I tried to find words. The look on his face said no language existed that would work.
"Mind you, I'm not proposing a one-way deal. Care for my kids properly, and the entire estate and all my other property holdings on Aruk will be yours, in addition to excellent real estate in Hawaii and California, securities, a bit of cash. What I told you about my family fortune dwindling was true, but it's still substantial. Of course, I'll have to give a generous inheritance to Pam as well as some stipends to trusted individuals, but the rest would be yours. Once the kids are all gone. You can see why I need someone with integrity. Someone who wouldn't kill them to get to the money. I now trust you— both of you. When your duties are through, you'll be wealthy and free to enjoy your wealth in any way that pleases you."
Robin said, "Pam's a doctor. Why don't you want her to take over?"
He shook his head so vigorously his glasses fell off his nose.
Retrieving them, he said, "Pam's a wonderful girl, but not equipped. She has . . . vulnerabilities. My fault. I don't deserve the title "father.' She needs to get out in the world. To find someone who values her— the kind of relationship you two have. But you will have assistance. From Ben."
"Ben knows?"
"I let him into my confidence five years ago. The kids have come to adore him. He's been a tremendous help, taking shifts as my strength ebbs."
"You don't want him to take over?" said Robin.
"I considered it, but he has his own family. My kids need full-time parents."
Single-minded, isolated parents. As he'd been after Barbara died and Pam was sent away.
What he wanted was philosophical cloning. I felt stunned and sick.
"Ben will continue to pitch in," he said. "Between the three of you the task is doable."
"Ben's in no position to help anyone," I said.
"He will be once we get past this nonsense. Al Landau's brilliant, especially when defending an innocent man. Please. Accept my offer. I've taken you into my confidence. I'm at the mercy of your good graces."
He picked up Robin's hand and held it in both of his.
"A woman's touch," he said. "It would be so good for them."
Smiling. "Now you know everything."
"Do we?" I said.
He let go of her hand. "What's the problem, son?"
"The written report you threatened Hoffman with. Does it exist?"
"Of course."
"Where is it?"
He blinked hard. "In a safe place. If we progress, you'll know the precise location."
"And you want us to believe it's the only reason he let you live all these years."
He thumbed his chest and smiled. "I'm here, am I not?"
"I think there's more, Bill. I think Hoffman's always known you wouldn't expose him because he's got something on you."
The smile evaporated. He took a step up the ramp and ran his hand over the rough stone wall.
"My guess is the two of you are locked together," I went on. "Like rams, with tangled horns. Hoffman can't move in and destroy Aruk overnight because you might expose him. But he's still able to grind the island down gradually because he's younger than you, confident he'll survive you and eventually have his way. And I'll bet controlling Aruk's important to him on two levels: the money from the development project, and he wants to erase what he did thirty years ago from his mind."
"No, no, you're giving him way too much credit. He's got no conscience. He simply wants to exploit for profit." He turned around suddenly. "You have no idea what he has in mind for Aruk."
"A penal colony like Devil's Island?"
His mouth stayed open and he managed to work it into another smile. "Very good. How did you figure it out?"
"He's in with Stasher-Layman, and in addition to instant slums they build prisons. Aruk's location is perfect. The dregs of society shipped and warehoused far, far away, with nowhere to escape."
"Very good," he repeated. "Very, very good. The bastard told me the details that night at dinner. He wants to call it "Paradise Island.' Clever, eh? But there's more: the waters surrounding Aruk will be used to sink other dregs: barrels of radioactive waste. He's confident of receiving environmental clearance because of Aruk's obscurity and because once the economy shuts down completely and the island's depopulated, there'll be no one to protest."
"Nuclear dumpsite," I said. "Perfect complement to the prison: toxic water's another escape deterrent. If Hoffman pulls it off, he manages to fight crime and pollution on the mainland and pocket big cash payoffs from Stasher-Layman. Cute."
""Cute' is not an adjective I'd apply to him."
Different music drifted from the game room. A woman singing, This old man, he plays two . . .
"When did you first suspect he was involved?"
"When the Navy started treating us differently. Ewing's predecessor was no saint but he was civil. Ewing has the demeanor of an assassin— did you know he was sent here as punishment for lewd behavior? Tied a woman down and took photographs. . . . From the moment I met him, I knew he'd been sent to punish Aruk. And that Hoffman had to be behind it. Who else even knew about the place? I wrote to him, he never answered. Then Ben caught Creedman snooping in my files and I asked Al Landau to do some research. He learned the skunk had worked for Stasher-Layman and what they were all about. But I had no idea it was a dumpsite till Hoffman bragged about it after dinner. Apologizing for not answering, he'd been so busy. Then that same smile."
