Текст книги "Bonnie"

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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“Well, you’ll have to ask her to forgive me, but I intend to unroll the whole shebang according to my schedule and not hers.” She got to her feet and crossed to the edge of the bank. “Where the hell is Gallo?”

“But you haven’t really been worrying about him since you got back, have you?”

No, she hadn’t, Catherine realized. She had been worried about the gators, not the possibility of his encountering Jacobs’s killer. “He can take care of himself.”

Eve smiled faintly. “And it’s over for the time being. Until next time.”

“Bonnie’s crystal ball again?”

“Call it what you like. I think it’s closer to the concept of faith.”

“And that scroll you spoke about gets unrolled a little bit more?” She turned to look at Eve. “Well, I’ve been thinking of a way to jump-start it. Did you and Joe get a good look at that bastard when he was attacking me?”

Eve shook her head. “He was directly behind you until he actually pounced. He was tall, very thin, and his stride was … springy.”

“His face?”

“No, as I said, he was behind you. And when he attacked, he was bent over you. I couldn’t see his features.”

“Joe?”

“We can ask him. He had a different angle than I did when he got off the shot. He might have seen his face.”

“I hope he did. I had a full view of his features for just an instant or two. It would be good if I had another witness to corroborate my take on him. Gallo was in the bayou, close enough to throw that knife. He probably had a good chance to see him,” Catherine said. “You’ve been trained in police sketching as part of your training, Eve. Can we try to get a recognizable sketch of this guy?”

She nodded. “Since you think that fingerprints aren’t very likely, it would be one of our only options. But it had better be soon. Memory fades in an amazingly short time.”

“I’ve been trained in memory retention for debriefing situations,” Catherine said. “I’ll concentrate and get a picture that will hopefully stay with me.”

“Anything remarkable about him?”

A tan face, pulled tight by the hood of the wet suit. Bushy dark brows flecked with gray. Remarkable? There was something unusual, but it was eluding her at the moment. “I’ll have to think about it. Maybe it will come to me…”

The fog was growing thicker again, she noticed. Gallo wouldn’t be able to see anything. Why didn’t he give up? She hadn’t been concerned before about Gallo, but now she was beginning to feel uneasy. There was no reason for it. It was probably caused by all of Eve’s talk about scrolls and Bonnie, and that other stuff that was pure mysticism.

But she wished Gallo would come back.

*   *   *

HE SHOULD TURN BACK, Gallo thought as he paused to listen for the hundredth time. He’d been out here for at least ninety minutes, and it had been a futile effort.

How had he gotten away?

He knew the answer.

He was sharp and experienced as he’d always been, and never without an emergency escape plan.

Give it up and go back to shore.

Not yet. He would give it a little longer.

Wait. He heard something.

A motorboat!

He turned in the water and swam in the direction from which he’d heard the sound of the motor.

The second line of defense for the escape plan.

Get to him before he got away.

If he didn’t catch him now, the hunt would go on.

And it would lead Gallo straight to hell.

*   *   *

“IS CATHERINE OKAY?” Joe asked, when Eve picked up his call.

“Yes, she came back to the shore not long after you left. But Gallo is still out in the bayou.”

“I’m not worried about Gallo. I just wanted to be sure that Catherine hadn’t been hurt.”

“I take it you didn’t see him?”

“I think we’ve lost him. I’ve been going up and down this road for hours, with no sign of him. But a while ago, I heard the sound of a motorboat in one of the inlets. He might have had a boat stashed there.”

“It’s possible.” She glanced at the truck. “But it would seem like overkill. If he followed her from the casino, it would take some fast scrambling to set up a backup like that.”

“Or someone very practiced in a maneuver like this. I’m on my way back. I should see you in about ten minutes.” He hung up.

She turned to Catherine. “He thinks that we’ve lost him. Maybe a motorboat in the inlet.”

