As I reached for the phone, it rang. I picked it up and heard Salina's voice say, "Doc, honey? Man's on the line, he says he wants to speak to you."
Then I heard Detective Gary Parrish's voice. "Yeah, Doc honey, it's me. You got a minute?"
Tomlinson had left the uneaten portion of the fish out on a wooden platter covered with aluminum foil. He'd baked it with onions, fresh chilies, lots of mushrooms, and he'd made fish gravy.
Despite his many oddities, the man is a fine cook.
I removed the foil, stooped, got a fork and began to eat, as Parrish said, "Only thing I've had time to do is try and find the girl's runaway daddy, Dart Copeland. Wanted to ask him a few questions. You see him whispering to Mr. Bauerstock? But when he walked away from that funeral, it's like the man disappeared. You expect me to know anything else, you're too impatient for this kind'a work."
I said, "Oh? My luck's been a little better."
I told him what I could about my conversation with Bauerstock. Without going into specifics, without breaching the confidentiality I'd promised, I presented a very clear image of who wanted the totem badly enough to exhume Dorothy: Ivan or Ted Bauerstock. Perhaps both.
Parrish whistled, "Man, the chance to take down Ivan Bauerstock. That snobby rich man, he got the overseer attitude. I can see it when he looks at me. Wouldn't I love to put the bracelets on him." He paused for a moment. "But if the man knew where the wooden carving was buried, why'd he bother having someone rob Mrs. Copeland's trailer?"
"I don't think they did know at first. Delia's address was on file with the city cemetery, so she was easy to find. She hadn't sold the carving, hadn't donated it. They could have searched their computers on that, too. So the reasonable assumption was that she'd kept it. I think one other person knew where the totem really was, the big guy who was at the funeral. The guy with the red face, Frank Rossi. When Ivan or Ted dropped the word, Rossi probably told them about the grave."
Parrish chuckled. "That reminds me, man. We got a report this other big white guy from the funeral beat the Johnny-cakes outta two of the local crackheads. One of them Tony Rossi, Frank's boy. 'Bout ripped one'a their ears off, put the other one in the hospital. Families decided not to press charges. Who knows why? You wouldn't know anything 'bout that, man?"
I said, "I know enough about Frank Rossi to not much care." Then I told Parrish what he'd done to Delia, adding, "So after he robs her, he date-rapes her. A woman who's absolutely crippled by grief. He and his son aren't going to get a lot of sympathy from me."
Parrish said, "You eatin' something?"
I told him.
"Man oh man, fish gravy and mushrooms. That's Bahamas soul food, man!" Then he said, "We got that goin' on here now."
"Bahama's cooking?"
"JVo. A version of it, date rape. Only worse. We got the whole staff workin' on this one. That's why don't expect me to be doin' much about Mr. Bauerstock and his politician son. Thing is… wait, tell me something first. Anybody else around to hear you and Teddy talkin' about how much his daddy wants that carving'?"
"No."
"Then it's his word against yours. All the people on Mr. Bauerstock's payroll in this state, how you think that'd go? So I best spend my time tracking down this very bad man we got roamin' around the Everglades."
"The date rapist, you mean? Any man who rapes a woman should be put away for life. Or killed. Or chemically altered. You'll get no argument from me. You can't work both cases at the same time?"
"It's worse than date rape, man. I told you about the three women disappeared? We finally found one of 'em. She must'a put up a hell of a fight. Jumped out of her abductor's car while it was moving, but she chose the wrong time 'cause he was on the Marco Bridge when she bailed. That's a very long fall."
I said, "Dear God," picturing it. "How old was she?"
"She was twenty-four, on vacation down here from Columbus. Medical examiner says she had a drug in her, this new drug come up here from South America from what the natives there call the Borracho tree. It means 'drunk tree.'"
I said, "Borracho, Jesus. I'm familiar with it." The drug made from the leaf of the Borracho tree is scopolamine. I knew about it because, south of Cartagena and off the Rosier Islands, locals boiled skin off the roots and dumped the liquor into calm backwaters to stun immature tarpon which they then sold in the markets. Colombia is one of the few places in the world that considers tarpon to be a table delicacy.
Shamans there also used it to induce waking trances in their patients. An individual under the influence of Borracho is unaware that the dream they seem to be having is actually real. They can be ordered to engage in sexual or illegal acts without their consent or knowledge. They are also extremely suggestible.
I also knew about scopolamine because it was used for interrogation and subjugation in the world of international espionage.
"You think Mrs. Copeland feels bad 'bout her daughter? Listen to this. Man, I had to call this girl's parents on the phone, tell them we'd found their missing child. Then stand there beside her father when the medical examiner pulled the sheet back for him to ID his dead girl. Know the worst thing?"
I had a terrible feeling of dreamy premonition as Parrish added, "The man who got the drug down her. He'd already hurt the girl bad before she jumped. He'd taken her eyes out; probably used his fingers, the medical examiner said. I had to tell the daddy the truth about that. It happened while his child was still alive."
I said, "How do you know she jumped out of a car?"
"What you mean? 'Course she jumped out of a car. How else we find her floating under that bridge?"
"A boat," I said. "She could have jumped from a boat."
Twenty
Tomlinson Stood at the top of the com-panionway steps, looking in. For no reason that made sense, the individual ropes of his beaded hair created streamers of colored light as they swung back and forth. He said, "Uh-oh, uh-oh, holy shiizky. What you been eating there, Doc?"
"Some of your snapper. Thanks for inviting me, by the way. Yes, I'm being sarcastic. It's excellent." I touched a fist to my chest. "But I think it's giving me heartburn." Then I said, "Whew! Is it hot down here? All of a sudden, it seems really warm." I tried to stand, then sat down quickly on the settee cushion. No Mas seemed to be dancing around in the wind.
He came down the steps fast, held his palms outward. "Okay, first thing is, stay calm. I'm here by your side. I'm not going anywhere; not a thing in the world to be afraid of. Some consider me an expert in this field."
"Are you nuts? I've got to fly. You know where Ted Bauer-stock's ranch is? We need to get up there right away. Take the truck, bang on the gate till they let us in. I think the girls could be in trouble."
He put his hands on my shoulders. "You're in no condition to go anywhere, compadre. What you're feeling right now is very typical. Mild panic, sweating, mild heartburn, all symptomatic. Especially the panic. It's to be expected on your first journey."
I was sweating and burping. Colors through the compan-ionway door had gotten much brighter: molecularized purples and fruity pinks. As the boat rocked back and forth, the mast created a metallic slash in the tissue of burning, sunset sky. It was an opening large enough to swim through.
"Doc, there's something I need to tell you. Before I do, I want you to promise me something. Please don't hit me. I've seen you hit people. I'm much too fond of my nose to risk it. Plus it makes my eyes water and it looks like I'm crying. It would be embarrassing. I cry too much as it is."
"Hit you? I don't have time to hit anybody. I've got to get to Marco, find that ranch." I tried to stand again. My legs had turned to water. I looked down at my boat loafers to see orange streaks scoring the leather. Then my brain, in rapid succession, transferred the outline of the loafers onto a leather hide hanging on the wall, then onto a cow that was sprinting away from a bald-headed cobbler who was chasing the animal, thread and needle in hand.