The Web (6 page)

He drained his bottle and put it down. “I’ll have you
guys over for dinner.”

“Where do you live?” I said.

“Just up there.” He tilted his head toward the hillside.
“Spent a few days up at Moreland’s but couldn’t take
it. Too intense—he is something, isn’t he?”

“He seems very dedicated.”

“Easy to be dedicated when you’re loaded. Did you know
his father was a big San Francisco investment honcho?”

I shook my head.

“
Big
bucks. Mega. Owned a brokerage house, some
banks, ranchland all over wine country. Moreland’s an
only child, inherited
the whole kit and k. How else could he keep that place
going? Not that it’s going to matter. Lost cause.”

“What is?” said Robin.

“Saving this place. I don’t want to put a downer on
your trip, but Aruk’s on the way out. No natural resources,
no industry. No industriousness. Talk about your slackers—look
at that beach. They don’t even have the energy to swim.
The smart ones keep leaving. Only a matter of time
before it looks like one of those cartoon desert islands,
shipwrecked loser under a palm tree.”

“I hope not,” said Robin. “It’s so beautiful.”

Creedman inched closer to her. “Maybe so, Robin, but
let’s face it, ebb and flow is part of the life rhythm—that’s
a theme of my book.”

“How much of the island’s decline is due to the Navy’s
blocking the southern road?” I said.

“Have you been to Stanton?”

“No.”

“If that’s a base, I’m a sea anemone. The only incoming
flights are to feed and clothe the skeleton crew that runs
the place. Letting a few sailors come into town to get drunk
and laid doesn’t create a viable economy.”

“What happens to Stanton after the island closes down?”

“Who knows? Maybe the Navy will sell the island. Or
maybe they’ll just let it sit here.”

“The base has no strategic value?”

“Not since the Cold War ended. Main thing is there’s no
constituency here. Seagulls don’t vote.”

“So you don’t think the Navy’s intentionally shutting
the island down?”

“Who told you that?”

“A guest up at the estate suggested it.”

“Dr. Picker.” He chuckled. “Kind of an asshole, isn’t
he? Couple more weeks in the sun, he’ll be spotting Amelia
Earhart skinny-dipping in the lagoon with Judge Crater. Sure
you don’t want another?”

I shook my head.

“Actually,” said Robin, petting Spike, “we were going to
do some snorkeling.”

We stood and I tried to put money on the table.

“On me,” said Creedman. “How often do
I get to have an intelligent conversation. And your pooch is
okay, too. Didn’t pee on me.”

He walked us back to the Jeep.

“I like to cook. Have you up for dinner sometime.”

We got in the car. He leaned into Robin’s window and
took off his sunglasses. His eyes were small and very dark,
scanning slowly.

“There was a good reason
for blockading the south road,” he said. “Public safety.”

“Disease control?” I said.

“If you consider murder a disease. It happened half a
year ago. Local girl found on the beach, right where you’re
headed. Raped and mangled pretty badly. The details never
came out. Moreland can give them to you—he did the autopsy.
Villagers were sure the murderer was some sailor because that
kind of thing just doesn’t happen here, right? At least not
since they massacred the Japanese.” He chuckled. “Some of
the young bloods worked themselves up and started hiking up to
Stanton for a tête-à-tête with Captain
Ewing. Navy guards stopped them, a little civil
unrest
resulted. Soon after, the Navy started building that blockade.”

He shrugged. “Sorry to darken your day, but one thing
I’ve learned: the only real escape is in your head.”

Putting his shades back on, he walked back to his table,
scooped up his Filofax, and went inside the restaurant.

I started up the Jeep, shifted into first, and pulled
away.

Just as I shifted into second, the sound hit—a giant
paper bag being popped. Then a swirling black plume spiraled
up from behind the volcano tips, rising high above them,
inking the perfect sky.

Chapter

9

Spike’s neck was bow-tight. He growled and sniffed the
air and began to bark. The people on the dock pointed up at
the explosion.