“It took Joe long enough to give up searching,” Catherine said. “I notice you didn’t discuss your theory about the ever-unfurling scroll with him. You could have saved him some time.” Then she made a face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be sarcastic. I just have problems with the idea of fate dictating our lives. I believe we mold our own lives, our own fates, and if we work hard enough, we can make a success of things. I thought you believed that, too.”

“I do,” Eve said. “But there appear to be some things that are out of our control. I found that out years ago, when I lost Bonnie. After that, I discovered damage control and to work with what I was given.”

“A ghost?”

Eve slowly nodded. “I don’t expect you to accept the idea. It took me years to come to terms with it.”

“Eve…” Catherine reached out and took her hand. “I admire you, I trust you, I believe in you. I just can’t believe in this particular.”

“You didn’t believe that Gallo was innocent of Bonnie’s death at first. But now you’re willing to fight for him.” She smiled. “And that’s a good sign for an eventual understanding.”

“Don’t count on it. We’ll just agree to disagree. I can’t promise that I’ll ever—” She broke off and whirled toward the bayou. “I heard something.”

Eve did, too. And the next moment, she saw Gallo stand up in the shallow water and wade toward the bank. She felt a rush of relief. He looked tired and discouraged, but he wasn’t hurt.

“No sign of him?” she asked as he levered himself out of the water.

“No. He got away.”

“Joe said he heard a motorboat in the inlet,” Catherine said. “Did you?”

“Yes,” he said. “Where’s Quinn?”

“He’ll be here in a few minutes. He just called.”

“Good, I want to get back to the house.”

“You said you heard the motorboat. Did you see him?”

“Yes, but he was halfway across the bayou, then he was lost in the fog.” He glanced at the truck. “Have you searched it?”

Catherine shook her head. “No, I called Venable, and he’s going to arrange to get a forensic detail out here. Though I don’t know what our chances are of getting prints.”

“Nil,” he said flatly. “Maybe trace evidence.”

“You seem very certain,” Eve said.

“Do I?” He got to his feet. “As certain as I can be under the circumstances. I’d judge he wouldn’t leave a trail.”

“We may not be able to ID him from prints, but Catherine saw him. I may be able to do a sketch from her description. Could you help? Did you get a good look at his face?”

“No, sorry. You think there’s a good possibility that you’ll be able to get a close enough resemblance?” He glanced at Catherine. “You’ll remember him?”

“I’ll remember him,” she said quietly.

He looked away from her face, and his gaze traveled up and down her body. “You look almost dry.”

She shrugged. “I took my clothes off and wrung them out. You should do the same.”

He shook his head. “I’ll change when I get back to the house.” He turned his head toward the road. “I think I hear Quinn.”

Eve nodded as the car came around the bend of the road. “That’s Joe.” She watched Joe park on the side of the road and called to him as he walked down the slope toward the bank. “Gallo heard the motorboat, too, Joe, but it was moving out of sight when he got to the inlet.”

“That’s convenient.”

Gallo stiffened. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“He saved Catherine’s life, Joe,” Eve said quietly. “I think we can do without antagonism and accusations.”

“Yes, he saved her life.” Joe’s gaze met Gallo’s. “But why did he wait until he had to target the hand instead of another part of the body? That was an incredibly difficult throw. If he’d missed, it could have been all over for Catherine.”

“Perhaps he’d just arrived on the scene,” Catherine said. “Gallo wouldn’t have deliberately chosen to—”

“Gallo was standing in the water watching his approach,” Joe said flatly. “I saw him while I was moving in the brush to take my shot. He was watching, not moving, not lifting his knife. He acted as if he were frozen.”

“I took him out,” Gallo said.

“Barely,” Joe said. “A knife between the shoulder blades would have been a hell of a lot more efficient.”

“And would have run the risk of leaving him dead and unable to be questioned. Ask Eve how she would feel about that.”

“You’re saying that you deliberately risked Catherine on the altar of leaving that killer alive to tell us what we need to know.” Joe shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think you had another agenda.”

“And that would be?”

