A Gambling Man David Baldacci (reading eggs books .TXT) 📖

so I took my little bag of dirty tricks and went to work. I followed the kid to this abandoned building that had the rep of being a safe place for guys who were ‘that way.’ I snuck in, got the lay of the land, figured out where he was, and drilled a hole in the wall and took my little pictures of him and another kid. I handed them over to my client, who promptly passed them over to the boy’s mom.”

“What happened?”

“The mom and dad apparently went berserk on the kid.”

“That must’ve been tough for the boy.”

“I wish that were the end of the story, Archer. See, the client wanted more evidence.”

“Why?”

“She told me her sister wasn’t sufficiently alarmed by her son’s ‘perverted’ qualities. Her word, not mine. She wanted me to go back and get even more dirt. I learned later she just wanted to rub her sister’s nose in it.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went back with my camera to my dirty little hole and…and when I looked through it there he was hanging from the light fixture. I rushed in, cut him down, and tried to revive him, but he was already dead, Archer. Only fifteen and he was dead.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, I talked to Jesus a lot after that one. After I drank enough whiskey to fill Drake’s swimming pool. Took me a year to get back to work. Pretty much lost every damn thing I had. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I got off a lot easier than the kid did.”

“I’m sorry, Willie.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Dash snapped. “I had it coming. He didn’t.”

Neither man said anything as they drove along. Dash was staring out the window and Archer kept his gaze on the road.

Finally, Archer said, “So that’s why you took a leave of absence?”

Dash turned to look at him. “You ever been so ashamed of yourself you can’t even stand to look at your reflection in the mirror?”

Archer slowly shook his head. “No.”

“Good. I hope you never get there.”

They drove back to the office building. Then they took the elevator up and settled in Dash’s office. The man poured out two fingers of Beam each, sat across from Archer, and said, “Okay, you brought up the trust issue, so let’s talk that through.”

Archer took a sip of the Beam and said warily, “Okay.”

“When were you going to tell me that you’ve been asking questions about that island, Archer?”

Archer set his drink down and leaned back in his seat. “I did tell you about the island but you blew it off. So I thought I’d go it alone. For now.”

“Okay, ‘for now’ is over.”

“How’d you know? Were you following me?”

“If I were, you’d never know it. Reggie McKenzie is a buddy of mine. He’s a sloppy drunk, but okay when he’s off the booze. He told you all about that chunk of rock’s history. You also went to the library and looked through a bunch of materials. Sharon Aster helped you there. Nice gal, but too highbrow for the likes of me. Then you went to the town hall and did the same. Linda, the town clerk, is also a friend of mine.”

“You got lots of friends.”

“It’s not by happenstance. Most PIs cultivate them. At least the good ones do.”

“How’d you find all that out so fast?”

“I just piggybacked on you, Archer.”

“So you were following me.”

“I never said I wasn’t. Library, town hall, McKenzie, back to your boardinghouse to pick up your lady friend, and then up to Midnight Moods. I just had my cup of coffee and waited for you to show.”

“You said you were going to pick up your car and do some thinking.”

“I did pick up my car, which I used to follow you. And I did do some thinking. I was thinking about you.”

Archer smiled appreciatively. “Mr. Shaw said you were the best, Willie. And he was right.”

“I’m not busting your chops, Archer. Yes, you did mention the island, and yes, I did blow it off. And you did what I would have done—you followed up a hunch on your own. So let’s compare notes.”

Archer took out his notepad. “I found out in the real estate records at the town hall that the island was sold by the federal government six months ago to a company called Stearman Enterprises. Even though it was federal property, I guess Bay Town had to have a record of it because Stearman has its office here. The man listed on the paperwork for Stearman—”

“—was Douglas Kemper,” interjected Dash.

“Right,” said Archer. “How’d you know? I never mentioned it to the town clerk lady.”

“Great minds, Archer. Now, at the library you researched certain laws and statutes.”

Archer consulted his notepad again. “A state has all water rights up to three miles off its coast. That’s important for fishing rights and the like. The feds control everything out to twelve miles.”

“And anything beyond that is international waters,” added Dash.

“But in 1947 the Supreme Court ruled that the federal government owns all the seabeds off the California coast, even within the three miles. It’s just the water the state controls.”

“The Supreme Court? How’d you think to check that?”

“When I was in college I wanted to be a lawyer. Things didn’t pan out, but I studied some law and then worked with an attorney. I learned a lot.”

“So this pertains to the island?”

“Right. When the Navy was done with it and pulled out, the federal government assumed its rights to the island. Along came Stearman and bought those rights. I think the law really was meant to deal with oil and gas rights. You have to drill into the seabed to get to those.”

“That’s right,” agreed Dash. “But where does the mayor come into this?”

“That I couldn’t find. I mean, if the state governor has no power over that island, why would a mayor?” Archer paused, recalling a snippet of conversation. “But your buddy Reggie McKenzie did tell me something interesting. He said that about two weeks before he died, Ben