Janwillem De Wetering - Just a Corpse at Twilight

The commissaris waved imperiously. The recorder clicked off. "That's it," the commissaris said, "that's what Grijpstra has to follow up on. See what I mean? If only I could tell him. And it's so easy. He has that Ishmael, the pilot with his aircraft." He began to hit the bathwater again.

Smick. Smeck.

"Don't do that," Katrien said. "You can be very irritating, Jan. I've just sponged the floor."

Smick. Smack.

"I'll turn on the cold water."

"De Gier would catch on," the commissaris said, "but he's into philosophy again. Clogs his mind. And Grijpstra is slow, slow"

"You think de Gier will kill himself once he's sure he really kicked a pregnant woman to death?" Katrien asked as she helped the commissaris to get out of his bath.

The commissaris kept shaking his head.

"Jan! You have arthritis, not Parkinson's."

"Hmmm?"

"Will de Gier kill himself?"

"If subjects keep talking about it they may do it in the end," the commissaris said. "There's some conclusive statistical evidence I believe."

"Oh dear…" She dropped the towel.

"Like Jeremy," the commissaris said. "I like that. Once the situation is terminal, once /decide the situation is terminal, not some goddamn doctor, eh?" He nestled into the towel that she held up again. "And then, on that mysterious coast, where everything still happens, the last unpolluted water on earth, with loons escorting the boat, and an eagle above me, Katrien, to row myself into nothing at all, some quiet spot between ledges, behind a hilly island with dead trees on it, and cormorants in the branches, drying their spread-out wings…"

"And then the angel comes down and gently teleports you through Limbo but you manage to withstand all self-seeking temptations until you change into pure light?" Katrien asked, rubbing him dry. "You'd have to use a gun. You don't just evaporate, you know. A gun is messy."

"I can buy a gun there," the commissaris said. "On Main Street. Perkins' Sports Store. America recognizes a man's right to carry arms."

"I was talking about de Gier," Katrien said.

He kissed her. "The ego tends to discuss itself, Katrien."

There were ravens in the sky around the Tailorcraft, circling and soaring in quiet splendor, not going down to check out carrion below.

"The gulls?" Grijpstra asked.

Ishmael handled his controls obediently, making the little plane follow two black-winged gulls. The birds weren't scavenging but were picking up mussels, dropping them to break their shells to get at the juicy meat inside.

Tension rose as Ishmael spotted an eagle, and managed to fly alongside the huge bird for a while. The eagle majestically dipped and raised its wings, showing the large white finger feathers at their ends. The eagle led the plane to a fish-filled cove where it harassed a smaller bird, an osprey, until the fish hawk dropped the mackerel it had just grabbed and the eagle caught the shiny prey neatly.

"Nothing dead here," Ishmael said. "Didn't you say that your dead object had to be fairly close to Squid Island? Okay if I turn back a bit again?"

Grijpstra saw Squid Island below, Bar Island next to it, and then Jeremy's island, with the remains of a cabin and what looked like broken sun panels in a frame on posts. Ishmael circled slowly. "Jeremy had set up his own electricity source. Got himself a computer and a printer."

"Writing something?" Grijpstra asked.

"I found a title and some disconnected notes."

"What was the title?"

"AfterZen" Ishmael said. "Jeremy studied Buddhism once but he said you don't carry a boat after it has taken you to the other shore."

"Clever hermit," Grijpstra said. "Now, if local people were burying a corpse, and they didn't have much time, you think they would dig deep?"

Ishmael thought so. A shallow grave wouldn't just attract birds, but animals as well. Raccoons are good diggers. "If it were me I would dig down six feet, and top it with some good-sized rocks."

"But doesn't that take time?"

"Maybe not so much time. We're all part-time clammers here. Everybody keeps equipment for digging clams on their boats."

The plane was circling Bar Island.

"Now what were we looking for again?" Ishmael asked. "Something dead, you said? Something human?"

Grijpstra mumbled.

"Anyone I know?"

Grijpstra was looking at Bar Island.

"I would have noticed," Ishmael said. "I'm up here a lot ofthe time. If there's any carrion, I see the birds eat it. There may be dead seals on the rocks, or dolphins, or pilot whales. Could be in the woods, a deer, or a moose. I always fly low to check it out. One never knows. I've found backpackers needing bug spray, fugitives in search of food, crazed veterans who've got to be told the war is over."

"You did that?" Grijpstra asked.

"Sure."

"You're your brother's keeper?"

"I hardly know my brother," Ishmael said. "It's the frustrated family thing, I think. One tends to replace unlovable loved ones by perfect strangers."

There seemed nothing out of the way below, except perhaps de Gier, who was out with his trusty Nikon, walking around on Squid Island's shore.

"Looking for Mr. Bear again," Ishmael said. He had seen Mr. Bear, an impressive black-and-brown specimen, clambering ashore near the Point at daybreak. Hairy Harry and Billy Boy were always looking for Mr. Bear too. Mr. Bear and Hairy Harry were the same size but Mr. Bear had hair all over. Mr. Bear was Hairy Harry's nemesis. Ishmael thought Mr. Bear inhabited Jeremy Island. Jeremy had said he had met sleepy bears wandering around his island on unseasonably warm winter days when they'd wake up and take the air before turning in again. In summer they were more likely to roam a large area.

"What else do you have here?" Grijpstra asked. "Wolves?"

"No," Ishmael said, "only coyotes. You can hear them howl when the moon is full or when the fire engine is testing out its siren in Jameson."

Grijpstra was looking down at Bar Island. He pointed. "Like that maybe?"

Ishmael said that coyotes were a bit bigger and tan colored. "That's Kathy Two coming back from her walk. The old junker must be close." Ishmael located the Kaihy Three, anchored in a cove near the Point. "Flash must have put the dog ashore." Ishmael chuckled. "Kathy Two likes to call on Lorraine."

He pointed at the cabin cruiser. "Doing some work for a change, fishing for dinner."

Flash and Bad George, on folding chairs, feet on the railing, phallically raised their rods to greet the airplane.

Grijpstra thought it was interesting that a man would believe that a small woolly dog was his mother. Ishmael thought it was funny too but he had known Kathy One and there was a kind of everlasting indignation in the woman that this dog showed too-the same defiant attitude toward a universe created for the sole purpose of annoying her.

"And another thing," Ishmael said, "when Kathy Two is all done for the day and does her summing-up rumination on the boat's bow… the way she sits there, with her long tufted ears stuck out sideways, like braids on a Passama-quoddy woman-Flash's mother was part Native American, I'll have you know-and the face a little forward, that's Kathy One all right."

"Woman comes back as dog," Grijpstra said.

"There couldn't be no such thing," Ishmael agreed.

The Tailorcraft fluttered back to sea after weaving its goodbyes around the old cruiser.

"Old tub is ready to sink. Would fill up overnight if they didn't keep two bilge pumps going, which exhausts their batteries, and they're always short of fuel to regenerate them."

"So what if she sinks?" Grijpstra asked, "What happens to her proud owners?"

"Their type doesn't take well to handouts," Ishmael said.

"Then what?"

"Take handouts, what else?" Ishmael asked. "Food stamps for dog food. Public assistance check for booze. Housing Authority for rent."