Island

by Richard Laymon

  I was pretty sure he’d been hanged, even though I couldn’t make out the rope.

  Suicide didn’t seem real likely.

  Which meant someone had done this to him.

  I got the hell out of there.

  Connie was down near the shore, stretched out on the sand. Sunbathing, maybe asleep.

  I went back to my journal, and here I still am.

  I’m still pretty shaky. This stuff is barely legible. It isn’t every day you run into a murder victim. He was a nice guy, too - unlike Prince Wesley.

  Now we’ve got two dead husbands. And two widows. Poor Kimberly. It’s sure going to be tough on her.

  I could keep it to myself about finding the body, but that won’t really solve much. I mean, it’s not like Keith got lost in the jungle and if we wait around long enough, eventually he’s going to turn up. All he’s likely to do is rot.

  Besides, everybody needs to know we have a killer out there.

  One or more killers.

  Savage natives?

  Who knows?

  Maybe one of us did it. Possible, but not likely. Andrew’s probably the only one strong enough to hoist Keith up a tree like that. Unless a couple of the women teamed up to do it. No motive for anything like that, though, as far as I can see.

  Oh, shit. The search party is coming back.

  Gotta go.

  We Deal With It

  They came out of the jungle with Andrew and Billie supporting Thelma. She was hobbling along between them, putting almost no weight on her left leg. Her left ankle was wrapped with Andrew’s black leather belt.

  Kimberly brought up the rear. She kept turning around and looking back into the jungle.

  All of them were flushed and sweaty.

  As they walked closer to me, Andrew shook his head.

  ‘No luck?’ I asked.

  ‘He could be anywhere out there. No sign of him at all.

  I take it he hasn’t put in an appearance around here?‘

  ‘Nope,’ I said. Then I asked Thelma, ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I’m such a klutz,’ she said. ‘I slipped and twisted my ankle.’

  ‘Could’ve happened to anyone,’ Billie told her.

  ‘We’ll go out looking again,’ Andrew said. ‘Needed to bring Thelma back, and we ought to get some food in us.’

  They lowered Thelma onto the collection of rags and towels that she’d shared last night with Kimberly and Keith.

  Kimberly kept walking. ‘I’m going in to cool off,’ she said as she passed us. She was scratched, shiny with sweat, dirty, and had bits of green sticking to her skin.

  ‘Did something happen to her?’ I asked, when she was a fair distance off.

  ‘There wasn’t any stopping her,’ Andrew said. He shook his head as he watched her stride toward the shore. ‘She crawled into tight places, went through bushes, scampered up rocks. Wore me out just watching her. What a kid - all I could do to make her come back with us. Keith better have himself one damn good excuse if he turns up okay.’

  ‘He won’t,‘ I said.

  Andrew, Billie and Thelma all suddenly looked at me.

  ‘He won’t what?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Turn up okay. I found him. Just a few minutes ago. He’s been killed. Hanged, I think.’

  Thelma’s mouth fell open and she started to blink at me very rapidly.

  Billie murmured, ‘Oh, my God.’

  Andrew mashed his lips together and shook his head. Then he said in a low voice, ‘Better show me. You two stay here,’ he told the gals.

  ‘What about Kim?’ Billie asked.

  I turned my head just in time to see Kimberly, up to her thighs in the clear blue water of the inlet, raise her arms and dive under.

  ‘No point in telling her anything until we’re sure,’ Andrew said. ‘Jesus wept. What is there, some damn conspiracy to turn all my daughters into widows?’

  When he said that, Thelma started to cry.

  Kimberly surfaced and began to swim, her back flashing sunlight.

  ‘Let’s go, chief.’

  We hurried. As we went, he asked how I’d discovered the body and was I sure it was Keith. I left out the part about falling down, but told him the rest. As for being sure of the identity, I pointed out that Keith was the only guy who had disappeared and the body in the tree was wearing a shirt exactly like Keith‘s, so I figured it was a pretty good bet.

  ‘Don’t be smart about shit like this,’ he told me.

  I apologized.

