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.”
“I think I should hang around for the rest of the night, at least.”
He smiled. “There’s no need for that. I’ve lived alone here for a long time. I’ll be fine.”
“You haven’t had a stalker before. I’ll spend the night up under the oak tree and leave in the morning.”
He pressed his palms together. “If you wish.” He went to a shelf and brought back a blanket. “But at least take this with you.” He picked up the can of cat food. “I’ll put this where Mr. Mephistopheles can’t get at it. In the morning I’ll trade it to you for the blanket.”
I left him and walked back to the oak tree. The camera and binoculars were where I’d left them. The faint light in the cabin window went out and the night seemed darker than before. I swept the meadow with the glasses and saw no movement. I leaned my back against the oak thinking he was a trusty tree, and wrapped the blanket around me.
I woke before the coming of the sun, full of guilt for having slept. My chest was sore. I watched the brightening eastern sky, then saw two deer down by the mill pond. They were unalarmed. The woods came alive with the cheeps and chirps of wakening birds.
A little after dawn I carried my gear to the house. Nunes was up and had soup and tea already prepared. We sat outside, on the sunny side of the house, and ate breakfast.
“A lovely morning,” said Nunes.
“Yes.” Another beautiful day on the beautiful island of Martha’s Vineyard. I wondered if the prowlers and their boss were awake to see it.
When I left, he thanked me yet again and told me I’d done my duty and should go back to my normal life.
“I’ll see your sister and return her equipment,” I said, “and I’ll give this can to my friend to have it analyzed.”
“Let’s hope that they find nothing.”
A consummation devoutly to be wished, but one I didn’t expect. “I’ll let you know what I learn.”
I drove to John Skye’s farm and found him and his wife Mattie over coffee. They were early risers. The twins, Jen and Jill, were, as college students will, sleeping late.
“I thought you might be up,” I said.
“You must be bored,” said Mattie. “Zee and the kids will be home in just a few days, if you can h
old out that long. Have some coffee.”
“The bachelor life is not the life for me,” I said, putting the can on John’s desk as Mattie went to fetch another cup.
“We don’t have a cat,” said John, eyeing it.
“If you did, I wouldn’t give you this stuff,” I said. “As I recall, you have a pal up at Weststock who’s a toxicologist. Is that right?”
“Not all of us professorial types are in the liberal arts,” said John. “Yes, my colleague George Faulk is in love with poisons. Why, is this cat food full of cyanide?”
“I don’t know, but I want to. Do you think your friend will test it for me? The quicker, the better.”
John eyed the can, then eyed me. “Tell me your tale.”
I told him of the earlier vandalism and then described how I’d seen the prowler put the can on the ground beside the cabin, but I didn’t mention names or tell him anything about what had happened on the trail beside the stream.
Mattie returned with my coffee cup just as I ended my narrative.
“Now you can say everything again,” she said, pouring. “John filters stories sometimes and I want the original.”
So I repeated myself and when I was through she said, “Don’t these people you work for have names?”
“They do,” I said, “but I can’t tell you what they are. Call it client confidentiality.”
“You’re not a lawyer or a doctor, J.W. You can’t claim confidentiality.”
“How do you know I’m not a lawyer or a doctor? Maybe I’m just too modest to have mentioned it before.”
“Ha!”
“Maybe I’ll tell you someday. Meanwhile, I’d like to have the contents of this can analyzed.”
“Why don’t you take it to the police?” asked John. “It seems to me that they’re the ones to do the test. If somebody’s trying to poison a cat, they should know about it.”
“My client doesn’t want the police involved.”
“Why not?” asked Mattie.
“Ask my client.”
“How can we ask your client if we don’t know who your client is?”
I smiled at her.
John tapped his forefinger on the table. “Say, I think Sam Myers is driving up to the Kittery Trading Post today. I’ll bet I can get him to drop this off at Weststock on the way. All I have to do is tell him it’s a suspected poisoning. That’ll catch his interest.” He looked at his watch and got out of his chair. “I’ll call him and George right now and tell them the situation.”
He went into the house and Mattie looked at me. “You’re infuriating sometimes,” she said.
“And you’re gorgeous all the time,” I said. I tried fluttering my eyelashes, but all I got was a laugh.
A while later John returned, smiling. “We’re in business,” he said.
5
Carole Cohen worked at Gull Realty, one of the countless real estate companies that kept busy buying and selling property on the Vineyard. The two growth industries on the island were building mansions and selling property so more could be built; Carole was in the right profession.
I found her in her office, poring over papers while she talked on the phone with a client. She waved a manicured hand at me and pointed to a chair. Her desk was piled with papers, many adorned with photos of houses, and her diplomas and certifications were hung on the wall along with photos of her and happy-looking people I took to be satisfied customers, standing in front of a variety of buildings, both domestic and commercial. A matching but unoccupied desk sat beside hers, and similar diplomas and certificates on the walls proclaimed Jordan Cohen to be an equally qualified Realtor.