"Were your letters threatening?" I said.
"Poo! Give me credit, son. I was discreet. Nuances, not threats."
"Nuances that he ignored."
"He said he hadn't wanted to put anything in writing. That's why he'd come personally."
"Why'd he invite all of us to dinner?"
"For cover. But you notice that he got me alone. That's when he boasted and made his offer."
"To buy you out?"
"At a laughable price. I refused and reminded him of my little diary."
"What did he say?"
"He simply smiled."
"If he's worried about the diary, why can't you get him to stop the project?"
"I— we negotiated. He pointed out that stopping completely would be impractical. Things have gone too far. To reverse what's already been done would call attention to Aruk."
"And you agreed to consider it because of the kids."
"Exactly! Though the bastard thinks it's my own lifestyle I don't want jeopardized." He grimaced. "You're right, he and I are stalemated: he doesn't want publicity and neither do I. My only goal is to let my kids live out their lives in peace— how long do they really have? Five years, maybe six or seven. Hoffman's project will take years to complete even under the best of circumstances— you know the government. So, hopefully, he and I can achieve some sort of compromise. I'll sell off token bits of land to the government, take my time, delay things without seeming unduly obdurate."
"The Trading Post, and your other waterfront holdings."
He nodded. "And the money will be set aside for you two."
"A compromise," I said. "As you both let Aruk die."
He sighed. "Aruk's been good to me, but I'm an old man and I know my limitations. Priorities must be set. What I've demanded from Hoffman was to slow things down."
"Did he agree?"
"He didn't refuse."
"The man cold-bloodedly murdered six dozen people. Why would he give in to you?"
"Because of my insurance."
"I still don't understand why, if you can ruin him, you don't have more power."
He scratched the tip of his nose. "I've told you everything, son."
He reached out to pat my shoulder and I backed away.
"No, I don't think so," I said. "When you returned from talking to him you looked shell-shocked. Not like someone who'd negotiated a compromise. Hoffman reminded you about something, didn't he?"
No answer.
"What's he holding over you, Bill?"
He stepped fur
ther into the ramp.
"First things first," he said. "My offer."
"First answer my question?"
"These things are irrelevant!"
"Honesty's irrelevant? Oh, I forgot, the truth is relative."
"Truth is justice! Getting into irrelevant areas that bring about injustice is deceitful!"
This old man, he plays ten . . .
"All right," I said. "You're entitled to your privacy."
I looked at Robin. She cocked her head very slightly, toward the cavern.
"Goodbye, Bill."
He held me back. "Please! Everything in due time! Please be patient!"
His crinkled chin shook so hard his teeth knocked. "I'll tell you everything when the time's right, but first I must have your commitment. I believe I've earned it! What I'm offering you would enrich your lives!"
"We can't give you an answer just like that."
He climbed further up the ramp. "Meaning you think I'm mad and your answer is no."
"Let's get back and clear our heads. You, too. Pam needs to know you're safe."
"No, no, this isn't right, son. Leaving an old man in the lurch after I've . . . flayed my soul open for you!"
"I'm sorry—"
He clutched my arm. "Why not just agree? You're young, robust, so many years ahead of you! Think of what you can do with all that wealth." His eyes brightened. "Perhaps you could figure out a way to save Aruk! Think of the meaning that would bring to your lives! What else is there to life but finding some kind of meaning?"
I removed his fingers from my arm. The record in the game room had caught. The old man playing ten, over and over . . .
"I was wrong," he said, behind me. "You're not the compassionate boy I thought you were."
"I'm not a boy," I said. "And I'm not your son."
The retort bursting out of me, the same way it had out of Dennis Laurent.
The look on his face . . . I felt like a bad son.
A maddening man.
Mad or on the brink of it.
"No, you're not," he whispered. "Indeed, you're not."
Robin took my hand and we both left the ramp. Moreland watched us, not budging.
After we'd gone a few steps, he turned his back on us.
Robin stopped, tears in her eyes.
"Bill," she said, just as sound came from the top of the ramp.
Moreland looked and almost lost his balance.
Another noise— hollow, metallic— came from above, just as he straightened.
Then rapid, muffled footsteps.
Two figures in black rain slickers barreled down the ramp. One grabbed Moreland. The other stopped for a fraction of a second, then came toward us.
Glossy wet slickers, galoshes. All that rubber buffed brighter by moisture.
Like giant seals.
Anders Haygood splashed water on us as he waved the automatic.
36
His heavy face was calm, the lower half shadowed by stubble. Wide mouth set, gray eyes as dead as pebbles.
