Mr. Bear lumbered closer, drooling, growling, shaking long-nailed paws. His long snout gaped and showed big yellow teeth. He lolled a long pink wet tongue.
Grijpstra, feeling tired, sat down on a stump. This was like the storm at sea again, low tide sucking up currents, the void about to swallow his puny existence. Grijpstra remembered Ishmael's dream set in the airport restroom. He would like to argue with Saint Peter about things that unavoidably happen, unwilled by anything, whether divine or human. Grijpstra had been trying to do a good job, trying to make things happen just a little better for all parties concerned when mindless chance interfered again.
Very well. So there was only the meaningless moment.
Mr. Bear shuffled closer, on large soundless feet, stood up again, displayed matted fur covering his belly, raised his cheeks to bare chunky molars and wet canines, showed the whites of his eyes, which peered down on each side of a long drooling snout. The bear raised his arms, ready to come down on Grijpstra's shoulders.
On fear's far side all is friendliness again. "How are you doing, Mr. Bear?" Grijpstra asked.
The bear dropped its cheeks, snorted indifferently, turned, ambled off to the beach, splashed away, sank slowly until only his round furry head sat on the surface. The head, propelled by paddling feet below, floated off easily.
This was the moment to casually light the fat smelly type of cigar Nellie objected to, but Grijpstra wasn't carrying any.
Grijpstra entered the tunnel and saw a neat grave-sized hole.
The body had been covered with rocks, which now lay about. Maybe the bear intended toput them backafter eating, to keep the competition away—foxes, raccoons maybe, coyotes, any of the predators Grijpstra had seen in the wildlife poster in Perkins' Sports Store window on Main Street.
Former Adjutant-Detective Grijpstra was somewhat used to corpses, and could diagnose their condition tentatively, while waiting for the pathologist's ultimate verdict. He mumbled through his handkerchief pressed against mouth and nose. "Female," Grijpstra whispered, shining his flashlight. "Caucasian," Grijpstra said. "Young adult. White-blond gossamer hair." He lifted a few strands with a twig. De Gier had said that. Lorraine with the gossamer Scandinavian hair. Grijpstra checked the remains of a foot, determining it to be slender.
Mission accomplished. Correction. Almost accomplished. Step Two? Assist the murderer's escape.
Grijpstra ran about, thrashing through ferns and tall weeds. He yelled De Gier's name. De Gier showed up. De Gier was also yelling. "Hey!"
Grijpstra said no, he was not crazy. Come and look what he'd found.
They entered the tunnel. Grijpstra's flashlight shone brightly.
They exited the tunnel. De Gier staggered across the beach before vomiting between rocks covered with slimy seaweed.
"Yes," de Gier said.
"Lorraine?"
"Lorraine," de Gier said. He almost fell into Grijpstra's arms. "You know?"
"What?"
"You know," de Gier said, "I was sure I didn't do this. I thought it was something cooked up to hurt me." He turned, bent down again, splashed water on his face. "I was being clever. I thought I had reached an important point in my training, that I didn't have time to deal with people holding me back. So I got you to take care of it while I carried on regardless."
"Right," Grijpstra said kindly. "Prince Holy quests while Flatfoot slogs."
De Gier breathed deeply. "You think I'm an asshole."
"Oh yes," Grijpstra said kindly.
"There was more," de Gier said. "I missed you. I thought it would be nice to show you what I was doing here." He grimaced sadly. "As you said, Henk: showing off to Older Brother." De Gier pointed at the tunnel. "So I did kill her after all. I was too drunk to remember."
The incoming tide had almost floated the dinghy that Grijpstra had left on the beach. De Gier boarded it nimbly. Grijpstra wanted to get in too but the dinghy, forced into sudden speed by de Gier's powerful oar strokes, slipped from under Grijpstra's hands.
Grijpstra watched the dinghy get smaller as it left the channel between the islands, then reach the open ocean, an immense flat expanse, where it became a dot, then nothing.
Chapter 16
Grijpstra, wandering about Jeremy Island again, found an aluminum rowboat near Jeremy's former cabin. Rowing to the Point didn't take too long. HefoundapayphoneatthePointYjetty. Grijpstra dialed.
"SherifFs Office, Billy speaking. How may we help you?"
