The Whale's Footprints - Rick Boyer (36 page)

"I thought it fitting
that you be in on it, Doc, since you cracked the thing open.
Whitesides is coming across pretty straight, I think. Either that, or
he's a master liar. See you in an hour?"

* * *

"Thank you for coming, Dr. Adams," said
Hunter Whitesides, who was dressed in subdued good taste, including a
tropical-weight wool-and-silk Jacket I might have killed for. And I
don't particularly go in for clothes.

His lawyer,John Higgins, sat in a blue three-piece
slightly behind him and off to one side, ready to interrupt at the
faintest hint that his client was treading on thin ice.

"I am here to admit in full candor that I am
guilty as an accessory to breaking and entering," said
Whitesides. "That, and that only. I have no knowledge whatsoever
of the events or circumstances surrounding the unfortunate death of
Andrew Cunningham."

Having given this opening statement, he sat at Joe's
desk, hands clasped before him, ready for questioning. Which Joe and
Paul proceeded with. There was a tape machine running, but no
stenographer. Question: did he know Cunningham? Had he met him? Yes,
briefly, to arrange for him to take the government cores and seismic
data from the USGS warehouse on the Quissett campus. Had he been in
contact with the Cunningham boy since then? Yes, once, aboard the
Highlander
, during a
brief exchange in which Bill Henderson threatened to kill him unless
he handed over the stolen data as agreed.

"And what was the agreement, Mr. Whitesides?"
asked Keegan.

"That Cunningham was to deliver to us, in
secret, the core samples and profile graphs for the sum of two
thousand dollars."

"Which was paid to him?"

"No. To be paid when we received the data."

"The purpose of which was to attract investors
and raise cash?"

"Yes. And Cunningham refused to give us the data
as agreed, stating that the price was too low. He demanded ten
thousand."

"Which you and your partners refused to pay him,
is that correct?"

"Yes. Because it wasn't part of the deal. And
frankly, we couldn't afford it anyway."

"What was the nature of the threat issued by Mr.
Henderson?"

"It wasn't specific, just that Andy could wind
up dead if he held out."

"And what was Mr. Cunningham's response to
this?"

"He left the boat, saying we know where he could
be reached if we changed our minds."

"And that was the last you saw of Mr.
Cunningham?"

"Yes."

"You are certain?"

"Absolutely."

"May I ask a question?"

"Go ahead, Doc."

"Mr. Whitesides, you're certain that the last
time you had contact with Cunningham was aboard Henderson's trawler?"

"Positive."

"You didn't even have as much as, say, a phone
conversation with him afterwards?"

The man stared at me, his silver hair immaculately
parted far down the side of his ruddy head, his fine clothes evidence
of his status and upbringing in the highest circles. And yet, I saw
him twitch slightly, saw his eyes lose a bit of their keen focus. He
was coming a little unglued at the question.

"I, uh, might have. I don't remember."

"
You don't remember. That's mighty unlikely. I
say you did. I say you did because Andy called you from my house on
the Cape. He called you the very same night he died."

"Hold it!" snapped Higgins, springing to
his feet and approaching his client's side. "You don't have to
answer that, Mr. Whitesides. We've agreed to—"

"I'll answer, goddammit!" said Whitesides,
shifting his ample bottom around in the chair. "Don't forget,
Higgins, the charge is murder one, and I know I didn't do it. I feel
suckered enough by those other two. I'll be damned if I'll face a
charge like that. alone. For all we know, they're talking right now,
making up a story to put me away. Yes, Dr. Adams. Yes, I got a call
from Andy Cunningham the night he died. But I was nowhere near him; I
couldn't have had anything to do with his death."

"The murderers didn't have to be near the boy,"
said Paul Keegan slowly. His voice was full of menace. "It was a
murder done by remote control. Doc, I think that was your expression.

"
Okay, so where were you that Saturday night?"
I asked.

"I was home, on Tuckernuck."