  ‘That’s my girl’s husband you’re talking about, and he was a good, decent man. Unlike that fuckhead who blew himself out of the water yesterday.’

  When we got into the jungle, we had to wander around for a while, but finally I found the right place. The crumpled pages of a paperback book marked the spot, so to speak. That wasn’t Keith’s tree, but it worked as a landmark. I took a few strides away from it, looked up, saw Keith and pointed.

  ‘I reckon that’s him, all right,’ Andrew said.

  ‘I think he probably came out here during his watch,’ I said. ‘You know, figuring it’d be a good time to take care of business, everybody else being asleep. Only someone was out here waiting for him.’

  ‘Or followed him when he left the beach,’ Andrew added, and gave me a look. I couldn’t see his eyes too well, his sunglasses being in the way, but I knew what sort of look he was giving me.

  ‘If you think I did it, you’re nuts. Why would I do it?’

  ‘You’ve got the hots for Kimberly, so you take Keith out of the picture ...’

  ‘You’re nuts!’

  ‘You can’t take your eyes off her.’

  ‘Bull. And anyway, I’m not dumb enough to think she’d fall into my arms just because Keith isn’t around. What kind of a moron do you think I am? And how in hell do you think I could possibly hoist a guy Keith’s size that high into a tree?’

  ‘It could be done,’ Andrew said.

  ‘With a winch, maybe.’

  ‘A block and tackle.’

  ‘Have you seen me running around the beach with a block and tackle hanging outa my trunks?’

  ‘Steady there, chief. Don’t blow a gasket, I’m just speculating.’

  ‘Well you can quit speculating about me. How do I know you didn’t kill him? I bet you could hoist a guy up there without a block and tackle.’

  ‘What’s my motive, Sherlock?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Shit. He was the salt of the earth, that boy. Shit!’ Andrew suddenly jabbed a finger toward the body. ‘Get up there and cut him down. Kimberly sees we’re gone, she might get suspicious and come looking.’

  ‘You want me to climb up there ... ?’

  ‘You betcha, chief. I’m a sixty-year-old man, for Godsake.’

  ‘Sixty?’

  ‘Bet yer ass.’

  ‘You’re in better shape than me, anyway.’

  ‘I know that, and you oughta be ashamed to admit it.’ He dug the Swiss Army knife out of a front pocket of his shorts, and tossed it underhand to me.

  I fumbled it and had to bend down to pick it up.

  ‘Get up there. Haul yer ass. Kimberly comes along and sees him swinging up there with his dick in the wind, she’ll have nightmares the rest of her life.’

  I figured that Andrew was probably right about that.

  My swimming trunks didn’t have a pocket and I wasn’t wearing any shirt, so I kept the knife shut and slid it down the top of my right sock. Then I started climbing the tree.

  It wasn’t my idea of a good time.

  For one thing, I was worried about falling. For another, I was on my way up to a dead guy. I’d had about as much experience with dead bodies as I’d had with live gals. Basically, none. And I would’ve liked to keep it that way. (Not about the gals, about the corpses.)

  If being dead wasn’t bad enough, he was as good as naked. There’s just about nothing I’d rather see less than some guy without any pants on. Especially the front of hi
m, which is the section that was turned toward the tree trunk - and me.

  I made sure not to look at him, and kept my eyes on the tree while I climbed. After a while, his bare feet showed up in my peripheral vision.

  I turned my head and saw where the rope was tied off. I didn’t look up to see where it came from. Obviously, though, it went upward from around his neck, was looped over a limb above his head, then came down - sort of behind him. It was wrapped and knotted around a limb just a little distance below his feet.

  Which meant I could cut him down without climbing any higher, if I was willing to squirm out on the limb. The idea didn’t appeal to me. To get within reach of the rope, I would need to go under Keith - and nudge his feet out of my way. If that wasn’t bad enough, what was going to happen when I cut the rope? He would fall on me, that’s what.

  I wanted to be out of harm’s way when I cut him loose.

  So I turned my face to the tree again, and kept on climbing.