Billy Boy picked Grijpstra up in his jeep. He raised the Kathy Three by radio, specifying the dinghy's last-known location and direction.
"Not to worry," Billy Boy told Grijpstra. "They can't miss him on a clear night like this."
"He might take ofFagain," said Grijpstra. "He's not in the best of moods, you know."
"Depressed?" Billy Boy seemed surprised. "Suicidal? Our nature lover? How come?"
Grijpstra explained that de Gier was not your average balanced type. An alcoholic of de Gier's philosophical inclinations was likely to challenge fete at odd moments. He and de Gier had been partying earlier that night, de Gier had been drinking. The moon was full.
Billy Boy leaned over and sniffed Grijpstra's breath. "Drinking alone, was he?"
Too true, Grijpstra affirmed. De Gier would do that, get drunk on his own, go through sudden mood shifts, become paranoid, wander off by himself.
The deputy sighed. "You wouldn't think so, Krip, but I understand. Take de Gier now. Things may be going well enough, here he is able to enjoy a summer in paradise, something, could be any little thing, snaps—de Gier faces the ravine."
Billy Boy touched Grijpstra's arm. "That's what I call it. You kind of suddenly drop. You can drop through the bottom. Maybe there's no bottom, Krip. Maybe there's a free fall forever."
"Kind of frightening," Grijpstra said.
Billy Boy agreed. But there was another thing worth discussing. "Take me now. You think I'm bad people, right? Letting you go when you were in trouble." Billy Boy pointed toward the sea. "About the same spot I would say, and I couldlet your partner go now but this time I'll help out."
Bats flew around the parked jeep, excitedly squeaking while diving at night moths. "Don't got much choice," Billy Boy said. "As for me, I'd rather be making boat models but here I am doing God knows what."
Grijpstra said he'd rather be painting dead ducks.
"Making models for a living," Billy Boy said. "Little lobster boats, every detail exact, I'd like that, Krip. But here I am, all preoccupied with being me and with my worries, letting you go at sea, storm and all." He laughed. "Wasn't that fun?"
Grijpstra didn't think it was fun.
"Listen," Billy Boy said. "Think of the other guy's fun for a change. Why be you?" He gestured. "Be me."
Grijpstra said that wasn't so easy.
"Let me illustrate." Billy Boy gestured. "All this land here was Indian land, you know that? Not so long ago. There were two tribes, one tribe to each shore. The bay was full of fish, not like now when the fishing industry scoops them up with sensitive machinery so there ain't none left. But back then, when we hadn't got around to doing away with fish yet, the Indians couldn't eat no fish either." He looked at Grijpstra. "Why not? Because the tribe this side ofthe bay kept spearing andshootingarrows at the other tribe from the other side of the bay. Anyone inaboatonacalm day sticksoutand calm days are best for fishing. So the other tribe waits on the shore, aiming arrows from behind shrubs and long grasses and Pyool
"You got that?" Billy Boy asked.
Grijpstra, bouncing about as the jeep roared along the rough road, considered the situation. What if he said that he and de Gier didn't want to interfere with Hairy Harry's and Billy Boy's fishing. He tried to say that.
Billy Boy smiled.
"Can't we talk?" Grijpstra asked.
Not really, Billy Boy said. They could, of course, like the tribes had talked, endlessly, powwowing, humphing, promising never to bother each other but then there was the arrow again and the clea
r target: the temptation.
Billy Boy looked at Grijpstra, half-raised his eyebrows, half-dropped his eyelids: "Next time, Krip, when you see me, or I see you, all ofus taking care ofbusiness, never mind who is in the boat, 'fishing,' as we call it"—Billy made quotation marks in the air—"never mind who is behind the bushes, arrow poised. PyooF'
"Doing away," Grijpstra said, "with your own fellow Indian. How would that make you feel?"
"It wouldn't," Billy Boy said.
Grijpstra got dropped off at Bern's Diner in Jameson. The Kathy Three came in and dropped off de Gier. De Gier rowed Grijpstra home to Squid Island. De Gier went to bed quietly, Grijpstra walked about quietly. On nearby Jeremy Island the empty cans shone in the moonlight.
Full moon always interfered with Grijpstrayan serenity, and there were the worries, of course. There was Lorraine, dead, there was taking care ofbusiness, there was de Gier*s insanity, there were the empty cans on Jeremy Island, very visible.
