And so, one part of his brain, had begun his defense, that of anonymity, and he imagined, even prerehearsed what he might tell the police.
“Yes, I vaguely remember her. I think she wanted to know if the beach was near the bus stop. I told her it was too far to walk, and she should take a taxi, although that day, if I recall, was a bit chilly for the beach.”
“No, I can’t really remember what we spoke about. I think she said she was from somewhere in Europe and worked at some hospital.”
“I’m sorry I can’t recall any more. Didn’t you say it was about a month ago? Hell, sometimes I can’t recall who we elected to Congress.”
“I’ve lived here over twenty years, but my wife works most days in Manhattan, and I’m back and forth.”
And so it might go on. The only issue Posner hasn’t considered is whether Heidi and he were seen at the outdoor table after he picked up lunch, but that whole encounter hadn’t taken more than a minute. Moreover, he was grateful that the parking spaces in front of the store were actually taken, so that the sight of her entering his car in the rear lot would stand less likelihood of observation.
In fact, there is no telephone call from the police. A business card that introduces a Detective Wisdom is left in the crack of his door on a Tuesday morning while he swims in the indoor pool at Gurney’s Inn Resort. Neat block lettering asks him to call at his convenience. Nothing else.
Two days later, the appointment arranged, Detective Peter Wisdom appears at Posner’s door, and is invited upstairs. He seems to be in his late thirties, tall and slim with short light brown hair. He’s dressed in a blazer, light-blue button-down shirt, a dark tie, and khaki chinos. Detective Wisdom acts like a neighbor and freely announces he has fifteen years service in the East Hampton Police Department. He even offers that he is married with a young son and lives in Sag Harbor, one of the small hamlets that are part of the town of East Hampton. As a local resident as well as a police officer, he seems to know the subtle nuances of life in the town. Posner feels an initial unease, yet Wisdom appears completely calm as the conversation moves forward. He steers the discussion as if they were new acquaintances at the local VFW hall.
“We’ve had this fax from the NYPD,” he says, after several minutes of small talk. He pulls a few pages from his jacket pocket. “A missing person report. A woman went to East Hampton almost four weeks ago and then vanished. Her boyfriend filed the report. We know she was on the same bus as you on that day. That’s from the bus records. They keep a computer record of all passengers, so we’re checking on anyone who might have seen her. Strictly routine.”
Wisdom holds out the papers. Posner reaches for them tentatively, as if they might scorch his fingers, but he takes them and pretends to read the diminished print. There is nothing in the text he does not already know, but he consciously takes his time. The second page has a grainy photo. Heidi is standing on a balcony with a man, although most of his body and face have been cropped. Probably Henry, Posner thinks. Her face on the copy appears faded, as if she has already died; yet Posner manages to examine the documents without an obvious tremor invading his fingers.
“So this woman is a doctor,” he says after a few minutes, somewhat proud of himself for his control. “We could always use more doctors out here.”
Wisdom smiles and nods agreeably. “But only if we can find them.”
This last comment alerts Posner. Some small bell rings in his head. Detective Wisdom has done his homework. Posner feels wariness, as if there is the possibility of some trap out there. Wisdom knows Posner was on the same bus, and also that Heidi had spoken to him, probably from the driver. The questions that follow, however, were less intrusive than what Posner had imagined.
He says he vaguely remembers the woman because she asked him how to get to the beach from the bus stop and is unaware of any other conversations she had. He feels he has covered himself with a veneer of truth. In five minutes it is all over. Wisdom writes down Posner’s New York City phone number as well the one in Sara’s office.
“It’s useful to know how we can reach potential witnesses,” Wisdom says, strictly methodical, like an accountant doing an audit. The comment makes Posner wonder whether Wisdom knows he has pending issues with the Justice Department, but the idea seems farfetched.
“Well, thanks for your help,” Wisdom says as they walk down the stairs.
Posner opens the front door, yet finds it impossible to ignore the presence of Wisdom standing on the very tiles where Heidi’s head split open. He wills himself into calm, yet feels the tremor of nausea rising in his throat.
“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” he says as he pushes the door farther open.
“It’s part of the process,” answers Wisdom. “We’ll call you again if we have any more questions. Thanks for your time. We know you’ve lived here for a number of years, so we won’t bother you again if we don’t have to.”
Posner shakes the offered hand and immediately worries that his fingers were too damp or even trembling, but if so, Wisdom seems to take little notice. As soon as the door closes, Posner races to the nearest bathroom, gagging uncontrollably, but it was not until three hours later that he’d wondered whether Wisdom might have heard his spasmodic retching from the driveway.
Posner realizes that innocence maybe a state of mind long before it becomes a legal issue. An observer may only glimpse a part of the truth, yet all sorts of preconceived views stir the pot of judgment. A day after Wisdom left, Posner remembers a vacation he and Sara had taken some ten years before to Israel. They stayed at a hotel on the Sea of Galilee. On the Friday morning they arrived, the hotel was already busy with Israelis away for the weekend, but by late Saturday afternoon most of the locals were gone, as Sunday was a workday.
He and Sara lounged on adjoining chaises. At five in the afternoon, the lake shimmered in dwindling sunlight. The large pool, so filled just a day before with vacationers, was empty. A small tote bag stuffed with their wallets, credit cards, passports, and plane tickets rested under his chaise.
They had treated themselves to a bottle of a decent local white wine, and by the second glass they had both eased into languid drowsiness, that never-never land barely a breath or two above sleep, impervious to all the traditional worries that flood daily life.
And they both knew, without a word, that later, after raising themselves from drowsiness, there would be sex in the large bedroom with a view of the lake. And after showers there would be a quiet dinner of salad and St. Peter’s fish on the restaurant terrace, alone except for a few other random visitors and the odd waiter.
He was on the edge of a dream when the shouts roused him. The words were in English, so there is no mistake in their purpose. A security guard on the far end of the pool shouted, “Stop him. Stop the thief.”
Posner sat up, followed the guard’s pointed arm and looked to the far end of the grounds. A boy was running away, no more than a flash of thin dark arms in the twilight, but there was enough light to see that the boy clutched Posner’s recognizable beige bag in one hand as he sprinted across a long stretch of small jagged boulders that bordered the hotel grounds. At first Posner stared in some awe as the boy glided effortlessly across the stones, an animal species that levitated above the sharpest edges, and then he raised himself upright and began to scream.