The Whale's Footprints - Rick Boyer (8 page)

"Do you think he's going to?"

"Actually, if I had to bet one way or another,
I'd say no. Know why? Because he prides himself on being tough.
Semper fi, all that shit, you know? Now the way I saw things, you got
the better of him. How's it going to look for Paul Keegan's image if
he files an assault and battery against a doctor who's ten years
older? Huh? How's it gonna look? You tell me."

I was still uneasy about the incident, especially in
light of how it might affect Jack.

"I think the best thing to do here is for me to
apologize to him, and then go on from there. We need Keegan on this,
and he needs us."

"I agree entirely," said a deep voice
coming up the stairway. Footsteps came along the hallway, and there
was Paul Keegan, standing there in the doorway to the bedroom,
sticking out his hand. I shook it.

"How're the nuts?" asked Joe. He replied
they'd recover, and noticed the bluish-green blotch on my cheek that
was spreading to my left eye. There was an uneasy silence for a
minute or so, then Joe began to explain our recent thinking about the
pill dispenser case and the murder. Keegan thought a long time before
answering.

"That could make sense. But I still have to go
down to Woods Hole and interview people there. I have to talk with
the boy's parents, too. There's a lot of ground to cover, and it's
premature to make any theories yet."

"So you don't think this is significant?"
asked Joe.

"Maybe it is. Maybe eventually it will clear
Jack from all suspicion. But not now. Think of it from the state's
point of view.

What's the D.A. got to go on? It boils down to the
same old questions of motive and opportunity. The opportunity part is
obvious, no matter what our personal feelings are. Hell, Jack was his
roommate. We don't have any motive. At least none has surfaced yet.
But the opportunity was there, and no matter how much we don't like
it, your son remains, officially, the most likely suspect at the
present time."

"Yeah, well remember those words, Paul,"
growled Joe, " 'official,' and 'at the present time.' When
you've been doing this as long as I have, you'll realize how much
bullshit they are."

"I know what you're saying. I'm just advising
you that, since it's official, I've got to follow this lead.
Therefore, Jack must stay in touch; he can't leave Barnstable County
without telling me."

"How about me?" asked Joe. "Can he
tell me?"

"That's fine. That's good, in fact. But any way,
any time, he's got to notify the state. Fair enough?"

Joe and I nodded.

"This crime probably does have antecedents
somewhere else. I'm heading down to Woods Hole right after I
interview the boy's parents in Providence."

"Well it just so happens that we'd planned to
spend some of our vacation down there ourselves," I said. "We
were going to sail down there and spend a few days. I see no reason
to change those plans.”

I saw Keegan's face cloud over with worry.

"Well, take it easy. I've seen enough of your
temper to be concerned about it, Dr. Adams."

"You can call him Doc," said Joe. "And
we won't go poking around where we shouldn't. I'll see to that. And I
won't undertake anything in your jurisdiction unless it's okayed."

"Appreciate it," said Keegan.

As he turned to go, Joe asked Keegan if he had any
theories.

"
No. Not yet. But I repeat," and now he
turned to me and pointed, "that you've got to be careful, Doc. I
know you're emotionally involved and very upset. But if you get in
too deep on this thing and you come up against somebody really mean,
he won't stop until you're dead. Think about it."

Then he left.

* * *

Sunday evening, Anthony Hatton Adams, our Number-Two
Son, was sitting next to me in my old International Scout. He'd
finally arrived at the Breakers—hornet's nest that it had
become—just after Keegan departed. Now the two of us were driving
up to Wellfleet Harbor to meet the DeGroots, who'd pulled in that
afternoon. Jim had told me over the phone that of course they'd
decided not to make the run over the weekend. Was I nuts or
something? I said they could've called and let us know, for crying
out loud; we were worried. He said that Janice had tried twice
Saturday morning, but the line had been busy for a long time. This
figured; I had been on the blower to the state police, the local
cops, the ambulance service, the boy's parents (to no avail), and a
host of others, I didn't mention what had precipitated all of this;
it could wait.