“I don’t know yet.” He paused. “Of course, you could have been going to let Catherine be killed, but when you saw me on the bank, you decided you had to make a token effort.”

“No way,” Catherine said. “You’re reaching, Joe.”

Joe’s gaze never left Gallo’s face. “But you still left that bastard alive and able to escape. Then you stayed in the bayou for hours, supposedly searching for him, but came up empty. Even when you were close enough to that inlet to hear the motorboat. A picture seems to be emerging. I’m wondering why you would do all that.”

“Keep wondering.” Gallo turned away and moved toward the trees. “I’m not defending myself to you, Quinn. I’ll see you all back at the house.”

“Get in the car, Gallo,” Catherine said. “I’ve been through that brush. It’s hell on bare feet.”

But Gallo had already disappeared into the palmetto shrubs.

“Okay.” Catherine turned to Joe. “You’re saying that Gallo didn’t want Jacobs’s killer caught. Why? Are you still thinking that Gallo had something to do with Bonnie’s death? That maybe he didn’t kill Jacobs himself but he had an accomplice do it?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit until I find out why Gallo didn’t throw that knife when he had a better chance of taking out his target.” He turned away and started up the slope. “And I don’t regard any argument you can give me as credible.”

She stared at him. “Why the hell not?”

He looked back over his shoulder. “You’re being emotional. You’re not thinking as clearly as you usually do.”

“He made the throw. He saved my life. I was with him in that house, and I know he didn’t set Jacobs up to be butchered.”

Joe didn’t answer as he got into the driver’s seat.

Eve could sense the frustration Catherine was feeling. She was feeling a similar frustration, mixed with uneasiness. Yes, Joe’s suspicion could be based on his history of distrust of Gallo. But Joe was smart and cool and seldom let anything interfere with his logic. “Come on.” She took Catherine’s arm and nudged her toward the slope. “Get in the car. I don’t want you getting angry and stomping off into the brush like Gallo. After looking at the soles of your feet while we were sitting on the bank, I’m surprised you can walk.”

“I’m all right.” Catherine started up the slope. “But I won’t let Joe make me pissed off enough to hike back.” She added through set teeth, “I’m not credible? I’m too emotional? Screw him.”

“He used the wrong words,” Eve said.

“You bet he did.”

“But you wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t think that there was some truth in what he said.”

Catherine’s gaze flew to her face. “Do you believe Gallo was going to let me die?”

“No.” She smiled. “But I’m emotional, too. I don’t think nearly as logically as Joe. As we’ve already discussed, sometimes gray seems white to me.” Her smile faded. “And there may be a good deal of gray in this scenario. Gallo may not be pitch-black, but he could be bordering on charcoal.”

Catherine shook her head. “He saved my life. He wouldn’t have let me be murdered.” She got into the backseat of the car. “And that’s not an emotional judgment.”

“No,” Eve said as she climbed into the passenger seat. “It’s more like faith.”

*   *   *

“HOW ARE YOUR FEET?” Gallo stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his gaze on Catherine, who was sitting in a chair by the stove, her bare feet soaking in a pan of warm water. “I’m glad you’re taking care of them. Salt water?”

“Yes.” She met his gaze across the room. “I always take care of myself.”

His lips twisted. “Quinn wouldn’t agree with you.”

“Joe thinks I’m ‘emotional.’” She looked at his feet, encased in boots. “You tore your feet up, too, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You deserve it. You were stupid. I had no choice. But you could have just kept quiet and let yourself be driven back to the house.” She sloshed her feet in the water. “Did you bandage your feet before you put on those boots?”

“Yes, I take care of myself, too.” He came toward her. “Where are Quinn and Eve?”

“They’re calling Jane MacGuire. Eve promised to keep in touch with her.”

“And Eve always keeps her promises.” He took the towel draped over the chair next to Catherine’s. “Did you call Venable again?”

