Tail Spin

told me she really doesn’t need her spleen. I agreed. What was a spleen in the face of all the problems in the world? She was out again before she could laugh.”
    Both of them considered this.
    Maitland said, “We’ve got Brady Cullifer in a stylish orange jump-suit in a nice cell. He’s demanding to make a deal, ready and willing to roll big on Quincy, Stefanos, and Laurel because he claims he never killed anyone. The prosecutors—particularly Dickie—want him to sweat big-time before they offer him anything.”
    Savich said after a moment, “That shoot-up we had in the Barnes & Noble in Georgetown—Sherlock was so angry at me because Perky could have killed me. To preserve my marriage, I let her throw me around at the gym.”
    He sighed. “Now, look at her, flat on her back, minus her spleen, and I’m the wreck.”
    “It’s over now, everyone’s alive, and all your agents are working double to cover your cases for you. We’ve got auditors going over all the Abbott corporation books. Be interesting to see what we find.”
    Savich thought about it for a moment, then said, “There’s something I should tell you about the senator.” And Savich did, every detail of what happened eighteen months before.
    Maitland said, “Thank you for telling me, Savich.” He sighed. “I know none of us want it, but it’s going to come out anyway at the trial. Hell of a thing. I am sorry about all of it.”
    There was a light rap on the door. A nurse stuck her head in. “Agent Savich? Your mother-in-law begged me to come in and pull you out of here so she can see her daughter.”
    Savich kissed Sherlock’s mouth, straightened, and said, “Okay, she can have five minutes.”
    The nurse smiled at him.
    Maitland said, “They’re all here—your mom, your boy, your sister, your in-laws from San Francisco, half the unit. I wonder when Director Mueller will show up. We even have some media. No, don’t worry, we’ll deal with them when the time comes.”
    Maitland closed a big hand on Savich’s shoulder. “When Sherlock wakes up, you’ve got to bring Sean in to see her. He’s scared, but he’s doing okay.” He looked back at Sherlock. Her brilliant red hair spilled onto the white pillowcase, but her face was still pale, too pale.
    He wondered when Savich was going to tell her that Sean’s terrier had chewed up her best and only pair of fancy high heels, the ones she’d worn at the Jefferson Club.

SIXTY-FIVE
    Jamaica
    Four days later
    Savich and Jack made their way along the limestone cliffs to the narrow promontory where a man wearing baggy shorts, sneakers, and a Redskins T-shirt sat next to a mango tree, his arms around his knees, staring out over the water.
    The spot wasn’t civilized and touristy like Negril, the closest town. The air smelled wild, the winds blew fiercely, the land baked hot and dry, and the cliffs rose a good seventy feet above the blue blue water that dashed against black rocks below, spewing white foam upward, the sound mesmerizing.
    He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge them when Savich sat down on one side of him, Jack on the other next to an ackee tree, although they both knew he’d heard them coming over the loose rubble that crumbled toward the cliff.
    He said, “I wondered when someone would come. Are you CIA or what?”
    “I’m Special Agent Savich, FBI, and this is Special Agent Jack Crowne.”
    The man still didn’t move. He said, “Tourists dive off the cliffs at Negril, but not here. All those rocks below, sticking up like black teeth, and there are more hidden below the surface. They’d tear the flesh off your bones even if you managed to miss the others.”
    Savich looked at the young man’s profile, dark complexion, thick straight black hair, a nice, wholesome-looking man who resembled his father, but he couldn’t be completely sure because they hadn’t yet seen him full face.
    Savich said, “We haven’t told your father and mother that you’re alive and well and living in Jamaica.”
    Jean David Barbeau finally turned to face him. He did indeed look a great deal like his father, but, unlike his father, he didn’t look ghastly pale from grief, his dark eyes weren’t desolate and empty. He looked calm, almost indifferent, as if he didn’t care they were there, and it was all over for him. He said, “How did you find me?”
    Jack said, “Since your body was never found, I started thinking about the speedboat that rammed the boat