"Against the wall." Practiced boredom. Ex-cop's familiarity with rousting suspects.
He frisked me, then Robin. She gave out a high-pitched sound of surprise. Not reacting was agonizing.
From where I was standing I could see Tom Creedman with his grip on Moreland. From the way his fingers hooked, it must have hurt, but Moreland wasn't showing it. Staring at Creedman, as if trying to snag his eyes. Creedman's face was rain specked and sweating, his gun jammed against Moreland's rib cage.
"The boys from Maryland," I said. "Off on a South Seas lark."
Creedman's black mustache arced in surprise. Haygood flipped me around with a surprisingly light touch. His cleft chin looked rough enough to hone a blade.
I smiled. "Why'd you pull me over, officer?"
A muscle in his cheek jumped.
He put his gun against my heart and chucked Robin's chin. His hand dropped lazily onto her chest. Brushing. Squeezing.
Robin's eyes closed. Haygood continued to touch her, studying me.
I looked at Creedman. The water rolling off the top of his hat and into his eyes. He flinched, and Haygood finally let go of Robin.
"Never met a cannibal before," I said. "Who did the surgery? Or was it both of you?"
"Fuck off," said Creedman.
Haygood said, "Chill," but it was unclear who he was addressing.
Creedman frowned but shut up.
The rain, louder; they'd opened some kind of hatch aboveground. Found the tunnel with the help of all the doors I'd had to leave open. The slab sticking out of the laboratory floor.
They'd probably climbed down and walked some distance before figuring out where it led. Unable to broach the webbed door, they'd retraced their steps, made it over the wall, and come in from the other end.
The rain blocked out the music from the game room. I could still hear the nagging drone of the generator.
"The boys from Maryland," I repeated. "Reporter buys information from cop on a murder case, gets them both fired. Reporter finds a job with Stasher-Layman and procures cop a position there, too. Must be a close friendship."
Creedman wanted to say something, but a look from Haygood silenced him. Haygood the pro . . . he kept his gun steady while examining the cavern with all the passion of a camera.
"You've done lots of cute things for the company," I said, "so now you get a sun-and-fun assignment. But does the home office have any idea you handled it by replicating the murder that got you into trouble in the first place? Slicing up women and pretending to eat them? Or maybe you didn't pretend. You did say you were a gourmet cook, Tom."
"What is this?" said Haygood, "a bomb shelter or something?"
"If I know about Maryland, don't you think others do?"
Creedman looked at Haygood.
Haygood continued to inspect the cavern.
"What they don't know," I said, "is the part of it that's wishful thinking, Tom. Telling me it was a rape-murder when it wasn't. A few problems in the potency area?"
Creedman turned red and tightened his grip on Moreland.
Haygood repeated, "A bomb shelter?"
"Japanese supply tunnel," said Moreland. "My little sanctuary."
Keeping his eyes away from the game room.
"What do you have down here?"
"Old furniture, clothes, a few books."
"Let's take a look."
"There's nothing interesting, Anders."
"Let's take a look, anyway." Haygood waved us forward with the gun and told Creedman: "Bring him over."
Creedman poked Moreland and the old man tripped forward.
"You two, out," said Haygood, when they'd passed. He looked down the narrow opening and frowned. "Don't surprise me, doctor. You go in front, Tom. Anything happens, kill the girl."
Creedman didn't argue. I'd have pegged him as the one in charge. Class snobbery. Haygood's police experience gave him the edge.
I thought back to the day we'd arrived. Haygood on the dock, butchering the shark with quiet authority.
Haygood and Skip Amalfi.
Was Skip just a cover, allowing Haygood to come across as the aimless beachbum? All along, Haygood's attitude toward him had been a mixture of patience and contempt. Watching, amused, as Skip peed on the sand. Remaining in the background as Skip harangued the villagers.
Tolerating him the way you tolerate a dull sibling.
Skip, stupid enough to get sucked into a fantasy of running a resort. The dream probably planted by Haygood.
Skip peeing in front of women. . . . Had he also been involved in the cannibal murders? Probably not; too unstable.
But he had served his purpose the night of Betty Aguilar's killing: fishing on the docks, as Haygood knew he did most every night. There to hear Bernardo Rijks's cries of alarm, rushing over to subdue Ben.
Haygood and Creedman had murdered both girls. First, AnneMarie Valdos on the beach, a rehearsal for Betty and setting up Ben. And the stimulus to local unrest that ha
d justified the blockade.
Then, Betty in Victory Park— what had they used to lure her? Dope? Money? One last fling before motherhood?
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