The Maine Massacre (20 page)

16

T
HE COMMISSARIS, THE SHERIFF, AND THE SERGEANT thanked Beth and said they didn't want any more coffee. They had drunk three mugs each, they had eaten her homemade ice cream, and the ice cream was still settling on her stew and the many fresh rolls served with it.

"Just let us sit here and enjoy your stove's heat and tell me how much money you want of me. You're a good cook, Beth."

The commissaris and the sergeant agreed. Beth smiled. She began to clear the table, and the three men waited and smoked.

"So that was all," the sheriff said when Beth was clattering her pots and pans again. "You've told a few stories and I've told some of mine. The fox and Albert are free. Everybody is free except old Bill. The state cops took him, but they promised to treat him good. Leroux is out on bail and Astrinsky is home. All I have in jail now is the old man who doesn't want to go home because he's still out of firewood. I might get him some, but then I won't have anyone to do chores."

"No prisoners," the commissaris said. "But there seems no shortage of suspects."

"Sure. We now know that Mary Brewer was murdered. We also know that Carl Davidson was murdered. When you were away I spoke to that old Indian I told you about who sometimes accompanied Carl when he was wandering in the woods. He says that Carl froze to death because he didn't have any matches. He also says that Carl always carried matches. Carl was a careful man who wouldn't forget a necessity. He doesn't think that Carl got lost, but if he had got lost he would have found a tree and set it alight. The Indian taught him that trick. Indians don't bother to cut wood when they have to make camp in a hurry. They find a dead hollow tree and make it burn. A good-sized tree burns all night. They sleep fifteen feet away, and they don't sleep too deeply since the tree may fall over. The tree makes a strange sound when it bums. The air roars up and the tree becomes a flute.
Whoooo, whooo,
the Indian said. But Carl was found frozen in the snow. The Indian says somebody was out in the woods with Carl that day. Our suspect stole Carl's matches and ran away."

"If the Indian knew the victim so well he may have a suspicion. Did he mention a suspect?"

The sheriff shook his head. "Indians don't name names, sir, and the locals don't either. Everybody for himself. They'll help up to a point. It's quite something that the Indian says he thinks Carl Davidson was killed. I tried to press a little further, but he just smiled and drank his beer. White man's business, not his. He went back to the reserve. He wouldn't sign a statement. He says he can't write."

"Can he write?"

"Sure he can write."

"Good," the commissaris said. "But we are getting the same sort of information. Everything tells us that we are dealing with crime, but nothing so far points to any specific person."

The sheriff began to fill in a check. He looked up. "But I don't want to stop now, sir. The case is moving."

"It is, sheriff. Can I make some suggestions?"

"Please."

"1 would like you to authorize me to pay another visit to Jeremy's Island. There's something there. The sergeant and I saw three dogs, but when Madelin flew us around the island she said that Jeremy has four dogs and that he takes one dog ashore with him if he goes shopping."

"That's right. Osiris, a big black Doberman. It stays close to Jeremy."

"Osiris is the missing dog. And you remember that Janet Wash told me a lie about the accident with her wagon and that my sister saw Jeremy helping her out of the overturned car? Maybe it all means nothing, but another visit to Jeremy would do no harm. He has not been helpful, apart from mentioning Mary Brewer's boat. I can tell him that his suspicion was proved by your investigation of the boat, and I can ask him about the accident and the missing dog."

"Sure, go ahead. Do you want to take the sergeant?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Anything else you would like to do, sir?"

"Yes, I would like to see the fox."

"Right. I have something in mind too. Leroux is free on bail, but the charge against him is assaulting an officer. I can still withdraw the charge. If I don't he'll be fined a lot of money, and he has no money. He has a wife and two kids. Leroux has lived here all his life. He has worked with the fox. They've been out logging together. He has also worked on the Cape Orca estate. Reggie employs him as a gardener in the summer. The BMF gang members have also worked on the estate. You can't see it now, but that estate is very beautiful. Reggie has planted an azalea garden, there are big lawns sloping down to the sea on the north side, there is a little forest of white pines that he keeps clean, there's a wildflower reserve with little bridges and ponds. He can't take care of all that by himself so he gets help, and Leroux is usually in charge of the help. Leroux has worked for Jeremy too, when the hermit's cabin was shifted to the other side of the island. And Astrinsky has employed Leroux. Leroux is a handyman, but right now he is out of work. It so happens that I know a man in the county who has bought a lot of used chain saws and other machines, lawnmowers, little tractors, and so forth, that he is repairing and rebuilding for resale. He asked me if I knew of somebody who could help him. Leroux knows that type of work, and I can bring the two together and get Leroux a job for the rest of the winter. But I'll do nothing if he doesn't give me information. I want to know everything he knows about all our suspects, no matter how trivial or far-fetched."