Robin’s hand was clamped around my wrist.

“Navy maneuvers?” I said.

“At a nonfunctional base?”

I reversed the Jeep quickly. As I passed the Chop Suey
Palace, Jacqui stepped out, still holding her dishtowel. Her
curiosity and fear stayed in my head as I sped back to the
airfield.

Harry Amalfi stood near his house, looking dazed.
Studying the black smoke as if it bore a message.

We drove up right behind him and got out, but he didn’t
move. Shouts made all three of us pivot.

Skip Amalfi and the other shark carver were running toward us.
The older man wore bathing trunks too long for his stocky legs.

Harry Amalfi said, “It’s a good craft.”

“Was,” said Skip Amalfi’s companion. His voice was soft, his
eyes rainwater gray, very close-set.

Skip said, “Maybe he fucked up and flooded the engine or
something, Dad.”

Amalfi turned back to the sky. The smoke was thinning
and curling.

The other man shaded his eyes and looked upward, too.
“Looks like it might have gone down right over Stanton.”

“Probably,” said Skip. “Probably right on the fucking
tarmac.”

His father started to say something, then shuffled back
toward his front porch.

“Want me to call over there?” said Skip. “See if it
went down there?”

Amalfi didn’t answer. Pulling a bandana out of his
pocket, he wiped his face and kept trudging.

“Shit deal,” said Skip’s companion. The gray eyes
washed over Robin, then checked to see if I was watching.
I was. He nodded.

“Major shit,” said Skip.

“He probably did flood it.”

Skip turned to us. “Dumb fuck said he knew how to fly.
Did he?”

“Just met him yesterday,” I said.

He shook his head disgustedly.

“Probably got it up there and flooded it first thing,”
said the gray-eyed man, pushing his hand through wild, curly hair.

“His poor wife,” said Robin. “She didn’t want to go.”

“Asshole said he knew what he was doing,” said Skip.
“You guys come
back
here for something?”

We returned to the Jeep and I drove toward the bamboo
thatch. Just as I was about to turn onto the dirt path, Jo Picker
came running out, hatless, her big purse flopping against
her thigh.

Her mouth was open and her eyes were wide and blank.
She kept coming toward us and I jammed the brakes. Slapping
her hands on the Jeep’s hood, she stared at us through the
windshield.

Robin jumped out and embraced her. Spike wanted to jump
out but I restrained him. He hadn’t relaxed since the
explosion.

All that remained in the sky were gray wisps.

Jo said, “No, oh God, no!” She struggled away from
Robin and I saw her mouth contort.

Off in the distance, Skip and the gray-eyed man watched.

We finally got her in the Jeep and drove home. She cried softly till
we got through the big, open gates and close to the house. Then: “We
had a—I was planning to
go
but I got scared!”

Ben was already outside, KiKo on his shoulder, along
with Gladys and a crew of men in work clothes. This close, I
could still see hints of smoke. The noise would have been
louder up here.

Jo had stopped crying and looked stunned. Robin helped
ease her out of the Jeep, and she and Gladys walked her into the
house.

Ben said, “So it
was
him. I wasn’t sure. He couldn’t
have been up long.”

“Not long at all.”

“Did you see the plane?”

“We saw a bunch of them when we dropped him off.”

“Junk,” he said. “Whole thing was stupid. No point.”

“Amalfi’s son said he might have come down on the base.”

“Or darn close to it.
Forget about retrieving the body.”

He turned to the house. “Why didn’t she go up with him?
Cold feet?”

I nodded.

“Well, she was the smart one,” he said. “You
try to tell people. .   .   . Dr. Bill talked to
Picker this morning. Picker just got rude.”

“Does Dr. Bill know yet?” said Robin.

He nodded. “I called him at the clinic.
He’s on his way up.”

“My first thought was some sort of military maneuver,” I
said. “Does the Navy ever shoot anything in the air?”

