FIFTY-THREE

 

 

Floyd called his headquarters and arranged for an interpreter. They promised one would arrive that same afternoon. But that still left them with several hours to wait. Miles tried to call Marion, but got no answer at her mother's house even though he let the phone ring for the better part of two minutes. She was probably visiting her ailing grandfather. Hanging up, he stared at the still, silent phone for another half minute, willing it to ring, longing to just hear Marion's voice.

At a temporary loss for what to do with the investigation, Miles and Floyd decided they'd go to Morgan's Inn for the herb and garlic butter steamed clams Miles had raved about. "You can't leave my island until you've tried them," he told Floyd. "They're the best in the world."

But as they were about to step out the door, the phone rang. Miles rushed back to it, hitting his kneecap on the corner of a desk as he sprang forward to pick up the handset. "Police," he said, rubbing his knee, his heart pounding.

"This is Errol Buchannan." He paused, waiting for a response. "Of the lime company at Roche Harbor."

"Oh, that Errol Buchannan?" Miles said without enthusiasm.

"Sheriff, you are to keep that unhinged temperance fanatic McCaskill off company property. Do you understand me? If I catch that maniac out by the Smokehouse dock harassing my workers again, I'll shoot him for trespassing."

"Trespassing is a capital offence in Roche Harbor now, is it?"

"I'm asking politely, and I'm telling you as a courtesy. Do your job."

With that, he rang off.

"Everyone is telling me to do my job these days," he said to Floyd. "First McCaskill, now Errol Buchannan. And here I thought I was already doing it."

"What's the issue this time?" Floyd asked.

"Seems McCaskill is lurking out near the Smokehouse again, giving its patrons the evil eye or what have you."

"Should we warn Rupert Hawkins?"

"Would it stop him from going there?" Miles asked.

"Probably not."

"Yeah." He reached for the phone again. "All the same, I suppose I should place a call to that squirrelly bartender and tell him to give Rupert a heads-up if he sees him."

Eustace Hampton connected the call. The bartender promised to pass word to Hawkins if and when he came to drink.

"There," Miles said. "Now we're morally secure."

 

*****

Ten minutes later, they were seated at a window table at Morgan's, devouring huge bowls of steamed clams with wedges of warm, crusty sourdough bread. As he always did, Miles was using his bread to soak up every last drop of the buttery broth—with its bits of garlic, shallots, and thyme. He fought the urge to lick his fingers clean, knowing that if his mother were there, she'd whack his knuckles with a spoon for such unmannerliness. He could almost feel the pain, though she was miles away.

Floyd was telling a story of discovering a severed human scrotum in an alley off Yesler Way back when he was a foot patrolman in Seattle, and of how he'd had a recurring castration nightmare ever since. "It made quite an impression on me."

"Sure," Miles said, only half listening, lost in his own thoughts, watching for Marion's mother's car out the window.

"Did you even hear my story?"

"Yeah. Severed scrotum."

"I find a man's precious sweetbreads discarded in an alley, and all you have to say about it is sure?"

"Sorry. I was just pondering something strange."

"What?

"Something I heard a couple of locals say. That if the Jensens had turned to smuggling, then they were fair game, having freely chosen to cross that proverbial line. Having gotten greedy. No longer content to live simply like most folks in these islands. In short, that we shouldn't waste our time."

"Wait—the Jensens were fair game for murder because they weren't, as you say, content to live simply? Come on, now. Surely some of them—the rumrunners, I mean—are driven to their trade by genuine need. Financial pressure. Unusual challenges. I mean, look at Angus Cooper, assuming his acquisition of a big Liberty engine means he was going into rumrunning. Poor widower just trying to take care of his invalid daughter? There's a difference between greed and need, isn't there?"

"Like I said, it wasn't my idea. It was just something I heard."

"Why are you pondering this?"

"I don't know. Maybe because it feels like this job is taking over my life."

And taking away from your precious limited time to woo Marion, Floyd thought. Wisely, he kept his thoughts to himself.