Crooked River

40

Chief P. B. Perelman, on his first day off since the case broke, heard his doorbell ring at noon, as he was sitting down to lunch. The ringing, once again, aroused a twist of pain for him, followed not by a flurry of eager barking, but only by silence. God, he mourned that dog every day. If only he’d closed the door properly on that fateful, awful morning...

He was surprised to find Pendergast standing on his porch. The man was so unpredictable, never turning up where you’d expect. His very capriciousness seemed to be a feature of his investigative methods.

“Lovely morning,” said Perelman. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you. I have an appointment with the commander, and I was hoping you might accompany me.”

“Of course. Come in while I get ready.” This was a bit strange.

Pendergast stepped into the entryway and waited while Perelman buckled on his belt and sidearm, then buttoned up and adjusted his shirt. Perelman disliked the commander and as a result always wanted to appear spit-and-polished when meeting him. Speaking of spit and polish, he noted the perfect gleam on Pendergast’s shoes and checked his own.

“Just a moment.”

He kept a shoe brush handy in the entryway for just this purpose, and he now pulled it out of its box and gave his shoes a swift brushing.

“What’s the meeting about and, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you need me?”

“I am bereft of my partner, Agent Coldmoon, who is down in Central America. Constance is out on some errand of which I am ignorant. As a result, I find myself in need of a witness. That would be you, Chief Perelman.”

“A witness.” He followed Pendergast out to the porch. To his surprise, a new, full-size Range Rover sat gleaming at the curb. “How so?”

“I believe our meeting with the commander might result in a small contretemps. He will be accompanied by his second, Lieutenant Darby. I, too, must have a second.”

“Sounds like a duel,” said Perelman with a laugh. The laugh quickly died as he realized the man wasn’t making a joke. There was a chill about him today that was quite unsettling.

Pendergast got into the driver’s seat, while Perelman slid into the passenger seat.

Traffic was lighter than usual, and they sailed along the causeway and up to Fort Myers. It felt strange, somehow, to see Pendergast behind the wheel, but Perelman was very pleased with the plush interior of the vehicle. The parking lot was almost empty. Pendergast parked up close and they stepped out into the muggy air. Perelman noticed that, for the first time in his memory, Pendergast was carrying a briefcase.

The commander’s door was closed, as usual, and when Pendergast knocked — at exactly 12:30 — it was opened by Darby, who stepped aside in silence to let them in.

The commander rose. “Chief Perelman, this is a surprise. I was, however, hoping to have a private conversation with Agent Pendergast.”

“Chief Perelman is standing in for my absent partner,” said Pendergast. “You can speak in front of him as you would Agent Coldmoon.”

“Well, fine. If that’s the way you’d prefer it. As we get started here, I just have to warn you that what I have to say may not be things you wish others to hear, Agent Pendergast.”

Pendergast said nothing and they took a seat. Darby, Perelman noticed, sat at a chair beside Baugh like the lapdog he was. He even had a steno notebook in hand, ready to take notes.

“All right,” Baugh rumbled. “Do you finally have the reports on those vessels?”

Pendergast opened his briefcase and pulled out a file, handing it over. “Unfortunately, nothing came of the searches. It appears the Empire Carrier was smuggling a cargo of Iranian caviar, and that’s what was seen dumped in the satellite pictures. The other vessels proved even less interesting.”

Commander Baugh took the file with a grunt and pushed it aside without looking at it. “Now I want to talk about this oceanographer you’ve been working with. Pamela Gladstone.”

A chilling silence.

“I thought you’d take my gentle hint,” the commander went on, “but it seems you chose to ignore it instead. I know all about it, so no more secrets. She and her crackpot ideas have no place in this investigation. I’ve already sent her notice of termination, and I’ve ordered a full accounting of her work, expenses, and results, such as they are. I’ve made it clear to her and her assistant that any further work in this regard will be considered interference, and I will yank her oceangoing research permits so fast her head will spin.”

Silence.

“Now, what about your man in China? Anything happening there?”

“He was murdered.”

“What? Murdered? How the hell did that happen and why wasn’t I informed?”

“You were not informed because I’m growing increasingly concerned he was killed because of a mole in this investigation. Most likely on your staff.”

“A mole? On my staff? That is an outrageous accusation! By God, Pendergast, this is a step too far. I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, but you give me no choice.” He stood up, his face darkening. “I hereby terminate your involvement in this case — which, as commander of the task force, I am fully authorized to do. Pack your bags and get out. I’ll be in touch with your superiors about your insubordination and obstruction — you can be sure of that.”

Pendergast stood up as if to leave. Perelman was aghast. Was that it — he was just going to walk out, after getting himself kicked off the case?

But then he hesitated. “Before I take my leave,” said Pendergast, “I wanted to express my sincerest condolences for your loss.”

At this, Baugh exploded. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“I’m referring, of course, to the tragedy of having to put down your horse, Noble Nexus.”

Perelman had never seen such a crimson color on a human face as he now saw on Baugh’s. The commander lowered his head and leaned over his desk, speaking in a whisper. “Get the hell out.”

Pendergast didn’t move. “Once upon a time, there was a man who purchased a lovely dressage horse. His name was Noble Nexus.”

“Get — the fuck — out.”

Pendergast stopped and said, in a voice that froze Perelman to the bone: “It is in your best interest, Commander, to hear my little fairy tale about the rider and his beautiful horse... and the tragedy that followed.”

The commander fell into apoplectic silence.

“Noble Nexus was a Dutch Warmblood out of a famous lineage, bred and trained at Rocking Horse Farms in Georgetown, Kentucky. The rider purchased Noble Nexus for one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. The former owners were concerned about selling the horse to the rider, because they had watched him ride and weren’t sure he was experienced enough to handle such a high-spirited animal. But good money is good money, and so they sold him the horse.