“The only things that fly in and out of there are big
transports. If one of those went down, you’d think the
volcano had erupted.”

A white subcompact came barreling through the gates and
stopped short, scattering gravel.
POLICE
was stenciled in
blue on the door. Pam Moreland was in the front passenger seat.
A man was driving.

They both got out. Pam looked frightened. The man was
good-looking, in his late twenties and huge—six four,
two fifty, with nose-tackle shoulders and enormous hands. His skin
was bronze with islander features, but his hair was light brown
and his eyes pale hazel.

He had on a short-sleeved sky-blue shirt and razor-creased
blue pants over military lace-ups. A silver badge was
pinned to the breast pocket, but he had no club or gun. Pam matched
his stride.

“This is terrible,” she said.

The big man clasped Ben’s hand. “Hey,” he said in a
deep voice.

Ben said, “Hey, Dennis, some mess. Folks, meet Dennis
Laurent, our chief of police.”

Laurent shook both our hands, noticed Spike and
suppressed a smile. His gaze was intense.

“Anyone know how many people were in the plane?” he
said.

“Just Lyman Picker,” I said. “His wife started to go but
changed her mind. She’s in the house.”

He shook his head. “Can’t remember anything like this.”

“Never happened,” said Ben. “Because no one goes up in
Harry’s heaps. You figure it crashed on Stanton?”

“Either there or right near the eastern border. I
called Ewing, got put on hold. Finally his aide says he’s
busy, will get back to me.”

“Busy,” said Ben with scorn.

Laurent said, “The wife’s probably going to want
details.” He put on mirrored sunglasses and looked around
some more. “Guess she’s in no shape now.”

“She’s in shock,” said Robin.

“Yeah,” said Laurent. “Let me know if she wants to talk
to me or if there’s anything I can do for her. Weren’t they
supposed to be leaving soon?”

“In a week or so,” said Pam. “She’s just about finished
her work.”

Laurent nodded. “Weather research. She came into the
station a couple of weeks ago with this little laptop
computer, wanting to know if we kept storm records. I told
her we really never got the big ones so we didn’t. Any idea
why her husband went up in the first place?”

“To take pictures of the jungle,” said Ben. “Prove to
his colleagues he’d been here.”

“He was a scientist, too, right?”

“Botanist.”

“So what was he looking at, the banyans?”

“He wasn’t really working,” said Pam. “Told us he was bored.
Tagging along after her probably made him feel like a
third foot. Maybe he just wanted to do some flying.”

Laurent digested that. “Well, too bad he picked this time
and place. .   .   . Harry probably should have been closed
down, but like you said, no one used him. I hope the wife doesn’t
think we’re going to be able to do any big FAA-type
investigation. If he went down in the jungle, we’ll be lucky
to get the body.”

He shook his head again. Pam had been
standing close to him and she moved nearer. A downward flick
of a hazel eye acknowledged her presence. Laurent put his
hands in his pockets and stretched the fabric with his fists.

Then he looked at the Jeep, the diving gear still piled
on the back seat. “Someone snorkeling?”

“We were on our way when it happened,” said Robin.

“We were vacationing.”

“How’d the kids at the clinic react?” I
said.

“They don’t know exactly what happened yet,” she said.
“Some of them looked up when they heard the noise, but
their minds were on their shots.
We just kept the line going for a
while and then broke for a snack.”

“How many shots did you get through?” said Ben.

“About half. We were going to finish this afternoon,
but I guess not.”

“Planning to dive at South Beach lagoon?” Laurent asked
us.

“Yes,” said Robin.

“It’s beautiful there,” he said. “Give it another go when
you’re ready. Life generally goes smoothly here.”

Pam walked him back to his car and stayed to talk after
he got behind the wheel.

Ben called out KiKo’s name, and the monkey and Spike
followed us into the house. Cheryl was washing the front
room’s big windows and didn’t turn to acknowledge us. Except
for the hiss of the glass-cleaner spray, the interior was
silent.

