Vineyard Stalker (4 page)

The Monk didn't have to think that one over. “Make a racket,” he said. “I've had enough of taking people down.”

“Good,” I said. “Me too.”

“It can be chilly at night,” said Nunes. “Do you want a blanket?”

“No,” I said. “I'd rather be cold and awake than warm and asleep.”

He nodded. “It's the choice I'd make.” Then he smiled. “I plan to take advantage of you and sleep deep and warm.”

“I won't mind. It's what I'd do in your place.”

An hour later, as the sun disappeared, I took my spy gear and walked up to the oak tree.

The darkness came slowly and the birdsong gradually lessened and was replaced by the sounds of night creatures. When it was dark enough, I experimented with the glasses and camera and thought I could handle them.

I wondered who the prowler was and what his motives were. Was he just a vandal bent on terrorizing a lonely man in the woods, or was he, as Carole Cohen suspected, the agent of unscrupulous people after the Monk's land? Or was he someone else with an agenda as yet unknown to Carole or me? I wondered how much it would take to persuade him to take his business elsewhere.

I remembered an impeccable response to a threat. A large, young, and powerful lawyer, had, in the security of his own office, threatened a visitor with both lawsuits and physical mayhem. The visitor was a tiny, frail old man, without apparent resources, but in response to the lawyer's threats, he produced a small pistol and pointed it at the lawyer, saying that if any suit was filed or if he experienced any damage of any sort, he would immediately kill the lawyer. He pointed out that he was an old man without much longer to live anyway, so he wasn't afraid of the police or of a trial or of jail. The lawyer, rightly, believed him and never took action of any sort against him.

Too bad I didn't know who the prowler was and that that fearless old man wasn't with me.

I directed my glasses to the mill pond and thought of Grendel, descendant of Cain, cursed by God, who haunted the moors and wild marshes and came to Herot seeking blood. But I saw no one in the infrared night, and swept my eyes over all of the empty meadow before settling down for a long wait.

Above me the sky was filled with diamonds, but it was the dark of the moon and not even the light of many stars could brighten the landscape in front of me. In the darker darkness of the oak's shadow, I sat back against the tree, and listened to the music of the night: the hoot of an owl, the scurry of little creatures hurrying through the grass and leaves, the distant laughter of the stream.

Then a circle of light came dancing down the pathway leading to the house from the west. I lifted my glasses and saw that it was a woman with a flashlight making no effort to avoid being seen. She went to the cabin and knocked. A moment later Nunes opened the door and stepped out. She spoke and he replied. She gestured toward the open door and they went in. Some time later, they reappeared. They spoke and after a bit she touched his arm and walked up the path, following the circle of light back toward the highway. He looked after her, then glanced my way, then went back into the house.

So that explained the fragrance of lavender.

The woman definitely was not the prowler, but it was still a good night for a prowler to prowl and it was therefore important for me not to get too comfortable; somehow, however, I managed to doze off anyway, because when I jerked awake and hurriedly put my night glasses to my eyes I saw Grendel coming, moving through the night, full of hate, up from the swampland, sliding silently toward the great hall where Beowulf's men slept.

But of course it was not Grendel creeping toward Herot, it was a smaller creature, a human being, dressed in dark clothing as I was, moving confidently across the meadow behind the Monk's house. Was it a man or a woman? I couldn't tell, because the person's face was smeared with black, and the individual wore a dark, hair-hiding, stocking cap.

In one hand the prowler was carrying an infrared flashlight that accounted for his or her assured movement over the dark meadow. In the other was a small canvas case. As the prowler came closer, I set my glasses aside and took up the camera. I began snapping pictures as the person knelt near the spirit house and took a flat, round tin from the canvas bag. The figure removed a tight-fitting plastic cover, and then swiftly rose and hurried the last few yards to the corner of the house and placed the open tin on the ground. As the prowler turned and started back whence he'd come I took more pictures, then put down the camera, rose to my feet, flicked on my flashlight so he'd know I was there, and shouted, “You! Stop! You're under arrest!”

