"Rakes his paths," de Gier said. "Chops his firewood. Picks up shells on the beach. Talks to his raven. Croakie flies upside down on request."
Grijpstra sat down, nursing his coffee. He looked serious. "You know, you and I think we got this thing licked now but don't you believe we're still too busy? I keep thinking I am. I saw a little farm for sale the other day, close to the city. Derelict building, might fix it up a bit. Could rake the path maybe, keep a chicken or two, do nothing much else."
"You'd have nothing to keep you from facing the riddle."
"I'd get depressed?"
"Sure," de Gier said.
"Bildah doesn't mind facing the riddle?"
De Gier didn't think so. "The superior man?" de Gier suggested. "Could be, you know."
"Figured out the riddle?"
"Why not?" de Gier said.
"You really think anyone has?"
"Wouldn't surprise me," de Gier said. "There must be some around. Think ofit. They would be sly, live alone, be well off, be quiet, smile a lot, enjoy simple pleasures. We can't all be stupid."
Grijpstra shook off the image. "Okay. Bildah Farnsworth, relative of Flash Farnsworth?"
"Distant relative. There are not too many families here, the local structure is kind of incestuous. They all have the same names. Beth is a Farnsworth too. There are a few Scottish names, McThis, McThat. Bad George is a Spade, lots of Spades around too."
"Living off the proceeds of evil," Grijpstra said.
"Bildah, I mean. A superior man does not live off evil."
"Define evil."
Grijpstra put his mug down. "Pushing women down cliffs. What other evil did you get yourself into? I've been sending you five thousand dollars monthly. You've been spending all that?"
"I pay the rent," de Gier said. "I keep a car at the Point, a nice Ford, rented. I bought the dinghy I use for crossing the channel. That was two thousand. Groceries don't come cheap here, say a hundred a week. There's the sound equipment and the records I've been sending away for. Akiapola'au comes out to do the housework, she wants twenty an hour."
"We're talking dollars," Grijpstra said.
"Sure."
Grijpstra sighed. "I didn't bring any dollars. The Luxembourg bank didn't send your check this month because the manager there who knows my voice is on holiday. I was going to write them a letter to authorize the transfer but then you phoned. Got any cash?"
"A few hundred."
"Not enough." Grijpstra shook his head. "I'll have to get some."
De Gier laughed. "We are out of cash?" He prodded Grijpstra's chest. "But that's crazy."
"No dollars," Grijpstra said. "I brought lots of guilders. Hairy Harry went through my wallet. He seemed surprised." He rubbed his chin. "Ah. I almost forgot. The stewardess on the plane showed me a paper that said you can only bring in five thousand dollars in any currency and I brought eleven."
"The sheriff saw that?" de Gier asked.
"Yes."
"That's okay," de Gier said. "Hairy Harry only works for the county; federal regulations don't bother him much."
"It would be another reason to lean on us."
De Gier agreed.
Grijpstra kept rubbing his chin. "I'm supposed to leave by bus tomorrow." He reported on the Jameson Bay confrontation.
"You're right," de Gier said. "I should have kept a low profile here. I'll never learn. Drawing attention to myself and to you too. And now there's Lorraine."
"Now there isn't Lorraine," Grijpstra said. "Does Ish-mael know about that?"
De Gier didn't think so. "It's too early yet. Lorraine was a recluse herself, it'll be a while before she's missed. Want to do some site work?"
Grijpstra, wrapped in a towel, wearing a straw hat that belonged to de Gier and the slippers that Nellie had tucked in his bag, followed his host.
De Gier showed him the scene of the crime, a large granite cliff next to stone steps leading down to his dock.
De Gier was Lorraine, Grijpstra was de Gier. Grijpstra came, reeling and staggering, out ofthe pagoda's front door. De Gier stood, one foot on the highest step of the path, one foot on the cliff next to the path. De Gier, hungry for love, wanted to embrace Grijpstra. Grijpstra pushed de Gier away. De Gier fell over backwards.
De Gier held a black belt injudo. He rolled, jumped up lightly.
"But Lorraine hurt herself?" Grijpstra asked. He knelt near the spot where Lorraine, having been allegedly pushed, fell, and where, afterward, she had been allegedly kicked in the belly.
He did find a stain, not too clearly visible, a dried-up spot ofa different, deeper red than the granite's natural pink-and-red shades.
"Has it rained since this happened?"
It hadn't.
Grijpstta leaned against the pagoda's balustrade. "Now then, show me what you did after Lorraine disappeared from your view."
De Gier stood on the veranda. "I was here." He pointed at the top stone step. "Lorraine stood there. I do recall shoving her. Next thing she wasn't there. I didn't hear her scream. Maybe she groaned. I recall some sound but I might have thought she was talking while walking down the steps."
"Not a lot of blood," Grijpstra said. "Maybe her clothes soaked it up." He coughed. "Vaginal? Possibly."
De Gier coughed too.
De Gier's cough irritated Grijpstra. "Irresponsible movie sheik on the rampage, even here." He glared. "You have a nasty habit there, my boy. And it isn't getting any better."
De Gier looked away. "Bad George claims she miscarried," he admitted. De Gier sat on the steps, jerking the ends of his mustache, baring his teeth that way. His voice seemed higher than normal. "I didn't ask him to produce proof either. Didn't want to know. That would have been in the boat, and they would have thrown it overboard, yes?"
"Baby could be yours?"
"I used condoms."
"Any breaks?"
"Yes," de Gier said.
"You've been here four months," Grijpstra said. "You were intimate straightaway? When did you meet Lorraine?"
"First day," de Gier said. "That answers both questions."
Grijpstra was shaking his head. "Lorraine was around forty? Did she mention pregnancy?"
"Irregularity," de Gier said. "She said it was normal, she'd been like that for a while. It seemed to bother her, though."
"So it's Flash and Bad George, who're trying extortion, who assert subject was pregnant."
"Who's subject?" de Gier asked. "This is Lorraine."
"Subject." Grijpstra slapped de Gier's shoulder. "Nothing is personal to me here. You're nothing but my client. If I cared I would be useless." He poked de Gier's chest. "We continue. The extortionists brought the body back. Let's see how they did that."
De Gier became Bad George, coming up the steep path from the little harbor below, carrying Lorraine's body lightly across his arms.
"Hmmm," Grijpstra said. "Not a heavy woman, I see."
"Slender," de Gier said. "Lovely body. Bit of a monkey face, though, wrinkled up, because of a bad marriage, divorce. She lived with her parents for a while, in a trailer park in Arizona. Parents own Bar Island over there, bought it as an investment when they were young, thought it would appreciate in value, which it didn't."
"Subject had money?"
"She was a biologist. Her university provided income.
Subject had a grant to study birds here, and planned to teach in Boston later on. Bar Island is a sanctuary for terns, but there are fewer each year. She had to find out why."
"Why?"
"Sea gulls," de Gier said. "They're bigger than the terns and they keep taking the eggs or the young. Lorraine had statistics. She knew where the gulls breed and was proposing that she and Aki take their eggs."
"Aki is a biologist too?"
"Not as well-qualified as Lorraine."
"Sanctuary," Grijpstra said. "Subject thought she'd get a break from her divorce mess here." He looked at the island to the east, Bar Island. "Nice. So she wasn't really from around here?"