"I've got a spare bedroom at my place," he says. "I made her a good deal on it."
"It's just for the time being," Polly says. "Bill is helping me move a few things over there."
Belleville unfolds a chaise lounge, moves it alongside a rickety Adirondack chair.
"Here, man, sit. You want a beer? I've got some in a cooler. I was having one."
"No, I'm fine, thanks. But go ahead."
I take a seat. Belleville grabs his beer from inside and joins me.
I peek inside the house. The mess of a few days earlier is gone. Boxes are stacked in the living room. The refrigerator door is open so it can air out.
"Looks like you've about got everything shipshape," I say.
"I've been working like crazy since the service yesterday," Polly says. "Came back here and just dived into it. Think I was getting rid of nervous energy, know what I mean?"
"I'm told housecleaning can be therapeutic," I say. "Can't speak to it firsthand."
Belleville laughs.
"Me neither, man." He looks at Polly. "Although I might have to change my ways now that I'm getting a housemate."
Polly smiles, starts in with the broom again, working her way down the porch steps.
"So how did you like playing for Don Shula?" Belleville asks.
I get asked that a lot, so I've got my standard spiel: Shula was a class act all the way. One of the greats. Then I tell a Shula story or two.
Polly finishes sweeping.
"I almost forgot," she says. "I did find something else missing from the break-in the other day. Ned's box is gone."
"Ned's box?" I say. "What's that?"
"It was this box he picked up in Thailand. It was nice, hand carved and everything. He hid it under the bed. I didn't see it all that often, so I didn't think of it at first. Ned kept stuff in it."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Little odds and ends. Things he'd picked up in his travels. He had all this leftover money in there, from Thailand and Indonesia and other places he'd visited. It might have looked like a lot of money, but it really wasn't worth much. Just mementos from the road. Whoever took the box might have thought they were getting something, but it was just a bunch of foreign money and some of Ned's papers."
"What kind of papers, Polly?"
"His passport, his work visa. That sort of thing. And the papers for that salvage permit he was working on."
"The one he was getting ready to turn in to the curator of wrecks office?"
"Yeah, that. He was all done with it, I think. He was excited about finally being able to file it and everything."
Polly leans the broom against the porch rail, picks up the doormat, gives it a shake.
Belleville says: "You sure I can't get you a beer or something, Zack? I've got plenty more."
He gets up from his chair.
"No, really, I need to be going."
I get up, step off the porch.
"Thanks for stopping by," Polly says. "If you hear anything ..." She grabs a Post-it pad from a table by the door, scribbles phone numbers on it. "Here's where you can find me."
Belleville says, "Hey, man, what are you doing tomorrow night?"
I blank for a moment. Then I remember-Aunt Trula's party.
"There's this birthday party I'm going to."
"Too bad. I was gonna say, you could join us for a night dive out at Fish Rock like I was telling you about. Got a couple of spaces left," Belleville says. "Maybe another time, huh?"
"Yeah," I say. "Maybe another time."
74.
It's still only four o'clock by the time I make it back to Hamilton, so I pay Daniel Denton a surprise visit.
If Denton is pleased to see me, then he does a dandy job of not showing it. And when I tell him I'm on my way to visit Teddy Schwartz, he bags all pretense.
"Really, Mr. Chasteen, your involvement in this matter cannot in any way advance Sir Teddy's cause. Our firm is presently assembling the best defense team available in Bermuda, or anywhere for that matter, and the last thing we need is you blustering your way into things."
"Blustering?"
"Yes, I've seen the way you do business-heavy-handed, full of swagger, bull in a china shop."
"Gosh, that hurts. Does this mean you no longer want to be my attorney?"
"Believe me, Mr. Chasteen, had you not invoked Mrs. Ambister's good name and bludgeoned me into doing that nasty bit of work involving Mr. Trimmingham, then I never would have agreed to represent you in the first place. As it is, I performed my services, you paid me, our account is clear and I am free of you. I do hope you didn't come here in hopes of retaining this firm for another of your misbegotten schemes."
"Wow, misbegotten. That sounds almost biblical. But no, that's not why I'm here," I say. "I was just wondering-who is Sir Teddy's attorney?"