“No, but he called me and said he’s on his way here. He asked a favor of New Orleans Police Department, and the forensic team should be here anytime to check out that truck.”

“He’s moving fast.” He fell to his knees, took her left foot out of the water, and enveloped it in the towel. “It’s not that urgent, is it? Not to the CIA.”

“No. And Venable has no real reason to come down here. He knows I can take care of it. Which means that he has another reason to move in.”

“You’re obviously valuable to him.” He was gently patting her foot dry. “He wants to make sure nothing happens to you.”

His hands were warm through the terry of the towel, and his position at her feet and the action itself were unbearably intimate. She felt a rush of heat go through her.

Not now. The searing sensuality was unexpected, and she felt the tensing that was now familiar. Pull away from him.

She didn’t move. She watched him slowly move the terry over her foot. Each stroke was causing her to tense, the blood to rush beneath the skin at his touch. “Venable isn’t that protective. He wants something.”

“What?” He placed her foot on the floor and lifted her other foot from the water. He began to dry the top, then cradled it in the towel. “You have beautiful feet.”

“No feet are beautiful. Some of them are just not ugly.”

“You’re wrong.” His hands tightened around her foot, his eyes focused on the towel. “I never dreamed I had a foot fetish. I keep thinking where I’d like to put—” He drew a deep breath. “That’s not where I meant this to go.” He began to dry her foot again. “I’m constantly becoming distracted when I’m around you.”

“Where did you mean it to go?” she asked unevenly. “I’m curious to know, Gallo.”

“I wanted to tell—” He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. “I never wanted him to kill you, Catherine. No matter what Quinn says, I’d never do that. You trusted me when no one else did, when I didn’t even have faith in myself. I was planning on taking him out earlier. I thought I’d have time. But then everything went to hell.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t expecting him—” He broke off and threw the towel aside. “Shit.” He jumped to his feet. “I never meant it to be that close, Catherine. But I had to target his hand. I tried, but I couldn’t do anything—” He was striding to the door. “But I wouldn’t have let him hurt you. I couldn’t stand that either.” He looked at her over his shoulder, and she was shocked at the torment she saw on his face. “That damn Quinn was right about almost everything else, but he was wrong about that. Believe me, Catherine.”

Before she could answer, he was gone.

She collapsed back in the chair and drew a shaky breath. She felt vulnerable and hot and bewildered. Those moments with Gallo had been explosive, and she had not come out well. She had responded, not been aggressive. She had not been in control. She should have asked him questions instead of trying to puzzle him out and being swayed by what he was clearly feeling.

What she was feeling.

Dammit, she’d have to go after him and make him—

She heard the sound of a car starting outside.

“No!” She jumped to her feet and ran out of the kitchen, down the hall, and threw open the front door.

Gallo was already driving the car out of the driveway and toward the road.

“Gallo!”

He didn’t answer, and, the next moment, the car disappeared around the curve of the road.

“Catherine?” Eve was behind her. “What’s wrong?”

Catherine threw her arm out toward the road. “That’s what’s wrong. He’s gone. He took off.”

“Gallo?” Joe said as he came out of the living room.

“Who else? Did he say good-bye? Did he explain more than muttering a lot of disjointed garbage? No.” She went back to the kitchen, tossed the water from the pan out the door, and sat down. She glared at Eve and Joe, who had followed her from the front door. “But he’s not going to get away with it. I’m going to go after him.” She opened the first-aid kit she’d set out in readiness to bandage the cuts on her feet. “But first we’re going to find out everything we can put together about the man who killed Jacobs. Dammit, Jacobs was scared because he knew who killed Bonnie. I know it. If we’d had just a little more time, we’d have made him tell us everything. It had to be that man we lost in the bayou. We’re close, Eve.”

“But Gallo may be closer.”

“Not for long, dammit,” she said through clenched teeth.

CHAPTER

4

“LET ME HELP YOU WITH THOSE bandages.” Eve knelt by Catherine’s chair and lifted her foot. “Those cuts look more annoying than serious.” She used the antiseptic, then laid it down again. “Though you shouldn’t have run after Gallo. We have to cleanse them again.”