  Even trying not to look, I couldn’t help but see a lot more of Keith than I liked. You just can’t avoid taking glances, now and then, when you’ve got something like that hanging next to you.

  For instance, you want to make sure you aren’t about to bump into him, or something.

  And you want to know if he’s got something on him that might, say, leap across the gap. I mean like a snake or other beast.

  Anyway, it made me feel pretty sick, the way he looked. The whole business disgusted me, especially that he didn’t have any pants on. But then I got up high enough to see his face, and things got a hundred times worse.

  I won’t even get into what he looked like.

  ‘It’s him for sure?’ Andrew called.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Do you think so, or know so?’

  ‘He’s all wrecked up. His face. But I guess I’m sure.’

  ‘Hung?’

  He meant ‘hanged.’ Hung meant something very different, also applicable to the situation. I was in no mood to make any cracks, though. I said, ‘Yeah. But he’s got blood all over his hair and face. It looks like maybe someone whacked him on the head, then strung him up.’

  ‘Go ahead and cut him down.’

  ‘Just a second.’

  I checked out the rope. It didn’t look very new, and was a little thicker than an ordinary clothesline. It had an actual ‘hangman’s knot.’ I counted thirteen coils. They were tight against Keith’s right cheek, and the thickness of the knot had shoved his head sideways. From the top of the knot, the rope went straight up to a limb several feet above his head. It looped over the limb, then stretched down behind his back, straight as a rod to where it was tied off on the limb below his feet.

  He’d probably been hauled up by someone standing on that lower limb.

  Maybe he’d been killed first, or at least knocked out.

  ‘What’re you doing up there?’ Andrew called. ‘Cut him down!’

  I wondered if there might be a way to lower him.

  If he could be hauled up, why not lowered?

  Because, looking down, I could see that there was no extra rope at the lower limb. After tying it off, the killer must’ve cut off any excess.

  I hated to just cut him loose and let him drop. ‘Damn it, Rupert!’

  ‘He’ll fall,’ I called back.

  ‘So what? He’s dead. He won’t feel a thing.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’

  I climbed a little higher. Hugging the tree with my left arm, I brought up my right leg and pulled the knife out of my sock. I used my teeth to open the blade. Then I reached out over the top of Keith’s head and pressed the edge of the blade against the rope.

  Andrew’s knife must’ve been awfully sharp.

  One slice, and the rope popped.

  Keith dropped.

  It was worse than I expected.

  He hit the limb underneath him, all right. But it went in between his legs and slammed him in the crotch. The whole limb shook. He sat there for a few seconds, head hanging. In his bright shirt, he looked like a flamboyant cowboy who’d fallen asleep in the saddle. Then he slumped over sideways. He fell the rest of the way head first.

  Andrew let out a grunty noise and pranced backward to get out of the way.

  Keith hit the ground with the back of his head. His spine seemed to bend in half. His legs shot down and his knees struck the ground on both sides of his face. For a second, he gazed up at me from down there like some sort of mutant that was half-face, half-ass. Then he tumbled over sideways.

  I pushed my face against the tree trunk and sort of trembled for a while.

  Pretty soon, Andrew started telling me to quit stalling and climb down - and bring the rope with me.

  I did it. I had to climb out on that lower limb to get the rope. My hands shook too badly for me to untie the knots, so I used Andrew’s knife to cut it loose. Then I just let it fall.

  On the ground, I gave back Andrew’s knife. He’d already picked up the rope and coiled it.

  ‘What’re we going to do with him?’ I asked.

  ‘Kimberly can’t see him this way.’ He handed the rope to me, then crouched by the body and took off Keith’s noose. ‘She’ll want a look at him, though. We can’t get around that. If she doesn’t see his face, she’ll never believe he’s really dead.’

  At that point, Andrew pulled and tugged at the body until it was stretched out flat on its back.

  ‘Where’s his damn trunks?’

  ‘The killer must’ve taken them.’

  ‘Look around.’

  I did, but couldn’t find Keith’s swimming trunks, sandals, or anything else.

  ‘Wanta give him yours?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘No way. Are you kidding? Not mine. You want to go around volunteering pants, volunteer your own.’