"Do you have any witness to swear to that?"

"No. I don't think so."

"
We could check the phone records," said
Joe, looking at Paul.

"See if a call was made from Doc's place that
night to the island, to the number of the Whitesides residence. That
sound like a good idea to you, Whitesides? Or, for some strange
reason, does it maybe bother you?"

Whitesides got up and shuffled around the room,
breathing heavily. He was almost all the way unglued now, but still,
he didn't talk. Then Joe spoke.

"Mr. Whitesides, we've checked the records of
the phone company for the night in question. The call Andy made was
to a phone booth. We know where that phone booth is . . . and we
think you know, too. Is there anything you'd like to say now?"

"Okay," he said in a hoarse whisper, "I
wasn't on the island, I was in Woods Hole. I said I was home because
. . . well, you know . . . because it's farther away from where the
kid was that night. You know . . ."

"Okay, now we get a different version,"
said Keegan slowly, using his inquisition whisper. "You were on
the Cape that night, in Woods Hole. Where?"

"The Forrest House. It's a little guest house
out on Sippiwissett Road. A private home with rooms. I keep a room
there year-round so I can stay there anytime I miss the ferry, or
when I want to be on the mainland?

"Who saw you there? Anybody?"

"I don't know. Somebody, probably. I hope to
hell somebody."

"Wouldn't matter," hissed Keegan. "Woods
Hole's not that far from Eastham. At night, with light traffic, maybe
an hour's drive, right Doc?"

I nodded. "But let's get back to this phone
call. What did he say to you?"

"He said he wanted to give me the stuff he took
from the Geological Survey. Give it to me alone, and then we could be
partners together. He said he'd give me the stuff for free if I'd cut
him in on the well, and leave the others out. He told me the other
two were cheating me, since it was my land the well was on, so why
keep them in?"

Joe and I exchanged a quick glance. The phone call
was exactly as we had predicted. And of course, I had confronted
Whitesides about the call without the slightest proof that he was on
the receiving end of it; it was just logic and luck working in our
favor.

"And what did you say?"

"I said no. Absolutely no way. We were a
corporation, and that was that. And I warned him that he'd better
keep his part of the deal or he'd be sorry."

"What was that supposed to mean?" asked
Keegan.

"Nothing specific; just a warning. Bill
Henderson is nobody to mess with, let me tell you. You heard he put a
guy in the hospital six years ago? In a bar fight in Fall River?"

Whitesides's attorney, Higgins, sat on the very edge
of his chair, his eyes beginning to bug out.

"If you want to know, Cunningham's offer sounded
attractive," continued Whitesides. "I knew I was sort of
being taken for a ride. But frankly, I was a little afraid of
Henderson. No way was I going to try and leave him out, and have him
come after me."

"You say you were afraid of Henderson. What
about Dr. Chisholm?"

"Not really, He's kind of bookish, even though
he's a big guy. I think he's under Bill's thumb, too.”

"Is Bill Henderson capable of murder, Mr.
Whitesides?" asked Joe.

Higgins jumped up and objected, saying the question
was speculative, and that his client shouldn't be put in a position
to answer it. He added quickly that, of course, it was obvious that
his client was certainly not capable of such an act. Keegan growled
that the jury would determine that. Both Higgins and Whitesides grew
pale at this. I had to credit Paul Keegan. He was good at
intimidation, he knew how to keep the fire going under Whitesides's
feet. Seeing him squirm, and recalling the success of my earlier
bluff, I decided to try another.

"Mr. Whitesides, now that you've apparently come
clean on the phone call, how about telling us about your meeting with
Andy later that night? Was it on the beach? On Sunken Meadow Road? Or
did you pick him up near our cottage in your big blue Mercedes and go
somewhere to talk it over?"

"What? What meeting? There was no meeting later
on. I swear it. I swear it on a stack of Bibles. As God is my
witness, there was no meeting; I stayed in Forrest House the rest of
that night."