"Good," the commissaris said and suppressed a yawn. 'Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, sir. How are you planning to get to the island? The channel froze yesterday. A boat can't get through now, and you can't walk over either because die current is breaking up the ice again."

"A plane," the commissaris said and smiled. "I am getting used to flying in small planes. You think you can persuade Madelin to take us out again tomorrow, sergeant?"

"There'll be snow on Jeremy's airstrip too, sir, I think. I'll ask Madelin and let you know."

"The Astrinsky plane can be fitted with skis."

The sheriff gave his check to Beth. "That was a very good meal indeed, Beth."

The woman smiled.

"What do you think, Beth," the sheriff asked suddenly. "You're lived here all your life. Do you think we're doing the right thing? What about all these dead people on Cape Orca. Should we just let them be dead?"

Beth's smile faded slowly. "I don't know, sheriff. I've been wondering. I've been a free woman all my life. I don't hold with uniforms and stiff hats and those big cars you and the deputies scream around in. But I don't hold with the black cloud over Cape Orca either. It's been there long enough now. Maybe it should be pushed away."

"What do you know about the cloud, Beth?"

The woman was walking back to her wood range. She opened its lid and threw in a log.

"What do you know, Beth?"

She turned around. "There'll be more snow tonight, sheriff. I wish it was rain. Rain is easier to shovel man snow."

17

T
HE CESSNA'S SHORT WIDE SKIS SKIDDED OVER THE LOOSE snow of Jeremy's airstrip. The flight had been flawless, up to the last few moments, when a crosswind grabbed the plane so that it approached the strip like a rag thrown by a tired charwoman. But it managed to straighten out at the final split second. The commissaris didn't know—he had closed his eyes. The plane would roll over and the cabin would crush. He was waiting. But there was only the roar of the engine and the sharp hiss of the skis. He opened bis eyes and tried to smile. So much for his death wish. He had so often told himself that he would like to die in an accident. He looked at his hands, clutching his knees, and ordered them to release the safety belt. They obeyed, but they took their time.

"Well done," the commissaris said. "Well done, Made-lin."

The sergeant breathed out sharply. De Gier's eyes had been closed too, and he had remembered the skeleton riding its black steed in Madeira's dining room. A different scene but of the same quality.

"I'm sorry," Madelin snouted over the engine's din. "Did I give you a fright? That wind came so suddenly. I wasn't expecting it."

"You did," the sergeant said and put a hand under the commissaris' elbow. The commissaris was clambering out of the small door, looking down into the long snouts and cold eyes of Jeremy's Dobermans. The three dogs growled softly. The raven swooped from a pine behind the cabin and fluttered to the plane's wing.

Jeremy himself came striding up.

"Morning, Madelin. You're bringing unexpected visitors. Shame on you, you're breaking the code." But he smiled as he helped the commissaris down and told the dogs to go away. "Don't we have a lovely climate here? Snow all night while we're tucked away under our comforters and a bright sky awaiting in the morning. You've had breakfast? You can share mine if you don't mind celery soup, and I'm not quite out of coffee, I believe. Are you bringing me news from the mainland, or have you thought of more questions?"

The dogs were nuzzling his boots and he spoke to them sharply. They turned, one after another, and trotted away to the woods. "That's right. Go back to your squirrel catching." He pointed. "That's what they do these days. A big squirrel out there keeps them amused. He'll come down and chatter from a stump and only jump for cover when they're just about on top of him. Once he's in die pines he's worth watching. A ten-foot leap from tree to tree is nothing to him. It's marvelous to see his silhouette against the rising sun. I'm sure he knows that he'll be nothing but a bit of bloody fur when those devils get hold of him. Would you follow me? The cabin is good and warm. Out here the wind will rip your noses off."

"I am sorry to disturb you again, sir," the commissaris said as he settled himself close to the cookstove and ate his celery soup. "But we are coming to the end of our business here and are collecting some last answers to some last questions."

Jeremy frowned. The commissaris smiled. He pointed at his bowl with his spoon. "Excellent soup, sir. I must tell my wife. She makes it too, but she forgets to put in the fried bread."

