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〃Relax；〃 he told Jesus。 〃We'll straighten this out soon enough； won't we？〃
Several persons were deeply displeased to see Ricky Bloodworth's story。 One was Cab Mulcahy； who sensed Skip Wiley's demented hand behind the El Fuego caper。 Mulcahy could see disaster looming。 For the newspaper。 For himself。 For all Miami。 He shriveled at the vision of a handcuffed Wiley being led up the steps of the Dade County Courthouse…wild…eyed and foamy…mouthed； bellowing one of his dark axioms。 Every major paper in America would cover the extravaganza： Columnist Goes on Trial as Mass Murderer。 It would be better than Manson because Skip Wiley was more coherent。 Skip Wiley was a hell of a quote。
Despite his premonitions； Cab Mulcahy knew there was little he could do until he was absolutely sure。
Another person who cringed at the sight of Richard L。 Bloodworth's byline was Detective Harold Keefe； who'd nearly succeeded in convincing the police hierarchy that a renegade cop had dreamed up those crazy letters。 Harold Keefe had refused to speak with Bloodworth the night before and now was sorry he hadn't。 Keefe could have used the opportunity to drop the dime on Al Garcia and derail all this freaky Las Noches crap。 Now it was too late； a veritable disaster。 The chief was furious； I。A。D。 was on red alert； and the Chamber of merce was handing out cyanide capsules。
As Harold Keefe studied the front page of the Miami Sun； he decided to retaliate swiftly； utilizing the police department's vast apparatus for equivocation。 He would pose a public statement to put the whole Nacho case in a sober perspective。 The wording would be dicey； considering the publicity； but Keefe would stick to the original platform： The murder of B。 D。 Harper is unrelated to the subsequent disappearance of tourists 。。。 No evidence of foul play 。。。 The Fuego letters are a sick hoax perpetrated by a disgruntled policeman （for support； quote from Dr。 Remond Courtney's report to the chief） 。。。 Close by saying the whole matter remains under investigation 。。。 an internal investigation。 Pretty tidy； Keefe thought。
He recorded two versions of the statement； a thirty…second loop for radio and two fifteen…second sound bites for TV。 The tapes were copied and the cassettes distributed to broadcast reporters in the lobby of police headquarters。 Full texts of the press release （in English； Spanish； and Creole） were hand…delivered to all Miami newspapers； a studio eight…by…ten of Harold Keefe was conveniently included in the package。
Keefe' s statement was released just in time for the noon news on radio and television。
Tommy Tigertail was driving east on Alligator Alley when he heard the broadcast。 He turned around and cruised back to tell Skip Wiley。
〃I'll be damned； a cover…up！〃 Wiley exclaimed。 The Indian had found him fishing near the secret campsite。 Wiley was dressed in a buckskin jacket and Fila tennis shorts； he wore an Australian bush hat with a red emblem on the crown。 He listened closely to Tommy Tigertail's account of the police press release； and winced at the mention of Dr。 Remond Courtney。
〃I wonder what happened to Brian；〃 Wiley said irritably。 〃He was our ace in the hole； our smoking gun。 I even gave him the briefcase…it was all the proof those moron cops would ever need。〃
〃So what do we do？〃 the Indian asked。
〃Strike again；〃 advised Jesus Bernal； who had wandered out of the hammock to eavesdrop。 〃Strike again； and strike dramatically。〃
Wiley's bestubbled face cracked into a grin。 〃Jesus； mi hermano； do you still have some C…4？〃
〃Si。〃
〃Bueno；〃 said Wiley； humoring him with Spanish。 〃Make me a bomb。〃
〃Yes； sir！〃 Bernal said； scarcely concealing his rapture。 〃What kind of bomb？〃
〃A bomb that goes off when it's supposed to。〃
〃Ciaro！ Do not worry。〃
〃Please don't blow up my car；〃 Tommy Tiger…tail said。
Among those who had no intention of waiting for a bomb were the residents of Otter Creek Village； where the abduction of Ida Kimmelman had set off a minor panic。 Newly hired security guards now patrolled the shuffleboard courts until midnight…security guards with guns！ Furthermore； the Otter Creek Safety mittee declared that all condominium owners should henceforth walk their dogs en masse； for protection。 This was a drastic measure that only promoted more hysteria at Otter Creek…a herd of yipping； squatting miniature poodles dragging scores of Sansabelted retirees across the landscaping。 Fearful of kidnappings； some of the oldsters armed themselves with sharp umbrellas or canisters of Mace； which they often used on one another in the heat of petition for shrubs and hydrants。 Indelible terror seized the residents when the actual text of the El Fuego letter appeared in the newspaper； within hours forty…seven units at Otter Creek were put up for sale。 Contracts on fourteen other apartments； including a penthouse with a whirlpool； were canceled。 Overnight the parking lot seemed to fill with mustard…colored moving vans and station wagons with New York tags。
This was the first wave out of Florida。
It was exactly the way Skip Wiley had dreamed it。
One morning Brian Keyes looked up and saw the round； friendly face of Nell Bellamy。 For a second he thought he was back on the sidewalk outside Pauly's Bar。
〃Hello again。〃
〃Hi；〃 Keyes said。
〃I read about your accident。〃
〃It wasn't exactly an accident；〃 Keyes said。 〃Why are you whispering？〃
〃It's a hospital。 I always whisper in hospitals。〃 Nell Bellamy looked embarrassed。
Keyes said； 〃It was nice of you to e。〃
〃How are you feeling？ The nurses said you had a little setback。〃
〃Tore a few stitches the other night。 One of those things。〃 The cost of Jenna's heavenly visit； the next morning he'd felt like a gutted carp。
Nell tucked another pillow under his head。 〃Did you see the paper？ They think it's a gang of 。。。 maniacs。〃
Brian Keyes knew why Nell Bellamy had e； and it was time to tell the truth。 As a reporter； he'd always tried to do these melancholy chores over the phone； never in person。 On the phone you could just close your eyes and take a deep gulp； and say； 〃Ma'am； I'm sorry to have to tell you this； but…〃 and then the rotten news。 Your little boy got hit by a truck。 Your sister was a passenger on that 727。 They found your daughter's body； Mrs。 Davenport。 Sometimes Keyes couldn't bring himself to do it； and he'd play the line…is…busy game with his editor。 Sorry； can't get a ment from the family。 The line's been busy all afternoon。 And then if the editor persisted； Keyes would dial his own phone number and hold the receiver away from his ear； so the busy signal would be audible。
Unfortunately； Nell Bellamy wasn't on the other end of a telephone。 She was standing intently at the rail of the hospital bed； bracing for what her ace private investigator was about to say。
〃Mr。 Keyes； I've a feeling you found out something important。〃
Keyes couldn't bear to look in her eyes； so he concentrated on the buttons of her crisp blouse。 〃Mrs。 Bellamy； I'm sorry to have to tell you this； but your husband is dead。 I think he was murdered。〃
Nell Bellamy sat down； neat and plump； in a chair by the window。 〃Oh； Teddy；〃 she said softly。
At that