by The Web(Lit)
She looked ready to cry.
"Dennis promised to have someone watch them. So who does he send? Elijah Moon, everyone calls him Moojah. He's supposed to be a police deputy, but he's my age, got a belly out to here. What good can a fat old man do?"
I started down the stairs, then stopped.
"Gladys?"
"Yes, doctor?"
"You cooked for Senator Hoffman when he was the base commander?"
"I was head cook, sailors working under me." She frowned.
"Tough job?"
"He liked his food fancy. All sauced up, always had to be something new. We used to send over for that really expensive beef from Japan cows that do nothing all day but sit around and eat rice."
"Kobe beef."
"Right. And vegetables you never heard of and oysters and all kinds of expensive seafood. Nothing local, mind ypu. Had his crabs shipped from Oregon Dungeness crabs. New England lobster. Philippine scallops. He was always clipping recipes out of magazines and sending them over to me.
"Try this, Gladys."
Why do you ask?"
"I was just curious what kind of relationship he and Dr. Bill had. The night we had dinner at the base, they talked privately and Dr. Bill was really upset afterwards."
"I know," she said.
"The next day he didn't eat a thing for breakfast or lunch. And him so thin in the first place."
"Any idea why?"
"No. But he never liked Hoffman." Her eyes misted.
"I don't believe Ben did anything, sir."
"The people down in the village do."
Then they're stupid."
"For all Dr. Bill's accomplished, there's a lot of resentment toward him."
She gripped the sweeper and the soft flesh of her arms quivered.
"Ungrateful welfare bums! Dr. Bill tried to get them to work, but they don't want to know about that, do they? Did you know he offered free leases on the Trading Post and hardly anyone was interested?
Even those that rented stalls hardly showed up except to cash those welfare checks. Government keeps sending those checks, why should anyone bother? The nerve, to resent him!"
Anger had pulled her voice out of a whisper. She slapped her hand over her mouth.
"What with Ben's troubles, it's too bad about Dr. Bill and Hoffman," I said.
"It would be good to have friends in high positions."
"Lot of good he'd do," she said.
"That one was always for himself.
Used to come up here and eat Dr. Bill's food and cheat at cards.
Illegal bridge signals, can you believe that? He was no gentleman, doctor."
"Did Dr. Bill know he cheated?"
"Of course, that's how I know! He used to joke about it with me, saying, "Nicholas thinks he's fooling me, Gladys." I told him it was terrible, he should put an end to it. He laughed, said it wasn't important."
"Cheating at bridge," I said.
"So Hoffman's wife went along with it."
"No, she it was-' She colored.
"What a thing! Shameful!
Half the time Hoffman invited himself. Played tennis and sunned, ordered food from the kitchen, like I was still working for him.
Like everything here was his." The hand clamped over her lips again. This time, she blushed behind it.
"Everything?" I said.
"You know, a big shot used to having things his way. I'll tell you something else, Dr. Delaware: the man was heartless. Back when I was still his cook, a plane full of sailors went down men and their wives and children, returning to the States." She dipped a hand.
The crash Moreland had mentioned after Picker's accident.
Nineteen sixty-three.
"All those people," she said.
"A tragedy. So what did Hoffman do? That evening, he sends over a crate of scallops on ice and orders me to fix him coquille St. Jacques."
She resumed sweeping.
"Miss Castagna said you'll be leaving soon. I'm sorry. From the way you treat Miss Castagna I can tell you're a gentleman. And we need more kindness."
"On Aruk?"
"In the whole world, doctor. But Aruk would be a good place to start."
I was surprised to find Moreland in my office, slumped in an armchair, reading a pathology journal. He looked like a skeleton coated with wax.
Putting down the magazine, he sat up sharply.
"How's Ben?"
I summarized my time in the cell.
He said nothing. The journal's table of contents was on the front cover and he'd circled an article.
"Bloodstain evidence."
"Defense research?" I said.
"Someone called him on an emergency? Someone who sounded like Carl?"
That's what he said."
His fingers looked frail as sparrow's feet. They cracked as he flexed them.
"Meaning you don't believe him?"
"Meaning it's not much of a story, Bill."
A long time passed.
"Doesn't that indicate to you," he said, 'that he's innocent?
