Dom was putting papers in a file cabinet when I entered his office.
“I’d like to get my hands on the guys who said computers were going to do away with paperwork,” he growled.
“You’ll get no sympathy from me,” I said. “My kids and wife use our computer more than I do, and my only paperwork is paying bills once a month.”
“I can’t interest you in a job as my secretary, eh? Not that the state would ever spring for a secretary.”
“If they did, do you think I’m cute enough to qualify?”
“Absolutely not. You been out in the sun, or have you been drinking more than usual?”
I touched my hot red nose. “My noon nap on the beach is responsible. If I get skin cancer I plan to sue the guys who made the beer that put me to sleep.”
“You can’t sneeze without getting sued these days,” said Dom. “You want to hear a lawyer joke? No? I don’t blame you. How about a blond lawyer joke? What’s the definition of gross ignorance?”
“I’m afraid to guess.”
“One hundred forty-four blond lawyers.” Dom sat down behind his desk. “What brings you here? I think this is the first time you ever called first, so it must be something you want me to tell you about the Highsmith business. Before you ask, the answer is no comment.”
“Don’t be so hasty. I’m not looking for secrets. Besides, I may have some information to trade. First, though, how’s Abigail Highsmith doing?”
“A little better.”
“Anybody talk with her yet?”
“Not that much better. What’s this information you think I might want?”
I told him of my conversations with the Shelkrotts and my speculations about the Willets. As I did, Olive Otero wandered in from somewhere out back.
Dom leaned back and cupped his head in his big hands. “We’ve already interviewed the Shelkrotts and we got the same stories except for the part about the girl going to a Swiss school. And your bright idea that the Willets should be on the usual list of suspects is old hat to us. Too bad for your info-trading scheme, but what you have is worth zilch.”
“What do you make of the split between the Willets and the Highsmiths?”
He shrugged. “I’m not a shrink or a sociologist. Spats happen for no reason at all sometimes.”
“But sometimes there’s a good reason. Do you know what it was this time?”
He hesitated, then said, “Not yet. We plan to ask the Willets when we see them.”
The hesitation interested me. “Do you know where the Willets were when the Highsmiths got shot?”
“It’s none of your business, but they were out in Michigan, where he came from originally. Getting away from home for a while, I guess.”
I could understand the desire to get far from the scene of a tragedy, to some place where grief could burn itself out.
“Are they still out there?”
“I haven’t heard that they’re back in New Haven.”
I asked him what he thought of the vengeful-professor theory.
His smile was sarcastic. “It’s pretty rare for some pointy-headed professor to blow a colleague away. They’re all talk and no action.”
“I think we used to call that sort of comment a sweeping generalization. How about the Webster-Parkman case?”
“Exception to the rule. Besides, that happened a hundred and fifty years ago when the West was still wild and young men were going there anyway. No wusses in those days, not even at Harvard. Not like now.”
“What about John Skye?” I said. “You know him. He punched cows in Colorado when he was a kid and he still goes out that way every year or so to camp and chase brook trout. He’s no wuss.”
Dom feigned a yawn. “Another exception to the rule.”
“Your rule has a lot of exceptions.”
Dom brought his hands down and leaned on his elbows. “If you’re trying to find out if we’re getting cooperation from the police in Connecticut, I’ll save you some time and tell you that we are. There’s no evidence that anybody at Yale wanted to off Henry Highsmith. All the tempests there were the teapot kind. And the same goes for Brown. The Rhode Island police have been to Brown and haven’t found a single rumor about anyone who might have wanted to murder Abigail Highsmith or her husband. Is that what you came here to find out? If so, you got a lot out of me and I got next to nothing out of you, so you should be happy.”
I touched my nose again. Still hot. When I got home I’d smear it with green slime. “I’d be really happy if I knew that your ace investigators actually are ace investigators and got everything right when they nosed around.”
“It’s an imperfect world, J.W. Maybe they missed the confession written in blood on the college president’s door, but I doubt it. Besides, until we find the shootist, the case will stay open and our people will keep asking questions. If there’s somebody out there in university-land who packs the right twenty-two under his academic gown, we’ll get him eventually. Hell, he’ll probably confess. A lot of those sensitive, intellectual types think they’re Raskolnikov and want you to know it.”
I leaned over and peered at his mouth. “You know, I think that with a little more rehearsal you could be a contender in the International Curled Lip Championships.”
He laughed. “You think I need more practice, eh?”
“Not a lot, but some.”
“I’ve got some news for you,” said Olive. “One of the guys in that car that followed you couldn’t keep the story to himself in the Fireside last night. I found him this morning and persuaded him that it won’t be in his best interest if he and his pals try it again. You won’t be surprised to learn that they’re some of the hotter heads in the cycle crowd.”
“Why, thank you, Officer Otero,” I said. “I’m in your debt. I don’t suppose you’d care to give me the young man’s name.”
“No, I don’t suppose I would, but I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble with him or his pals. If you do, let me know.”
“Olive thinks I should watch Tarzan and the Leopard Woman,” said Dom. “She’s been in a cheerful mood ever since you mentioned it. Maybe you’ve finally won her heart, J.W.”
“Ye gods,” said Olive.
“Since you’re in a talkative mood,” I said to Dom, “what can you tell me about Gabe Fuller?”
“Why should I tell you something about Gabe Fuller?”
“Because he’s close to Jasper Jernigan and there was no love lost between Jasper and Henry Highsmith and because Gabe Fuller was carrying some sort of long gun in his golf bag the last time I saw him.”
Agganis’s eyes narrowed. “Was he now.”
“I take him to be Jasper’s bodyguard. Don’t tell me you missed the gun.”