But the prowler did not stop. Instead, with the speed of a deer, he fled toward the mill pond, flicking his light in my direction as he did, but never losing a step.

Shouting loudly, I ran after him, following the bouncing circle of light from my flashlight, but he was fast and I had legs scarred with shrapnel and he pulled away. Down across the meadow we flew, past the mill pond and into the darker darkness of the path beside the stream, where I lost sight of him completely.

Was I up to a half-mile run? Was he? My breath was already short and my adrenaline was lessening, but I ran on, slower but still fairly well, and the dark trees flowed by me on either side. I was in a coal mine, an endless long barrow, a tunnel leading down to the center of the earth. I pounded on.

Why was I doing this? I'd done my job already. I had the pictures and I'd given the prowler a scare that should keep him from coming back very soon, if at all.

Enough of this running. I decided to stop. But my decision was seconds too late. As I pulled up, panting, a dark figure appeared at the rim of my flashlight's beam and I looked up in time to see an arm pointed at me just before I felt a powerful blow to my chest.

The blow melted me. I was turned to liquid and flowed down onto the ground unable to control any part of my body. My mind, too, turned to mush. I knew I'd been shot.

I heard a sound like distant surf and wondered what it was. Gradually the surf turned into voices speaking words I could understand. I listened to them as though from afar, as though they had to do with someone distant from me, floating in space.

“Got the son of a bitch,” said one satisfied voice. “Maybe we should finish him off right here while we have the chance.”

“Nobody's said anything about finishing anybody off,” said another voice.

“You'll kill a cat, but not a man, eh?” said the first voice. “At least not until you get paid for it.”

“We didn't get hired to kill anybody.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“Wait a minute. Look at him. This isn't Nunes, it's somebody else.”

“What the hell? You saw the woman at the house; why didn't you see this guy? Who is he?”

“Lemme get his wallet.” I felt hands turning me but I neither wanted nor was able to do anything about it. I was disconnected from all things. “Here. Here's his ID. Name's Jackson. Lives in Edgartown. You know anything about him?”

“No. Jesus. What's he doing here?”

“He must be working for Nunes. Damn! What are we going to do with him?”

Voice One had lost its bravado. “We're not going to do anything with him. We're going to get out of here. He'll be all right.”

“I don't like this,” said Two. “Some people die when they get hit with one of these guns, you know. They have heart attacks.”

“If he has a heart attack, we'll be long gone. Besides, he'll be O.K. Look. He's breathing. Come on. I'll buy you a beer.”

The voices ceased and I lay there in pieces until, slowly, my parts began to be reattached to one another and my mind began to work more coherently. After a while I sat up. It was black as the pit from pole to pole.

I put out a hand and it found my flashlight. I pushed the switch and the light went on. I was confused but finally realized that my attackers had turned it off. I wondered fuzzily about that, then, as my mind got clearer, guessed that it was because they could see very well with their infrared flashlights and didn't want my white beam to attract attention.

I sat there for a while and flashed my light around. My wallet was spilled open by my side and I got hold of it and collected its scattered contents. Nothing seemed to be missing. I stuffed it into my pocket.

I rose slowly to my feet and stood there until I was sure I wasn't going to fall over, then walked south down the path toward the Edgartown–West Tisbury Road, following the circle of light from my flashlight. My chest hurt and I was weak as a baby. I didn't think my attackers were still around, but as the fishermen say, “If you don't go, you don't know.”

When I got to the paved road there was no one in sight, nor was there any vehicle of any kind. Probably just as well. I flashed my light along the side of the road but saw nothing interesting. A car came from the west, its headlights splashing over me before it passed. I wondered what its driver thought of a lone man standing there in the middle of the night. Whatever his thoughts, I hadn't been offered a ride.