Tony was even darker than his mother, having been
working in the sun for over three weeks. His dark, wavy hair, thick
eye-brows, and coal black eyes made everyone who saw us together
positive he was not my son. Sometimes, I even wondered myself. Let's
see, it would have been around 1966 . . . Wasn't that the year Mary
and I took that two-weeker to Puerto Rico?

"So what do you think will happen, Dad?"

"Nothing. That's what. But it's a little sticky;
we can't just pretend it'll go away. I'm really glad we've got Uncle
Joe in our corner; it makes all the difference."

"Who do you think did it?"

"No idea. And neither does your brother. That
makes it tough, because it keeps him right in the spotlight. To make
things worse, Uncle Joe just called to say that Paul Keegan, who's
the chief investigator, discovered that the boy's father, who has a
heart condition, was using the same medication that was used to kill
his son."

"So they think the father did it?"

"No, of course not. It's just that the previous
weekend, Jack visited Andy's house down in Providence. The state has
pointed out that Jack therefore could have had access to the fatal
medication."

Tony made a grunt of disgust, but said nothing. We
went through the center of Wellfleet and down to the harbor, parking
next to the little white shack that sells hot dogs and ice cream. We
looked around, past all the little draggers and stern trawlers, the
charter sport fishermen and "party boats," the sailboats
and run-abouts, and spotted a white cabin cruiser made fast to the
dock. We walked down the wooden pier and saw a flurry of white in the
cabin that pranced out onto the rear deck.

"Hi ho, gang!" cooed Janice DeGroot,
wearing a white seersucker robe. The wind, still strong, blew her
light brown hair out sideways. She grabbed at her hair with her right
hand. In her left hand she held a glass with ice cubes and something
red.

"How about a bloody, Doc?"

"
No thanks, kid. How's tricks?"

"He's fine. Hadda leave him back in Acapulco.
Damn!" Big, exaggerated wink. "Hey Jim, Doc and one of his
impossibly handsome progeny are here! You coming up?"

We heard a grunt in reply, and then Jim appeared,
tall, blond, and balding, coming up the shallow companionway (at
least, that's what they attempt to call them on powerboats) to the
main deck, where he stopped to open a beer, and then came out onto
the rear deck to join us in the sun, which was trying to return after
a three-day hiatus.

"Want a beer, Doc, Tony?" he asked,
settling down in one of the canvas director's chairs that lined the
deck. It was navy blue cloth over varnished cedar, with an embossed
anchor done in white thread on the back.

"No thanks," said Tony, who was looking off
down the harbor to where the smaller boats were moored. There, riding
timidly at her mooring, was our sloop-rigged catboat, the
Ella
Hatton
, a twenty-two-foot Marshall with a
small auxiliary diesel engine. She was cute and cozy, and her shallow
draft made her ideal for cruising the bays and inlets of the Cape.

"Had a nice run down here," said Jim,
putting on his Ray-Ban glasses. "Still enough of a chop left to
make it exciting, but the scenery was great."

"Yeah," added Janice, "I just can't
wait till we get going down the—Doc?" .

I looked up at her. I had been looking down at the
teak planking, preoccupied.

"What's wrong, Doc? Your face looks awful!"

So I told them. It rather threw a damper on the
visit.

"That's horrible," said Jim, crinkling up
the aluminum beer can and tossing it into a plastic trash bag. "And
stupid, too. Anybody who knows your family would know it's stupid."

"Yeah. But there it is, and the fact that the
father of the dead boy took the same medication as the kind used to
kill him puts Jack in a bad spot. Well, I say we leave early tomorrow
for Woods Hole. I was going to drive down, but I've changed my mind.
Mary and the boys can take the cars. I'll take the
Hatton
down through the canal and meet you there. I plan to stay down there
until I know more about this thing."

"What about Joe? Is he still going to stay at
the cottage?"