"Be careful, Mr. Whitesides. We're talking
murder one here. Murder One.”

But Whitesides, panicked, swore up and down he wasn't
there. That it must have been somebody else. That the other two were
out to frame him, et cetera, et cetera. Seeing his client's distress,
Higgins called an end to the interview, and Joe, Paul, and I left the
building shortly after they did.

The three of us were sitting over in the Greek's
across the street from state police headquarters at Ten Ten Comm.
Ave., having subs when Kevin O'Hearn, Joe's office mate and partner,
came in.

Joe and Paul read over their notes while I attacked
my half of a steak and cheese sub. That's a sandwich made with
grill-fried shaved beef, lots of provolone cheese melted on top, oil,
spices, tomato chunks, vinegar, and crushed hot peppers, all in a big
Italian roll. It is the finest sandwich ever invented. But since I go
light on lunch, I was only having half. Joe was eating the other
half, along with a sub of his own: jumbo meatball and sausage. "So
. . . ," quipped O'Hearn, "don't leave me in the dark,
fellas. What does everybody think?"

There was only the muted sound of grinding molars in
reply. "C'mon, you guys. Fill me in. I'm shittin' pink."

Joe raised his eyes at him. "That is not dinner
table talk," he said.

"Oh. Well ex-cuuuuuusse me."

"You may do a lot of things, Kev, but shitting
pink isn't one of them," I said. "What'll you have? I'll
buy."

"Thanks Doc. You're the only gentleman here.
I'll have a lobster salad sub and a large Sprite."

He said lobster like this; lawbstah. I took out the
money and started to get up from the table.

"Don't put yourself out, Doc; I'll go up and get
it."

He slid off the slick red vinyl of the booth seat and
waddled up to the counter. Joe saw him and swallowed fast.

"Hey Kev! As long as you're up there would y—"

"Fuck you, asshole."

Cops.

Kevin quickly returned with his food and slid into
the booth.

"So what do I think?" said Joe
philosophically as he wiped his mouth and blew over the top of his
coffee cup. "I guess what I think is that poor Hunter Whitesides
is telling the truth."

"Same here," said Keegan.

"Doc?"

"I agree. Joe, why don't you try and get a
detailed financial background on him, see what his motivation was for
getting mixed up in the scheme? Still, no matter how desperate he's
been, I don't think murder is in the cards for him."

"I'm putting my money on Henderson," said
Keegan softly. "He hates to be crossed, he's got a bad temper,
and he's done violence in the past."

More chewing and blowing on coffee. Then Kevin said:
"How about the drugs business? The lethal pills that killed the
kid? How'd Henderson the fisherman have the savvy to pull that off?"

Keegan said, "Doc's the expert on that. Doc?"

"Well, since they roped Andy into stealing for
them for a price, it's reasonable to assume that Henderson knew Andy
pretty well. He made contact with the kid shortly after Andy arrived
at Woods Hole and started dating his daughter. I mean, would
Henderson walk up to Cunningham, introduce himself, and right off the
bat say hey, we want you to steal something for us?"

Headshakes all around the booth.

"'Course not. Therefore, the deal they finally
struck suggests that they saw each other often, and knew each other
well. We thought old man Hartzell was a good bet for it because he's
a biologist. But would he know about Andy's epilepsy? Not too likely,
since the kids hated him and didn't talk with him more than they had
to. But Henderson was in a perfect situation to learn of the illness.
Why? Because Andy told Alice, his lady love, and Alice might easily
have let it slip at home."

"Hey, that's good, Doc," said Joe. "Isn't
that good?"

Nods all around the booth.

"Of course it's good; I'm the medical examiner
for Barnstable County. You guys forgetting that?"

"You're a regular genius, Doc," said
Keegan, picking his line, straight teeth with a matchbook cover.
"Joe, how come you never mentioned Doc's past adventures to me?"