Decker said, “Did you confront him about the ringer?”
“Hell, no. That’s a damn serious thing, and I had no solid proof.”
“Nobody else was suspicious?”
“Shit, everybody else -was suspicious, but no one had the balls to say boo. Over beers, sure, they said they knew it was a stiff. But not to Dickie’s face.”
“This Lockhart, he must be a real tough guy,” Decker said, needling.
“Not tough, just powerful. Most bass pros don’t want to piss him off. If you want to get asked to the invitationals, you’d better be pals with Dickie. If you want product endorsements, you better kiss Dickie’s ass. Same goes if you want your new outboard wholesale. It adds up. Some guys don’t like Dickie Lockhart worth a shit, but they sure like to be on TV.”
Decker said, “He’s the only one who cheats?”
Gault hooted.
“Then what’s the big deal?” Decker asked.
“The big deal”—Gault sneered—”is that Lockhart cheats in the big ones. The big deal is that he cheats against me. It’s the difference between a Kiwanis softball game and the fucking World Series, you understand?”
“Absolutely,” Decker said. He had heard enough. “Mr. Gault, I really don’t think I can help you.”
“Sit down.”
“Look, this is not my strong suit… ”
“What is your strong suit? Divorces? Car repos? Workmen’s comp? If you’re doing so hot, maybe you wouldn’t mind telling me why you’re moonlighting at that shyster insurance agency where I tracked you down.”
Decker headed for the door.
“The fee is fifty thousand dollars.”
Decker wheeled and stared. Finally he said, “You don’t need a P.I., you need a doctor.”
“The money is yours if you can catch this cocksucker cheating, and prove it.”
“Prove it?”
Gault said, “You were an ace photographer once. Couple big awards—I know about you, Decker. I know about your crummy temper and your run-in with the law. I also know you’d rather sleep in a tent than a Hilton, and that’s fine. They say you’re a little crazy, but crazy is exactly what I need.”
“You want pictures?” Decker said. “Of fish.”
“What better proof?” Gault glowed at the idea. “You get me a photograph of Dickie Lockhart cheating, and I’ll get you published in every blessed outdoors magazine in the free world. That’s a bonus, too, on top of the fee.”
The cover of Field and Stream, Decker thought, a dream come true. “I told you,” he said, “I don’t know anything about tournament fishing.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you weren’t my first choice.”
It didn’t make Decker feel any better.
“The first guy I picked knew plenty about fishing,” Dennis Gault said, “a real pro.”
“And?”
“It didn’t work out. Now I need a new guy.”
Dennis Gault looked uncomfortable. “Distracted” was the word for it. He set down his drink and reached inside the desk. Out came a fake-lizardskin checkbook. Or maybe it was real.
“Twenty-five up front,” Gault said, reaching for a pen.
R. J. Decker thought of the alternative and shrugged. “Make it thirty,” he said.
To Dr. Michael Pembroke fell the task of dissecting the body of Robert Clinch.
The weight of this doleful assignment was almost unbearable because Dr. Pembroke by training was not a coroner, but a clinical pathologist. He addressed warts, cysts, tumors, and polyps with ease and certitude, but corpses terrified him, as did forensics in general.
Most Florida counties employ a full-time medical examiner, or coroner, to handle the flow of human dead. Rural Harney County could not justify such a luxury to its taxpayers, so each year the county commission voted to retain the part-time services of a pathologist to serve as coroner when needed. For the grand sum of five thousand dollars Dr. Michael Pembroke was taking his turn. The job was not unduly time-consuming, as there were only four thousand citizens in the county and they did not die often. Most who did die had the courtesy to do so at the hospital, or under routine circumstances that required neither an autopsy nor an investigation. The few Harney Countians who expired unnaturally could usually be classified as victims of (a) domestic turmoil, (b) automobile accidents, (c) hunting accidents, (d) boating accidents, or (e) lightning. Harney County had more fatal lightning strikes than any other place in Florida, though no one knew why. The local fundamentalist church had a field day with this statistic.