The Dark Place

'Oh, no,” said Chace, not bothering to turn around. “No, no. If I find me a Bigfoot, you so-called scientists are gonna be the last ones to ever get your hands on it. I haven't been killing myself all these years so some cloud-nine Ph.D. with clean fingernails gets all the glory.'

* * * *

'All right,” said Gideon, shifting down to turn from Hill Street onto Highway 20, “I came, I listened, I kept an open mind—to a reasonable point. Do I now have your approval to discard the Bigfoot-as-killer hypothesis?'

'You sure do,” Abe said. “What a plosher that guy was. That means a phony, a blowhard.'

'I wouldn't have guessed.'

'Goniff,' Abe mumbled under his breath.

'Crook,” Gideon said.

'Crook, you got it. Boy, am I tired. I'm going to grab a little nap.” He lowered his chin to his chest, blew out his cheeks, and began at once to snore, or rather to make the small, periodic clucking noises which Gideon knew to be his snores.

Gideon had left Linger's house disgruntled and annoyed, but the deserted, sweeping bends of the road had relaxed him, and the occasional glimpses through the trees of Discovery Bay, glinting like pewter in the moonlight, had lulled him into a soft reverie. If nothing else, that absurd discussion had killed the notion of Bigfoot as a murder suspect. It was a pleasure to put the lid on that particular box, even if he had no other hypotheses. But then, he didn't need a hypothesis, he reminded himself. Murder hypotheses were John Lau's problem. Gideon had done what he'd been asked to do: a skeletal analysis. And he'd delivered good value. The only thing at Lake Quinault that still interested him was a very live, most unskeletal Julie Tendler. And he would be pursuing his investigations in that regard in a very few hours.

Abe clucked away, swaying peacefully from side to side as the car swung smoothly around the big curves that meandered through the endless black forests. Even when they got to Highway 101, with its brightly lit patches and with huge trucks roaring wildly by them, he slept on. In the neat little town of Sequim, where Highway 101 became East Washington Street, Gideon slowed, unsure of where the turnoff to SunLand was.

Abe began to twist and snuffle. “Right turn on Sequim Avenue,” he said with his eyes closed. “A Gulf station on the corner.” He opened his eyes. “Next block.'

As Gideon made the turn, Abe stretched and sighed contentedly. “Listen,” Abe said, “could I ask you a question?'

'Could I stop you?'

'What are you being, funny?'

'What do you mean, funny?'

They were both smiling. “Tell me,” Gideon said, “why do you people always answer questions with questions?'

'Why shouldn't we?” It was a very old joke, but it always made them laugh. “You got something against the Socratic method?'

'Should I have?” Gideon asked.

Abe leaned forward and patted Gideon's arm. “Enough already. Who are you supposed to be, Henny Youngman? Look, you want to hear my question or not?'

'Why not?'

'No, this is serious. And it's the same old question: If it took this superhuman strength—'

'Let's say extraordinary,” Gideon said.

'—extraordinary strength to kill this Eckert, poor guy, who killed him?'

'I'm starting to think I was wrong,” Gideon said. “Maybe a fairly strong person could have done it. John Lau's having some tests run. They're throwing spears into pig carcasses or some such thing.'

'And what conclusion do you think they'll come to?'

'I think they'll conclude it took superhuman strength.” Gideon was quiet a moment. “Abe, I guess I'm up a tree on this. I just don't have any hypotheses.'

'Well,” Abe said happily, “I got one. I figured it out while you were driving. You probably thought I was sleeping, right?'

'Just because you snored for a solid half hour? Of course not.'

'No, I was thinking. And finally I said to myself, what a schlemiel I am. Schlemiel, that means—'

'I know. So why are you a schlemiel?'

'Because anybody who calls himself an anthropologist, it should take him five seconds to figure it out. We're both schlemiels. Look, remember you called me this afternoon about the dig?'

Gideon nodded.

'And what did you say you found?'

'The distal end of a juvenile humerus.'

'And what else?'

Gideon was puzzled. “Nothing. A piece of wood. An arrow straightener, maybe.'

Abe waved off the idea as ridiculous. “No, no. Whoever heard of an arrow straightener like that? Look, it had a