Rawls shrugged again but said nothing.
“Come on, Ed. I can run a check on you half a dozen ways. Hell, I can probably get most of it by Googling you.”
“I suppose you could,” Rawls said. “I was running the Scandinavian station out of Stockholm some years back, looking forward to retirement. I got involved with a lovely Swedish creature who turned out to be a lovely Russian creature. This was before the fuckers all became democrats. They blackmailed me, and I gave them some fairly useless information, but a meet went south, and a couple of my people bought it. I was blamed, and they hung me out to dry.”
“I remember now,” Stone said. “You’re supposed to be in prison, aren’t you?”
“I was, until a few months ago, but a couple of nice things happened. One: The former KGB station chief in Stockholm told the Brits that I had nothing to do with the two deaths, that it was an accident not related to me, and the Brits told our people. Two: Even in the Atlanta pen I was able to do my country a valuable service, and a combination of the two things got me a presidential pardon. And a very nice cash reward, I might add.”
“I didn’t hear about the pardon.”
“Almost nobody did. I think they announced it in the middle of the night. It probably won’t be out until Will Lee isn’t president anymore.”
“And how’d you end up on Islesboro?”
“Oh, I’m a fourth-generation islander; my great-grandfather built this house, and I’ve owned it for more than twenty years.”
“How did the islanders react to your, ah, problems?”
“Pretty well. I actually got some encouraging mail in prison, and when I came back, it was like I’d never left. During the whole business I was never asked to resign from the yacht club or the golf club. You play golf?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Let’s do that soon. I’ll introduce you to some islanders.”
“Ed, are you convinced that nobody who lives here had anything to do with the murders of Dick and his family?”
Rawls nodded. “I am. Nobody knows this place and these people better than I do, and, believe me, it’s just not in the cards.”
“But you can’t suggest exactly who might have been involved?”
“Not yet, but I’ve got some feelers out. You’ll have to be patient; these things aren’t on the clock.”
“You’re making me feel helpless,” Stone said. “I’m out of my depth with the kind of people you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, but you know people who can help, Stone.”
“Do I?”
“Well, until yesterday, you were up here with Lance Cabot, weren’t you?”
“There is a local grapevine, isn’t there?”
“Sure, there is.”
“You know Lance?”
“I helped train him,” Rawls said. “He worked for me later. So did Kate Rule.” Katharine Rule Lee was the president’s wife and the Director of Central Intelligence.
“You are well connected, aren’t you, Ed?”
“I know quite a few folks; not all of 'em want to know me.“
“Because of your indiscretions?”
Rawls nodded. “Stone, I can see you’re here with the idea of tracking down Dick’s killer and putting him in jail, but that’s not how it works in this particular game.”