Useless empties, spoiling a perfect view.
So there was something useful he could do now: clear up the mess. Grijpstra rowed across to pick up the useless empties.
Chapter 17
There are good intentions, there is immense fatigue interfering with good intentions. Once Grijpstra had dragged the rowboat behind some boulders so that the sea wouldn't pick it up, he found a big boulder and sat on it. The tide receded steadily, leaving more beach, decorated with pebbles and clam shells. Grijpstra watched the slow undressing sleepily. He waved occasional mosquitos away while he ruminated on what could be expected, given the present scenario consisting of one dead Lorraine, one murdering de Gier, one unconnected Grijpstra. Intelligence, the commissaris claimed, is making optimal use of any given set of facts. How, Grijpstra thought, could he manipulate the given truths to serve his own survival? Rinus de Gier was a splendid fellow indeed—courageous, bizarre, musical, intelligent, curious, creative. Rinus de Gier was a goofy fellow indeed, suffering from a serious personality disorder. Not to be trusted. Hardly a partner to welcome into a private detective agency. De Gier was an expendable component of the given situation. Why not allow the sociopath to self-destruct? Then catch the bus, board El Al, kiss Nellie, settle down. Without friends, without worries.
Grijpstra, wobbly on his rock, dozed as Jeremy Island recreated itself in early morning light.
Squirrels set up a din in a pine tree.
They were the little Japanese alarm gadget that Nellie kept on the night table. Grijpstra reached to switch the squirrel alarm off. His morning, hardly started, had malfunctioned already. The automatic percolator hadn't brewed coffee. Nellie, most probably—Grijpstra hadn't opened his eyes yet—wasn't on her way to the bathroom either.
Grijpstra heard voices wishing the squirrels good morning. There was Aki's husky singsong voice and that of another woman, pleasant, gentle. There was also a metallic clatter that reminded him of another metallic clatter, his own and de Gierls, when they were putting down shiny beer cans.
Grijpstra jumped up, slipped on a wet rock, stubbed toes on roots, crashed through ferns and junipers. He slithered onto the beach. He saw two brightly colored fiberglass kayaks that had been pulled onto the ledge. He saw two pretty women bending over, who, straightening up, saw an older, portly man in a pinstriped three-piece suit crashing out of the island's foliage.
Aki dropped her bag of beer cans.
"Ha!" shouted Grijpstra at the other woman, the woman in the Mother Earth T-shirt, the woman with the very short blond hair and the slender feet. "Ha!"
"This is Lorraine," Aki said. "This is Krip."
"Pleased to meet you," Lorraine said. "So you're Rinus's friend from Amsterdam, are you?"
"Ha!" shouted Grijpstra, hopping about on the foot that hurt less.
"How silly of us," Aki said. "All those nicely placed cans. I did think that this looked a bit like finding Easter eggs that the Easter Bunny had hidden. Are you the Easter Bunny, Krip?"
There was diminutive shouting from nearby Squid Island where de Gier, without his dinghy, ran about, wildly waving.
"How clever," Lorraine said, "and I thought you two were partying last night and would sleep in and give me a chance to clean up this awful mess here at daybreak."
"Got you," Grijpstra whispered. "Ha!"
Aki rowed the dinghy across to Squid Island to fetch de Gier.
"So what happened?" Grijpstra asked Lorraine, meanwhile, helping her to pick up more beer cans and wrappers. "I did see a small stain on the cliff."
"Well. . . ," Lorraine said.
"Wasn't pig blood or ketchup you brought along in a plastic bag with the specific premeditated purpose to set Bonus up?"
"No," Lorraine said.
"I'm sorry," Grijpstra said, "I have to ask. Ah . . . menstrual? Was it?"
"I'm not very regular," Lorraine said. "Haven't been lately. Hormonal imbalance. My age, maybe."
"Yes," Grijpstra said. "Yes. I'm sorry. I did notice that bloodstain. So . . . you were unwell?"
"I was," Lorraine said merrily. "I just wanted to stay the night. It started . . ."
"Ah . . . the bleeding . . . ?"
"Yes, as I kayaked to Squid Island," Lorraine said happily. "It gets bad sometimes. I may have lost a drop there."
"I'm sorry," Grijpstra said sadly.