  He gave me a smirk. ‘Run on back to camp, then, and grab a beach towel ... a blanket...’

  ‘Maybe we should cover him with leaves or something.’

  ‘Do what I told you.’

  So I did, even though it seemed like a mistake.

  When I came out of the jungle, Kimberly saw me. She must’ve just waded out of the water. She was striding up the beach toward Billie and Thelma, but then she spotted me and broke into a run.

  Maybe I should’ve run off. I thought about it, but just couldn’t. She’s too nice for me to run away from.

  ‘You found him,’ she said. She must’ve figured it out from the look on my face. ‘Oh, God. Where is he?’

  ‘Your dad’s with him. He doesn’t...’

  ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

  ‘Your dad’s fine.’

  ‘Keith.’

  Before I could think of a good way to answer, she dodged past me and raced for the jungle. She must’ve seen where I came out, because she was headed straight toward it.

  ‘Wait!’ I yelled. ‘Kimberly, don’t! Just wait!‘

  She didn’t stop. She had too big a headstart on me, so I didn’t try to chase her down. Besides, what was I supposed to do, tackle her?

  Andrew shouldn’t have sent me back to the beach. I’d warned him not to. But he’d insisted.

  Anyway, I still had a job to do. I took my time, though. Walked slowly to our camping area, picked up a blanket, answered a few questions from the women, then made my way back to the jungle.

  When I got there, Kimberly was sobbing in her father’s arms.

  He was just in his white briefs.

  He must’ve heard her coming, and had enough time to make Keith less indecent. He’d covered the lower parts with his own khaki shorts, and he’d draped a white handkerchief over the poor guy’s face.

  While he was busy consoling Kimberly, I went ahead and covered the body with the blanket. Then I reached under and plucked out Andrew’s shorts and hanky. I stood off to the side, holding his stuff, and waited for them to get done.

  The Funeral

  After Kimberly stopped crying in her father’s arms, she insisted on giving Keith a close inspection.
(All our worries about covering him up seemed a little absurd.) Andrew tried to stop her, but she ignored him and pulled the blanket off and crouched beside the body.

  She was awfully grim. She didn’t say a thing, but she didn’t cry, either. She actually lifted Keith’s head, turned it from side to side, and searched through his hair with her fingers. (I think she was trying to figure out what killed him.)

  After a while, she unbuttoned the front of his shirt. She asked us for some help, so we lifted him into a sitting position and Kimberly pulled his shirt off. She put it on right away, over her bikini top, but didn’t fasten the buttons.

  Then the three of us, working together, wrapped Keith in the blanket. Andrew wound the rope around it, so that the blanket would stay put. The result was a tidy, man-shaped bundle. Tidy except for the fact that Keith’s feet stuck out the end.

  Andrew slung Keith over his shoulder. With him in the lead, we made our way back to the beach.

  Billie, Connie and Thelma were waiting for us at the campsite. They were all pretty much in tears. When we showed up, they gathered around Kimberly, shaking their heads and sobbing, hugging her and muttering. Kimberly seemed to be taking things pretty well. She was grim, but didn’t fall apart. Something about the way she stood there, being really brave and wearing Keith’s festive shirt, got to me so that I choked up, myself.

  We had a discussion about what to do with Keith’s body. Since we don’t expect to be castaways for any great length of time, we didn’t want to dispose of it in any sort of permanent way. We wanted it handy and easy to recover.

  We let Kimberly make the final decision. She chose to bury Keith (store him, more like it), over where the rocks jutted out to the south side of the beach. The place was close enough so we could keep an eye on it and get to the body easily in case of rescue. It was also far enough away so that the thing wouldn’t exactly be living with us. I’m hoping we won’t be able to smell it.

  Bad enough that we can see it.

  Not the body. It’s out of sight. But every time I turn my head in that direction, I can’t help but look at the pile of rocks covering it. Not to mention the cross. Kimberly made the cross out of driftwood, this afternoon. She stood it up at the head of Keith’s ‘grave.’ It’s gnarled and twisted and as white as bleached bones.