When he’d recovered from her ministrations, he rolled over and glanced down at the huge belly he’d been pushing around for the last couple of years. There ain’t enough suntan lotion in the world, he told himself. He pulled on his green dragon Hawaiian shirt and his shorts, slipped his feet into his flip-flops, and called to the others that he was going for a walk down by the cliffs. He needed to be alone; he needed to think. Despite his assurances to both Holly and Dawson, Pender still wasn’t sure what he was going to do. It was almost frightening, the way the future branched out ahead of him.
He missed his life in Washington, missed his friends, missed his house by the canal. But he knew that as soon as he left the island he’d find himself missing St. Luke and his A-frame nearly as much, and missing Dawson even worse. And it wasn’t the sex, he told himself. Okay, it wasn’t just the sex. Being with her simply felt right. A man gets to be fifty-seven, he knows what feels right.
But he couldn’t exactly ask Dawson to come back to Washington, hang out with him and his FBI buddies. The old wounds hadn’t healed up there-every couple of years the Bureau reeled in another old radical. A Weatherman here, an SLA auxiliary there, and they all ended up doing time, even the ones who’d lived exemplary lives under assumed names for the last thirty years.
And as if that weren’t enough to think about, there was the question of whether he wanted to-
A wave broke over Pender’s flip-flops. The tide was higher than the last time he’d come this way, with Dawson. He edged closer to the side of the cliff as the path continued to narrow.
— whether he wanted to go back into retirement, or accept the job of chief of detectives that Julian had offered him. Now that Apgard was cashing out everything he could sell in order to pay what was almost certainly going to amount to millions in legal fees, the airport runway expansion was all but assured. And the island economy was bound to expand as well. St. Luke was going to be dragged willy-nilly into the twenty-first century, said Julian, and if the police department didn’t get there first, there was going to be hell to pay.
Pender wasn’t sure he wanted the job, though, wasn’t sure he was up to it. His hunch about Apgard and the Epps had been on the money, but his handling of the rest of it was pretty wretched, by his standards. He’d set out to spook the suspects, but neglected to make any contingency plans in the event he succeeded. Nearly cost an innocent little girl her life.
The path continued to narrow before taking a hairpin bend around a salient in the cliff, then widening out to the rocky, hollowed-out ledge where Wanger’s and Schaller’s bodies had been found. Pender sniffed, caught the unmistakable stink of week-old death just before he turned the corner and came upon two bodies lying together on the rocks in almost exactly the same spot as the photographs of Wanger and Schaller that Julian had showed him his first day on the job.
Holding his handkerchief to his mouth, Pender approached. The bodies were entwined like ghastly lovers. Arena’s face was in pretty bad shape, but Pender was able to identify him by the Jimmy Buffett parrot-head tattoo on his left bicep. Bennie’s corpse was still half-dressed, though his jeans had been sliced to ribbons.
As Pender circled the heap, he saw why the two were so tangled up. The drawstring of the waterproof bag tied to Bennie’s ankle had somehow also wound itself around Arena’s leg, cutting deeply into the putrefying flesh.
Even if the search party hadn’t found Bennie’s knapsack propped up against the stone well formation, having read the Epp manuscript, Pender would have been able to guess how Bennie had begun his journey. And soon the coroner would be able to tell them how it had ended, whether Bennie had drowned in fresh water, suffocated, fallen to his death, or drowned in salt water.
But what had happened along the way, between the beginning and the end of the journey, whether Bennie got himself tangled up with the corpse before or after he died, for instance-would probably never be known.
Still, Pender was immensely curious to learn what was in the stuff bag. I’ll just take a little peek, he promised the law enforcement gods. He knew better than to disturb a crime scene, of course-but at the moment, it was still his crime scene. So what harm could a little peek do?
Answer: none.
And what was the first rule he’d learned in the real world after leaving the FBI Academy thirty years ago?
Answer: better to ask forgiveness than permission. He opened the bag, tilted it toward the light, peered inside, and took a quick inventory: one fat paperback book with the covers torn off, three plastic freezer bags stuffed with hundred-dollar bills, one bag containing two severed human hands, and four more bags filled with bones.
Dawson began to worry when Pender hadn’t returned after fifteen or twenty minutes. He’d had two dizzy spells since being released from the hospital the previous morning and laughed them off. But a dizzy spell on those rocks would be no laughing matter. She gave Holly her mask and snorkel, waded ashore, pulled on her tank suit, and began picking her way along the rocky path at the base of the cliffs, barefooted, surefooted, calling Pender’s name and growing more and more alarmed, until suddenly there he was, looming in front of her, blocking the path.
“What is it?” he asked brusquely. Under the ludicrous beachcomber’s hat his face was reddened either with sunburn or exertion, and he seemed to be hiding something behind his back.
“Nuh-nothing.” He’d never snapped at her like that before. “I was afraid you’d had another dizzy spell-I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Fine, I’m fine.” He must have seen how he’d startled her-he softened his voice and pasted on a grimace that was meant to be a smile. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to be…Listen-there are two more bodies back there. I’m pretty sure one of them is Arena, and the other is definitely Bennie. I want you to go back to the Core with Holly and the kids-they don’t need to get mixed up in this.”
“I’ll tell them, then I’ll come back to-”
“You of all people don’t need to get mixed up in it either,” he said pointedly, stooping to her eye level and peering at her from under the ragged straw of his hat brim. “Please, trust me on this?”
Trust a cop, thought Dawson. For someone who’d been a fugitive for thirty years, it was quite a concept.
13
Forty-five minutes after finding the bodies, Pender called the Chief from his cruiser.