“I can do this.” Catherine ran her fingers through her hair. “Everyone is treating me like an invalid. Gallo was—” She drew a deep breath. “Thanks, Eve. I’m a little upset.”

She was more than a little upset, Eve thought. Catherine valued her professional coolness, and she was not displaying that quality at the moment. Who could blame her? Eve was upset as well. Joe’s accusations had been very disturbing. “Just what did Gallo say to you?”

“I told you, no explanations.” She paused, watching Eve cleanse the cuts. “All he said is that he never meant me to be hurt. I believed him.”

“I saw his face,” Joe said from where he stood in the doorway. “And he could have thrown that knife before he did. Why are you being so stubborn?”

“Because I saw his face, too,” Catherine said. “Five minutes ago, when he told me that you were wrong and that he never meant me to be killed. I’ve got to go with what I think and feel.” She looked down at Eve. “But I believe Joe when he said that he could have thrown that knife before he did. Joe doesn’t make mistakes like that. And Gallo’s behavior is definitely suspect since he’s acting as weird as hell.” Her glance shifted to Joe. “We just have to figure out why he’s behaving like that.”

“Give me a few minutes alone with him, and we won’t have to bother figuring out anything.”

“We’d have to catch him to let you talk to him,” Eve said. “And maybe that’s why he took off. He didn’t want to cause any conflict.”

“Really?” Joe’s tone was skeptical. “I’ve never noticed he’s particularly peace-loving.” But he was studying Eve’s expression. “Are you weighing in with Catherine on this?”

“I’m trying to get to the bottom of what Gallo is up to. You can’t both be wrong. Since I trust both of you, there has to be a middle ground.” She finished bandaging Catherine’s feet and stood up. “And the middle ground has to have something to do with the man who killed Thomas Jacobs. Let’s start with him. Appearance. I caught only a fleeting glimpse. You said that you thought that you could give me a good enough description of his face for me to do a sketch, Catherine. We’ll leave that for later. He was thin, very thin. That’s my sole contribution.”

“And tall,” Joe said. “I couldn’t tell anything about his hair because it was covered by the hood of the wet suit. But he moved like an athlete, smooth, coordinated.”

“Age?” Eve asked.

Joe shrugged. “Not close enough.”

“Catherine?”

“Fifty, maybe.” Catherine frowned. “I’m not sure. There was something…”

“It may come back to you when we start the sketch.”

“Possible.”

“Now, motive?”

“He didn’t want Jacobs to talk to us. Jacobs was definitely afraid of someone. He thought he’d be killed if he talked. He told us that he wouldn’t have a chance.”

“Talked about what?” Eve asked.

“How the hell do I know? Bonnie’s death? What else could it be?” Catherine began to put on her socks and boots. “But we’d better start that sketch right away. I want to find that killer before Gallo does, and he has a head start.”

“Because you think Joe is right, and Gallo knew Jacobs’s killer,” she asked quietly.

Catherine nodded. “But that doesn’t mean he hired him to kill Jacobs. That didn’t happen, Eve.”

“It better not,” Eve said. “I want to give Gallo a chance, but if he was an accomplice in killing Jacobs, then that means everything he told me about dreaming about Bonnie while he was in that prison in North Korea was a lie. I was so damned touched when he said that dreams of her kept him alive.” Her lips tightened. “If it wasn’t true, that would mean I was a fool to think that he loved my daughter.”

“I can’t guarantee that anything he told you about Bonnie was true. Everything to do with Bonnie is strictly between the two of you.” Catherine made a face. “I’m limiting my investigating to things that can be proved.” She shifted her glance to Joe. “I’ve been told that I’m in the minority. I found it hard to believe that you were consorting with ghosts, Joe.”