Robin said, “I think I’ll go up and see how Jo’s
doing.”

She hurried up the stairs.

“Something to drink?” Ben asked me.

“No, thanks. We had a couple of beers in town. A guy
named Creedman was buying.”

“Oh?” He stared straight ahead. “Where’d he snag you,
front of the Palace?”

“Does he make a habit of snagging people there?”

“That’s his spot. I figured he’d go for you, being
outsiders and all that. He used to live here for a while.”

“He mentioned that.”

“Did he also mention he was asked to leave?”

“No. He said it was too intense an environment for
him.”

“Intense? I guess you could say that.”

He turned and looked me in the eye. “The thing you need
to understand is that Dr. Bill is the most hospitable person
you’ll ever meet. Anyone visits the island, they get an
invite. That’s how the Pickers ended up here, and after
meeting them you can see what a patient man Dr. Bill is.
Creedman was also extended hospitality. He was up here for
only three days when we found him snooping around.”

“Snooping where?”

“Dr. Bill’s office. I caught him red-handed. Not that
there’s anything to hide, but patient info’s confidential.
Except, of course, for something scientific like you and Dr.
Bill are doing. Some thanks for hospitality, huh?”

“Did he have an excuse?”

“Nope.” His jaw bunched the way it had when Picker had
asked him to serve drinks, and he pushed his aviators up his
nose. “He tried to laugh it off. Said he was taking a walk
and had just wandered in looking for something to read.
Except the books were in the back room and he was in the
front, so give me a break. I called him on it and he told me
to screw myself. Then he complained to Dr. Bill that I’d
harassed him. Dr. Bill might have tolerated the snooping, but
he didn’t appreciate Creedman badmouthing me. Did he
badmouth us some more?”

“Not really,” I said. “But he did say the reason the
southern road was blockaded was because of a murder half a
year ago. A local girl killed on the beach, and passions
toward the Navy got high.”

“The guy makes like
he’s an ace reporter—probably told you he was a media
hotshot, right? Truth is he was strictly small-time. And
keep him away from Ms. Castagna. He thinks he’s God’s gift
to women.”

“So I noticed. But she can handle herself.”

“My wife can, too, but he still annoyed her. Right
after I kicked him out. Came up to her in the market,
making small talk, offering to carry her bags. Real subtle.”

He shoved his glasses harder. “Did you meet the owner
of the Palace, a tall woman named Jacqui?”

I nodded.

“He came on to
her,
too, till he found out she was
Chief Laurent’s mother.”

“She looks way too young.”

“She’s in her forties, had Dennis when she was a
teenager. She and Dennis are good people.
He was a couple of grades behind me. Jacqui’s half islander,
half Cauc, originally from Saipan. Dennis’s dad was a French sea
captain, used to run cargo boats between the bigger islands,
died at sea just before Dennis was born. She
raised him right. Anyway, do what you want, but in my humble
opinion Creedman’s someone to avoid.
He just hangs out all day, acting
superior.”

“He told us he was working on a book.”

“Maybe a book on beer.” His laugh was merciless.

“Speaking of unwanted attention,” I said, “the guy who
was working on the shark with Skip Amalfi seemed to notice
Robin too. Any potential
problems there?”

“That’s Anders Haygood. He’s a bit of a lowlife, but no
problems with him so far. Came over a year ago, mostly
keeps to himself. Lives in back of Harry’s place.”

“Working for Harry?”

“Odd jobs now and then. Once in a while someone brings
them an appliance to fix or a car to tune. Basically, he and
Skip are beach bums and Harry’s an old bum.”

He laughed. “I’m some chamber of commerce, huh? By
now you probably think Aruk’s nothing but lowlife. But
between Skip and Harry and Haygood and Creedman, you’ve just
about exhausted the list. Everyone else is great. You’ll
end up having a great time.”