There were even pictures of small places, to prove, I guessed, that even the little people could depend on Carole to do well by them. Not that really little people could thrive on the increasingly pricey Vineyard, where a house for less than six big figures was getting very hard to find.
It was no wonder that people were after Roland Nunes’s land, and although terrorism was still not a usual ploy to encourage a sale, perhaps it would become more popular. I thought of my own acres, purchased long ago by my father when Ocean Heights would have been considered to be on the wrong side of the tracks if Edgartown had had tracks, and land there was cheap. Lately, though, there was no cheap land on the island and more than one Realtor had come inquiring about the possibility of me selling some of mine for very nice money. So far, I’d always said no, but my taxes were getting so high that I didn’t know how much longer I could hold out. Adam and Eve had been forced to give up Eden, so it could happen to anyone.
When Carole finally hung up her phone, I gave her the camera and binoculars.
“Thank you,” she said. “You just missed Jordan. He’s out with a customer. Shut the door, will you? Did you get some pictures already? That was fast.”
“I’m not sure they’ll be much use,” I said, returning to my chair. “The guy had blackened his face, so he might be hard to identify.”
“But you saw him. You caught him in the act. Good. Did you scare him off?”
“Yes, I scared him off. I yelled and he ran.”
“Good. Maybe he won’t be back. I’ll have this film developed right away.” She smiled. “Thanks. The job didn’t take as long as I thought it would. I’ll give you a check.” She found her purse and pulled out a checkbook.
“I wouldn’t be too sure he won’t be back,” I said.
She’d been reaching for a pen, but now her hand stopped. “Why do you say that?”
She was paying me for my work, so I told her everything that happened, finishing with my arrangement with John Skye.
She stared at me. “You were shot? You have to see a doctor! My God, I didn’t imagine that you’d be in danger!”
“It wasn’t your fault, and it was only a stun gun. I’m fine. The point is that those two guys, whoever they are, are not pussy cats. I think that if their boss decides to keep pushing this thing and pays them enough, they’ll be back. I think it’s time for you to take this to the cops.”
She paid no attention to that suggestion. “They wouldn’t dare do anything else, would they? Now that they’ve been seen.”
“Some people will take a lot of chances if the money’s right.”
“But one of them has been photographed!”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“But they must know someone might be waiting for them if they go back.”
“They don’t have to go back,” I said. “Your brother goes to work every morning. They just have to wait for the right moment and they can catch him away from home. He rides that moped wherever he goes, and a man on a moped hasn’t got much protection.”
“You don’t think they’d really hurt him, do you?”
“Someone apparently wants his land pretty badly, if your theory is right. If something happened to your brother…”
“Something fatal, you mean!” she interrupted.
“Yes. If that happened, your cousin would own the property.”
She sat back, frowning first into space, then at me. “If the prowler knew we have his photo that would make a difference. We’ll have to let him know before he does any more damage.”
I was annoyed with her. “I don’t know how you’re going to tell him that, but I do know you should be talking with the police. This is vandalism at the very least, and it has the potential of being a lot more.”
“No,” she said vehemently. “No police. I don’t want to take a chance on having my brother arrested. I don’t want to hear anymore about the police!”
“I made a mistake taking this job,” I said, getting up. “I never should have agreed to leave the police out of it, but I thought it would be just a simple matter. But it isn’t, and now if something happens to your brother the police will be involved whether you like it or not and you and I will both be at fault for not talking with them earlier!”
She spoke in short, staccato sentences. “Please. Sit down. Don’t leave. Let me think. I n
eed help. I need someone I can trust. I trust you.”
I felt my teeth clenching, but then I looked at her desperate face and the tension eased. I sat down. “You have to take this to the police,” I said. “They don’t have any reason to look back thirty years, so they may never find out about his past. Besides, even if they do, it’ll be better than having him hurt or killed.”
“I won’t tell them if I don’t have to, but I will tell them if I do. Will that make you happy?”
“You should tell them right away. It’s the best advice I can give you.”
“No,” she said, frowning into the air. “We can wait at least a day. Those prowlers will have to report back to their employer, won’t they? And they probably didn’t do so last night, so that means they can’t do it before today. And then they’ll have to agree on what to do next, and that means they won’t do anything before tomorrow at the earliest, so we have at least today to work before we have to tell the police.” She brought her eyes down to mine. “I think that if the man you photographed knows about the photos, he’ll want out of this business. I think that if he can be identified he may want to spill the beans rather than take the full responsibility for what he’s done. Does that sound right to you?”
“Fall guys rat out their friends pretty often, but how are you going to let him know he’s on film?”
Her eyes grew bright. “I’m not going to let him know. I’m going to let his boss know. If his boss knows we’ve got his picture, he won’t want him hanging around where he can be found and might talk. I think he’d rather send him away and drop this whole business. What do you think?”
“It could work like that. But how are you going to find his boss?”
“If I’m right, there’s a chance the boss is my cousin or one of Roland’s abutters. You can start with them.”
“I thought my job was over.”
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