“You have no idea.” Joe smiled faintly. “Someday, I’ll sit down and tell you a few tales that will cause your hair to curl.” His smile faded. “Don’t be too committed to reality, Catherine. It can trip you up.”

“I’m clinging to it with both hands. It’s comforting. Now, Eve, where do we get a sketch pad for you?”

“We don’t. But I have a loose-leaf notebook in my bag that I can use. It’s in the trunk of the car. I can make do with a regular pencil.”

“I’ll go get it.” Joe turned and moved toward the door. “I’ll be back in a– I hear a car.” He threw open the door. “I think the local sheriff’s department is here.”

Eve followed him and saw the two white cars with the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Department on the side drawing up before the house. “Venable got them here fast.”

“But I don’t want them coming in and finding Jacobs’s body,” Joe said. “That would prove awkward.”

“Awkward?” Catherine joined them at the door. “Yes, I think that would be a little awkward. Venable should be here soon with a CIA crew to do cleanup. Those cops were only told to do the forensic work that we wanted done on the truck.”

“Then I’ll keep them away from the house.” Joe moved toward the two police cars. “I’ll take them down the road to the Chevy.”

Eve and Catherine watched as he greeted the officers with smooth, friendly authority. A few minutes later he got into one of the patrol cars, and the two sheriff’s cars moved down the road.

“That’s going to take a while. We might as well get started.” Eve pulled out the keys and moved toward the rental car. She paused after she’d unlocked the trunk to look out at the bayou. “The fog is almost gone. Why couldn’t this have happened a few hours ago? It would have made everything so much easier.”

“You mean you don’t have a metaphysical reason for the fog, too?” Catherine shook her head. “I’ll shut up. I know this was difficult for you to share, and you don’t need me giving you a hard time.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She took the notebook out of the trunk and slammed it. “Actually, you took it better than I would have thought.” She glanced at Catherine. “And you’re under a strain that tends to exaggerate every emotion.”

“And you’re not?”

“Oh, yes. But it’s buried deep and just waiting to break free. I guarantee that you’ll know it when it does.” She turned toward the house. “Now let’s get this sketch started.”

*   *   *

“THAT’S ALL THAT WE CAN do before we haul the truck into the pound,” Detective Pierre Julian said to Joe. His words were spoken with professional courtesy, but the accent was pure Cajun. “Would you like us to do anything else? My captain said we were to cooperate with you in any way we could.”

“No, you’ve been very thorough.” It was true: Julian had gotten down to business as soon as they had reached the truck. His forensic team had swarmed all over it, but the investigation had still been done with great care. “I couldn’t have asked for a better team in Atlanta. You seem to have a hell of a lot of experience.”

“You think Atlanta’s the only place that can deal with crime?” Julian asked. “They may call New Orleans the Big Easy, but if we didn’t protect our city, the tourists wouldn’t find us that easy to come and visit.” He paused. “But we’re not used to calls from the CIA. Is this guy supposed to be a terrorist or something?”

“Or something.”

Julian shrugged. “Bad news. We’ve got to stop those creeps. I hear Homeland Security thinks they’re just walking over the Mexican border. You want me to take you back to the house?”

Joe started to nod, then shook his head. “Is there somewhere around here that someone could get his hands on scuba equipment or underwater apparatus?”

Julian frowned. “Around here?”

“Maybe on the road from New Orleans to the house I rented. It would have to be fairly close to the house.” Catherine and Gallo had been followed to the house, then Jacobs’s murderer would have had to backtrack a relatively short distance to pick up that wet suit and equipment and get back in time to commit the murder. “Fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Julian shook his head. “No scuba-rental places. No call for it around here.” He grinned. “No one wants to go into the swamps and swim with the alligators. The tourists want to see them, not play with them.”

“I can understand that,” Joe said. “Okay, no rental places. What about a place that would need that kind of equipment for maintenance of their facility? Is there a fishing sanctuary or a pelican—”

Julian snapped his fingers. “An alligator farm. There’s an alligator tourist attraction about fifteen miles back. I guess they’d have to use that kind of scuba stuff every now and then. Is that what you’re looking for?”

