by Philip Wylie
Grove thanked him and Oddie said, “Let’s get on with our business.”
“If there’s any.” Grove smiled and poured cream.
“Maybe not. I’ll be succinct and direct. First, why are you here?”
“I told Coy. The same reason all people have. It’s a great place to live.”
“You are not, Mr. Grove, by any chance—meddling?”
“Meddling?” Grove stopped heaping on sugar. “Meddling? In what, for pity’s sake?”
“We thought it odd that you happened to be first to find—well—one of the CIA’s people, in that tank, after you’d hung around the park, so long, so often.”
Grove almost dropped his spoon. “You mean it actually was—”
“We’ll skip the identity. Let’s just say, it was, and not who. Did you, perhaps, expect it? Something? Anything?”
Grove looked at the man with a baffled expression. “What in the name of Satan are you guys thinking?” He spooned up cornflakes, talked and dribbled. “Napkin, please,” he said to Mult, who went meekly to the kitchen.
Oddie let a moment pass and snapped the next question.
“Explain, Grove, why have you taken such pains to make your business associates and your friends think you’ve been in Europe? Ignorant of where you really are, for a year and some. How about that?”
Grove slurped slightly, swallowed, and raised his brows. “Ever run a factory? Have you ever lived a vagabond life with circus people or gone touring on the road, doing magic? Then been caught in the office trap? A pen, where you are expected almost to live? With routine?”
“The lengths you went to weren’t necessary to escape that. You could, simply, retire, right? Walk out, fly here and settle, as you’ve done. So?”
Grove spent some time musing before he answered, “Well, there’s another reason for this.” He waved a hand to indicate his surroundings. “I went to see Art Eaper, year ago and some. You know why?”
Oddie did not know. The director had held out that detail. Grove perceived the man’s vexation and the fast thinking that made a fair disguise for his annoyance at his ignorance. “Assume I know.”
Grove went on eating and trying by that to bring into the mind of the other such words as “codger” and “old coot” or some more recent synonym, “dad,” say. The effort led to an extension of an already planned alibi. “I happened to be in Washington on business. A general I knew wanted to get my Warsaw plant to make some special toys for PXs.” That wasn’t exactly true; the general wanted Grove to make parts for a weapon and Grove had refused. But the man with four stars would, if asked, agree he’d asked about “toys,” being a smart soldier.
“Just visiting the Pentagon got me remembering old times, and before I knew it I asked how to reach Art.” That was fact. “Believe it or not I was thinking of trying to get back to the old game! Before I came to my senses I was down there in Axe’s red cave trying to volunteer. He was mighty polite about showing me how out of date—how nutty—I was. When I got back to my limousine I began to wonder if I’d lost my sanity. I shook for hours. Suppose he’d accepted? Suppose I’d taken an assignment—fluffed it, for sure. The impulse made me wonder if I’d lost my buttons. Was such a fool fit to be in charge of anything—even himself? Does he need a head-shrinker? Or custodial care, say? That’s why I came here and what I’m still trying to decide. It’s been a happy period. In fact”—he meditatively spooned more cornflakes—“I’d about made up my mind. Not to go back to the rat race—my associates can manage the business—but just to let them know where I was—and to explain I’ve retired, but not why. Even that took longer than I’d expected. And, Lord knows, if you are trying to deal with my kind of problem, you certainly don’t want anybody, business associates or friends, to know about it. Right?”
It might, Oddie reflected, be right at that. The story of visiting Eaper could easily be checked. And the information he had on Grove did not contradict his story. It wasn’t exactly normal behavior, Oddie felt, but then, Grove had never been “normal,” in other senses of the term.
Grove guessed those considerations as Oddie’s face remained FBI blank but his eyes moved about, fractionally, seeing this, seeing that, from the brain behind. Inspiration made Grove abruptly stand and walk about, half laughing—as a change of the darting eyes followed.
“First time I’ve thought of your angle!” Grove exclaimed. “But it could be sound! I did go to a devil of a lot of trouble to set up this hideaway. The basic reason is the one I gave. But the trimmings, well, perhaps they were the aftereffect of that crazy interview with Art Eaper. If you see—”
Oddie saw: “You realized you wanted no part of the real thing—what you guys called cloak and dagger?—so you subconsciously invented a reason to act out an imitation? A frightening reason but a safe game?”
