The Heat Islands: A Doc Ford Novel (10 page)

Sutter folded the contract and placed it on the desk in front of him. He shook a cigarette out and lit it, holding the cigarette between his teeth as he stared at the paper.

"You got to remember, darling, people in this world will stab you in the back first chance they get. That's why you got to stab them first.
..."

Sutter could hear noise down the hallway, someone in the kitchen. There was the sound of a cupboard opening, then water running in the sink. Christ, Candy was up already. He wondered if he should jam all the papers back into the safe. Then figured, naw, what the hell, he had to handle Candy sooner or later.

But he wanted to keep this contract, keep it until he figured out just exactly what it meant. Then maybe he'd give Senator Griffin a call, say something like, "Hey, Robert, you remember that flunky you met at the party 'bout a year ago? Turns out I'm your new partner." Really shit all over the guy. a fucking state senator.

Sutter took the contract and folded it into one of the big pockets of his safari jacket, right there with all the cash, thinking.
Little golden egg...

Candy Rios stood in the doorway, pale eyes darting back and forth, taking in the open safe, all the scattered papers, and said. "You're not robbing me. Karl, are you?" Standing there with both hands holding the pink houseeoat tightly at the neck, looking at him, then looking away when he tried to meet her eyes.

"You awake already. Candy? I was hoping you could get some rest. Maybe those pills I got from the doctor aren't any good."

Candy said. "You shouldn't be in here. Marv's attorney said I shouldn't let anyone touch anything till he gets here tomorrow for the funeral. He said the police are going to want to interview me, and everything in the house should be just the way it was.'' She stood there, not looking at him, a tiny little woman with bleached hair and a voice like a bird, so beaten down and nervous after living with Marvin that she was like one of those frightened animals in the cartoons, a chipmunk, maybe. She said, "I have to ask you to leave, Karl."

Speaking softly. Sutter said, "Anything you say. Candy, but I'm just trying to do what's best for you. That's why I've been kinda taking care of the marina for you, that's why I went to the doctor so you wouldn't have to. That's what I'm doing
here,
going through all these papers. Here, look for yourself," and he held up the notebook on which he had logged the various bonds and deeds. She took a few steps closer, squinting to read, as he said, "I was kind of Marvin's right-hand man, you know. That's how I know Marvin might have some stuff locked away he wouldn't even want his attorney to see; stuff the IRS can get their hands on and make all kinds of trouble."

Candy said, "Oh? Oh dear."

He held the notebook out farther so she could take it. "Check it yourself," he said. "Everything listed you'll find right here on this desk. I swear to God. All yours. But I know Marv woulda wanted me to kind of help him out here; make sure what the government was going to get a look at. Marv and me was what you'd call pretty close, you know. That's why Judy and me came down here. Hell, he's the one gave me the combination to the safe, just in case." Candy placed the notebook back on the desk, sighing, still holding the houseeoat at the neck. "All he told me was that it was because you owed him some money. And then I saw you in here, and ... well, I hope you don't think I'm accusing you of anything, Karl. I'm just upset."

Sutter allowed himself a gentle chuckle. "I paid Marv that money a year ago. Got the receipt back at my place if you want to see it—"

"No, I trust you—"

"I know you do, it's just you're upset because you're all worn out. Damn it, those pills shoulda helped!"

The woman jumped slightly when he raised his voice— plain-faced little woman, but with nice high cheeks, so she might have been pretty before age caused the skin to go loose. Or maybe Marvin screaming at her had loosened it up, made her whole face sag. A guy like Marvin, his mouth was worse than his fists. But Candy had nice skin, very smooth when you looked close, as Sutter was doing now. He'd never noticed before that Candy might have been pretty once.

Candy used one hand to pat the pockets of her robe, and Karl said quickly, "Have one of mine," offering his pack of cigarettes to her. She took the cigarette in her fingers and leaned over the lighter he held out, sucking the smoke in deep, and Sutter felt a brief adrenaline stir in his abdomen, watching her.

"God," she said, "these are strong."

"Lucky Strike means fine tobacco. It'll relax you."

