‘I’m sorry. You haven’t heard the news.’
‘The news? What news?’
‘Mr DuQuesne go to Pennsylvania.’
‘I see. Did he say when he was going to be back in LA?’
‘He never back.’
‘Excuse me? He’s left LA for good?’
‘He never back. He die.’
‘Mr DuQuesne is dead? I can’t believe it.’
‘You Mr Rook, yes? He left a message for you. Hold on. No hang up.’
Jim waited for two or three minutes, and eventually she came back. ‘You want I should read?’
‘Of course, yes, sure – if you can.’
‘I good read English. It say, “Dear Jim, if you are reading this then I am dead. I was inspired by your hunt for the Swimmer, and so I am going to do something that I have been promising myself for many years that I would do, but have never summoned up the nerve. I am leaving tomorrow for Pennsylvania to find Mad Frank Butler – or whatever it was that murdered my brother. This time I am going to lay this urban legend once and for all. I want you to wish me luck.”’
‘And?’ asked Jim. ‘What happened to him?’
‘Very sorry to say, Pennsylvania police find Mr DuQuesne dead yesterday afternoon in the woods. Bits and pieces all over.’
‘Did they find his feet?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m very sorry to hear that. I hope you’ll accept my condolences.’
Jim hung up, and sat back in his chair. The sun was going down and the apartment was filled with warm amber light. In his hand he was holding the necklace that he had bought at the psychic fair at De Longpre Park, the Sunday morning that he had first met Susan. It had predicted that he would die tomorrow, on the thirteenth day of the month.
But what was death? Leaving your life behind, and going someplace new? Ending a chapter, or starting something fresh? Was it a blessing, or a torment?
He took the necklace and dropped it into the wastebin. Then he went into the bathroom and furiously brushed his teeth, with tears streaming down his cheeks.
Swimmer Page 24