“The rider took the horse home to his little ranch in Palmdale, Florida, and began riding him in dressage competitions. The man, in truth, was not a good rider, but he compensated by having a highly trained horse with a strong desire to please. So, while the rider did not distinguish himself in these competitions, he did well enough. That gave our man the idea he was a far more talented dressage rider than he actually was. It also helped him qualify for the Florida Winter Equestrian Jubilee.”

Perelman saw that Baugh looked almost paralyzed. His face had gone from red to palest white. Darby was sitting like a statue, still holding the steno pad and pen.

“At the jubilee, when his turn came, the man rode Noble Nexus into the dressage arena and began to perform. Noble Nexus was a marvelous horse, with spirit, beauty, and athleticism. He had a heart as big as the world, ready and willing to perform his very best. But his rider was nervous and unsure. In the arena, with all those people watching, Noble Nexus tried to understand what the rider wanted him to do, but the rider was sending him contradictory signals with the wrong leg pressure, the wrong touch, the wrong weighting. What was worse, to steady his nerves the man had taken a quick drink before the competition. Horses have an extremely keen sense of smell, and this new and ugly scent on his rider alarmed Noble Nexus. Things reached a crisis when the rider tried to get Noble Nexus to perform a difficult maneuver known as tempi changes, in which the horse changes lead in the middle of a canter, multiple times in a row.”

At this Pendergast paused and tilted his head to examine Baugh with a cold eye.

“They started cantering around the arena, but Noble Nexus was confused and scared. When he didn’t know what to do, the rider jabbed his spurs hard into his flanks. So Noble Nexus did what any normal horse would do: he threw his rider. In front of the entire stadium.”

Another long pause.

“The rider was unhurt physically, just a little dusted up. But he was humiliated. This rider had a particular kind of personality: he was one of those men who are supremely sure of themselves, who rise in life from the ability to project absolute self-assurance to all those around them. A man who is never wrong, who has no self-reflection, a man to whom any mistake or problem must be someone else’s fault. In short, he was a man who would go to any lengths to preserve his self-image. To such a man, getting thrown from a horse in front of ten thousand people could mean only one thing: the horse was at fault. More than that — the horse was dangerous. There was only one way the rider could prove to the world that it was the horse, and not he, who was to blame: Noble Nexus had to be put down.”

Pendergast fell silent. Perelman felt horror creep up his spine.

Baugh spoke. “You’re a sick man, Pendergast, if you think this story is going to intimidate me. That was a dangerous horse, and I have the paperwork to prove it. A trainer certified it as dangerous, and a top-notch vet approved the certification and put it down. It was the only safe and humane thing to do, or other riders would have been put at risk.”

Pendergast removed a document from his briefcase and laid it on the desk. “Here is an affidavit, sworn and notarized, from the trainer in question, stating that you bullied him, up to and including the threat of physical harm, into certifying the horse as dangerous. In the affidavit he details your intimidation and expresses his opinion that the horse was not dangerous and that the fault of being thrown was entirely yours. He also expresses his enormous regret at what he did and his desire to atone.”

He slipped another piece of paper out of his briefcase.

“This is another sworn and notarized affidavit, from the veterinarian you engaged, who confesses to taking a five-thousand-dollar payment in order to approve the certification and put down the horse. He additionally says that you threatened to, quote, ‘make sure his son would never find work as long as he lives’ if the vet refused to cooperate. The son had just graduated from the U.S. Coast Guard Academy, which put that veterinarian very much in your power. And he, too, expresses enormous sorrow at the role he played in the killing of that beautiful animal.”

Baugh had gone even paler. God only knew what he must be feeling. Perelman, for his part, felt sick to his stomach. The story reminded him of what he’d been forced to do to Sligo — something he would never get over as long as he lived.

A vast silence gathered in the room. Baugh seemed unable to speak.

“Commander,” Pendergast said in a quiet voice. “Over the course of my career, I’ve dealt with many murderous and psychotic human beings. But I have rarely seen anything as abhorrent as this cold-blooded, deliberate murder of a trusting and innocent horse, merely to satisfy your inflated ego.”

Finally, Baugh opened his mouth and managed to croak out: “What... are you going to do with those?”

“First, I will state my requirements. You will allow me to continue my investigation as I see fit, with your full cooperation. You will immediately rescind your termination of Dr. Gladstone’s involvement in the case and issue her a letter of apology, along with a check for $101.25 to pay for the buoy Lieutenant Lickspittle — I mean Duran — intentionally damaged. You will have no further contact with Dr. Gladstone. You will maintain the compartmentalization that I have created so that the mole on your staff no longer has access to information on my activities. Pursuant to that, I will tell you nothing of my work... and you will not inquire.”

The man’s mouth worked a little before the phrase all right emerged.

“As for the affidavits, I will keep them in a safe place in case further problems arise.”

He rose. Perelman did likewise: he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. Pendergast had left the commander a quivering, heaving wreck.

Pendergast turned to Darby and said, in a suddenly loud voice: “Why, Lieutenant, you haven’t taken any notes! Shame on you!”

And with that he strode out of the office, Perelman following. They got into the car. Perelman crawled rather than hoisted himself into the passenger seat, taking deep breaths. He had never seen a confrontation like this before — so cold, so efficient, and so devastating. “Man, you play rough,” he finally said.

“It is not play,” said Pendergast. And only then, he allowed a small smile to crease his austere face. “Let us find a place with fresh stone crabs. Cracked cold, with mustard sauce. I have worked up quite an appetite.”