“Actually, I do have a law degree,” Eskridge said. “Yale, 1986.”
Charlie sat facing him at one of the three schoolteacher-style desks in the tiny and otherwise unoccupied detectives’ bureau. Doxstader stood outside the door, in the lobby, feigning interest in the M amp;M’s machine, but obviously eavesdropping.
“If I were acting as your attorney, I’d have had you out of here before my helicopter left the pad at Langley,” Eskridge continued. “But as someone whose concern is national security, I have a reservation that needs to be addressed first.”
Charlie confessed, “I realize I haven’t exactly taken a textbook approach to things, but there’s a chance some good has come out of it.”
Eskridge stiffened. “Do you have another tip for us?”
“No, not a tip-”
“Good. The Secret Service, not knowing better, believed you. They trumped up a charge to yank Mr. Clemmensen away from the marina. Then they inspected his yacht stem to stern. The closest they found to contraband was a bottle of Aqua Velva. Clemmensen himself is a speeding ticket shy of being Mother Teresa. And if he weren’t such a good old good ol’ boy, we’d have ourselves a flap now.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Good. Now-”
“There’s one other yacht there that’s just in from the Caribbean, registered to a family named Campodonico-”
Eskridge cut him short. “Listen, Charlie, you acted heroically in Fort-de-France. Everyone commends you; everyone is grateful. But if we were to go after anybody else without probable cause, we would be on a witch hunt, and we don’t do witch hunts, despite what you may read on blogs. The people paid to do this sort of investigating are currently in India, based on good intelligence. To conduct an investigation based on anything less is begging for a flap.” Eskridge paused to think. “Why is the name Campodonico so bloody familiar?”
From outside, Doxstader said, “The anthropologist.”
“Ah, yes, right.” Eskridge turned back to Charlie. “He writes coffee table books on indigenous tribal rock painting. My wife has given me several of them as Christmas gifts. So, yes, Campodonico is, in a way, a terrorist.”
Charlie wanted to argue for an unofficial peek into the life of Tom Campodonico, but he recognized that he stood a better chance of convincing Eskridge to launch a new investigation into the Kennedy assassination. Tonight.
“So you have a choice to make, Charlie Clark. You can stay here-the company has no power to detain you. On the other hand, Mobile’s finest may find-or be supplied with-ample excuse to prolong your stay in the drunk tank. Alternatively, you can leave the G-20 security provisions in the hands of the Secret Service agents and the more than nine hundred other specialists here from the Coast Guard, Navy, Air Force, Department of Energy, and Homeland Security. If you do, you’ll be released at once and I’ll see to it that your fake driver’s license issue will cease to be an issue. All I need is your word that you’ll leave town tonight.”
“I promise,” said Charlie.
Eskridge nibbled at his lower lip, seemingly unconvinced. “Where will you go?”
“A few hours drive from here, in Mississippi, there’s a casino where I have a good relationship with a couple of slot machines.”
“Congratulations, you’re a free man.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said.
He had every intention of going to Mississippi tonight.
And returning to Alabama first thing in the morning.