She took a seat opposite him, brushing hair back off her face, inhaling deeply again and exhaling smoke through her nose. "Those dam mosquito planes went over about six. and I never really got back to sleep. You wouldn't think they'd spray on Sunday."

"Bunch of what you'd call smart asses in those planes, probably old combat pilots the way they fly."

"But they're so
loud."

"Doesn't bother me. Candy. My father was a pilot. He got killed bombing the Japanese. D Day."

Candy looked at him for the first time. "Oh, you poor thing. You must have been just a baby."

"I don't even like to talk about it. I just said it to let you know I know a little bit about what you're going through, Marv dying and all." Sutter had his head down, talking softly. "And, of course, there was Judy...

"That's right, dear Judy. Oh, Karl, it never even dawned on me how much you've been through." Candy was silent for a moment, smoking, but with something on her mind. He could tell. Finally, she said, "Karl ... can I ask you something?"

"Anything. Name it."

"Last night, real late, I woke up and was going to the kitchen to get a drink and Marvin's bedroom door was open. I saw you in there at his dresser doing something with one of his hairbrushes. Holding it. Why were you doing that?"

Sutter still had his head down, and as she talked, he brought his hands up to his face. Pressing his eyelids back with his index fingers, he touched his eyeballs, rubbing them round and round, and when he felt the tear ducts open, he looked up. tears streaming down his face. His voice choked, he said, "It's ... it's just that I missed him. Candy. ... I just wanted to be near him, that's all. ..." Letting her see his face, see him weeping, until her own face went and she began to cry, holding her arms to her chest, making a sort of mewing noise.

"You two
were
close, weren't you?"

"Yes. Like a brother."

"I just didn't know."

He stood and moved around the desk to her. "He was a great man; people didn't understand him." And he slowly put his hands on her shoulders, feeling her tighten immediately. "He was what you call way ahead of his time, and I'd love to get five minutes alone with the guy who killed him." He began to massage her neck gently, rubbing the warm skin of her neck and her shoulder:* with his big fingers.

"I just didn't know. Karl. Marv never told me anything. Never told me anything ever. Like we were two strangers; we never even talked. Even Thursday night, the night he was killed, he was just here for a while and left, didn't tell me where he was going, anything."

She was beginning to relax a little beneath his hands, but still uneasy with him touching her—he could tell—and she reached out to put the cigarette in an ashtray. Why did she have to do that? Sutter had a good flow of tears going now, really crying, but he wanted her to hold the cigarette while he touched her. He tried to think of something to say, but then she took the cigarette in her fingers again, inhaling once more deeply, and Sutter thought about his mother, the way it had been, her sitting there naked in the bathtub, smoking, while he watched. Seventeen years old and furious because she had grounded him, moving closer and closer to the electric heater beside the tub. wondering if he could really do it while she lounged beneath the suds, not at all worried because he knew she liked it when he watched, sucking that cigarette.

Sutter said, "I've always thought the world of you. Candy."

"I... I've always liked you, too, Karl."

"I've never really had a family of my own."

Which made her cry again, her body shaking softly beneath his hands. She looked up with her red eyes and said pitifully, "You just need to be held, don't you?" and let him move around the chair to lay his head on her houseeoat, holding him and stroking his head. "I've lost my dear husband, and you lost your father and your wife—"

He wailed. "And my mother died when I was seventeen!"

"My God, you poor man." Stroking him, and Sutter took one of her hands and kissed it, then kissed her arm, then turned his head upward and kissed her on the lips, tasting her tobacco breath.

She pulled away, very tense again. "Karl, you can't do that; don't do that—"

He pulled her face to his again, forcing her until she let him, and then he could tell that she would let him do anything he wanted, anytime he wanted—anything at all. He said, "Candy, we need each other. You need someone in control now. I'm in control."

He slid his hand between the lapels of the houseeoat and found her left breast, way lower on her belly than he suspected, like a partially deflated balloon, and she began to struggle again, but not much. She whispered, "This isn't right, it just isn't right—"

Sutter said, "There ain't nothing that's wrong in this world," and forced his lips to hers again.

