The Web

by Jonathan Kellerman

  "Back in the house you said she used to smoke and . . . Then you trailed off and said she'd been taking excellent care of herself during her pregnancy."

  "The poor thing's dead. Why besmirch her memory?"

  "Because it may be relevant. She's beyond hurt, Bill. Was she an alcoholic?"

  "No, not an alcoholic. She was a . . . friendly girl. She smoked and drank a bit."

  "What does friendly have to do with it?"

  "Friendly," he said. "To the sailors."

  "Like AnneMarie. One of those girls who went up to Victory Park. Was it common knowledge in the village?"

  "I don't know what's common knowledge. I heard it from her mother."

  "Her mother complained about Betty's promiscuity?"

  "Ida brought Betty in to be treated for a venereal infection."

  "Gonorrhea?"

  He nodded.

  "When?"

  "A year ago. Before she became engaged. We kept it confidential from Mauricio— her boyfriend. Tested him, too, under a false pretense. Negative. Eventually they married."

  "Maybe he found out anyway and reacted."

  "This? No, not Mauricio. What was done to her was beyond . . . no, no, impossible. Mauricio's not a . . . calculating sort. He'd never have thought to incriminate Ben."

  "Not smart enough?"

  "He's simple. As was Betty."

  I remembered Betty's open manner and easy smile. Trusting me enough after meeting me to talk about herself. No bra under the tank top . . .

  "Simple and trusting," I said. "A drinker, overly friendly with the boys. Sounds like a perfect victim. What was Ben's relationship with her?"

  "They knew each other the way everyone on the island knows each other."

  "Did Ben know about her gonorrhea?"

  He thought. "I didn't discuss it with him."

  "But he could have found out— read it in the chart."

  "Ben was busy enough without sticking his nose where it didn't belong."

  "Maybe he came across it by accident. We both know you're not a compulsive filer."

  No answer. He got up and paced, twisting his fingers again, bobbing his neck.

  I said, "Learning that, he could have assumed she was easy."

  "I didn't record the diagnosis in my notes. I made sure to protect her."

  "What did you write?"

  "Just that she had an infection that required penicillin."

  "Someone with Ben's medical sophistication could have figured it out, Bill. And what about the lab tests? Did you destroy the results?"

  "I— don't believe so . . . but still it's not possible. Not Ben. Why are you thinking in these terms?"

  "Because I have an open mind. If that upsets you, we can end the discussion."

  He gritted his teeth. "This isn't the last time I'll be hearing these kinds of speculations. I might as well get used to it. Let's assume— for the sake of argument— that Ben did know she'd been infected. Why in the world would he murder her?"

  "As I said, it could have led him to believe she was easy. One scenario is that they'd had a relationship for a while, or even that last night was a one-night stand. In either case, they went up to the park, got drunk, and things got out of hand."

  "That's ridiculous! You saw him with Claire tonight. He loves her, they've got so much going— the children."

  "Lots of psychopaths lead double lives."

  "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."

  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 o
f 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."