I turned and walked back north along the dark path, feeling a bit better and a bit clearer-headed as I went. I was conscious of the babbling brook beside me and the billion stars above. A large bird crossed over the trail on silent wings. One of nature's hunters looking for prey. Unlike me, though, this hunter would not become the prey of his prey.

When I passed out of the trees into the meadow and found my oak tree, I was glad to see that the camera and binoculars were still there. I wished I had that blanket Nunes had offered me, but maybe it was for the best because I wanted to stay awake on the unlikely chance that the prowlers would come back.

I found my backpack and sat down, leaning against the tree. I drank some water and chewed some dried fruit and felt stronger. It had not been smart, Kemo Sabe, to chase the prowler into darkness like that. If he and his partner had used a normal gun instead of a stun gun I could be dead now.

I thought some more, then suddenly remembered what I'd seen before my chase had begun. I jumped to my feet, flicked on my flashlight, and ran toward the house, hoping I wasn't too late.

It took me only a moment to spot the flat can that the prowler had placed on the ground. I snatched it up and looked at the contents. It seemed untouched. I swept the light around the area and saw nothing dead or alive. I felt a rush of relief, then heard a slight sound behind me, whirled, and found myself facing the Monk, who had just stepped out of his door. He held a hand up in front of his eyes to protect them from the light.

“Mr. Jackson. I startled you. I apologize.”

I lowered my light. “You startled me all right. Sorry to wake you.”

“I've been awake since I heard you shout earlier. What have you there?”

I lifted the can. “Cat food.”

“For Mr. Mephistopheles? How kind. He's inside.”

“Not kind at all. It's a gift from the prowler.”

Nunes was silent for a moment, and then said, “The guy has a light foot. I didn't hear him.”

“A light foot and a fast one. Do you have something to cover this can? I want to have its contents tested.”

His voice never lost its gentle tone. “Do you think the food is poisoned?”

“I don't know, but I want to find out.” The idea of poisoning a cat filled me with rue and anger.

“When I heard your voice earlier,” said Nunes quietly. “I came to the door and saw your light down near the pond. Were you chasing the man who left this can of food?”

“Yes.”

“You will forgive me, I hope, for observing that that was probably not a wise decision. Did you catch him?”

“Not exactly.” Without thinking, I put my hand to my sore chest.

“You're hurt.” He peered at me then said, “Come inside. We'll cover that can and have a look at you.”

Inside the cabin there was candlelight, and I saw Mr. Mephistopheles lying on the double bed. He yawned in response to my gaze. Nunes covered the can with some paper and fastened it with a piece of string, then turned to me.

“I'm all right,” I said.

“One of the things I got in the army was a bit of medical training,” said Nunes, with a small smile. “Let me look at you.”

I sat on the couch and he peered into my eyes, took my pulse, then opened my shirt and studied my chest. His hands moved swiftly and gently.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

I told him everything I could remember, and when I was through he said, “You took a chance you shouldn't have taken. I thank you for doing it, but I hope you'll stop chasing prowlers into dark places.”

“We got some benefit out of it,” I said. “I learned some things that might be useful.”

“That's true,” he said, thoughtfully. “You learned that the prowler has at least one partner and that they have an employer who's paying them for their work. You also know that for the moment at least they're not willing to use fatal force, although they said they might in the future if they get paid for it. And you know that they didn't use their advantage to rob you or inflict additional injury upon you.”

“On the downside,” I said, “they seem to be getting more violent, to the point of poisoning your cat, if I'm right about this can of food. I'll have a friend send the can to a lab to check that out. I don't know how big a step it is between killing cats and killing people.”

“And they know who you are,” said Nunes.

I nodded. “There's that, but I have the prowler on film and your sister says that may be enough to identify him. If so, that might end your troubles.”

Nunes nodded. “Let's hope that she's right. Meanwhile I thank you again for what you've done but now I want you to go home and put this job behind you. You've done what my sister asked, so your task is completed.”