Isle of Dogs. PATRICIA CORNWELL

“We let them go.” She was candid with her father.

“I flew them in on the state helicopter and you let them go?”

“And the trout,” she replied, reaching for the mint jelly.

“Sir.” Andy was determined to get to the heart of the First Family’s difficulties. “There’s a situation I think you need to know about. A black male was just murdered while he was fishing in the river, and Major Trader has alleged that you and your wife and daughters could be in danger. Apparently, he allegedly witnessed the crime and is alleging the suspect is the same one who assaulted Moses Custer and killed Trish Thrash.”

Crimm reached for his dangling magnifying glass and was visibly startled when his press secretary came into focus.

“Heavens!” the governor exclaimed “Shouldn’t you go to the hospital?”

Trader was afraid to speak and shook his head.

“What happened?” the governor demanded. “I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic, but it’s not sanitary to bleed at the dinner table.”

Trader got up, holding a napkin to his forehead. He mutely stood on the antique Oriental rug, his eyes darting about as he tried to sort out his tangled thoughts and come up with a plan. For starters, he decided, his transient speech disorder was a good thing because under the circumstances, it was smart to talk in a way that made little sense to others. His condition made lying easier, and people were less inclined to question him closely. Not to mention, if he required a second party to speak, then Trader’s testimony would be hearsay and not admissible in court.

“It’s awful,” Faith was describing what had happened. “This monster makes people burst into flames and then speeds off. He’s from New York and speaks Spanish and intends to do the same thing to each of us.”

“As much as I hate it,” Mrs. Crimm said, “I think we need all of the troopers to surround the mansion until this terrible person is caught. Maybe the National Guard ought to help out, too, dear.”

The governor pulled out a chair and sat down, not sure what to do and perplexed that no one had briefed him about this emergency before now. Often, he found out bad news when he came home for dinner, and certainly this wasn’t helping his submarine in the least.

“Well, someone fill me in,” the governor demanded.

Trader wanted to offer many false details, but he knew how the governor would react to their sudden language barrier. The press secretary indicated through sign language that Andy should relay the day’s events to Crimm, which Andy did.

“What’s your recommendation?” the governor asked Andy after being subjected to the story, which seemed lacking in veracity and rationality.

“I agree in taking no chances,” Andy replied. “Keep security tight, sir, but this matter needs to be thoroughly investigated. Frankly, I am concerned that there are important facts we don’t know, despite Mr. Trader’s alleged eyewitness account. No offense,” he directed this at Trader, “but what you supposedly saw and what actually happened may not match up. I have two questions, for example: What happened to the bucket? And did anyone else happen to see the shooting?”

Trader replied through hand signals that the bucket was at large and the only other witnesses may have been the crabs and the trout. Trader felt certain this would settle the matter.

“If the bucket is at large,” Andy pointed out, “then this might suggest that you let the crabs and trout go before the altercation occurred. Because you certainly wouldn’t witness someone burning up and then think to toss the crabs and the trout in the river, now would you?”

Trader shook his head no as he recalled the crabs and trout sailing through the air in a cascade of tap water. They splashed into the river and then he and the fisherman began to fight and say ugly things to each other. Trader must have set the bucket back on the ground, or perhaps the fisherman did. By now the police would have found the bucket and taken it in as evidence. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a bad feeling that the bucket was going to cause him a problem.

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