Jonathan Kellerman - The Web

"Why?"

"He's a curious guy."

"Checking out the island savages, huh? Yeah, I know about that one. Two satanists ate a working girl." He shot out some details. "My computer rarely works right, but I phone stuff in to the MPs on Guam and they hook into NCIC."

"What do you think of the similarities?"

"I think satanic psychos have some sort of script."

"Any evidence Ben was into satanism?"

"Nope."

"Have you ever seen evidence of satanism on Aruk?"

"Not a trace, everyone's Catholic. But Ben was in Hawaii ten years ago- who knows what kind of shit he picked up?"

"Did he take any side trips to the mainland?"

"Like to Maryland? Good question. I'll look into it. For all I know, he killed girls in Hawaii and never got caught. For all I know, he was lucky the only thing they got him for was indecent exposure."

The look on my face made him smile.

"That's what I meant by acting normal in between."

"When?" I said.

"Ten years ago. He peeped in some lady's window with his pants down and his dick out. He was in the Guard and they handled it. Ninety days in the brig. That's how a lot of sex killers get started, isn't it? Watching and beating off, then moving on to the heavy stuff?"

"Sometimes."

" This time." He looked disgusted. "Okay, have your hour with him. Give him his moral support."

Behind the battered door was a warren of small, dim rooms and narrow corridors. At the back was a dented sheet-metal door bolted by a stout iron bar.

Laurent removed my watch and emptied my pockets, placed my belongings on a table along with his gun, then unlocked the bar, raised it, and pocketed the key. Pushing the door open, he let me pass, and I came up against grimy gray bars and the sulfur-stink of excreta.

A two-cell jail, a pair of three-pace cages, each with a cement floor, a grated, translucent window, a double bunk chained to the wall, a crusted hole with heel-rests for a toilet.

The ceilings were six and a half feet high. Black mold grew in cracks and corners. The plaster had been scored by decades of fingernail calligraphy.

Laurent saw the revulsion on my face.

"Welcome to Istanbul West," he said, with no satisfaction. "Usually guys don't stay here for more than a few hours, sleeping off a drunk."

The nearer cell was empty. Ben sat on the lower bunk of the other, chin in hand.

"Well, well, looks like we've had some movement," said Laurent, loudly.

Ben didn't budge.

The keys jangled again and soon I was in the cell, locked in, and Laurent was outside saying, "Trust me with your wallet and your watch, doc?"

I smiled. "Do I have a choice?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. One hour." Tapping his own watch. "I'll leave the door open so you can shout."

He left. Inside the cell, the stink was stronger, the heat almost unbearable.

I tried to find a place to stand that allowed me some distance from Ben, but the cramped space prevented it- so I contented myself with keeping maximum distance from the floor latrine as I scanned the graffiti. Names, dates, none of them recent. A large depiction of exaggerated female genitalia above the bunk. Sgraffito message: Get me out of this hole!

Ben didn't move. His eyes were unfocused.

"Hello," I said softly. Though my five-ten height missed the ceiling by a few inches, I found myself hunching.

Silence. As complete as at the estate but not at all peaceful. After only seconds in here, my nerves screamed for some noise.

"Dr. Bill sent me to see if there's anything I can do for you, Ben."

He kept perfectly still, not even a blink, hair greasy, face streaked with sweat tracks. My armpits were already sodden.

"Ben?"

I took hold of his right arm and moved it from under his chin. Stiff and unyielding, as he resisted me.

No catatonia.

I let go. Repeated my greeting.

He continued to tune me out.

Three more attempts.

Five minutes passed.

"Okay," I said. "You're a political prisoner, giving the world the silent treatment as a protest against injustice."

Still no response.

I waited some more. His cheeks were sunken- almost as hollow as Moreland's- and his eyes looked remote.

No eyeglasses. They'd been taken from him. Along with his shoelaces and belt and watch and anything else hard-edged. An angry boil had broken out on the back of his neck.

I kept staring at him, hoping my scrutiny would cause him to react. His nails were gnawed almost to the quick, one thumb bloody. Had he always been a biter? I'd never noticed. Or had Betty Aguilar resisted and snapped off some keratin? A clue he'd tried to conceal by chewing his other fingers?

I looked for nail bits on the floor. Nothing but inlaid dirt and scuffmarks, but they could have been tossed down the toilet hole. Big black ants single-filed under the bunk. After Moreland's zoo, they were laughable.

No scratches on his face and hands.

His color was bad, but he was unmarked.

"How well do you see without your glasses?"

Silence.

Slow count to one thousand.

"This isn't exactly the behavior of an innocent man, Ben."

Nothing.

"What about your family?" I said. "Claire and the kids."

No response.

"I know this has been a nightmare for you, but you're not helping yourself."

Nothing.

"You're being a fool," I said, loud as I could without attracting Dennis's attention. "Pigheaded like Moreland, but sometimes it pays to think independently."

Involuntary flinch.

Then back to stone-face.

"Sins of the father," I went on. "People are already making that connection."

His lower lip twitched.

"Guilt by association," I went on. "That's why I had to come down here. Moreland's confined to the estate because Dennis is afraid of what people might do to him. We're all confined. It's gotten ugly."

Silence.

"People are angry, Ben. It's only a matter of time before they start wondering about his being Dr. Frankenstein, what he does in that lab. If maybe AnneMarie and Betty were his idea as well as yours."

The lip dropped, then snapped shut.

I gave him a few more minutes, then came closer and spoke to his left ear.

"If you're really as loyal as you make out, tell me what happened. If you butchered Betty on your own, just admit it and let them know Moreland had nothing to do with it. If you have another story, tell it, too. You're not helping yourself or anyone else this way."

Nothing.

"Unless Moreland did have something to do with it," I said.

No movement.

"Maybe he did. All those late-night walks. God knows what he was up to. I saw him one night, two A.M., carrying his doctor's bag. Treating who? And those surgical tools were his."

Another flinch. Stronger.

Flick of his head.

"What?" I said.

He clamped his mouth shut.

"He studies predators. Maybe his interest isn't limited to bugs."

He blinked hard and fast. Exactly the way Moreland did when he was nervous.

"Is he in on it with you, Ben? Did he teach you- Aruk's own Dr. Mengele?"

Half a headshake turned into a full one.

"Okay," I said. "So why clam up like this?"

Back to immobility.

"You want me to believe you did do it, alone. Okay, I'll buy it, for the moment. No surprise, I guess, given your family history."

Silence.

"Your criminal history, too," I added. "Some sex killers start off as peepers. Some of them search for new ways to deal with their impotence. AnneMarie wasn't penetrated sexually, and I bet Betty wasn't, either."

More blinking, as if to make up for lost time.

"Dennis told me about the Hawaii arrest. Soon everyone will know about it, including Claire and the kids. And Dr. Bill. If he doesn't already."