Jonathan Kellerman - The Web

"I came to Aruk to do some interesting work and get away from city life. Since I got here it's been nothing but weirdness, and now you're treating me like some kind of sleazeball. I'm not Moreland's surrogate and I don't enjoy being placed under house arrest. When those boats pull up, I plan to be on one."

I stood.

He said, "Take it easy, sit down. I'll make coffee." Switching on the hotplate, he pulled packets of instant and creamer and styrofoam cups out of his desk.

"It ain't Beverly Hills cafÉ au lait. That okay?"

"Depends on what kind of conversation goes with it."

Grinning, he went through a battered rear door. I heard water run and he returned with a metal coffeepot that he placed on the hotplate.

"You want to stand, suit yourself."

I waited until the pot bubbled before sitting.

"Black or cream?"

"Black."

"Tough guy." Deep chuckle. "No offense, just trying to take the tension off. Sorry if I rubbed you wrong before."

"Let's just get through this."

He fixed two cups, handed me one. Terrible, but the bitterness was what I needed.

"I know damn well Ben's a lefty," he said. "But all Moreland said in AnneMarie's case was that the killer was right-handed if she was grabbed from behind and done like this." Tilting his head back, he exposed his Adam's apple and ran a hand along his throat. "If she was cut from the front, it could have been a lefty."

He shifted his weight.

"Yeah, I know what you're thinking. We dropped it before it was finished. But it's not like some big city, tons of money to follow every lead."

"Hey," I said, "big-city cops don't always follow through. I watched thugs burn L.A. down while the police sat around waiting for instructions from brain-dead superiors."

"You don't like cops?"

"My best friend is one- seriously."

He stirred creamer into his cup and sipped with surprising delicacy. "I've got a pathologist flying in. Looking at AnneMarie's file as well as Betty's. I don't know if she'll be able to make any determination about how Betty got cut, because her head was taken clean off. Maybe, though. I'm no expert."

Shifting again, he got up and sat behind the other desk, propping his feet up.

"Does your gut tell you Ben's guilty?" I said.

"My gut? What the hell's that worth?"

"My friend's a homicide detective. His hunches have led him to some good places."

"Well," he said, "good for him. I'm just one third of a dinky-shit three-man police force on a dinky-shit island. Ed's my main backup and my other deputy's older than him."

"You probably never needed more."

"Till now I didn't… Do I think Ben's guilty? It sure as hell looks like it, and he's not bothering to deny it. Only one who thinks otherwise is Dr. Bill, with his usual…"

He shook his head.

"His usual single-mindedness?" I said.

He forced a smile. "My word was "fanaticism.' Don't get me wrong, I think he probably could have won a Nobel Prize for something if he'd put his mind to it. He's helped my mother and me plenty, giving her a free lease on the restaurant till things get better, paying for my schooling. I felt like a shithead, mouthing off to him last night. But you've got to understand, he's like a moray eel- gets hold of something and won't let go. What the hell does he want me to do? Let Ben walk on his say-so and watch the whole damn island explode?"

"Is the island near exploding?"

"Hotter than I've ever seen it- a lot worse than when AnneMarie got killed, and we had grumblings then."

"The march up South Road?"

"No march, just a few kids shouting and waving sticks- but look where it led. Now some people think they were fooled into believing a sailor did AnneMarie, and they're doubly pissed."

"Fooled by Ben?"

"And Dr. Bill. 'Cause Ben's seen as Dr. Bill's boy. And even though people admire Dr. Bill, they're also… nervous about him. You hear stories."

"About what?"

"Mad scientist shit. Growing all this fruit and vegetables, bringing some into town, but rumor is he hoards it."

"Is that true?"

"Who the hell knows? Guys who work the estate say he fools around with dehydration, nutritional research. But who cares? What's to stop anyone from growing their own stuff? My mother does. Dr. Bill set her up years ago with soil and seeds, and she grows her own Chinese vegetables for the restaurant. But people get dependent, they like to piss and moan. Doesn't take much to get their tongues flapping. AnneMarie was a newcomer, no roots here, but everyone liked Betty."

"Including the sailors."

He turned toward me very slowly. "Meaning?"

"Moreland said she'd socialized with them. As had AnneMarie."

"Socialized… yeah, Betty liked to party before she got engaged, but for your own safety I wouldn't repeat that."

"Any chance Betty and Ben had an affair?"

"Not that I heard, but who knows? But whatever Betty did, she was a nice kid. Didn't deserve to be ripped up like that."

"I know. I spoke to her the morning before she died."

He put his cup down. "Where?"

"At the Trading Post. I bought drinks and magazines. She told me about her baby."

He arced his feet off the desk and they hit the floor hard.

"Yeah, her mom said she loved the idea of having a baby." Real pain clouded his eyes. "Anyone who'd do that should have his nuts cut off and stuffed down his throat."

The phone rang. He grabbed it. "Yeah? No, not yet. No, not before his lawyer- I don't know."

He slammed the phone down. "That was Mr. Creedman. Wants to do a story for the wire services."

"Opportunity knocks," I said.

"Meaning?"

"He's a writer. Now he's got a story."

"What do you think of him?"

"Not much."

"Me, neither. First day he got here, he hit on my mother. She straightened him out soon enough."

He trained his eyes on me. He was a handsome man but I thought of a rhino, ready to charge.

"So tell me, doc, is Ben one of those guys, when you hear about his killing someone you say, "No way, couldn't be'?"

"I don't know him well enough to answer that."

He laughed. "Got my answer. Not that I've got any grudge against him. I've always admired him for the way he pulled himself up. I grew up without a father, but my mother's good enough for ten parents. Ben's mom was a dirty drunk and his dad was a real asshole, beat the hell out of him just for laughs. According to you guys, isn't that exactly the kind of thing that grows killers?"

"It helps," I said. "But there are plenty of abused kids who don't end up violent, and people from good homes who turn bad."

"Sure," he said, "anything's possible. But we're talking odds. I took psychology, learned about early influences. Someone like Ben, I guess it's no surprise he cracked. I guess the big surprise is the time he had in between, acting normal."

"In between what?"

Instead of answering, he finished his coffee. I'd barely touched mine and he noticed.

"Yeah, it's lousy- want some tea instead?"

"No, thanks."

"The situation's really bad," he said into his empty cup. "Betty's family, Mauricio. Claire, her kids. Everyone thrown together, people can't escape each other."

The phone rang again. He got rid of the caller with a couple of barks.

"Everyone wants to know everything." He looked above me, at the bikini girl. "I should take that down. Ed and Elijah like it, but it's disrespectful."

He got up and came toward me. "I've seen plenty, doctor, but never anything like what happened to those two women."

"One thing you might want to know," I said. "After I read the Valdos file I called my detective friend. He ran a search for similar murders and came up with one, ten years old, in Maryland."

"Why'd you ask him to look?"

"I didn't. He did it on his own."