“No! Not Ben! And he’s not a
psychopath.
He didn’t
kill AnneMarie and he didn’t kill Betty!”
“Does he have an alibi for AnneMarie’s murder?”
“He was never asked to present one. But I remember the way he
reacted to the murder. Utterly
revolted
!”
“Did you tell him AnneMarie had been cannibalized?”
“No! Only Dennis and I knew. And now you.”
“But once again, Ben had access to the information.
And Dennis knows AnneMarie’s murder file is here. So even if
Ben does develop an alibi for the first murder, Dennis may
suspect he read up on the case and pulled a copycat. To
disguise murdering Betty.”
“He’s not a premeditated killer! This whole line of
reasoning is spurious!”
“No one else knew about AnneMarie’s wounds.”
“The killer knew—a killer who isn’t Ben.”
“What about the fishermen who found AnneMarie’s body?”
“Alonzo Rubino and Saul Saentz,” he said. “They’re
even older than I. Saul’s downright frail. And they didn’t know
the details.”
“Leaving only Ben, who might have.”
“You were at dinner tonight, son. Was that the demeanor
of a cannibal butcher? Do you mean to tell me he drove
Claire home, tucked her in bed, and left to commit murder?”
“He was in the park. What’s his explanation for that?”
“Dennis hasn’t interrogated him. Refuses to until
there’s an attorney present.”
“Ben’s still free to offer an explanation. Has he?”
He paused. “After Dennis and I had words, he was less
than forthcoming.”
“When will Ben have an attorney?”
“Dennis has wired to Saipan for a court-appointed
lawyer.”
“There are no lawyers on the island?”
“No. Until now that’s been a plus.”
“How long will it take for the appointee to get over?”
“The next boat’s due in five days. If the base allows a
plane to land, it could be sooner.”
“Why would the base cooperate all of a sudden?”
“Because this is just what they want. Another nail in
Aruk’s coffin.” He made a fist and regarded it as if it
belonged on someone else’s arm. The fingers opened slowly.
The bandage on his hand was soiled.
“Why is the Navy waging war on the island, Bill?”
“The Navy’s a branch of the government, and the
government wants to rid itself of responsibility. Ben’s
arrest is yet another reason to abandon ship: murderous
savages.
Cannibals,
no less. And if the fiend who murdered
AnneMarie was a Navy man, he’s now off the hook, so Ewing’s
got a vested interest in having Ben prosecuted.”
“I thought you believed the killer had moved on.”
“Perhaps he left and returned. Corpsmen fly in and out
all the time. A look at Navy flight records would be
instructive, but try obtaining them. There’s more than one
kind of barricade, Alex.”
“You said Dennis never discovered any similar murders
during the interim.”
“That’s true. As far as it goes. But some of the
places in the region—I’ve heard there’s a restaurant in
Bangkok that serves human flesh. Perhaps apocryphal, perhaps
not. But there’s no doubt things go on we never hear about.”
He rubbed his head. “Aruk has been
abandoned, but I won’t abandon Ben.”
“Does Senator Hoffman also have a vested interest in Aruk’s decline?” I
said.
“Most probably, strip away the veneer of political correctness and
you’ve got a strip-mall builder.”
“In cahoots with someone like Creedman’s
employer—Stasher-Layman?”
“The thought has occurred to me.”
“Creedman’s an advance man?”
“I’ve thought about that, too.”
“At dinner, Creedman and Hoffman acted as if they didn’t
know each other. But during the discussion of colonialism,
Creedman rushed to defend Hoffman’s point of view.”
“The
fool.
” He looked ready to spit. “That
book
of
his. No one’s ever seen it and he won’t be pinned down on
details. Why else would Hoffman invite him to that abysmal
dinner? Nicholas does nothing without a reason.”
“Have you found any connection between Hoffman and
Stasher-Layman?”
“Not yet, but we mustn’t get distracted. We must focus
on Ben.”
“When Ben caught Creedman snooping, what was Creedman after?”
“I have no idea. There’s nothing to hide.”
“What about the AnneMarie Valdos file? And not necessarily
for nefarious reasons. Creedman’s the one who told me about
the murder. Said you did the autopsy, had the details. He
sounded regretful. Maybe he smelled a good story.”
“No. As much as I’d like to attribute something malicious to
him, he was snooping before AnneMarie’s murder. Now
let’s—”
“One more thing: after you came back from speaking to
Hoffman alone, you looked dejected. Why?”
“He refused to help Aruk.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“That’s not enough?”
“I just wondered if there was some personal issue
between the two of you.”
