Stavis flicked a look at me. “Yes yes, of course.”
“Do you recall why Lanny went there?”
Stavis seemed to be searching his memory.
“Let me refresh your memory.”
Walter opened the paper bag we'd brought and carefully lifted out the red float. He set it on the table, situated so that the scratches on the eyebolt end were entirely visible.
Stavis eyed the float like it was a sleeping snake.
Walter smiled in sympathy. “That thing has bedeviled Cassie and me from the start. It wasn't until this morning — trying to figure out the missing pieces in the Robbie Donie mystery — that I took another look and found an answer.”
“I don't see what this has to do with me.”
“Let me set the scene for you. It begins eleven days ago. Friday night, the night before Mr. Donie disappeared.”
Stavis shifted again in his chair.
“We know — from Mr. Flynn himself — that he employed you and Lanny on an iron-seeding project. For the record, one of the seeding floats is on display here.” Walter indicated the red float on the table. “On the night in question, you and Lanny were at the Cochrane Bank site, doing maintenance. Lanny did the diving, because of your eardrum problems. He checked the status of the red floats, and removed a yellow float with a bent snap hook. He was upset. He'd been concerned for some time about the effect of the seeding, and in his agitated state he let the yellow float get loose. When he surfaced, you scolded him for losing it. He said he wanted to quit. You told him he was being childish. He snapped. He tried to stop the project — he got hold of the acoustic remote and shut down the link.”
Stavis blinked. “How do you know all this?”
“I'll jump in here,” Tolliver said. “We three had a chat with Lanny late yesterday afternoon. And he came in here today to repeat his story, on the record.”
“Seriously, Doug? Lanny's unreliable. Sandy forced him on me to begin with, and Oscar insisted I keep him. And yes, I did work for Oscar — and whatever he told you about me, well he had his own agenda.”
“Feel free to offer any corrections.”
Stavis glanced at the recorder.
“To continue,” Walter said, “that Friday night you and Lanny had company. Robbie Donie was out hunting squid and he spotted your boat on his radar and came to investigate. He was an excitable sort and he accused you of poaching. Does this jibe with your memory?”
“More or less. But I don't get where you're going with it.”
“Then stay with me. Donie interrupted you before you had time to retrieve the yellow float Lanny lost. As Donie left, he found it and netted it. Lanny witnessed that — you were in the wheelhouse at that point — and Lanny at that point was upset about all the yelling and decided to keep his head down.”
Pure Lanny, I thought. Already feeling guilty about the sabotage. Ducking.
Walter continued. “The following day, Saturday, Donie hid the yellow float in a niche at Morro Rock. That night, Saturday night, Donie went out squid fishing on the Outcast. He anchored at your iron-seeding site. And then he disappeared.” Walter glanced at the red float. “I have an idea what happened Saturday night but why don't you tell us your version?”
Stavis plucked at the sling holding his arm. He grimaced.
Tolliver said, “You in pain, Fred? Docs assured me your wound is minor.”
“I can handle it.”
“By the way, I'll be asking you to provide fingerprint and hair samples, to check against the UID samples my techs took from the Outcast. Just FYI, as you tell your story.”
“That supposed to make me admit I was aboard? I admit it.” Stavis smiled but there was no warmth in it. “So, sure, Saturday. Robbie sandbags me at my dock, about that yellow float. He's decided Lanny and I were 'up to something' at the site. So sure, I worry that he overheard us arguing — sound carries over water. He tells me he has the float, keeping it as 'evidence' for crying out loud, and he wants me to tell him what we were doing out there.”
“Why didn't you tell him?” Walter asked.
“Because I work for a sonofabitch? A secrets freak who made me sign a confidentiality agreement not to divulge anything about the iron seed project. So now I'm in a pickle. I decide I better find out what Robbie saw or heard or thinks he knows. Good thing is, he's dim and easy to rile up. So I played the squid card. I told him he got it right the first time, that Lanny and I were there hunting squid. I knew he was already in a war with Jake about squid, so the idea of me and another Keasling horning in didn't sit well with him. I challenged him to a duel — let's go back out there and we'll see who bags the biggest squid.”
“You didn't tell Lanny any of this?”
“No, he'd just muck it up.” Stavis gave a pained smile. “So Robbie and I head out, Saturday night. We take the Outcast because she's already set up with the gear, and we actually do run into squid…”
Tolliver put up a hand. “Hold on, Fred. Back up to the gear. Don't leave out the part where you ransack Robbie's duffel, looking for the yellow float.”
“At this point, what's that matter?”
I spoke. “Evidence. It always matters.” I didn't add, especially when it comes to trial.
“Sure, fine, I'll dot your i's and cross your t's for you. I wore gloves but I know you anal tech types might've found a hair or something. Look, Robbie all but threatened me with extortion so you better believe I wanted to find that float.”
“But you didn't. Walter and I found it. Crossing our t's.”
Walter resumed. “Now, you're on the Outcast and you do run into squid.”
“Yes. And Robbie jigs a big one. Then it's my turn. I tell him I want to hunt where I was the night before, tell him I saw squid there. When we arrive I ask him questions, vague but, you know, leading. Trying to find out what he knew. Turns out, he knew zip about the project. So, excellent. That's all I need — I tell him I'm tired, he wins the challenge, but Robbie thinks I'm being condescending. Big word for Robbie. Things get heated. He's going to show me how a real man jigs squid. The one he caught was just a warm-up. He cuts it up, baits the hooks, throws the carcass overboard. That's supposed to attract them — Humboldts are cannibals. Only there's no squid there, they'd moved on, and Robbie's jigging and getting mad and then he gets his line caught in the kelp. He's yanking on it, out of control. Wild. And the deck's slippery with ink from his first catch. And he slips, hits his head. Goes overboard.”
“Did you push him?” Walter asked.
“Good golly no.”
Tolliver leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, hands clasped.
“Doug,” Stavis blurted, “you know me. For chrissake. And there was nothing I could do. He sank fast — you know, wearing those heavy fishing boots.”
Tolliver said, “Why didn't you phone for help?”
“Who's going to get there in time? Seriously, I knew I was in a pickle. I had to think about my own position. If I report it, that brings attention to the site and I don't want to go up against Oscar. Wouldn't help Robbie at that point, anyway. Look, I admit I panicked. I started to motor back to shore but along the way I came up with a solution.” Stavis shifted yet again in his chair. The sun had shifted; it kept getting in his eyes. “I called Joao Silva.”
Walter said, “Your diver.”
“Yes. Yes I know, I told you I didn't know Silva, but I do. He does some work for me. Off the books — he's illegal — he handles the occasional dicey stuff.” Stavis shrugged. “Handled.”
I thought, you callous shit.