Janwillem De Wetering - Just a Corpse at Twilight

Grijpstra watched the dinghy get smaller as it left the channel between the islands, then reach the open ocean, an immense flat expanse, where it became a dot, then nothing.

Grijpstra, wandering about Jeremy Island again, found an aluminum rowboat near Jeremy's former cabin. Rowing to the Point didn't take too long. HefoundapayphoneatthePointYjetty. Grijpstra dialed.

"SherifFs Office, Billy speaking. How may we help you?"

Billy Boy picked Grijpstra up in his jeep. He raised the Kathy Three by radio, specifying the dinghy's last-known location and direction.

"Not to worry," Billy Boy told Grijpstra. "They can't miss him on a clear night like this."

"He might take ofFagain," said Grijpstra. "He's not in the best of moods, you know."

"Depressed?" Billy Boy seemed surprised. "Suicidal? Our nature lover? How come?"

Grijpstra explained that de Gier was not your average balanced type. An alcoholic of de Gier's philosophical inclinations was likely to challenge fete at odd moments. He and de Gier had been partying earlier that night, de Gier had been drinking. The moon was full.

Billy Boy leaned over and sniffed Grijpstra's breath. "Drinking alone, was he?"

Too true, Grijpstra affirmed. De Gier would do that, get drunk on his own, go through sudden mood shifts, become paranoid, wander off by himself.

The deputy sighed. "You wouldn't think so, Krip, but I understand. Take de Gier now. Things may be going well enough, here he is able to enjoy a summer in paradise, something, could be any little thing, snaps-de Gier faces the ravine."

Billy Boy touched Grijpstra's arm. "That's what I call it. You kind of suddenly drop. You can drop through the bottom. Maybe there's no bottom, Krip. Maybe there's a free fall forever."

"Kind of frightening," Grijpstra said.

Billy Boy agreed. But there was another thing worth discussing. "Take me now. You think I'm bad people, right? Letting you go when you were in trouble." Billy Boy pointed toward the sea. "About the same spot I would say, and I couldlet your partner go now but this time I'll help out."

Bats flew around the parked jeep, excitedly squeaking while diving at night moths. "Don't got much choice," Billy Boy said. "As for me, I'd rather be making boat models but here I am doing God knows what."

Grijpstra said he'd rather be painting dead ducks.

"Making models for a living," Billy Boy said. "Little lobster boats, every detail exact, I'd like that, Krip. But here I am, all preoccupied with being me and with my worries, letting you go at sea, storm and all." He laughed. "Wasn't that fun?"

Grijpstra didn't think it was fun.

"Listen," Billy Boy said. "Think of the other guy's fun for a change. Why be you?" He gestured. "Be me."

Grijpstra said that wasn't so easy.

"Let me illustrate." Billy Boy gestured. "All this land here was Indian land, you know that? Not so long ago. There were two tribes, one tribe to each shore. The bay was full of fish, not like now when the fishing industry scoops them up with sensitive machinery so there ain't none left. But back then, when we hadn't got around to doing away with fish yet, the Indians couldn't eat no fish either." He looked at Grijpstra. "Why not? Because the tribe this side ofthe bay kept spearing andshootingarrows at the other tribe from the other side of the bay. Anyone inaboatonacalm day sticksoutand calm days are best for fishing. So the other tribe waits on the shore, aiming arrows from behind shrubs and long grasses and Pyool

"You got that?" Billy Boy asked.

Grijpstra, bouncing about as the jeep roared along the rough road, considered the situation. What if he said that he and de Gier didn't want to interfere with Hairy Harry's and Billy Boy's fishing. He tried to say that.

Billy Boy smiled.

"Can't we talk?" Grijpstra asked.

Not really, Billy Boy said. They could, of course, like the tribes had talked, endlessly, powwowing, humphing, promising never to bother each other but then there was the arrow again and the clear target: the temptation.

Billy Boy looked at Grijpstra, half-raised his eyebrows, half-dropped his eyelids: "Next time, Krip, when you see me, or I see you, all ofus taking care ofbusiness, never mind who is in the boat, 'fishing,' as we call it"-Billy made quotation marks in the air-"never mind who is behind the bushes, arrow poised. PyooF'

"Doing away," Grijpstra said, "with your own fellow Indian. How would that make you feel?"

"It wouldn't," Billy Boy said.

Grijpstra got dropped off at Bern's Diner in Jameson. The Kathy Three came in and dropped off de Gier. De Gier rowed Grijpstra home to Squid Island. De Gier went to bed quietly, Grijpstra walked about quietly. On nearby Jeremy Island the empty cans shone in the moonlight.

Full moon always interfered with Grijpstrayan serenity, and there were the worries, of course. There was Lorraine, dead, there was taking care ofbusiness, there was de Gier*s insanity, there were the empty cans on Jeremy Island, very visible.

Useless empties, spoiling a perfect view.

So there was something useful he could do now: clear up the mess. Grijpstra rowed across to pick up the useless empties.

There are good intentions, there is immense fatigue interfering with good intentions. Once Grijpstra had dragged the rowboat behind some boulders so that the sea wouldn't pick it up, he found a big boulder and sat on it. The tide receded steadily, leaving more beach, decorated with pebbles and clam shells. Grijpstra watched the slow undressing sleepily. He waved occasional mosquitos away while he ruminated on what could be expected, given the present scenario consisting of one dead Lorraine, one murdering de Gier, one unconnected Grijpstra. Intelligence, the commissaris claimed, is making optimal use of any given set of facts. How, Grijpstra thought, could he manipulate the given truths to serve his own survival? Rinus de Gier was a splendid fellow indeed-courageous, bizarre, musical, intelligent, curious, creative. Rinus de Gier was a goofy fellow indeed, suffering from a serious personality disorder. Not to be trusted. Hardly a partner to welcome into a private detective agency. De Gier was an expendable component of the given situation. Why not allow the sociopath to self-destruct? Then catch the bus, board El Al, kiss Nellie, settle down. Without friends, without worries.

Grijpstra, wobbly on his rock, dozed as Jeremy Island recreated itself in early morning light.

Squirrels set up a din in a pine tree.

They were the little Japanese alarm gadget that Nellie kept on the night table. Grijpstra reached to switch the squirrel alarm off. His morning, hardly started, had malfunctioned already. The automatic percolator hadn't brewed coffee. Nellie, most probably-Grijpstra hadn't opened his eyes yet-wasn't on her way to the bathroom either.

Grijpstra heard voices wishing the squirrels good morning. There was Aki's husky singsong voice and that of another woman, pleasant, gentle. There was also a metallic clatter that reminded him of another metallic clatter, his own and de Gierls, when they were putting down shiny beer cans.

Grijpstra jumped up, slipped on a wet rock, stubbed toes on roots, crashed through ferns and junipers. He slithered onto the beach. He saw two brightly colored fiberglass kayaks that had been pulled onto the ledge. He saw two pretty women bending over, who, straightening up, saw an older, portly man in a pinstriped three-piece suit crashing out of the island's foliage.

Aki dropped her bag of beer cans.

"Ha!" shouted Grijpstra at the other woman, the woman in the Mother Earth T-shirt, the woman with the very short blond hair and the slender feet. "Ha!"

"This is Lorraine," Aki said. "This is Krip."