"That would be Russell Urban; he heads our criminal division. You won't find a better trial lawyer."
"Then I'd like a word with Mr. Urban."
Denton thinks it over.
"Certainly, why not? I'm sure Mr. Urban would like to weigh in on this as well."
He picks up his phone, makes the call, and Russell Urban soon joins us. He's a big, good-looking guy, prematurely gray in a way that probably serves him well. He exudes fatherly authority. A high degree of pomposity, too, but that goes with the turf.
Denton says, "As I was just explaining to Mr. Chasteen, we are looking after Sir Teddy's best interests and, to employ terminology he might understand, he should remain on the sidelines."
Urban nods, fixes a look of deep seriousness on his face.
"Yes, by all means. We have our game plan ..." He flashes Denton a grin to show he's hip to the metaphor. "... and you are not a part of it, Mr. Chasteen."
"So what's the game plan?"
"Well, in the event that charges are filed against Sir Teddy, which does seem rather likely at this point, considering the evidence at hand and the ticking of the clock, we intend to attack the prosecution's case on all fronts. I have no doubt that should the case come to trial, which, I'm afraid, might also be rather likely, then I have every confidence that we will gather sufficient evidence of our own, along with testimony, that will acquit Sir Teddy."
"As far as gathering evidence, what have you done on that front so far?"
"Our firm does not employ full-time investigators. We have contacted an agency that we've done business with in the past-a very reputable agency, I might point out-and I would anticipate that we would formally retain their services within the next few days."
Just a lawyerly way of saying they haven't done jack-shit.
Denton says, "So do we understand each other here, Mr. Chasteen?"
He rises behind his desk. Urban stands. I get up, too.
"Sure, I understand. But as long as we're tossing around football terms, here's one you might add to your list: 'You don't drop back and punt when it's only first down.'"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Urban says.
"It means, you boys follow your game plan, I'll follow mine."
75.
The police are keeping Teddy Schwartz at Westgate Prison, just outside of Hamilton. Worley isn't there when I arrive.
"He just called. Won't be able to make it. Tied up in a meeting," a woman working the reception desk tells me when I sign in. "But he did make arrangements for you to visit briefly with Mr. Schwartz."
A few minutes later, I'm sitting in a dingy, overlit room with a metal table and four chairs. And a few minutes after that, Teddy Schwartz is escorted in by two guards. As soon as Teddy is seated, the guards step outside.
Teddy wears the same thing he wore on Miss Peg for Ned McHugh's memorial service-khakis, a navy blue shirt, and boat shoes. His eyes are puffy and he looks a little tired, but, all things considered, he's bearing up well.
"Sorry to get you sucked into all this," Teddy says.
"Don't worry about it. Besides, I sort of sucked myself in."
"And I appreciate that," Teddy says. "How's Trula?"
"OK, I guess. But this has thrown her for a loop."
"Yes, I would imagine."
"She's forging ahead," I say. "Don't get your feelings hurt, but she hasn't pulled the plug on her party simply on your account."
"Nor should she," Teddy says. "I'll be out of here by then."
I look at him.
"You know something I don't know?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, the police have the murder weapon. They found it in your boathouse. And they are hell-bent on formalizing the charges against you just as soon as they can," I say.
"My attorney assures me that he has everything under control."
"You ever met an attorney who wouldn't tell a client that? I just came from talking to your attorney, Teddy. And, as far as I can tell, he's in no great rush to discredit the evidence or offer a plausible explanation for how it might have wound up in your possession. Meaning, unless we figure out something in a hurry, you're going to be charged with Ned McHugh's murder. Forget going to the damn birthday party. You might not even be going home."
"But it's a setup. I didn't do it."
"OK, then, let's start with the easy question: Who did?"
Teddy shakes his head.
"That's what I've been trying to get a handle on. I can't think of anyone who would do this to me."
"No enemies out there, no one with an old score to settle?"
"Why sure, I've run up against a few people over the years. But no one who would commit a murder and try to pin it on me."
"Three murders, counting Peach and Boyd," I say. "But there's nothing tying you to that. Not yet anyway."
The words sting him.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, you are a man of constant surprises, Teddy Schwartz."
"How so?"