by The Web(Lit)
"Oregon," I said.
"Hoffman's constituents. Was he part of the buy out?"
If he was, it didn't hit the news, but they did contribute big to his last reelection."
"How big?"
"Three hundred thou what they call soft money, gets around the spending limits. Seeing as Hoffman didn't have to put out much he was a shoo-in that's very sweet. So it wouldn't surprise me if he's backing them on some island project. He chairs a committee that considers big federal development grants, has the power to let things through or hold them up. But I can't find anything smelly."
"The cops who got fired," I said. Were the leaks directly related to the cannibal murder?"
"I had trouble getting details. The press doesn't believe in full disclosure when it comes to the press. But the firings took place right after the arrest."
"Did you get any names of fired cops?"
I heard paper rustling.
"White, Tagg, Johnson, Haygood, Ceru-' "Anders Haygood?"
"That's what it says."
"He lives here. One of the guys who likes to cut things up. His buddy's been whipping the crowd up against Ben. Likes to pee when women are watching."
"Wonderful."
"So he and Creedman got booted at the same time they know each other. Ten to one they're both on Stasher-Layman's payroll.
Same for my next-door neighbor. She claims to be a botanist, but both she and Creedman are carrying guns that they picked up in Guam."
"Jesus, Alex. Just sit tight till the boat comes in. Don't try to find out any more."
"All right," I said.
"But now I'm starting to think Moreland could be right about Ben being innocent. Not that he's got much of a story."
'"I wuz framed"?"
Ten points for the detective."
"It's always "I wuz framed" unless it's "I blacked out" or "He started it."" "Ben's two for three, claims he was choked out, the rest is blank."
"Brilliant."
I told him the rest of Ben's account.
"Beyond lame," he said.
"Needs a four-prong walker. You know, Alex, a real bad smell's coming though the line. Even with Creedman and Haygood in cahoots over some development deal, that doesn't get Benjy off the hook hell, for all you know he's on Stasher's payroll, too. You watch your back."
"What should I do about the info on Creedman and Haygood?"
"Nothing. If the lawyer Moreland hired is really so sharp, let him do something with it. I'll tell him, not you. Name?"
"Alfred Landau. Honolulu."
"When's he getting over there?"
"Two or three days."
"Perfect timing. I'll wait till you've left."
"Meanwhile Ben sits there rotting?"
"Ben ain't going anywhere no matter what anyone says or does.
They found him lying on the goddamn body."
"Convenient, isn't it?"
"Or stupid," he said.
"But that just makes it typical. I had an idiot last month car jacked and killed some citizen, then drove the car for a couple of days before taking it to the dealer to complain about the fucking brakes. Funny, except the citizen's just as dead.
Don't deal with it, Alex. I'll call Landau as soon as you're off the island. And don't feel bad about Ben. From what you're telling me, that jail cell may well be the safest place for him right now."
"I'm not sure of that. We're not talking maximum security, just a hole at the back of the building. The victim's family visited the police station today. I saw the look in their eyes. It wouldn't take much of a mob to pull him out."
"Sorry about that, but where else can he go? How's security at the estate?"
"Nonexistent."
"Just stay put, Alex. Stay in your goddamn room pretend it's a second honeymoon and you don't even want to come out."
"Okay."
"You definitely have your passage booked?"
"Definitely." If the storm didn't stall things.
"See you soon. Enough of this paradise shit."
Cheryl brought dinner up to our room and we picked at it.
Darkness made its entrance virtually unnoticed. The rain got stronger, relentless, slapping the sides of the house.
But still warm. No lightning. The air was flat, de energized
As I sat there and did nothing, time's edges melted.
Time... Einstein a magician... bending reality.
Relativity Moreland, a moral relativist?
Trying to excuse himself for something?
"Guilt's a great motivator."
All these years all his accomplishments propelled by a troubled conscience?
Milo was right. It wasn't my battle.
Robin smiled from across the room. I'd told her what Milo had learned and she'd said, "So it's good we're leaving."
She was curled up now with some old magazines that had come with the suite. Spike snored at her feet. Peaceful scene, damned domestic. Pretending was fun.
I pointed to a wet window.
"Listen to it."
She let her hand drop to Spike's head.
"It was a dark and stormy night."
