out of town for a while.”
“Thank God for that!” Keegan exclaimed with fervor. A longer pause. “So, what you’re saying is, the arm is okay? You can go the distance?”
Karp chuckled in spite of himself. It was just exactly that, top of the seventh, score tied, one out, two men on, he just gave up a couple of runs, and here was the manager out on the mound, having one of those conversations the fans never get to hear. Karp said, “You want to send the new kid in, throw a bunch of fast balls?”
Keegan laughed too. “I thought of it, Butch, believe me. Like I say, it’s been suggested too, and not gently either. Could Collins do it?”
“Oh, yeah, he could,” Karp replied flatly.
The seconds ticked. Karp wished that he was face to face, not sitting here listening to the blank hiss of the telephone. Then Keegan said, decisively, “Okay, Chief, I’m not going to change policy, I’m not going to change Francis Garrahy’s policy at this late date. It’s yours to win or lose. But, Butch? You blow this, there’s going to be consequences. I got an election five months away … you comprehend what I’m saying?”
“You told me this already, Jack.”
“I know I did. A lot of times I tell you once, you don’t get it. Take care.”
After Keegan hung up, Karp immediately put the conversation out of his mind and returned to his prep. He had no hard feelings against Keegan. The district attorney’s job was a political office, although Keegan kept it as unpolitical as it could be in its daily operation. If Rohbling crashed, someone would have to be offered up to the voters, and Karp understood the justice of it being himself.
Terrell Collins knocked and walked in. He looked remarkably fresh, pressed and shiny in a nice dark suit.
“You get the last of the stuff from Fulton?” Karp asked.
“Yeah, right here,” said Collins, placing a neat folder on Karp’s desk. Karp looked through it. Lieutenant Fulton and his troops had spoken with anyone who had ever known Clarice Brown, the Rohblings’ nanny, or her son, Cletis, now known as Jamal al-Barka. Collins had knocked this mass of data into a summary, with questions, to which the detective had now supplied the answers. Karp smiled and placed the new material on top of the thick folder he had assembled for this witness.