Surely someone as intelligent as Ben could concoct a first-rate story if his object was to get away with something."
"He's intelligent but he's also highly troubled," I said.
"Drink was once a problem for him, and he obviously reacts strongly to it now. And he's got at least one prior sexual offense. Indecent exposure in Haw-' "I know about that," he said.
"That was nonsense. I took care of that for him."
I let the non sequitur stand.
He said, "So even after speaking with him you judge him guilty."
"Things look bad for him, but I try not to judge."
"Yes, yes, of course. You're a psychologist."
"Last time we spoke, that was why you wanted me to see him, Bill."
He picked up the journal, rolled it, hefted it. Blinking.
"Forgive me, son. I'm on edge you're certainly entitled to your opinion, though I wish you felt differently."
"I'd love to change my opinion, Bill. If you've got information, I'm listening. More important, communicate it to the lawyer you hired."
He bent low in the chair.
"Maybe you've done all you can do for the time being," I said.
"Maybe you should start looking after your own interests. Down in the village there's a lot of hostility toward you."
"Alfred Landau is the best," he said, softly. His firm handled Barbara's will, after she died... She was a wealthy woman. What she left me enabled me to buy up more parcels of land. Alfred was... most helpful."
"Did he handle Ben's arrest in Hawaii, too?"
"Minimally. That was a military affair. I made a few calls, used my former rank."
He stood.
"You're absolutely right. I'd better call Alfred now."
"You're not concerned about what I just told you? The anger down in the village?"
"It will pass."
I told him about the near confrontation with the four boys and how Jacqui had stepped in.
"I'm sorry it came to that. Thank God you weren't harmed."
"Butsyou'ne not out of harm's way, Bill. Betty's family is enraged.
Lots of idle talk's circulating about you."
That seemed to genuinely perplex him.
"You're a have among have-nots, Bill."
"I've always shared."
"Despite that, you're still lord of the manor. And the serfs aren't doing well."
"I it's hardly the feudal system-' "Isn't it?" I said.
"Betty's murder is the spark that lit tinders, but it's obvious to me after just a few days here that things were healing up well before."
He shook his head.
"The people are good."
"But their lives are falling apart, Bill. Their entire society is shutting down when's the last time the gas station pumps worked?"
"I've put in for a shipment."
'You own that, too?"
"And I ration my personal vehicles the same way I
do theirs.
They know that-' They also know how you live, and measure it against their own existence. More people leave than stay. Betty and her husband' were planning to leave. Perfect climate for provocateurs, and you've got some: Skip Amalfi's been having fun whipping up the crowd. And I wouldn't be surprised if Tom Creedman starts to take a more active role. I was up at his place after visiting Ben, and he-' "You didn't tell him anything, I hope." His eyes were bright with alarm.
"No," I said, trying to hold onto my patience.
"He asked, but I played dumb."
"Asked about what?"
"If Ben had told me anything significant; what you and I were working on. He also clearly wanted to convince me to leave, which makes sense if he's working for Stasher-Layman and they want to control Aruk. Have you seen the interior of his house?"
He shook his head.
"Rooms full of brand-new furniture, computer equipment, expensive appliances."
"Yes, I remember he received a large shipment shortly after he arrived. Right after I asked him to leave here."
"Meaning he'd planned all along to settle down in his own place, came up here to snoop. What was he looking for, Bill?"
"I told you I don't know."
"Not a clue?"
"None." Taking hold of the journal, he rolled it again and let it unfurl.
"Jo Picker has something to do with Stasher-Layman, too."
That nearly lifted him off the sofa.
"What how do you know?"
"Robin saw their literature in her room. She's another one from Washington and she was here alone the night the roaches ended up in our room."
"I we've already established that was my fault. Leaving the cage open."
"Do you actually remember leaving it open?"
That absent look came into his eyes.
"No, but... I... you really believe she could be working for them, too?"
"I think it's likely, and I'm bringing it up to warn you. Because you'll be dealing with her after I'm gone. Which is what I came to tell you: Robin and I are leaving on the next boat."
He took hold of the chair. It slid forward and he lost his footing.
I shot up and got hold of him just before he tumbled.
"Clumsy oaf," he said, jerking away and pulling at his shirt as if trying to rip it off.
"Clumsy goddamned old fool."