I laughed, went over, and kissed her hair.
She put the Vogue on her lap and reached up to stroke my face.
"This isn't so bad, huh? When you get down to it, making the best of a bad situation is the heart of creativity."
She teased my tongue with hers. Our mouths collided. All the electricity, here.
We were slow-dancing toward the bed, fumbling with buttons, when the knocks on the door added thunder.
32. Pam's voice on the other side: "Is anyone in there?"
We opened the door.
"Is Dad with you?" She stood, dripping, in a khaki raincoat drenched black, face shiny-wet under a snarl of run makeup.
"No," said Robin.
"I can't find him anywhere! All the cars are here, but he isn't.
We were supposed to get together an hour ago."
"Maybe Dennis or one of the deputies picked him up," I said.
"No, I called Dennis. Dad's not in town. I've searched all the outbuildings and every square inch of the house except your room and Jo's."
She hurried next-door. Jo answered her knock quickly. She had on a bathrobe but looked wide awake.
"Is Dad with you?"
"No."
"Have you seen him at all this evening?"
"Sorry. Been in all day touch of the stomach bug." She placed a hand on her abdomen. Her hair was combed out and her color was still good. When she noticed me studying her, she stared back hard.
"Oh God," said Pam.
"This weather. What if he's outside and fell?"
"Older people do tend to spill," said Jo.
"I'" help you look."
She went inside and returned wearing a tentlike transparent slicker over a black shirt and black jeans, matching hat, rubber boots.
"When's the last time you saw him?" she said. I followed her eyes down to the entry. Water had pooled there. Gladys and Cheryl were standing next to it, looking helpless.
"Around five," said Pam.
"He was in his office, said he just had a little work, would be in soon. We were supposed to have dinner together at seven and it's already eight-thirty."
"I spoke to him just before that," I said, thinking of Moreland's tumble in the lab.
"Hmm," said Jo.
"Well, I'm sorry, haven't noticed a thing. Been out of commission since noon."
"Bad stomach," I said.
She gave me another challenging look.
"Could he have gone off the grounds?"
"No," said Pam, wringing her hands.
"He must be out there Gladys, get me a flashlight. A big powerful one."
She started for the stairs.
"Let's look for him in a group," I said.
"Is anyone else here?"
"No, Dad sent the staff home early so they wouldn't get caught in the rain." To the maids: "Did anyone stay
behind?"
Gladys shook her head. Cheryl watched her mother, then imitated the gesture. Her usual stoicism was replaced by a rabbity restlessness: sniffing, rubbing her fingers together, tapping a foot.
A sharp glance from Gladys stilled her.
"Okay," said Jo, 'let's do it logically-' "Did you check the insectarium?" I said.
"I tried to get in," said Pam, 'but couldn't. The new locks do jou have the keys, Alex?"
"No."
The lights were out and I pounded hard on the door, no answer."
"Doesn't he work in the dark sometimes?" said Jo.
"Doesn't he keep things dark for the bugs?"
"I guess so," said Pam. Panic stretched her sad eyes.
"You're right, he could be in there, couldn't he? What if he's lying there hurt? Gladys, any idea where we can find a duplicate key?"
"I checked all the ones on the rack, ma'am, and it's not there."
Cheryl grunted, then lowered her head.
Gladys turned to her.
"What?"
"Nothing, momma."
"Do you know where Dr. Bill is, Cheryl?"
TJh-uh."
"Have you seen him?"
"Just in the morning."
"When?"
"Before lunchtime."
"Did he say anything to you about going somewhere tonight?"
"No, momma."
Gladys lifted her daughter's chin.
"Cheryl?"
"Nothin," momma. I was in the kitchen. Cleaning the oven.
Then I made lemonade. You said it had too much sugar, remember?"
Gladys's face tightened with irritation, then resignation set in.
"Yes, I remember, Cher."
"Damn, damn," said Pam.
"You're sure about the keys on the rack."
"Yes, ma'am."
"He probably forgot. As usual."
"He gave it to Ben," said Cheryl. I saw it. Shiny."
"Lot of good that does," said Pam.
"All right, I'm going back over to the insectarium and try to get in through one of those windows."
The windows are high," said Jo.
"You'll need a ladder."
