“With all due respect,” Tolliver said, “your gut-feeling is bullshit. My gut has been all over the map, on this case. We go on facts, not gut feelings.”
She held up the laptop. “All the facts you need, Detective. A to Z.”
“How about how he got the damned things, to start with?”
“To collect the natives, Carybdea and Aurelia, he simply went out on his boat with a scoop and a bucket. As for the foreign species, he obtained the polyps on the black market. You could nail him on the illegal importation of invasive species — if he weren't already nailed.”
Tolliver just nodded.
Russell pointed at the N. nomurai tank. “The young ones hail from China.” She added, “Or perhaps Japan — by way of Fukushima.”
“You're shitting me.”
“No bullshit, Detective.”
“What you said before about radiation effects, the mutation thing…”
“The species was already established in its present enormous form — before the meltdown. One could conjecture that adults drifting past the nuclear facility planted polyps there.” She eyed the tank. “It will be interesting to find out what, if any, mutations have occurred.” She gave Tolliver a strained smile. “Godzilla.”
“I'd take that as a joke if it didn't scare the hell out of me.” Tolliver stepped aside and made his phone calls.
When he finished, he said, “All right, I've got the Coast Guard on the way to Diablo. And my divers out at Cochrane just found some kind of feeding device in the chimney holes — injecting brine shrimp down into the cavern. They removed the feeders but they want to know what to do next.”
“Next?” she asked.
“About the damn box jellyfish down there.”
“Hell Doug, seal off the cavern. Currents are still going to bring in nutrients, and you can't have that. You're going to have to starve them.”
“Can't we just wait for them to die?”
“You're forgetting the next generation. There will be polyps.”
CHAPTER 50
We dragged out of Oscar Flynn's house and squinted at the view from the hillside down to the sea.
The morning's fog had vanished.
The sun was low on the horizon and the ocean was golden.
The dazzling daylight blinded me, for a moment, to the near view. And then I spotted the figure sitting on the carved stone bench at the edge of Flynn's patio.
Lanny Keasling. He wore his blue Sea Spray windbreaker. He held a paper grocery bag on his lap. He waited for us to approach — casting a brief curious look at Violet Russell as she swept by, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape, heading for the stairs down to the driveway.
When we drew up in front of Lanny he handed the bag to Tolliver.
Tolliver opened the top of the bag, where Lanny had crimped it, and looked inside. He took his time. And then he said, “How about that.”
Walter nosed in and had a look.
And then it was my turn.
How about that, indeed.
Half an hour later, after Lanny finished his story, Tolliver offered him a ride back into town. Lanny politely declined, saying he had a ride waiting.
I spotted the figure down below in Flynn's driveway. Her orange-blond hair bushed out from beneath a ball cap and she hunched in a blue windbreaker.
As Walter and Tolliver headed for the steps to the driveway, I turned back to Lanny. With my last shred of stamina, of sociability, I said, “You did good,” and I held out my hand.
He looked at me so intently that I figured he didn't trust what I was offering, and he surely had reason to wonder about anybody's offerings or assurances, but in the end he was polite Lanny Keasling and he bobbed his head and put his hand in mine and we shook.
I was offering respect. I hoped he understood that.
CHAPTER 51
The two paper grocery bags sat on the table in Doug Tolliver's office.
The office was roomy, Formica table and slatted-back chairs at one end and big Formica desk and padded swivel chair at the other. Everything tidy, the office of a neatnik. The room was painted a cheery yellow. It had a big window that overlooked the small grassy entrance to the Morro Bay Police Department. It struck me that Tolliver was the only player on this case who didn't have a view of the sea. Of all people, Doug Tolliver should have had a view of his patch of ocean.
Instead, he had a big poster of the harbor and Morro Rock.
The western-facing window let in the afternoon sun.
Tolliver had placed Fred Stavis in the chair facing the sun.
Stavis squinted.
Walter smiled.
This morning had started out foggy — just like yesterday morning, out at sea — only today I'd slept through a good part of the morning, awakened too early by Walter shouting from the common room, “Eureka!”
I'd come out in my robe, groggy, grumbling, who actually says eureka? When Walter showed me what he'd discovered, I understood.
Walter had phoned Tolliver, who'd said, “That could do it,” who'd phoned us back to say four o'clock sharp, it's all arranged.
And now, four o'clock sharp, here we all sat around Tolliver's table.
Stavis shifted in his chair so that the sun wasn't directly in his face. He looked composed. His right arm was in a sling but he assured us that the arm didn't pain him much. He had dressed for the occasion. For an interview at the cop house. No cargo pants. No boat shoes. Pressed khakis and a white button-down shirt — the right sleeve rolled up to accommodate the sling. And lace-up shoes, with socks.
Tolliver rested a hand on a portable digital recorder. “Fred, I'd like to record this interview, if you'll agree.”
Stavis gave a helpless smile. “What am I agreeing to? You still haven't told me why I'm here — is this about the shooting? If it is, I sure hope you're interviewing Jake. He drew on me first.”
“I'm investigating that. But we're here today on a different matter.”
Stavis eyed the two paper bags.
“All in good time. First….” Tolliver tapped the recorder.
Stavis gave a stiff nod.
Tolliver pressed the record button and began the formalities. “This is Detective Tolliver of the Morro Bay Police Department, badge number 370. Today is Wednesday, August eighteenth….”
I watched Stavis shifting position again, trying to appear relaxed, and when Tolliver asked him to identify himself for the record and give permission to record the interview, he responded calmly enough. He smiled when Walter and I gave our IDs and permissions — all of us formally on board here.
And then Tolliver said, “I'm going to go ahead and read you your constitutional rights. You're not under arrest but I want to advise you…”
I watched Stavis freeze up, at that, and when it was time to affirm his understanding of his right to remain silent, to an attorney, he agreed stiffly.
Tolliver concluded, “Will you waive those rights and answer the questions?”
Stavis took a long moment and then said, “Good golly, I don't need a lawyer and I came here to answer your questions. Nothing to hide. Will that do it?”
“That'll do it. My consultants are going to start us off.”
I lifted a hand to Walter. Your eureka, you take it.
Walter cleared his throat. “Mr. Stavis, do you recall that night you and Cassie followed Lanny to the dunes?”