“Guess I did! Silly.” Grove sighed. “Still, I’ve had a glorious time here. I’ve loved every minute, the way it is. If the FBI has busted the cover I set up—and set up in an old-time way, at that—it’ll be a shame. I’d like to go on all my days living here as R. K. Grove, not R. W.”
“We didn’t ‘bust your cover,’ Grove. By the time the press and TV got to the park, you’d gone. So far as I can see, the chief won’t want too much detail spread around, either, about last night’s business. Security matter, as you guessed. I’ll check on you. But as long as no pictures of you go out to the press or show on TV, so some old crony recognizes you and talks, I guess the Bureau will be more than content.”
Here, Grove played another planned card. “Thanks. But look, Oddie. If things with me do stand as I set them up, perhaps I could”—his voice was childishly eager—“sort of sit in, somehow. I mean, for you. Keep the old eyes peeled. Always supposing, of course, that you have a continued problem here?” He hurried on, excitedly, “Does this check mean there will be something more afoot? Beyond the rub-out of that chap? Was he working the park—on the lookout for some people or some dirty work, but got careless?”
Oddie relaxed a little more. “Afoot,” “rub-out” and “dirty work” were responsible for that, phrases so dated as to be almost novel. And on that very account, he reasoned, they gave evidence of the old bird’s probable innocence and certain incompetence.
If Grove’s playing games, Washington had said on the computer-scrambler, find out. Tail him for a week. And check his house. Notify us, any sign of his game.
Oddie felt he had things pretty well cleared up now. He became what he believed was benign. “Well, Mr. Grove, we do know your record—from way back then. You say you offered to help out—another outfit—and were turned down. I’ll be frank. In confidence, it was one of our men who was killed. You happened to be on the spot—to have been out here a good while, though. It wasn’t likely that those items would add up. Coincidences are common as dandelions—but, after all—”
“Not much of a coincidence, friend. I have insomnia, at times. You might easily understand that—memories. I’m fond of animals and always was. My mother was too. The park fascinates me. So I hope I shan’t be prohibited from my custom of—”
“Certainly not!” Oddie’s laugh was like a small fall of icicles.
“I didn’t know the deceased,” Grove went on. “Never saw him in my life. I had no idea who he might be, but the coat was puzzling, I admit. And the rest. Something familiar I couldn’t place. Not quite: out of style, I guess, way out of style. But familiar—”
The FBI man again nodded to himself. “Well, that about wraps it up. Got it, Hollis?”
“Of course, Chief.”
Oddie furtively waited for Grove’s reaction, momentary perplexity followed by surprise. “I get it! Pocket tape recorder? Brilliant!”
“Something,” Oddie said, “like that.” He smirked; and desmirked. “One last favor, if you don’t mind: could we look around this place? Washington’s orders and routine, as you’ll appreciate. Though as far as I’m concerned—”
Grove seemed faintly annoyed but waved a ha
nd. “Go ahead. Help yourself.”
All three men moved. Grove finished his cornflakes and had a second cup of coffee. By listening, he could follow them through his bedroom, the library, the guest bedrooms, the baths, and the already Mult-searched kitchen. They reappeared to examine the lanai and various closets opening from the big, comfortable room where he sat.
Finally they moved to the door leading to the lower floor, a door visible from where Grove sat. Oddie tried the knob. Grove said, “Key’s on the frame, up top.”
Oddie nodded, found the key, opened the door, saw a stairway in darkness, looked for a switch and turned on the light. He started down—and came back very quickly. “What in hell—” He slammed the stair door.
Grove said, “Damn! I forgot it was loose! In there, eh?”
Oddie had lost ninety per cent of his FBI and nearly that amount of his CIA. “Loose!” he gasped. “There?” He gagged. “What in God’s name—”
Grove rose, shaking his head apologetically. He went to the door the G-man had slammed, opened it, sniffed and closed it again. “The skunk,” he said with calm assurance. “I was afraid of something like that.”
