Diamond Head by Charles Knief Page A

until I secured Duchess for the night. Boats are like women. They require a lot of care. If they get it they will respond to you every time. Ignore them, and you’ll lose them. I understand that’s not politically correct. It’s merely correct.
    I pulled in her lines and secured her for the night. There was a little wind and chop, indications that Hawaii might be in for some heavy weather. We’d already had our hurricane for the decade, and even though we were in prime hurricane season I didn’t think we’d get one. Iniki missed Honolulu at the last minute but savaged both the Waianae Coast of Oahu and the island of Kauai. The winds never rose above tropical storm levels in Pearl Harbor, and Duchess and I rode out Iniki in the middle of the harbor with the engine running and two anchors out.
    When I was satisfied my boat wouldn’t shift I went below and stared at the Stephen Hawking book. That lasted about five minutes because the words wouldn’t come together. I was restless, dissatisfied with the way this thing was going. I was supposed to find the killer of one father’s child. Another father had sacrificed his son for reasons I could not comprehend. I was the unwilling instrument of that sacrifice and I didn’t like it.

    Being used goes against everything I am. That’s why I’m not employed by the big corporations or out working for a cause. There are no regulations on what I do. I submit no plans for approval. I have no review committee or inspectors to point out my errors. I labor under the illusion that I am free. When someone like Chawlie comes along and demonstrates that I am not as free as I’d like to think I am, the facing of that reality is threatening. We all like to have our illusions.
    I made some coffee, the standard stuff, not the special roast. Tonight was not a night to celebrate. Tonight was not a night for another drink, either. I had not eaten dinner, but the thought of food made me queasy.
    My cellular telephone rang.
    â€œCaine.”
    â€œThis is Thompson. Come to my office to see me. Tonight.” The man’s voice made my skin crawl, like listening to fingernails scratching a blackboard.
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œNot tonight. Call me tomorrow.”
    â€œBut you can’t …”
    I hung up.
    The phone rang.
    â€œCaine.”
    â€œI want you down here right now!”
    I hung up.
    The phone rang again. It may have been my impression, but the ring sounded angry.
    â€œCaine.”
    â€œMr. Caine.” Thompson’s voice betrayed his anger, but he was trying to retain control. “I told you to come down to my office for a reason. You obviously want something from me. You gave me information that turned out to be exactly correct. Now I wish to meet with you to discuss what you want in return. Tonight.”

    â€œThompson,” I said, “I don’t take orders from anyone, so I don’t take orders from you. If you’d like to see me, then ask, don’t order. Taking orders can get to be a habit, and I have all the bad habits I need at the moment.”
    After a moment of silence he said, “Can you come down to my office?” The effort in his voice was tactile.
    â€œWhat’s the magic word?”
    There was a pause.
    â€œAre you serious?”
    I didn’t reply. I just waited.
    â€œPlease?”
    â€œSorry. Can’t come down tonight,” I said. “Call me tomorrow.”
    I hung up.
    It was childish and vastly stupid. I may have blown my only lead, if that lead was to Thompson. I knew I was not only reacting to my revulsion to Thompson himself, but also to what Chawlie had done.
    I thought Thompson might call in the morning anyway. My strange behavior could have had the opposite effect. My refusal might even increase his interest.
    At least I hoped so.
    The blinking light on my answering machine caught my attention again. I looked at the digital