Jonathan Kellerman - The Web

"Just one person? What about the caller?"

"No one else. I assumed whoever had called it in had chickened out. And I figured it would take another few minutes for Dr. Bill to get there, so I went over, opening my kit, ready to start, and someone grabbed me."

"Grabbed you how?"

"Like this." Hooking his left arm around his neck, he did a rough imitation of a police choke hold.

"A left arm?"

"Uh- no, it came from this side." Reversing the hold. "I guess it was the right- I can't be sure. It was so sudden and I blacked out. Next thing I remember is Dennis's face staring down at me, looking really weird. Angry. Other people, all of them staring down at me, my head feels as if it's about to explode and my neck's stiff and I think something happened to me and they're there to rescue me. But their faces- their eyes are hard. Then someone I can't see calls me "killer.' And they're all looking at me the way they used to look at me when I was- the way they did- before I changed."

I waited a while before saying, "Anything else?"

"That's it… great story, huh?"

"The one thing you can say for it is, if you killed her, it sure wasn't premeditated. If it had been, you'd have prepared something useful."

His smile was rueful. "Yeah, great planner. So what do I do?"

"Tell your lawyer the story and see what he says."

"You'll tell Dr. Bill? It's important to me- his knowing I'm innocent."

"I'll tell him."

"Thank you."

I heard footsteps.

"Anything else I can do for you, Ben?"

He bit his lip. "Have Dr. Bill tell Claire I'm sorry. For pressuring her to play… for everything."

"Do you want to see her?"

"No. Not like this- ask her to tell the kids something. That I'm away on a trip." Once more, tears welled.

Ed Ruiz opened the metal door. "Time's up."

On the way back to the office he said, "Have fun?"

"A real blast," I said. "Next time, I bring streamers and funny hats."

He let me in. Dennis was at his desk. He put the phone down, looking annoyed.

"Time well spent?" he asked me.

I shrugged.

"Well, the screws are already turning. Dr. Bill doing his thing."

"What thing is that?"

"I just got a call from Oahu. Landau, Kawasaki and Bolt. High-powered law firm, senior partner's some motormouth named Alfred Landau. Flying over in a couple of days- scratch the public defender."

"Flying into Stanton?"

"Nope, into Saipan by chartered jet, then a private yacht's taking him the rest of the way. If it can't fit into the keyhole harbor, I'm sure they'll find a way of getting him to shore." He drummed the phone receiver. "Must be nice to be rich. Let me take you back."

As we stepped outside, Tom Creedman intercepted us. He was wearing a white polo shirt, white shorts, and tennis shoes. All that was missing was a racquet. Instead, he carried a thin black attaché case in one hand, a pocket tape recorder in the other. The crowd on the waterfront had dispersed somewhat. A few stragglers remained on the south end. Among them were Skip Amalfi and Anders Haygood. Skip pointing to the spot where AnneMarie Valdos had been found.

"Going to Wimbledon, Tom?" said Laurent.

"Yeah, me and the queen- got a minute, Dennis?"

"Not even half of one- come on, doctor."

Creedman blocked me. "See the suspect, Dr. Delaware?"

"Let's go," said Dennis, moving to his car.

Creedman didn't budge. "Care for some coffee, Dr. Delaware?"

"Sure," I said.

Surprising both of them.

"Great," said Creedman. "Let's boogie."

"I'm taking him back," said Dennis. "For his safety."

"I'll take him back, Dennis."

"No way-"

"I'll take the risk," I said.

"It's not your risk to assume," said Dennis.

"No?" I said. "What law are you invoking to restrict my movement?"

He hesitated for a beat. "Material witness."

"To what?"

"You spoke to him."

"With your permission. Let's call Mr. Landau and see what he has to say about it."

Dennis's huge shoulders spread even wider. He touched his belt, looked up and down Front Street.

"Fine," he said savagely. "You're on your own."

Creedman and I walked past Campion Way to the next unmarked road. Past angry stares and mutters.

"Ooh," he said. "The natives are restless."

"You're pretty relaxed about it."

"Why not? I have nothing to do with good ol' Dr. Bill. On the contrary, the fact that he evicted me works in my favor."

He grinned, then continued, "You, on the other hand, need to watch your back. But I'm here to stand up for you, buddy." Unzipping the attachÉ, he peeled back a flap and revealed a chunky chrome automatic.

"Sixteen shots," he said gaily. "I'm sure that'll do the trick in the event of civil unrest. Very few of the natives own arms. Safe place and all that."

"Do you usually carry?"

"Only during periods of stress."

"Bring it over with you?"

"Bought it in Guam, bargain price. Owned by an Army lieutenant who ran up some debts. Took beautiful care of it."

He zipped the case. "I'm just up the hill."

"Pretty close to the murder scene."

"Not close enough."

"What do you mean?"

"By the time I got there the crowd was thick- no chance to get close. I would have liked a close look at Mr. Romero's face right after they caught him. Editors like that kind of immediacy. The emptiness in a psychopath's eyes."

"I'm sure you can make something up."

His smile died. "That's not very kind, Alex."

I winked.

His round face stayed angry, even after he restored the smile. "But I understand. The cognitive dissonance must be painful for you. Coming here expecting Pleasure Island and getting Auschwitz. Did Ben have anything exculpatory to say?"

"Nothing an editor would be interested in."

"What a sicko," he continued. "Cutting them up, then eating them."

"Ever see that kind of thing before?"

The road had taken on a steeper slant, and though he kept up an athletic pace his breathing got louder. "See what?"

"Cannibalism."

"On other islands? No."

"I meant back in the States, when you were on the crime beat."

"Did I say I was ever on the crime beat?"

"I think you did. The first time we met."

"I think I didn't. Not my meat- pardon the joke. No, Alex, I did politics. Dog eat dog. " He laughed. "Have you seen it before?"

I shook my head.

"First time for everything," he said.

We progressed up the hill, passing small houses, children, dogs, cats. Women with frightened eyes drew the children closer as we neared. Window shades lowered suddenly.

"Tsk, tsk," he said. "Paradise lost."

His house was at the top, where the street dead-ended, a pale blue cottage with a full ocean view, hugged by pink oleander and yellow hibiscus. A Volkswagen bug sat at the end of a shattered-stone driveway. Much of the surrounding property was overrun by ivy and flowering vines. The nearest house was a hundred feet away, separated by a splintering wooden fence.

Inside was a different story: freshly painted white walls, black leather couches, oriental rugs that made the vinyl floor look better than it was, limited-edition posters, teak and lacquer furniture. In the closet-kitchen next to the dining area, a cast-iron ceiling rack bore expensive copper pots. German cutlery in a wooden case adorned a counter. All the appliances were European and they looked brand-new.

"Let me fix you a drink," said Creedman, heading for a portable brass-and-glass bar.

"Just a Coke."

He poured the soda and fixed a double scotch for himself. Johnnie Black. Ice from a small, chrome-faced Swedish freezer.