He sat straighter. Stood and smiled. “Oh, there is. We
dislike each other immensely. But that’s ancient history, and
I simply can’t allow myself to be drawn into nostalgia. I
acted stupidly with Dennis and now I’m persona non grata. But
he may allow you to speak to Ben. Please call the police
station tomorrow and ask his permission. If he grants it,
use your professional skills to offer Ben psychological
support. He’s living a nightmare.”
He came around and rested a hand on my shoulder.
“Please, Alex.”
We hadn’t gotten into his lie about being part of the
Marshall Islands compensation, the nighttime boat rides. And he’d
avoided explaining his
reaction to Pam and Dennis’s friendship. But the look in his
eyes told me I’d taken things as far as I could tonight.
Maybe there’d be another opportunity. Or maybe I’d be off
Aruk before it mattered.
“All right,” I said. “But let’s get something straight:
I’ll give Ben the benefit of the doubt till the forensics
come in. Unless I get into that cell and he tells me he
murdered Betty—or AnneMarie. That happens, I’ll march
straight into Dennis’s office and swear out a statement.”
He walked away from me and faced the wall. One of the
watercolors was at eye level. Palms over the beach. Not
unlike the one where Barbara Moreland had drowned.
Delicate strokes, washed-out hues.
No people. A loneliness so intense . . .
“I accept your conditions,” he said. “I’m
glad to have you on my side.”
Chapter
25
As we left for the house, he noticed a fat-petaled white
flower and started to describe its pollination. “Oh, shut up,” he
told himself abruptly, and we continued in silence.
Inside, he gripped my hand. “Thank you for your help.”
I watched him walk away quickly. Energized?
A man who studied
predation.
Where had he come from the night I’d seen him with
his doctor’s bag? What had he been doing in the dark lab?
I’d phone the police station in the morning, but my first
two calls would be to the airport at Saipan and the company
that chartered the supply boats.
Upstairs, Spike’s bark greeted me as I entered our
suite. Robin wasn’t back yet from talking with Pam. Four-fifty
A.M.
Someone else I might be able to reach.
The connection broke a few times before I finally got an
international line. Wondering if anyone could listen in and
deciding I didn’t care, I told the desk officer at the West
L.A. station that I had urgent business with Detective
Sturgis. He said, “Yeah, I think he’s here.”
A minute or so later, Milo barked his own name.
“Stanley? It’s Livingstone.”
“Hey,” he said, “buena afternuna—it’s got to be what,
five in the morning over there?”
“Just about.”
“What’s up?”
“A bit of trouble.”
“Another cannibal?”
“As a matter of fact . . .”
“Shit, I was
kidding.
What the hell’s going
on?”
I told him about Betty’s murder and everything else that
had been on my mind.
“Jesus,” he said.
“After you told me about the first
one, I got curious, so I played with the computers.
Thankfully, cannibalism hasn’t caught on big-time. Other than
that Milwaukee moron only thing I came up with was a ten-year-old
case, place called Wiggsburg, Maryland. Didn’t sound
that different from yours—neck slash, organ theft, legs
cracked for the marrow—but they caught the bad guys, pair
of eighteen-year-olds who decided Lucifer was their main man
had ordered them to carve up and dine on a local topless dancer.”
“Where are they now?”
“Jail, I assume. They were sentenced to life. Why?”
“There are two guys here who would have been around
eighteen back then. They like to cut things up and they’ve
been eyeing Robin.”
“But they’re not suspects in the killing.”
“No, Ben does look good for it. But do you have the Maryland killers’
names and descriptions, just to be thorough?”
“Got the fax right here. . . . Wayne Lee Burke,
Keith William Bonham, both Caucs, brown and brown. Burke was six
three, one seventy, Bonham five five, one fifty-two.
Appendectomy—”
“I don’t need any more, it doesn’t match.”
“No big surprise. Things have gotten nuts but I don’t
see lads who suck out a young lady’s bone marrow qualifying
for early parole.”
“How far is Wiggsburg from Washington, D.C.?”
“About an hour’s drive. Why?”
“There’s another guy here, D.C. background, also
creepy.” I filled him in on Creedman.
“Sounds like a prince,” he said. “Yeah, I’ve heard of
Stasher-Layman ’cause they built public housing projects years
ago in South Central, while I was riding a car at Seventy-seventh
Division. Bad plumbing, gang members hired to handle
security. Immediate problems. They sold the management
contract, then bailed. Had a deal to build a new jail, too,
out in Antelope Valley, till the locals found out about their
record, protested, and got it kiboshed. So what are they
planning to build over there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not that it has anything to do with cannibals . . .
so what’s
Dr. Frankenstein’s reaction to his protégé’s
predilection for intraspecies feasting?”
