"I see," Andy said. "So they're trying to extort our lifting the freeze on crab licenses."

Hammer absently snatched memos off her desk and glanced through them, hopeful that the governor might finally have returned one of her phone calls. But no. There was not a single message indicating he had tried to reach her or even knew she had been trying to talk to him for months.

"And I'm sure they expect us to remove the speed traps and prevent NASCAR from coming. They think we're going to turn the island into a racetrack," Andy informed Hammer.

"So I understand. How the hell can they think such a thing?" Hammer's voice rose. "The island couldn't possibly hold a hundred and fifty thousand fans. There would be no place to put the cars and no way to get them or the drivers or pit crews on and off the island. Not to mention, no beer or cigarette sponsors want their stock cars and people like Dale Earnhardt, Jr., and Rusty Wallace on a track where alcohol and tobacco are considered sins. And Tangier's barely above sea level, meaning the track would flood. Why the hell did you tell them NASCAR is coming, Andy?"

"I didn't. I was explaining VASCAR, not NASCAR, and this island woman got the names mixed up, just like a lot of people are doing."

"Well, I'm quite sure they'll demand we get rid of the crab sanctuary, too." She continued obsessing about the governor and his avoidance of her. "They've not forgiven us and never will for deciding most of the Chesapeake Bay is off limits to watermen." One part of her talked on while another part of her got angrier with the governor. She had no doubt that were she younger or a male, the governor would be calling her constantly. "We'll have to give the sanctuary back or unsanction it or whatever the legal process might be."

"Superintendent Hammer?" Windy seeped back into the discussion like an unpleasant draft. "I tried the governor's office first thing when I got in and he's in meetings again and not talking to anybody at all."

"Bullshit," Hammer said, eyeing the small, brown paper-covered package Windy was holding. "Is that for me, and who is it from?"

"Yes. The return address is Major Trader. Would you like me to open it?"

"Has it been x-rayed?" Hammer asked.

"Yes, yes. You know us, we never judge a box by its cover." Windy ripped off the paper. "Oh look! Homemade chocolates with a note that says…" She held up a small card and read, "Best wishes, Governor Crimm."

"That's strange," Andy commented, knowing all too well that Crimm never gave Hammer the time of day, much less presents. "I think I'd better take these."

"What for?" Hammer asked, perplexed.

"Because it's damn suspicious and I intend to look into it," Andy said.

"Now Windy," Hammer decided, "that will be enough for now." She motioned for her secretary to leave and not say another word. "Call the governor's office and see if you can get him on the damn phone."

Windy looked disappointed and unhappy at being banished, and she sure did wish her boss's poor little dog hadn't disappeared. Hammer was hardly ever in a good mood anymore. Andy gave Windy a little wink to cheer her up as she left.

"The Islanders don't care about the sanctuary," Andy said as he tucked the chocolates into his briefcase. "It wouldn't make sense for them to care about it because they don't fish in those parts of the bay."

Hammer actually knew very little about fishing or the laws pertaining to it. The fishing industry did not fall under the jurisdiction of the state police, but was the business of the Coast Guard unless fishermen committed serious crimes on roads or highways, which was exactly what had just happened when they marched down Janders Road and kidnapped the dentist and threatened treason. She tuned out the part of her that was fussing with the governor.

"Explain this sanctuary stuff to me," she said, sitting back down at her desk. "And everything else about why the Islanders don't like Virginia."

Andy informed her that Tangier Island had become increasingly hostile toward the rest of the Commonwealth when a recent General Assembly passed a number of bills that were entirely in favor of crabs and not the watermen who chased after them. It was true, however, that crab stocks were in serious trouble.

"A waterman brought in to testify before the legislators back in January admitted that the number of crab pots required to snag a hundred blue crabs had climbed from ten to fifty," Andy explained. "And last year, hard-crab landings dipped below thirty million pounds and the downward trend is continuing."

Harsh words such as "fully exploited," "overcapitalization," and "overfishing" were fired at Buren Stringle, the head of the Tangier Island Watermen's Association and the island's only police officer. Legislators set a lower limit for the number of crab pots the watermen could toss into state waters. Subsequently, a Blue Crab Advisory Commission was appointed, and it further tightened the restrictions by declaring that all pots would be tagged, thus making it easier for the marine patrol to count them and see who was cheating. The sanctuary was expanded to cover four hundred and sixty-five square miles of water at least thirty-five feet deep from the Maryland line to the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay near Virginia Beach-a crafty political move that would allow a million more pregnant crabs to safely reach vital spawning grounds.

"In truth, the sanctuary does no good at all," Andy summarized to Hammer. "The area of the bay deemed off limits happens to be a deep trough that would require extraordinary lengths of rope for every crab pot dropped in the water. The watermen have been keeping this bit of intelligence to themselves, and so far no one on the mainland, except possibly me, knows that Tangier Island has no interest in the new sanctuary or is the least bit opposed to it. Meanwhile, pregnant crabs continue to travel to their usual spawning grounds, indifferent to their new protection and not entirely aware of it."

"Okay. So forget the sanctuary idea," Hammer decided with disappointment. "But I can't think what real leverage we have, Andy. The way you've described it, Virginia really doesn't care much about the plight of the watermen, and the watermen aren't really that interested in Virginia's concerns, either."

"The root of all problems," Andy commented. "Nobody cares."

"Let's don't become cynical."

"What we need is some good ol' fashioned community policing," he said. "And I can do that through Trooper Truth."

"Oh no," she warned. "No more…"

"Yes!" Andy countered. "Let's at least give it a chance. Trooper Truth can ask his readers to help with our cases."

"Including Popeye!" Windy was suddenly in the doorway. "Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful if we could get Trooper Truth to ask for help finding Popeye?"

"What?" Andy asked, shocked. "What do you mean, find Popeye?"

Pain passed through Hammer's eyes.

"Don't be mad at me," Windy said to her. "I know you think I just let the cat out of the box, but maybe we can find Popeye. Maybe it's not too late, even if she did disappear months ago when you let her out to potty."

"That's enough, Windy," Hammer said again. "Please leave and shut the door."

"Well, okay, but I'm sending Trooper Truth an e-mail right away and telling him about Popeye."

She left and shut the door. Hammer sighed.

"How could you?" Andy whispered, outraged and deeply saddened by what had happened and that Hammer had never told him. "How could you not call me the minute Popeye disappeared?"

"You were off on one of your research trips, Andy," Hammer said in a defeated way. "And I don't know why else, but, well, I just haven't wanted to talk about it. There's nothing that can be done. Hold on." She held up a hand. "Now what is it, Windy?" she said to her secretary, who had just opened the door.