It was the first time I'd heard him swear. I managed to sit him back down.
"Pardon my language the next boat is when, a week?"
"Five days."
"Ah... well," he said in a clogged voice, 'you must do what you feel is best. There's a time for everything."
Time is important to you," I said.
He stared at me.
"Ben told me that. It made me think of your last note. The Auden poem time's deceit. Your question about Einstein. What exactly were you getting at?"
He looked up at the ceiling. What do you think it meant?"
"To take time seriously but to understand that it's relative? What kind of deceit were you referring to?"
More of the absent look. Then: "Einstein... in his own way, he was a magician, wouldn't you say? Turning the universe on its end, as if reality was one big illusion. Forcing us all to look at reality in a new way."
"Unencumbered by time."
"Unencumbered by prior assumptions."
He lowered his gaze and met mine.
"And you want me to do that, Bill?"
"What I want really doesn't matter, does it, son?"
"A new way," I said.
"Being skeptical about reality?"
"Reality is... to a good extent what we want it to be."
He got up, inhaled, stretched and cracked more joints.
"The great thinkers," I said.
"Always something to learn from them," he answered, as if we were reciting responsively.
"I still don't understand the note, Bill."
He came up to me, moving into my personal space the way he had with Dennis. A big, clumsy, intrusive bird. I felt as if I was about to be pecked and had to control myself from retreating.
"The note," he said.
"Actually, you did very well with the note, son. Bon voyage."
31. The rain came just before Milo called.
Robin and I were reading in bed when I felt the air turn suddenly heavy and saw the sky crack.
The windows were open and a burnt smell drifted through the screen. For one knife-stab moment, I thought of fire, but as I looked out, the water began dropping.
Panes of plate glass, filming the view. The burnt smell turned sweet gardenias and old roses and cloves. Spike began barking and circling and the room got dimmer and warmer. I shut the windows, blocking out some but not all of the sound.
Robin got up and stared through a now filmy pane.
The phone rang.
"How's everything?" said Milo.
"Bad and getting worse." I told him about my experiences in the village.
"But we're booked for home."
"Smart move. You can always stop over in Hawaii for a real vacation."
"Maybe," I said, but I knew we'd be jetting back to L.A. as quickly as possible.
"Robin there? Got some house stuff to tell her."
I handed over the phone and Robin listened. Her smile told me things were going well.
When I got back on, he said, "Nowjow stuff, though now that you're leaving, who cares?"
"Tell me anyway."
"First of all, both Maryland cannibals are still locked up. The asshole who only cut the victim is eligible for parole but has been refused. The asshole who cut and dined isn't going anywhere.
Thank God it wasn't an L.A. jury, right? L.A. jury couldn't convict Adolf Hitler. What's that sound? Static on your end?"
"Rain," I said.
"Think of a shower on high and triple it."
"Typhoon?"
"No, just rain. Supposedly they don't get typhoons here."
"Supposedly they didn't get crime, either."
I moved closer to the window. Only the tops of the trees were visible through the downpour. Above the rain clouds, the sky was milk-white and peaceful.
"Nope, no wind. Just lots of water. I hope it lets up in time for the boats to come get us."
"Daylight come and you wanna go home, huh? Well, when you hear the rest, you'll wish it were sooner. Guess who covered the cannibal case for a local rag?"
"Creedman."
"Didn't even have to look for him, his name was right there on the articles. Then someone else took over mid-case and that made me a little curious, so I dug deeper. No one at the paper remembers Creedman specifically, but I found out there'd been some hassle with the local police around the same time he got pulled off the story: officers leaking information to his paper and others for money. A bunch of cops got fired."
"Did reporters get fired, too?"
"Couldn't find that out, but it's a good bet. Anyway, Creedman's next gig of record was at a D.C. cable station, some kind of business show, but he only lasted three months before getting hired by Stasher-Layman Construction's D.C. office.
Communications officer. The company issued a press release describing major balance-sheet problems. Their stock went way down and the owners bought it all up and went private. Next year profits went way, way higher."
"Manipulation?"
"Maybe the owners are just a couple of lucky guys. And maybe lawyers go to heaven."
"Who are the owners?"
"Two brothers from Oregon, inherited it from their daddy, moved to Texas. Big liberals on paper funding ecology research humane solutions to crime."