“Total denial. Ben was his project—rehabilitating a
kid with a rotten background. Be interesting to know if that
background includes any serious criminal activity Moreland
didn’t mention. If you’ve a mind to go back to the
computer.”
“Sure, give me the particulars.”
“Benjamin Romero, I don’t know if there’s a middle name.
He’s thirty or so, born here, went to school in Hawaii and
did Coast Guard duty there. Trained as a registered nurse.”
“I’ll have a go at it. How’s Robin handling all this?”
“She’s a trooper but I want out. The next boats are due
in around five days. If Chief Laurent allows us off the
island, we’ll be on one of them.”
“Why shouldn’t he let you off?”
“Public opinion of Moreland and everything associated
with him isn’t too high right now. We’re all under informal
house arrest.”
“Damned inconsiderate, not to say illegal. Want me to have
a little cop-to-cop chat with him?”
“From what I saw tonight, that might make things worse.
Moreland tried to influence him and he hardened his stance.”
“Maybe that’s ’cause he’s pissed at Moreland—“Not with
my daughter, you don’t.’ ”
“Maybe, but I’ll try to handle it myself first.
If I have problems, believe me, you’ll hear about it.”
“Okay. . . . bugs and cannibals.
Sounds almost as bad as Hollywood Boulevard.”
Feeling rancid, I showered. Robin returned as I was
toweling off, and I summarized my talks with Moreland and
Milo and told her I wanted to book us on the next boat
out.
She said, “It’s too bad it had to end this way, but
absolutely.” She sat down on the bed. “What was that
construction company?”
“Stasher-Layman.”
“I think Jo had something with their name on it in her
room. Stack of computer printout—I assumed it was something
to do with her research. The only reason it sticks in my
mind is that when she saw me looking at it, she slid a book over
it.”
“How sure are you it was Stasher-Layman?”
“Very. Big Gothic
initials—“S-L,’ then the name. I read it just before she
covered it.”
An artist’s eye.
“Jo and Creedman,” I said. “Two people with D.C.
connections. Two advance agents. I’ve had a weird feeling
about her since the roaches. I didn’t tell you because I
thought I was just being paranoid, but I couldn’t stop
thinking that she was alone in the house that night. And the
time lag between hearing your scream and coming in seemed
odd. She excused it as drowsiness due to sleeping pills, but
tonight she was out there before us, lucid as hell. Motive
stumped me, but if she’s doing dirty work for Stasher-Layman
and wants to get rid of distractions, that would serve
nicely.”
“But then why not hide her gun, Alex? She kept it right
out there, almost as if she wanted me
to know she had it.”
“Maybe she did. Trying to intimidate you.”
“It didn’t seem that way. There was absolutely no
hostility between us. In fact, the more time I spent with her,
the friendlier she got. As if I was helping her cope.”
And cope she had. Tranquilized widow to sharp-eyed
interrogator in two days.
I said, “She sure had an interest in the murder. Did you
notice the way she was quizzing Moreland? That would also
make sense if she’s got an interest in Aruk’s decline.”
“But if this company builds things, why would they want
Aruk to decline?”
“Moreland said they build government projects. Milo’s
memory backs that up: low-income housing, prisons. Maybe
they want the land cheap.”
“Low-income housing doesn’t make sense,” she said, “if
the people are all leaving. But a prison might.”
“Yes, it might,” I said. “No locals to protest. And
what better place to dump felons than a remote island with no
natural resources. It would be politically
beautiful.
Which
is where Hoffman may fit in. What if Stasher-Layman paid him
under the table to find a site and he chose Aruk because he
remembered it from his days as base commander, knew there
wasn’t much of a constituency? If he embedded the prison, or
whatever it is, in an extensive Pacific Rim
revitalization—cash
infusion for the bigger islands—who’d notice or mind?
Other than Bill. But right now Bill’s in a position to cause
troubles for the deal because he owns so much of the island. Which
could be the real reason Hoffman stopped over: making a
final offer that Bill refused. So Hoffman pressured him,
maybe threatened him with something.”
“Threatened him with what?”
“I don’t know—but remember my feeling they had some
issue between them that went way back? The first night I met
Bill he said something about guilt being a great motivator.
He could have done something years ago that he wants to
forget. Something he’s been trying to atone for all these
years by being “the good doctor.”’
She touched my arm. “Alex, if he is holding up a giant
deal he could be in serious danger. Do you think he’s aware
of what he’s up against?”