Coffee was furious. It wasn’t that anybody thought Bennie had a chance of getting out of the cave complex alive. Julian had seen the postmortem battering the first two corpses had been subjected to on their way from the Oubliette to the sea. And while they hadn’t found the outlet yet (and wouldn’t until one of their officers rappelled down the cliff on Friday) they knew it had to be pretty high up there-unless Bennie had somehow turned into Spider-Man, even if he’d survived the watery crawl, he would have been facing quite a fall.
But having read the Epp manuscript, Julian was all too aware of how lucky the department had been. If the Oubliette hadn’t communicated with the sea, they’d never have found the first two bodies, never have known they’d had a serial killer on their hands until…Well, until a lot more people had died.
And he didn’t even want to think about what might have happened if it hadn’t been for Pender’s hunch. That was the only good move Julian felt he’d made in the entire investigation-bringing Pender in-and now it was Pender who’d come up with the last remaining piece of the puzzle.
After dispatching Layla and her crime scene van, Julian hurried to his car. He met Henry Hamilton in the lobby, grabbed him by the lapels. “I thought I told you I wanted the cliffs checked out on a regular basis, until further notice.”
“I took cyare of it m’self, Chief,” replied Hamilton, in a wounded tone of voice. “Every day on my way home, I drive by dot way, look over de cliff. What could be more regular?”
“Henry, have I demoted you lately?”
“Not since last wintah, Chief.”
“Good. You’re busted
down to uniform, me son-if you can find one to fit dot belly.”
Layla’s van was parked behind Pender’s cruiser. It was just past high tide; the rocks were still wet. Julian took off his shoes and socks, rolled his uniform trousers up to midcalf, and picked his way up the slippery path to the honeycombed ledge.
Layla was still photographing the scene. Julian, Pender, and two uniforms waited until she had finished before separating the bodies and untying the drawstring tied to Bennie’s ankle. Layla handed the bag to Pender. “You do the honors.”
The others gathered round. Pender donned a fresh pair of gloves, unzipped the bag, reached in, pulled out a coverless copy of Moby-Dick, and five plastic freezer bags, four of which contained loose bones, and the fifth, two severed hands. “That’s all there is, there ain’t no more,” he said. “Elvis has left the building.”
He handed the last bag to Julian, who held it out at arm’s length. “Think he made it across the bridge to the other side?” asked Julian, who besides Pender was the only one present to have read the Epp manuscript.
“I hope not,” said Pender. “I hope the son of a bitch is still falling.”
Epilogue
Seven weeks later. Thanksgiving. The trestle tables have been carried down to the meadow, set up end to end under the spreading rain tree, and laden with the usual Thanksgiving fare: turkey and trimmings, conch and fungi. There was also a tofu turkey for the vegetarians.
Before dinner, in lieu of a formal blessing, they went around the table, and everybody said what they were thankful for, and everybody drank a little toast. By the time Pender’s turn rolled around, he’d reached the state of clarity one of his old friends back in Washington used to call In Jim Beamo, veritas.
“I’m thankful for all the new friends I’ve made. I’m thankful for my thick skull. I’m thankful for my new satellite dish. I’m thankful for my new job as chief of detectives, which I’m scheduled to begin on December first-and by the way, you’re all under arrest-just kidding. And most of all, I’m thankful for this beautiful woman here, and that you’re never too old to fall in…well, you know, love.”
Everybody raised his or her glass, took a sip or a belt. Pender sat down. Dawson was next. She had a short speech ready, but Pender had sabotaged all that by using the L-word for the first time. She stood up, fluttered her hand at her breast. “I’m all…” She looked down at Holly, to her right. “What’s the word?”
“Ferklemt?”
“Ferklemt.” Then she looked down at Pender, to her left. “I love you, too,” she said, and kissed him on top of his head.
“I hate getting kissed on top of the head,” he whispered, as everybody raised their glasses again.
“Get used to it,” she whispered back.
Holly was next. “I have a lot to be thankful for without knowing who to be thankful to. So to whoever it was who left that mon-I mean, that paper bag-on my doorstep back in October, whether you’re within the sound of my voice or not, thank you from the bottom of my heart, and if you ever want to cop to it, free massages for life. I love you.”
Dawn was next. “I’m thankful for three people.” She put down her glass of sparkling apple juice and ticked them off on her fingers: “Auntie Holly, for being my nex’ mother. Whoever left the money-I mean the paper bag. And Mr. Apgard. I know he did bad things, but he brought me home safe and sound, like he promised. And I hope they don’t kill him-that would be just as bad as what he did.” She picked up her glass, raised it high. It took a few seconds for all the other glasses to be raised, but eventually they were.
Marley went last. “I guess everybody knows what I have to be thankful for,” he said, raising his glass in his new GSR-activated myoelectric-stimulated, signal-boosted right hand, then bringing it slowly to his mouth, tilting it, taking a sip. It was one of the first things he’d learned to do with his new hands, and one of the more difficult. The others watched him, holding their collective breaths and rooting silently for him not to dump the whole glass down his shirt, which still happened every so often.
But not this time. Arm and hand performed flawlessly. Marley returned the glass to the table, bowed from the waist, and sat back down, to applause. Auntie Holly of course was bawling. Pender asked him if he wanted to help carve the turkey.
“Maybe next year,” said Marley.
“I’ll drink to that,” said Pender.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-eb4cb7-f3f1-3740-b085-f79a-7123-200950
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 20.04.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.47, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.3 software
Document authors :
Jonathan Nasaw
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Twenty-Seven Bones elp-3 Page 29