"I hope he'll spend the next week or so going
between the Breakers and Woods Hole. And Moe Abramson is due down
here at the end of the week, too. He's coming down for some R and R.
That's a laugh, isn't it? Wait till he hears about all this."

Nobody spoke for a minute. We looked out over the
harbor. Above, the clearing sky pushed along great puffy balloons of
towering white clouds at a good clip. Gulls mewed and cried, circling
with delicate rowing motions of their long wings, their heads darting
sideways, back and forth, looking for snacks. Tony was inside the
cabin, cutting pieces of Cheddar cheese from a big wedge on the bar.

"Which reminds me," I said, "I've got
to call Moe tonight and ask him about the half-life of phenobarbital.
It's not used that often anymore, except for brain disorders. As a
psychiatrist, he'd be the one to ask."

"Why, Dad, if that's not what killed him?"
asked Tony, chewing cheese.

"Because it would be good to know if many
patients take their anticonvulsant medication all at once, once a
day, as Andy did," I said.

"Does the offer of a sauna and shower still
stand?" asked Janice. "If so, we'll close up here and ride
back with you."

"That's why we're here," I said. "We'll
get cleaned up and have a late cocktail hour. Then Mary's clam
chowder."

So that's exactly what we did. When Janice came into
the sauna bath, Mary and I got a look at her new bikini. It was
rather outrageous—the two-dots-and-a-dash variety—showing a lot
of bun cleavage in the rear. Mary didn't say anything as Janice
pranced around, giggling. This rather surprised me, since Mary is
keenly aware of my attraction for Janice's, uh . . . form. But the
look on her face said a lot. I fully expected her to take Janice
aside later for one of their "talks."

We had drinks on the deck, which was finally dry.
Jack and Tony stood with their beers off to one side, talking low and
sweeping the horizon with binoculars. Jack was holding together, from
all appearances, anyway. But I sensed his inner turmoil. Tony was
rallying round, as the Brits say. We let them be. Eventually, Mary
and I brought the big china tureen out into the screened porch. We
lighted the hurricane lamps on the long plank table and dished out
bowls of the chowder. It was thick with clams, potatoes, onions, and
bacon. But the broth was milky-thin, not goopy with cornstarch the
way it is at most restaurants. We had the chowder with hunks of warm
French bread and lettuce wedges with homemade blue cheese dressing.
We had a chilled white with the meal, and were jovial by the time we
had finished and poured coffee. The sun was magenta and gold over the
purple bay.

I went inside and dialed Moe at his trailer.

"Yeah, yeah, I got a lot of patients wit'
convulsions, Doc. Tons of 'em. I got a lot of 'em doing the Thorazine
waltz, too. You wanna know about the half-life of phenobarb? Sure.
It's got a nice, long half-life. Hangs around the system and stays
there, like a hemorrhoid."

"And it's a common practice for patients on a
multiple dosage to take them all at night?"

"Right, as long as the daily dose isn't too
high. So what's this all about anyway?"

I told him.

"Hoo boy. What's going on there? Who would want
to kill that kid?"

"I don't know, but somebody. We're going to find
out who. When are you coming down?"

"Thursday. At least I planned on it."

"Good. If I'm still down at Woods Hole you and
Joe can have the place to yourselves. Bye."

I went back out onto the deck. Mary came up and put
her arms around me. She had on a low-cut Mexican blouse, with her
hair pulled back and gathered, and big silver earrings I'd bought her
in San Antonio. She looked like a Mexican. The sun was gone and
almost all the light.

"Tomorrow I'm getting up early, running, going
down to the harbor, and fitting out the boat. I want to be underway
by eleven at the latest."

"Can I come with you?"

"Listen, Mary. I think it might be better to
sail down with Jack and spend some time with him, considering what's
happened."

"That's a great idea. I'll drive the car down.
By the way, what did you think of Janice's bathing suit? If you can
call something so miniscule a suit?"