Oddie tried to accept the unacceptable. “You mean you have a skunk down there?”
“But—what else?”
“Why, man? How?”
“That’s it,” Grove answered. “Exactly. Why? How?” He seemed preoccupied. He returned to his chair and sat down.
Oddie was enraged. “If this is supposed to be a joke … some kind of put-on…!”
“But it is.”
“God damn it, Grove! Explain!”
“Well, I’ll be glad to, far as I can.” He shrugged and ritually prepared a cigar. “It’s like this. Yesterday morning I went out for the mail. My mailbox is big because I get so many packages, mostly books, from the mainland. The local bookstores tend to be a bit slow at—”
“Skip local bookstores—”
“Right! Anyhow, besides the mail—I’d seen the truck stop and go on some while before I went out—there was this package, addressed to me but no sender’s name and no stamps: wasn’t a mailed thing. Naturally, not being a total idiot, I thought I better be careful about opening it.”
Grove hesitated and gave the FBI man a you-know-how-that-is look. Oddie frowned a curt “yes” and thought the talky man must be getting senile. “So?”
“I took it to the shop.”
“Shop?”
“If you will just listen!” Grove was plaintive.
Oddie clamped his lips. They vanished with that pressure. He waited.
“I have workshops, downstairs: carpentry and metalwork, and so on. I like to fiddle with things, make furniture, for instance, or new toys. It is my business, after all.” He seemed to realize that was off the desired track. “Well, that’s where I took it: the package, to open it carefully. But I didn’t.”
“Oh?” A miracle of sarcasm: “It opened itself?” Oddie asked.
“Right!” Grove beamed. “I was trying to think how to go about the job and feeling damned silly because I can’t imagine anybody sending—rather, presenting—me with, oh, some sort of infernal machine, for instance. Bomb.” He saw that first designation register as another antiquity and went ahead. “But the gate bell rang; the chimes. It was the dry cleaner. I’d forgotten it was his day. So I ran up—I had things for him. Jenny, that’s Genevra Oopani, was in Kailua, shopping. Before I could get back down to the shop again, some folks showed up at the gate and buttonholed me—alms gatherers from the—Church of the Modern Saints of Lazarus. I think that was it. I got rid of them with a fin and had the gate almost shut when I heard a car smash, just up the Kalan—toward Sea Life Park. And that took me out again—to be sure nobody was hurt, of course. I felt I should go because, sometimes, others don’t stop to help. Found it was more noise than harm. But I hung around chewing the fat with a driver of the car that the other one had whapped, a nice chap named Bissel or Kissel. He’s a surfing champ and I’ve often thought of taking a shot at it. So we naturally kept yakking for quite a while—”
“But the stink!” Oddie had let the man ramble because he’d decided the absurd tale could also be checked out. His patience snapped when he felt he had sufficient detail.
For the first time, Grove was quietly but clearly hostile. “Do you want, Mr. Oddie, an answer to your question? Or no?”
Oddie found himself passionately wishing he had not given up smoking. He replied weakly, “Go on.”
“That’s about all, in any case. I finally got back below to the package and it was empty, with a hole clawed in its end. Which, taken with the faint reek I detected when I shined a flashlight into the box—carton, actually—made it clear there had been a live skunk in it, probably doped a bit, because I’d felt no movement, carrying it downstairs. Well, the shops connect with the conservatory and also with the hall and the stairs. I searched all over the place but the spice-kitty was pretty cute, because I couldn’t find him. It didn’t worry me, really. Skunks aren’t—a trouble—if you don’t molest them. I figured the thing was—a practical joke: but not—whose.” He grinned. “Even, maybe, some old-time circus friend—just happening to recognize me. And sent the skunk as a calling card, say. I sort of half expect him to show up, soon.”
“Oh, Lord Almighty,” Oddie murmured.
“Did it?”—Mult interrupted with a sound of accusation—“go through quarantine?”
Grove stared; he seemed to need to reflect. Such mammals brought to Hawaii must be kept in quarantine for four months, owing to law: there is no rabies in Hawaii and the long quarantine keeps it that way. Grove finally said, “How the hell should I know?”
