Bonnie - Iris Johansen [22]
“Naturally, I keep my gators safe.”
“So you do have underwater equipment.”
“A suit, a speargun and some spears.” He added quickly, “But I’d never use them on the gators if I could help it. Only self-defense. Maybe to save a kid who fell off the pier in the water or something like that.”
“I’m impressed by your humanity,” Joe said ironically. “May I see the equipment?”
“Sure. It’s in the storeroom behind the gift shop. I’ve got nothing to hide.” He moved toward the shops. “Is this some new rule the DEQ has come up with? Do you want to talk to any of my people? You’ll have to wait for a couple hours. We don’t open until noon, and no one shows up until the last minute. You can’t get good help these days.”
“Why noon?” Julian asked.
“The gators have got to be hungry, or they don’t put on a good show. They won’t come near the pier. People like a little thrill, you know?” They had reached the gift shop, and he pulled out his key, then stopped. “What the hell?”
The jamb of the door was splintered, and the door was slightly ajar.
Bubba was cursing as he pushed the door open. “I’ve been robbed!” He ran to the cash register and checked it. “The son of a bitches thought I’d leave money in here? I’m no dope.” He glanced around the shop and frowned. “I don’t see anything missing.”
“The underwater equipment,” Joe prodded.
“Oh, yeah.” Bubba ran to a door and threw it open. “It’s gone. Who told you that I’d been robbed? Have you got the stuff? Do I have to identify it?”
“Not until we find it.” Joe was kneeling on the floor, examining a stain. “Get the forensic team in here, Julian.”
“Blood?” Julian nodded as he checked out the stain. “Our man could have done it on one of the spears.”
“If it’s his blood.” Joe glanced around the room. “Overturned stool a few yards away. Could have been a struggle.” He turned to Bubba. “You said no employees were on the premises last night or early this morning?”
“I didn’t say that. I said no one was here now. Gil Weber is caretaker and leaves about eight in the morning.” He was looking at the blood. “Gil’s an ex-Marine. I wouldn’t have hired him to guard the place if he couldn’t take care of himself.” Bubba took out his phone. “I’ll call and see if he saw anything.” He hung up a few minutes later. “No answer. But maybe he’s asleep. He works all night. That blood can’t be his. If he was hurt, there would be a trail of it, wouldn’t there? Just a couple drops, then he’s gone?”
“Maybe.” Joe turned and left the shop. He stood there and stared thoughtfully out at the muddy pond. He glanced at Bubba, who had scurried after him. “Tell me, is it common for your prehistoric friends to cluster all together like that?”
“No, they generally like their own space. They have to have a reason. Why are you—” Bubba’s eyes widened in his suddenly pale face. “Oh, shit.”
* * *
“JOE’S BACK.” EVE LAID DOWN her pencil and went to the window to watch Joe get out of the sheriff’s car and bend forward to talk to the dark-haired young man in the driver’s seat. “It’s been a couple hours. I thought that he’d be here sooner.”
“He might as well have been here,” Catherine said ruefully. “We haven’t gotten far in this sketch.”
“We’ve determined shape of the face and the nose,” Eve said. “That’s important. That scuba hood is messing things up. It’s very tight and completely hides the hair. Even the hairline would be helpful. Whether it’s receding or full. He could even have a widow’s peak. You couldn’t tell anything about that part of his face.”
“I thought I’d be more helpful,” Catherine said with frustration.
“You will be,” Eve said. “You’re distracted. You want it too much.”
“Yes, I do. I want it now.” Catherine looked at Joe as he came into the house, and she asked, “What’s the word? Do they think they’re going to get prints?”
“They have prints, but they probably belong to the eighteen-year-old kid he stole the truck from in New Orleans.”
“Damn,” Eve said.
“But we may still have his fingerprints,” Joe said grimly. “He grabbed that motorboat, a