Agganis looked more than annoyed. “I didn’t look in his golf bag and he didn’t mention any gun when we interviewed him. Come to think of it, when we asked him about his job, he just said he was Jernigan’s assistant, and Jernigan never said anything different. I guess I’ll be having another talk with those gentlemen.”
“There’s no law against having a bodyguard or being one.”
“Yeah? Well, this is a murder case, and I don’t like people holding out on me! Especially people with guns!”
Had I ever seen him so openly irked before? I fed the flame by giving him my thoughts about Gabe as the possible murderer.
“I don’t know enough about Mr. Fuller to go that far,” said Dom, “but I damn well plan to find out all there is to know. Now, unless you have some other tales to tell me, thanks and good-bye.”
“One other thing. Just when was Highsmith killed? He hadn’t been in that sand very long, from the looks of him.”
“It’ll probably be in the papers anyway, so I guess I can tell you. He was plugged the evening before you found him, according to the ME. His wife claims that he was out on his daily bike tour and never came home.”
“If he was on his bike tour, where’s his bike?”
“You’re smart. You tell me.”
He was reaching for his telephone when I went out the door.
At home, Zee was making black beans and rice for supper. It was an excellent, simple meal. I inhaled appreciatively.
“Your nose is red,” she said, accepting a kiss. “You’d better put some green slime on it.”
I went into the bathroom and did that and my nose immediately felt better.
The kids were still outside, playing in the long summer dusk. I went back to the kitchen and poured two vodkas on the rocks. I handed one to Zee and leaned on a counter.
“Cheers,” said Zee, lifting her glass. “What did you learn from Dom?”
“That the Willets were in Michigan when the Highsmiths were shot, that there are no professorial suspects at the moment, and that Dom didn’t know Gabe Fuller kept a gun in his golf bag.”
“And what did he learn from you?”
“That Gabe had a gun in his golf bag and that I think he’s Jasper Jernigan’s bodyguard and a possible murder suspect.” I gave her my Gabe-as-murderer scenarios.
She stirred the rice and beans. “If Dom didn’t know that Gabe had a gun, he probably couldn’t tell you much else about him either.”
“I’d like to know more than I do.”
“And Jasper Jernigan’s a mystery too.”
“I’d like to know where he was when Highsmith was killed.”
“I imagine that Dom already has that information.”
“I wonder who gave it to him.”
She dipped her wooden spoon into the skillet and lifted it first to her own lips, then to mine. “What do you think?”
“Delish. Do you want wine or beer to go with it?”
“Red wine.”
“Call the kids and tell them that we’re ready to eat.”
I went out and did that, and they swung down from the tree house on the rope hung for that purpose, then went right to the outdoor shower, where, in its own alcove, we had an outdoor washbasin too, for hands too dirty to bring into the house.
I poured the house red for the big people and water for the kids and we had a fine meal to end the day. Afterward I washed the dishes and stacked them in the drier, since it’s a Jackson rule that whoever doesn’t cook does the dishes. I got back to the living room in time to see the end of a hand of five-card stud, won by Joshua, with Zee coming in second. She watched him sweep in the chips. His pile of chips showed that he was doing very well.
“It’s about time for bed,” said Zee.
“Aw! Just one more hand.”
“All right, one more hand. Ante up, everybody. Deal, Diana.”
“Ma?”
“What?”
“It’s summer, so can we read in bed instead of having to go to sleep right away?”
“Yes, you can. You can read all night if you want to.”
The children exchanged pleased looks. “Really?”
“Really,” Zee said as she dealt. “You’re on vacation. Your bet, Diana.”
Diana, showing a six of clubs, reluctantly bet. Joshua, on a roll, raised. Zee saw the bet and Diana wisely folded.
When the last card was dealt. Zee’s king-jack was still high but she passed. Joshua bet the limit and his eyes widened when his mother saw his bet and raised.
Was it a bluff?
Joshua peeked at his hole card, frowned, and raised ten more. Zee raised him back. He looked at her and called.
Her two kings beat his two queens and she pulled in the big pot.
“It’s called sandbagging,” I said to Joshua. “You pretend you don’t dare bet, then after everybody else feels confident and bets high, you raise so you can win a big pot.”
“Is that fair?” asked irked Joshua.
“There’s no rule against it.”
“It doesn’t seem fair to me.”
“You can do it too,” I said. “Just make sure you have a good hand when you do.”
“Ma, how did you know you had a better hand?”
“I’m your mother. Mothers always know.”
“It was mean, Ma.”
“It wasn’t mean, it was poker,” said Zee.
“Bedtime,” I said.
“Pa?”
“What, Joshua?”
“Will you teach us how to play Texas Hold’em?”
“Sure, but not right now.”
It was a beautiful night, so when the cards and chips were stored away and the kids were in bed, Zee and I sat on our balcony and looked up at the stars.
“You don’t think I was mean, do you?” asked Zee.
“Maybe a little bit, but it was a cheap lesson. You took his chips but it didn’t cost him any real money. My poker schooling was more expensive.”
“I think I’ll make a pie tomorrow.”
I put my arm around her shoulders. “That should heal his wounds and make you feel better.”
It seemed like a good time to tell her about Olive’s good news, but as I opened my mouth the phone began to ring. It kept on ringing until I got downstairs and answered it.
“Mr. Jackson?”
It was a voice I didn’t know. “Yes.”
“Is this the same Mr. Jackson who talked to the Shelkrotts yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Gregory Highsmith. You asked questions about me and my sister. Why don’t you come back tomorrow so we can talk. I can tell you whatever you’d like to know. Can you be here about ten o’clock?”
“Yes.”
“I look forward to seeing you.”
The phone clicked in my ear. I hadn’t contributed much to the conversation.