“It could be,” Joe said. “Can we go there and ask some questions?”

“Sure. Should I send the team back to the city?”

“No, have them come with us.” He wasn’t optimistic about the chance of getting evidence from the truck, but it might be a different matter at the alligator farm. The bastard would have been in a hurry if he was trying to steal equipment and get back to the house. He was beginning to feel a tingle of hope as he turned toward the sheriff’s car. “What’s the name of this place?”

“Bubba’s Alligator Farm.”

“Bubba?”

Julian shrugged. “The tourists probably like it. They’re always looking for flavor. We give it to them.” He got into the driver’s seat. “You guys in Atlanta give them plantations and ladies with hoop skirts. We give them Bubba’s alligators. But only from a decent distance.…”

*   *   *

THE SIGN ABOVE THE WOODEN arch of the gates around the huge dirty brown pond was inscribed with bold, red letters.

BUBBA’S ALLIGATOR FARM

BRING THE KIDS

COME FEED THE PREHISTORIC MONSTERS

“You can’t say that Bubba isn’t appealing to the basest instincts,” Joe murmured, as they drove under the arch. “And he should be a little clearer. Does he want to bring the kids to feed the alligators?”

“Good point. But you’re not being fair,” Detective Julian said. “Alligators are throwbacks to prehistoric times. Maybe he’s trying to educate the kids.”

“Yeah, sure.” Joe was glancing around the grounds. All of the alligators appeared to be clustered at the far end of the brown-green pond. Other than a long pier jutting out over the pond, Bubba’s farm appeared to consist of three refreshment stands, a gift shop, and a butcher shop sporting the sign with a beefsteak. Fresh alligator meat. “And would you let your kids go out on that pier and throw beefsteaks to the alligators?”

“I don’t have any kids.” He looked at the pier, which had only a slender cord on one side. “Nah, not a good idea. Maybe we’d better have a talk with Bubba.”

“After we talk to him about the scuba equipment. Where the hell is he? The place is deserted.”

“What are you cops doing here?” A truck had been driven through the gates behind them, and a bald man had stuck his head out the window. “I’ve got a license. You’ve got nothing on me. Has the Department of Environmental Quality been complaining? I treat my gators good.”

“No one’s been complaining,” Julian said. “Though I’m beginning to wonder why not. Are you the proprietor of this business?”

“I’m Bubba Grant.” The bald man got out of the truck. “Yeah, I own the farm. I’m just trying to make a living like everyone else. A man tries to get ahead, and all of a sudden the cops are down on him.”

“I’m Detective Julian. This is Detective Quinn. We have a few questions to ask you.”

“I treat my gators good. They’re better off than they would be in the swamp.”

“Do you use any underwater scuba equipment?” Joe asked.

“Are you crazy? I don’t let anyone in the water with the gators. Do you know what that would do to my insurance?”

“Do you have any underwater equipment you use for maintenance? What about when you have an injured alligator or you need to remove harmful debris from your pond?”

“Naturally, I keep my gators safe.”

“So you do have underwater equipment.”

“A suit, a speargun and some spears.” He added quickly, “But I’d never use them on the gators if I could help it. Only self-defense. Maybe to save a kid who fell off the pier in the water or something like that.”

“I’m impressed by your humanity,” Joe said ironically. “May I see the equipment?”

“Sure. It’s in the storeroom behind the gift shop. I’ve got nothing to hide.” He moved toward the shops. “Is this some new rule the DEQ has come up with? Do you want to talk to any of my people? You’ll have to wait for a couple hours. We don’t open until noon, and no one shows up until the last minute. You can’t get good help these days.”

“Why noon?” Julian asked.

“The gators have got to be hungry, or they don’t put on a good show. They won’t come near the pier. People like a little thrill, you know?” They had reached the gift shop, and he pulled out his key, then stopped. “What the hell?”