Oddie, who had been looking interestedly at Mult, turned to Grove. “Maybe the damned thing was infected with rabies, Mr. Grove. Maybe somebody was—is—out to get you.”
“Who? Why? Of course, some of the old-timers—our ‘opposite numbers’—did survive—”
Oddie gave Mult a nod of praise. Mult basked as his chief rose smartly. “We’ll come back when you trap the beast. Be careful, though. And let us have it—live or dead—when you nail it. And air the place out!”
Grove rose too, and said cannily, “If you have orders to go over my house, hadn’t you better do it now? I mean, supposing there was something suspicious here—which, Lord knows, there isn’t—wouldn’t I get rid of it, if you waited till I caught that critter?”
“Perhaps—” Oddie was shaken. He found a saving scheme. “I’ll post a man here, of course, till you get the animal. Mult!”
Grove shook his head in a sorrowful way. “That’s not up to the old standards, I’m afraid. You don’t know what you’d be looking for, mainly because it doesn’t exist. But if it did, I probably could conceal or destroy it, even with six G-men watching the house.” Suddenly, he slapped his thigh. “I ought to have thought!”
“Yes?” Oddie was instantly suspicious.
“Whole façade’s glass, down below! All you do is take the garden stairs and you can see everything without even risking a skunk bath. Any shop you want to go in, then, just say so and I’ll open it up from outside.”
Twenty minutes later Oddie returned, alone. He had seen the tropical plants and admired, even envied them. He had seen the well-equipped shops and smelled the faint scent some of them exuded where the locked glass doors met. But it had been sufficient to peer from the paved walk that lay between the transparent walls and the miniature cliff: all interiors were completely visible.
Oddie found his host now wearing a silk robe, shaved and showered, too. The robe was of many brilliant hues in odd-ball patterns: practically psychedelic and positively kook.
“Okay?” Grove asked hopefully.
Oddie grunted assent. His eyes ranged about as if he still hoped to find a dubious item. He finally started away and then stopped. “Nice place! Funny, though—it seems bigger, from the outside.”
“But it is!” Grove smiled at the G-man’s surprised look. “It has double walls�
�with glass wool between for insulation: foot and a half, all round. That saves a pretty penny on electric bills. Bills for my reversible air conditioning. Smart of you to notice! Can’t recall others doing that. Well—”
The old ass was actually twinkling. “Post us on the skunk bit,” Oddie said.
“Will do.”
A brown, unmarked car drove away: a Toronado, as inconspicuous among ordinary Hawaiian cars as a fire engine—but very good on curvy mountain roads.
Mult, who was driving, finally broke the silence. “For a minute, there, Chief, I thought you might order us to go down into that stinkhole.”
The comment had an effect on Oddie, both unintended and unconscious. He spoke crisply. “If the old fool hadn’t glassed in his entire downstairs, I’d naturally have done the sweep myself. Not any need, none whatever.”
When Mult said, “Right, Chief,” it was without irony. He now had a conviction that Grove warranted no further attention and that Oddie was both thorough and obedient.
“We’ll tail him a week or so, of course. Orders. Now and then and here and there. The Three OA thing. But I don’t believe we need to waste our lives on it.”
“Absolutely not, Chief.”
They tailed him for seven days—using Three OA: Off and On when Operatives were Available.
The reports of the men who took those random assignments would be intriguing, Oddie felt—to any nut obsessively fascinated by other nuts.
Grove sometimes climbed the dangerous pali. These pleated and near-vertical cliffs, characteristic of Hawaii and some other volcanic islands in the Pacific, were dangerous. Their rock was soft and friable. Jungle growths on the vertiginous precipices weren’t trustworthy for handholds. Trade winds stacked clouds against the upper reaches and to a climber such compressed murk was as blinding as any London fog. Even a skilled mountaineer always sent down intermittent falls of rock and rubble.
Following Grove when he climbed was impossible. “However,” agent Pollar noted, “you can always get to the summit by car and on foot to be head of the subject when he tops out. Subject is expert at climbing and does it to collect rare, endemic plants.”