An hour before sunset, Ford steered his flat-bottom trawl boat across Dinkin's Bay toward his house on stilts. The nets were winched up tight so that the boat, with its gray hull, looked like a huge bird with folded wings, and the little diesel engine
pop-pop-popped
along, loud, but not so loud he couldn't hear the drifting hint of church bells, the electronic chimes coming across Pine Island Sound from the chapel at Shell Point Village.

Oh come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant...

Why were they playing that now, the Sunday before the summer solstice, the first day of summer?

It gave the day a holiday softness, a quality Ford recognized but ignored.

Ahead, he could see his house caught in the tilted sunlight. the white paint peeling, rust streaks of the tin roof glowing orange in the rich light; the west side of the house catching the sun, the cast side in shadow, as if the house were a small planet, standing in the water on its crooked stilts, caught in an eclipse.

Ford thought:
I'd hire somebody to paint it. but the paint fumes might have an effect on my fish.
Then dismissed the idea, as he had dismissed it a dozen times before.

There was someone standing on his back porch by the roofed but open walkway that separated his lab from his living quarters, and Ford recognized Tomlinson. Tomlinson wore only shorts and thongs, as usual, leaning toward him over the rail, one hand tugging at his straggly hair. Like something was on his mind and he wanted to talk.

Ford brought the trawl boat in and swept past the anchor buoy a little too fast, missed it when he reached out, and had to bring the engine into full reverse to get back to the dock. Then he reached over the side, clipped the anchor buoy to the stern cleat, and nosed the front of the boat up to the dock, where Tomlinson was waiting with a line.

Ford said, "I think I might like boating—once I get the hang of it."

Tomlinson was cleating the boat off, one foot on the boat, the other on the dock. "This thing must steer like a truck anyway, with that little engine and all that flat bottom."

"Yeah, but you'd think I'd know how to handle it by now." Ford was already bending over the big Igloo cooler filled with water in the back of the boat, brushing away salt foam created by the aerator, and he lifted out two cheeseeloth sacks. "I bet I have ten pounds of plankton here. Bound to have some fish larvae in it. I've got to strain this stuff, then filter it, then rehydrate it and pump it through another filter." Ford held the dripping bags for Tomlinson to take. "Pretty long process. If you've got time, you could help."

"Time, yeah, I've got time, but there's something going on here."

Ford pulled himself up onto the dock. "Huh?"

"I said something's going on; some shit's been going down since you went out."

Ford took the sacks, carrying them up the steps to the fish tank on the main deck. "Someone else had their boat stolen?"

"No, but have a look." Tomlinson was pointing to the marina parking lot. Ford lowered the sacks of plankton into the water and used string to tie them to the sides of the bank. Fish spooked as his hands breached the surface, the explosive movements of the fish creating dull thuds that carried through the water.

Ford said, "Look at what?" but then he saw, parked right there by the marina and the door to Jeth's apartment, two white and blue squad cars with
sanibel / fort myers police
in big reflective letters on the side. There was a third car, a beige Ford, with an emergency flasher on the dashboard. but no markings.

"Oh no." Ford said.

"First one got here about half hour ago; two cops in uniform. Jeth was on the docks helping MacKinley reprime the bait pump, and they talked to him for a little bit, and they all three went up to his apartment. I was out on my boat, and Mack told me they wanted to know which boat was Jeth's, and then they said they wanted to talk to him."

"They didn't advise him of his rights or anything?"

"Mack didn't say anything about that."

"That could be a good sign."

Tomlinson said. "Then the other cop car shows up, and two more uniforms go up, then that unmarked car pulls in. Guy in a sport coat, fucking gun clipped to his belt, and he goes up without even knocking." Tomlinson was glaring at the windows of Jeth's apartment. "Fucking pigs are probably slapping the shit out of him right now, working him over up there."

Ford said, "Come off it," walking down the dock, headed for the marina. Tomlinson had an irrational dislike of policemen that Ford didn't share.

"I don't know, man. I don't trust those fuckers. I never did."