He lighted one of his lettuce cigarettes, watched the smoke swirl away, enter into, disappear. The river became one with the sea, the smoke one with the air. All things became one with another, entered into and merged, until water was land, land water, and smoke was air, air smoke. Why had she smiled in triumph? Now he could think about it.
He sat on the bare stone, bent his legs, rested one cheek on his knee. He unbuttoned canvas jacket, suit jacket, shirt, and slid an ungloved hand inside to feel his own breast, not much flatter than hers. He worked the nipple slowly and thought she had been happy when her eyes turned upward to focus on that shining point of steel rushing downward to mark a period in her brain. She had been happy. She wanted the certitude. Everything she had told him testified to her anguished search for an absolute. And then, wearied of the endless squigglings of her quick and sensitive intelligence-so naked and aware it must have been as painful as an open wound-she had involved him in her plan, urging him on, then betraying him. Knowing what the end would be, wanting it. Yes, he thought, that was what happened.
He sat there a long time-the sky dulling to late afternoon-dreaming over what had happened. Not sorry for what had happened, but feeling a kind of sad joy, because he knew she had found her ultimate truth, and he would find his. So they both-but then he heard the sound of car engines, slam of car doors, and crawled slowly to the edge of Devil’s Needle to peer down.
They came down the gravel road from Chilton, saw the sign: “One mile to Chilton State Park,” then made their turn onto the dirt road. They pulled up outside the fence. The wings of the gate were leaning crazily. Inside was Daniel Blank’s car. A big man, clad in a brown canvas windbreaker with a dirty sheepskin collar, was leaning against the car and watched them as they stopped. There was a six-pack of beer on the hood of the car; the man was sipping slowly from an opened can.
Captain Delaney got out, adjusted his cap, tugged down his jacket. He walked through the ruined gate toward Blank’s car, taking out identification. He inspected the big man as he advanced. Six-four, at least; maybe five or six if he straightened up. At least 250, maybe more, mostly in the belly. Had to be pushing 65. Wearing the worn windbreaker, stained corduroy pants, yellow, rubber-soled work shoes laced up over his ankles, a trooper’s cap of some kind of black fur. Around his neck the leather cord of what appeared to be Army surplus field glasses from World War I. About his waist, a leather belt blotched with the sweat of a lifetime, supporting one of the biggest dogleg holsters Delaney had ever seen, flap buttoned. On the man’s chest, some kind of a shield, star or sunburst; it was difficult to make out.
“Chief Forrest?” Delaney asked, coming up.
“Yep.”
“Captain Edward X. Delaney, New York Police Department.” He flipped open his identification, held it out.
The Chief took it in a hand not quite the size and color of a picnic ham, and inspected it thoroughly. He passed it back, then held a hand out to Delaney.
“Chief Evelyn F. Forrest,” he rumbled. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain. I suppose you think ‘Evelyn’ is a funny name for a man.”
“No, I don’t think that. My father’s name was Marion. Not so important, is it?”
“Nooo…unless you’ve got it.”
“I see our boy got here,” Delaney said, patting the fender of the parked car.
“Uh-huh,” Forrest nodded. “He arrived. Captain, I’ve got a cold six-pack here. Would you like…”
“Sure. Thank you. Go good right now.”
The Chief selected a can, pulled the tab, handed over the beer. They both raised their drinks to each other, then sipped. The Captain inspected the label.
“Never had this brand before,” he confessed. “Good. Almost like ale.”
“Uh-huh,” Chief Forrest nodded. “Local brewery. They don’t go into the New York City area, but they sell all they can make.”
He had, Delaney decided, the face of an old bloodhound, the skin a dark purplish-brown, hanging in wrinkles and folds: bags, jowls, wattles. But the eyes were unexpectedly young, mild, open; the whites were clear. Must have been quite a boy about 40 years ago, the Captain thought, before the beer got to him, ballooned his gut, slowed him up.
“Look here, Captain,” Forrest said. “One of your men got some into him.”
The Chief pointed out a bullet hole in the body of the car and another through the left front window.
“Come out here,” he continued, pointing to a star-cracked hole in the windshield.
Delaney stooped to sight through the entrance hole in the window and the exit hole in the windshield.
“My God,” he said, “by rights it should have taken his brains right along with it, if he was in the driver’s seat. The man’s got the luck of the Devil.”
“Uh-huh,” Chief Forrest nodded. “Some of ’em do. Well, here’s what happened…I get here about an hour before he does, pull off the gravel road into the trees, opposite to the turnoff to the Park. Not such good concealment, but I figure he’ll be looking to his right for the Park entrance and won’t spot me.”
“That makes sense.”
“Yep. Well, I’m out of my station wagon, enjoying a brew, when he comes barreling along, pretty as you please. Turns into this here dirt road, sees the locked gate, speeds up, and just cuts right through; hot knife through butter. Then he gets out of the car, stretches, and looks around. I got him in my glasses by now. Handsome lad.”
“Yes, he is.”
“He starts changing to his outdoor duds: a jacket, boots, and so forth. I got a turn when he ducks into the car with a full head of hair and comes out balder’n a peeled egg.”
He wears a wig,”
“Uh-huh. I found it, back there in the car. Looks like a dead muskrat. Also his coat and city shoes. Then he pulls or a cap, packs up his gear, and starts for Devil's Needle. I come across the road then and into the Park.”
“Did he spot you?”
“Spot me?” the Chief said in some amazement. “Why no. I still move pretty good, and I know the land around here like the palm of my hand. No, he didn't spot me. Anyways, he gets there, attaches a line to his belt and to his gear, and goes into the chimney. Makes the climb in pretty good time. After awhile I see his line going out, and he pulls up his gear. Then I see him standing on top of Devil’s Needle. I see him for just a few seconds, but he’s up there all right, Captain; no doubt about that.”
“Did you see any food in his gear? Or a canteen? Anything like that?”
“Nope. Nothing like that. But he had a rucksack. Might have had food and drink in that.”
“Maybe.”
“Captain…”
“Yes, Chief?”
“That alert you phoned to the State boys…You know, they pass it on to all us local chiefs and sheriffs by radio. I was on my way out here when I heard the call. Didn’t mention nothing about Chilton.”
“Uh…well, I didn’t mention Chilton to them. It was just a hunch, and I didn’t want them charging out here on what might have been a wild-goose chase.”
The Chief looked at him steadily a long moment. “Sonny,” he said softly, “I don’t know what your beef is with the State boys, and I don’t want to know. I admit they can be a stiffnecked lot. But Captain, when this here is cleaned up, you’re going back home. This is my home, and I got to deal with the State boys every day in the week. Now if they find out I knew a homicidal maniac was holed up on State property and didn’t let them know, they’ll be a mite put out, Captain, just a mite put out.”
Delaney scuffed at the dirt with the toe of his city shoe, looking down. “Guess you’re right,” he muttered finally. “It’s just…” He looked up at the Chief; his voice trailed away.