"You got hangups about menstrual bleeding?" Lorraine asked. "Don't women bleed in Amsterdam?"
Grijpstra admitted the subject made him feel uncomfortable.
Lorraine laughed. "Right. De Gier was telling me. About sex, too. The blow-job case you guys solved when you were still cops in Amsterdam. You kept passing out."
Grijpstra wasn't familiar with the term "blow-job."
"Oral sex?" Lorraine pointed at her mouth, freshly made up to greet another day. "You know? Inserting the penis?"
Grijpstra staggered about the beach, dropping the cans he had just picked up.
"I don't believe this," Lorraine said. "You're like Beth's sister. She thought she had invented the technique and kept running to church to pray the new sin away. Isn't that amazing?"
Grijpstra looked at the safety of Squid Island where de Gier was getting into the dinghy that Aki had backed into his dock.
"You wanted to know about the bleeding," Lorraine said.
"Did Rinus push you?" Grijpstra asked.
"No," Lorraine said. "Not really. You see, he was drunk, or stoned, something terrible. Swaying, behaving idiotically, and I was standing on that stupid rock. . . ."
"A stone step," Grijpstra said.
"Yes, I took it for a stone step, but it was a rock, and Rinus leaned over to me, telling me to go home, over and over—men are repetitive while indulging—calling me Nature Woman with that silly British accent he puts on. It grates on the ears. Oh, he did get infuriating, and I wasn't feeling good."
"Night blind," Grijpstra said.
"What?"
"Rinus says you don't see too well in the dark."
"Yes," Lorraine said. "I couldn't go back, it was night by then, and then I fell and hurt myself and my period had started up much too early because ofbeing so irregular, and I had no sanitary napkin, and then"—her voice became shrill—"Rinusjust stepped back into the pagoda and put on that record."
"Miles Davis."
"Yes."
"Nefertiti."
"Yes."
"So Rinus didn't kick you when you were down,"
Grijpstra said.
"No."
"You weren't pregnant?"
"No," Lorraine said, "stupid Flash. That old boat needs repairs so Flash needs money and it all fit together. He saw an opportunity to get money to replace his boat, so he said I had been pregnant."
"But you weren't."
"No," Lorraine said. "I told them I was okay and to put me off at Bar Island and I was cursing de Gier . . ."
"Ah," Grijpstra said sadly.
". . . for being such an egotist. I always get furious when I have my period. During, not before; I'm different t
hat way."
Grijpstra apologized.
"Grow up," Lorraine said. "Okay? So I hated the guy, and then Flash and Bad George came back later, to cut off my hair. They said they had this doll."
"Doll," Grijpstra said. "Did you see it?"
"I didn't see the doll," Lorraine said. "You ever been to the canning factory where Ishmael lives? Ishmael is a collector. He buys at yard sales. He keeps four stories of everything in that building. You think of something useless and Ishmael stocks it. Dolls too, I've seen them. Life-sized. Anything. Okay? So they were going to braid my hair into this doll's head and make Rinus believe it was me. Get him to pay for repairing their boat."
Grijpstra said, "But you never saw this doll."
"I'm not sorry," Lorraine said. "Men are just awful. Like your Rinus. He's worse."
"My Rinus," Grijpstra said.
"Came on heavy," Lorraine said. "I hate that."
Grijpstra looked at the blond head bending down.
"How's my hair?" Lorraine asked. "I shouldn't have let Bad George touch me with those big shears. Aki fixed it up a bit afterwards. Does it look bad?"
"Short hair," Grijpstra said, "becomes you."
"I guess I was hiding," Lorraine said. "I didn't want anyone to see me like this. You really think I look okay?"
De Gier arrived in the dinghy.
"Hi," Lorraine said.
"I'm sorry," de Gier said.
"He's really sorry," Aki said. "He's been saying he's sorry all the way from Squid Island to here. He's making it hard for you, Lorraine. He says he should have helped you out that evening. That he was egotistic again. That his advanced training should have shown him that You equals He."
"I'll never drink again," de Gier said.
"You're not an alcoholic," Lorraine said. "You're just an asshole."
"I think you two should kiss. And dance," Aki said.
Lorraine asked, "You think you would have been concerned, that fateful evening, if you had been sober?"
"I would have been concerned."
Just a Corpse at Twilight Page 14
