The Cypress House(55)

“This is still happening?” Arlen said. “The smuggling, here?”

“Yes. Every six weeks or so. A lot of drugs come through this inlet. And a lot of money.”

“Solomon suggested as much to me,” Arlen said. “You said he was handpicked by people in New Orleans, but judge is an elected position. As is sheriff. How did those two come from other places and get themselves elected?”

“Bribes, swindling, and intimidation,” she said. “Solomon was the first. Then he brought Tolliver down from Cleveland and got him elected the same way. They don’t answer to the people of this county or anyone in the entire state; they answer to New Orleans, New York, and Chicago. I don’t think smuggling has anything to do with Solomon wanting to be a judge, though. It has to do with power, and background. He’s building both. What he wants won’t be found in Corridor County. He intends to go far beyond that.”

“And you’re helping him lay the foundation.”

“I just told you why! It’s not as if I made some decision to—”

“Whose hands were they?” he said.

“What?”

“The hands in the box. Who do they belong to? That man in the Plymouth who came by last night?”

“Yes. Tate McGrath killed him, I’m sure. Tate and his sons. His name was David Franklin. From Tampa. He worked with Walter Sorenson.”

“Doing what?”

“Collections. Bookkeeping. They were the money men.”

“I get the feeling,” Arlen said, “that Mr. Franklin tried to get more than his share. Apparently Wade and his boys didn’t appreciate that he melted Walt Sorenson in his attempt.”

She turned away as if feeling ill.

“Why would they bring the hands to you tonight?” he asked.

“That’s Solomon’s idea of a message. He’s reminding me of his power.”

“But why would you care about this David Franklin?”

“Because,” she said, her voice dipping to a near whisper, “we do the same sort of work for Solomon. He’s reminding me to do it right.”

Neither of them spoke for a while then. The wind blew and the waves broke and they sat in silence.

“There was a woman with Franklin last night. Do you know—”

“I have no idea what happened to her,” she said.

But they both knew.

Arlen took out a cigarette and lit it and smoked. “This is why you stayed,” he said. “Because you believe that if you leave, he’ll have your brother killed.”

“I don’t believe it. I know it.”

“So this place has value to Solomon,” he said, “because he can let his boys meet out here, bring in visitors to talk about things that can’t be overheard, maybe kill a man or two. You’ll keep silent because you’re worried for your brother.”

“That’s right.”

He smiled in the darkness and tapped ash from the cigarette. “Do you truly take me for a fool?”

She pulled her head back. “What?”

“I’m supposed to believe that’s all there is?” he said. “That’s the most ignorant thing I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s not worth the risk to him. There are a thousand places you could land a boat offshore here and smuggle into these creeks. There are a thousand places you could hold meetings. Hell, if he’s so damned determined that this be the spot, he’d run you off from it and take over.”

She ran her fingertips across her cheekbone and said, “Long enough ago, he might have done that. He didn’t have to, though. He had my father working for him willingly. My father and my brother. And there aren’t a thousand places like this, not with a deep-water inlet. You can bring a large boat in here and get trucks right down to it, unload quick, and the whole place is such a jungle that it would be almost impossible for anyone to watch you do it, for anyone to surprise you. No, this is actually the perfect place for Solomon Wade.”

“Your father was partners with him.”

She nodded. “For a time. Back when it was only liquor and people weren’t being killed and he thought Wade was someone he could trust.”

“So your father, he just allowed the smuggling to go on, is that it? Pretended not to know what they were doing, took a cut to keep his mouth shut?”

“He did a little more than that. Tate McGrath’s no mathematician. Solomon needed somebody who could think, somebody who could handle the dollars, the real dollars.”

“Your father did those things.”

“He did,” she said, “and now I do.”

He looked at her for a time and then stretched his neck first one way and then the other, felt the stiff joints pop.