Jeremy smiled back. "Looks like duckweed. But tastes better, I hope. You have questions? Ask away, but perhaps I won't answer. A bad answer spoils a good question. Some questions should be permitted to live on."

The commissaris put his bowl down and glanced at Madelin. There was a vacant chair, so it wasn't necessary for the girl to sit with the sergeant on his small bench. Her thigh was pressed against his. The sergeant was smoking and staring at the floor. He didn't appear to be at ease.

"Some time ago," the commissaris said, "about a week ago I believe, Janet Wash rolled her station wagon off a Cape Orca road. The car nearly went over the cliff but was stopped and held by some alder trees. I was told you were there and helped the lady out of her car's wreck."

"That's right. Very clumsy of Janet. She should know how to drive on an icy road by now, but down she went. She wasn't hurt, fortunately, and the car was insured. No harm done."

"Some harm was done, sir. It seems to me the wagon killed your dog Osiris. You must have been upset since you love your animals. Osiris was your favorite, wasn't he? He was the dog who accompanied you to town, and you never allow the other dogs to leave the island. What did you do with his corpse?"

"Ah," Jeremy said and fussed with his pipe. "True. He was my favorite dog. But he died, by accident as it turned out. He just happened to get into the station wagon's way, and the car was out of control by then. The corpse, you say. I took him back to the island and burned him at the end of the airstrip. Couldn't bury him, the ground was frozen. But he had a proper farewell. I burned him at sunset and the other dogs attended. So did the raven. I had wanted the seals to come too, but they're frightened of the dogs. They did watch from afar, however."

The commissaris' pale almost transparent eyes rested on Jeremy's face. The hermit was having some trouble with his pipe.

"Mrs. Wash must have been troubled about the accident, sir. You weren't hurt in any way? Were you standing next to Osiris when the wagon hit him?"

Jeremy got up and collected the empty bowls. He poured coffee and distributed the mugs. He sat down again. Madelin's thigh was no longer pressing against de Gier's. The sergeant was staring at the suspect. There was no expression in his eyes. Jeremy's silence became oppressive. Madelin crossed and recrossed her legs.

"Yes," Jeremy said finally. "I jumped out of the car's way. Any further questions?"

The commissaris smiled pleasantly. "I said I was sorry to disturb you. But I am curious, and perhaps my curiosity can help to dispel the black cloud over Cape Orca. That expression isn't mine. Beth gave it to me last night when we were having dinner at her restaurant."

"Beth!" Jeremy said gruffly. "There's a meddling woman for you. She doesn't like the idea of me living here by myself and insists on giving me things for free. Ice cream and stuff. Excellent ice cream for sure, but I'm not asking for favors. I am always giving her things in return. Potatoes, vegetables when I have them. I don't like to feel grateful. It's like feeling guilty." He suddenly blew into his pipe, and smoke and sparks filled his corner of the cabin. A spark smoldered on the rug, but Jeremy didn't move. The sergeant stretched a long leg and stamped it out. Jeremy turned to the commissaris. "You know what I mean?"

There was too much intensity in the question to let it go. The commissaris bowed forward a little as if to acknowledge the seriousness of the moment. "Yes."

"Good."

The commissaris sat back and puffed peacefully on his cigar. "One last point, sir. You told me when we came here for the first time that you bought your island from an agency that has since left the town of Jameson. The owner, you said, was a gambler and in urgent need of money."

Jeremy looked into his pipe. "Yes, I said that. Would you want the name of that guy?"

"I would."

The raven tapped on the window. Jeremy got up, opened the window, waited for the bird to hop onto his arm, and closed it again. He turned around. "I don't recall the name now. Something with a v in it. I have it on the tip of my tongue. The island's deed has the name, but to find that bit of paper would be a major undertaking." He waved at some cartons stacked in the back of the cabin. "Might take all day. Ah, it has come back to me. Reynolds! Yes, sir. That's the fellow, or was. Probably's blown his brains out by now. Gamblers usually do."

Jeremy walked them back to the plane, followed by his dogs at a respectable distance. When they passed the woods the squirrel made a brief appearance, balanced precariously on the tip of a branch and chattering furiously at the dogs. The Dobermans snarled and jumped. The squirrel honked, a long deep sound like a blast from a saxophone. Then its mood changed and it chirped, turned, and disappeared into the pine needles.

Madelin laughed. "He's very much like you, Jeremy."

"Not quite," Jeremy said, "but he's learning."

He shook the commissaris' hand and nodded at de Gier. "Thank you for coming, gentlemen. I hope I haven't disappointed you."