"Gladys?" said Pam. Her voice was so tight the word was a squeak.
"In the garage, ma'am. I'll go get it."
"I'" come with you," said Jo.
"I can hold the ladder or climb it myself."
"You're sick," I said.
"Let me."
She closed her door and positioned herself between Pam and me.
"I'm fine. It was just a twenty-four-hour thing."
"Still-' "No problem," she said firmly.
"You probably don't have rain clothes right? I do. Come on, let's not waste any more time."
She and Pam hurried down, picked up Gladys, and headed toward the kitchen.
Cheryl remained alone in the entry. Fidgeting again. Looking everywhere but up at us.
Then right up at us.
At me.
"What is it, Cheryl?" I said.
"Urn... can I get you something? Lemonade no, too sweet. coffee?"
"No, thanks."
She nodded as if expecting the answer. Kept bobbing her head.
"Is everything okay, Cheryl?" said Robin.
The young woman jumped. Forced herself to stand still.
Robin went down to her.
"What's the matter, hon?"
Cheryl kept looking up at me.
"It's pretty scary," I said.
"Dr. Bill disappearing like this."
She began rubbing her thighs, over and over. I followed Robin down.
"What is it, Cheryl?" said Robin.
Cheryl looked at her guiltily. Turned to me. One hand kept rubbing her leg. The other patted a pocket.
"I need jou," she said, on the verge of tears.
I looked at Robin and she went to the far end of the front room. The rain was beating out a two-two rhythm, smearing the picture windows.
Cheryl's rubbing had intensified and her face was compressed with anxiety.
Sweating.
Conflict.
Then I remembered that Moreland had used her to deliver Milo's phone message.
"Did Dr. Bill give you something for me, Cheryl?"
Running her eyes in all directions, she took a folded white card out of her pants pocket and thrust it at me. Stapled shut on all four corners.
I started to pull it open.
"No! He said it's for secreff "Okay, I'll look at it in secret." I palmed the card. She started to leave, but I held her back.
"When did Dr. Bill give it to you?"
This morning."
"To deliver tonight?"
If he didn't come to the kitchen."
If he didn't come to the kitchen by a certain time?"
She looked confused.
"Why would he come to the kitchen, Cheryl?"
"Tea. I fix the tea."
"You fix tea for him every night at a special time?"
"No!" Distraught, she tried to pull loose again. Staring at my pocket, as if expecting the paper to burst through.
"Gotta go!
"One second. Tell me what he told you."
"Give it to you."
"If he didn't want tea."
Nod.
"When do you usually make him tea?"
"When he tells me."
She started to whimper. Looked down at my hand on her arm.
I let go.
"Okay, thanks, Cheryl."
Instead of running off, she held back.
"Don't tell momma?"
Moreland's trusty courier. He'd figured her limited intelligence would keep her on track, eliminate moral dilemmas.
Wrong.
"All right," I said.
"Momma will be mad."
"I won't tell her, Cheryl. I promise. Go on now, you did the right thing."
She hurried away and I took the card to Robin. It was too dark to read and I didn't want to put on the lights. Hurrying back up to our suite, I popped the staples.
Moreland's familiar handwriting:
DISK. 184: 18
"What?" said Robin.
"A library catalogue number?"
"Some kind of reference probably a volume or page number.
He's been leaving cards since we got here. Quotes from great writers and thinkers: Stevenson, Auden, Einstein the last one was something about time and justice. The only great thinker I can come up with who matches "DISR" is Disraeli. Did you notice a book by him up here?"
"No, only magazines. Maybe there's an article on Disraeli."
"Architectural Digest?," I said.
"House and Garden?"
"Sometimes they run features on ancestral homes of famous people."
She divided the magazines and we started scanning tables of contents.
"French Vogue," I muttered.
"Yeah, that'll be it. What Disraeli wore when addressing parliament. Now available at Armani Boutique. What the hell's he getting at? Even at his darkest hour the old coot's playing games."
She discarded an Elle, started scrutinizing a Town and Country.
"Using poor Cheryl as a messenger," I said.
"If he had something to tell me, why couldn't he just come out and say it?"
"Maybe he feels it's too dangerous."
"Or maybe he's just going off the deep end." I picked up a six-year-old Esquire.