“I don’t know what he’s aware of and what he chooses to
deny. The man’s an enigma, and he’s stubborn.”
“What about Pam? As his heir, she could also be in a
treacherous position.”
“If she’s his heir.”
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
“Because she has no roots in Aruk, and Bill seems to view
the
island
as his real child. He’s excluded Pam from
scientific discussion and just about everything else. You
saw her surprise when he discussed Ben’s family history.
She’s an outsider. So it wouldn’t surprise me if he bequeathed his
holdings to someone else. Someone with a strong commitment
to Aruk.”
She stared at me. “Ben?”
“In some ways he’s
Bill’s
functional
son.”
“And being accused of murder gets
him
out of the way.”
“Sure, but
nothing I’ve heard indicates he’s not a murderer. In fact
everything Bill told me just added to the picture of guilt:
access to the weapon, Betty’s medical records, and
AnneMarie’s autopsy file. And remember our discussion about
his being a hard guy? No sympathy for Picker’s crash. The
way he vaccinated those children, mechanically.
Add alcoholism and a rotten childhood and you’ve got a pretty
good textbook history of a psychopath. Maybe even his
outward devotion to Bill and the island is calculated. Maybe
he’s just after Bill’s money.”
“Maybe. . . . Yes, he is dispassionate. But
tonight at dinner . . . You
really think he could have been so lighthearted
while planning to murder someone in a few hours? Planning to
mutilate
someone?”
“If he’s a severe psychopath, he’s got an extremely low
level of anxiety. For all we know, sitting here listening to
Claire play was part of the thrill.”
“Are you saying he killed both girls or just Betty?”
“It could go either way. AnneMarie could have been
murdered by a sailor and Ben decided to do a copycat as a
cover.”
“But why?”
“He and Betty could have been having an affair. Maybe the baby was
his, he wanted out, permanently. When I talked to her, she seemed
thrilled about the pregnancy, but who knows?”
“If he was so calculating, Alex, how’d he get caught so
stupidly?”
“Screwing up’s another psychopathic trait.
Look at Bundy, escaping from Washington, where there’s no
death penalty, and murdering in Florida, where there is.
Psychopaths walk a narrow line, all screwed up inside,
constantly putting on a show. A psychiatrist named Cleckley
labeled it perfectly: the mask of sanity. Eventually the
mask falls off and shatters. Ben used booze to get rid of his.”
She shuddered. “It’s still hard to make sense of. I
can see using alcohol to lower his inhibitions. But why
stick around and get drunk
after
killing Betty?”
“It’s possible he drank a little before meeting Betty,
to take the edge off, had some more with Betty, killed her
before the total effect set in, then boom. Bill said he’d
always drunk beer. Vodka could have been too much to
handle.”
“I guess so,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “But
he always seemed
decent.
I suppose I sound like
one of those people who get interviewed on the news: he was such a
quiet guy . . . well, at least the part about whose
baby Betty was carrying can be tested. Who’s doing the medical
investigation?”
“Dennis is bringing a lawyer over from Saipan. I assume
he’ll call for a pathologist, too.”
She leaned against me heavily. “What a horror.”
“How’s Pam taking it?”
“At first she talked mostly about Bill—worried
about him. Wanting to help, but feeling he pushes her away.”
“He does.”
“She’s not ready to give up. She thinks she owes him.”
“For what?”
“Coming through for her during the
divorce. She also talked more about herself. Said
she’d had problems with men before her marriage—attracted
to losers, guys who got rough with her, psychologically and
physically. After the divorce she was so low she was having
suicidal thoughts. Her therapist wanted to establish a
support system, found out Bill was her only relative, and
called him. To Pam’s surprise, he flew out to Philadelphia,
stayed with her, took care of her. Even apologized for
sending her away. Said losing her mother had been too much
to handle, he’d been overwhelmed, it had been a big mistake
that he knew he could never make up for, but would she like to
come back and give him another chance? But now that she’s
here . . .”
She looked at the clock. “It’s almost daybreak.
Tell you one thing I’ve learned
from all this. I could never be a therapist.”
“Most therapy cases aren’t like this.”
“I know, but it’s still not for me. I admire you.”
“It’s a nasty job, but someone’s got to do it.”
“I’m serious, honey.”
“Thank you. I admire you, too. And despite all that’s
happened, I have no regrets.”
“Me, neither.” She ran her fingers through my hair.
“In a few days when we’re back in L.A., I’m going to
remember being with you. Everything else good about this
place. Frame it in my mind, like a picture.”