First it was the name of the gang and their insistence on adding 'bad' to the other word. And now Madelin stresses the mystery by adding 'zero.' Zero means nothing. We have been suspecting all along, and so we should perhaps, that the motive behind the killings was greed. Confucius, I believe, once said that the ordinary man acts because he thinks his act will be profitable; the superior man, however, acts because he minks his act is right. But what on earth is 'right'? I've often been tempted to think that right equals nothing. Perhaps 'nothing' is the ultimate wisdom. Now zero means absolute nothing and the idea it symbolizes is a void, an absolute void.' He looked up. 'I am sorry, am I talking rubbish?'
'No, sir,' the sheriff said. 'I am not qualified to say so, but I don't think you are. I remember that zero did strange things to equations. I saw that when I was trying to get some credits in mathematics. Please go on, sir.'
'Exactly. So perhaps, but this is far out of course, far out, I picked up that expression here, an Americanism no doubt. As I was saying, it could be that the BMF gang has hit on the idea that 'nothing' is an interesting concept. They might be motivated in conducting experiments for no acceptable reason at all, certainly not for profit. The sergeant told me this morning what Madelin gave him in the way of information. The business about the deed and so forth. But I also saw something else. Something in the way the sergeant was set up-that's a correct expression, isn't it?-set up for the love rendezvous and perhaps for the warning shot in her driveway. Then there is the painting of death in the room where she seduced him. All these details. Very clever, and immoral perhaps, as the sergeant suggested. Amoral perhaps, no morals at all. Yes?'
'Yes, sir. Perhaps.'
'Of course, just a theory, no certainty here at all. But perhaps we can imagine that the gang murdered all these people as another experiment, as a macabre joke, to prove to themselves, or to us, to authority, that immoral behavior is just as valid, or acceptable, as moral behavior.'
'Yes,' the sheriff said. 'It's possible, and it would be my luck to run across that sort of thing in Woodcock County, Maine. An intellectual gang. Both the fox and Albert have degrees and Madelin has a super-degree and is still studying. And Tom is an original, and an ingenious, as they say there. I saw him in the public library the other day. He was taking out the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe and a manual on jungle warfare.'
'Ingenious intellectuals, sheriff. Well, you won't be bored. Neither will the gang be bored. Which may be a good thing. Organized life in what we call civilized countries can be very boring. All adventure has gone, even the holidays are without surprises, programmed into every possible detail. So the adventurous, the unusual, the creative, the originals will try to make things happen and, expectably, may break the law in the process.'
The sheriff grinned. The commissaris suddenly looked sad. 'So, as I was saying, this gang will stop at nothing, or try to go beyond nothing. That would be an almost mystic endeavor. But I am probably carried away by my own rambling mind. The gang is also friendly, helpful even. The fox got our cars unstuck. There was chanting and flute playing in Robert's Market. And lovemaking in the Astrinsky parlor. Facts hard to rhyme with a bullet snipping off the tail on the sergeant's hat.'
'So they may go free after all, sir?'
'Possibly.'
The sheriff cleared his throat. 'When you mentioned the suspects just now you included your sister's name, sir. Suzanne Opdijk.'
'Yes indeed. I mentioned her first. I would consider her a good suspect in the case of her husband's death. I've listened to her for hours on end, and it is quite obvious that she couldn't stand Opdijk. He was stronger than she. He dominated Suzanne, frustrated her. He controlled the money, drove the car, got about, was sociable and happy in his way, while she had to stay home and try to live in a dream. She didn't want the dream, she wanted the reality that was shadowed in her dream. All she wanted was to go back to Holland. Opdijk wouldn't even discuss that possibility. So one day he is standing on die ice, close to the cliff, and she goes out and pushes him. Not at all unlikely. I am sure she can be vicious when cornered and she must have felt very cornered. But if she did push him she will never admit to having done so and we would have to produce witnesses. No witnesses have come forward.'
'But she's your sister, sir.'
'If we create justice we must make it universal. There can't be exceptions. She is my sister but she is still a prime suspect, but only in the case of Opdijk's death. I can't see her sneaking around the other houses and taking plastic foam out of a boat, or firing a rifle, or enticing a man to go out into the woods with her. But she did have a motive to kill her husband, a very strong motive I would say.'
'Yes, sir, and Janet Wash?'
The commissaris looked at the tip of his cigar. 'Well, why not? She owns the rest of Cape Orca and she may have wanted to own all of it, although she didn't seem to be that type of woman to me. She was complaining that the upkeep of the house and the land gave her too much work. She is an old woman in spite of her beauty. I could suspect her more easily if she were young, in the strength of her life.'
'Reggie?'
The commissaris nodded. 'There's an inconsistency there too. A young man spending all his time in the service of an older woman. Would he be well paid, do you think, sheriff?'
The sheriff shook his head. 'I don't know. I can't check with the bank, although I might try. I know the manager, not too well though. But Reggie doesn't strike me as being very interested in money. The few times I've met him he only talked trees and shrubs. He's a dedicated gardener. The azalea gardens he made are beautiful. Even I can see that, and I know some of the men who work on the Wash's property in summer, Leroux, for instance. I have him in jail now. They all say that Reggie has done good work on the cape.'
'But he was a guerrilla fighter in Vietnam. Perhaps he likes violence. Did Reggie make that sort of impression on you, sergeant?'
'No, sir. He seemed very quiet and well behaved.'
'Jeremy,' the sheriff said.
'Jeremy is a hermit and he doesn't like people bustling about. He shifted his cabin to the other side of the island. He may also be a violent man since he carries a revolver and has a rifle in his cabin. Not an ordinary rifle-I saw quite a big clip on it.'
'That island is a fortress, sir. I've sailed around it. Jeremy's dogs followed my boat, running along the island's shore. The raven was out, and even the seals seemed interested in my movements.'
'Paranoid?' de Gier asked.
'Yes, but perhaps he has a reason to be paranoid.'
'The man is not insane,' the commissaris said quietly. 'I wouldn't even call him a dreamer. A practical man who has reasons behind whatever he does. Good reasons.'
'That leaves us with Michael Astrinsky, sir.'
'Another prime suspect, sheriff. And he left for the Bahamas the minute he saw the sergeant and myself sniffing about.'
The sheriff got up. 'I did some thinking last night, sir. About Astrinsky among others.' He checked his watch. 'I'll phone Bern. She has a little traveling agency, sells tickets for Enterprise Airlines from her restaurant. I'll give her a ring.'
He dialed. 'Beth?
'Sheriff here. Listen, Beth, you sold a ticket to Astrinsky the other day. Where to?
'Boston? Open return? Good. What's that?'
The sheriff found a pad and a pencil. 'Yes. Thank you, Beth.
'Michael Astrinsky didn't go to the Bahamas. He's in Boston. Beth booked him into the Fosterhouse Hotel.'
'A lie,' the commissaris said. 'Lies are what we have been looking for. Can I trouble you for another cup of coffee, sheriff?'
The sheriff poured and the commissaris stirred his cup triumphantly. 'You did excellent thinking last night, sheriff. Can you come up with a reason why Astrinsky would have lied about the destination of his trip?'
'Yes, sir. Astrinsky is holding the land he bought from the murdered people's estates for a third party. Madelin told the sergeant as much, although her information wasn't definite. But you and the sergeant had marched into his office, introducing yourselves as police officers. I would deduct, from his behavior and the information his daughter supplied, plus the facts the cape is giving us, that Astrinsky is no longer interested in protecting the real
