days.'
'Ishmael doesn't care for money.'
'Please,' Grijpstra said. 'Forget your nonsense for a moment. Do it for me, because we are friends. Pretend we're back in law enforcement. We study society's other side. We investigate those who profit by illegally taking from others. We concentrate on criminal untruth. Why didn't Ishmael tell me you sent him? Is he hiding a secret? What does he do for money?'
'Fixes marine diesel engines,' de Gier said. 'Does a good job, makes good money.'
'Lots of kids?' Grijpstra asked. 'A gambling habit? Uninsured ailments?'
'Healthy bachelor, lives alone,' de Gier said.
'The past?' Grijpstra asked. 'Molesting boys during Bible study?'
'He likes Aki.'
'Who doesn't?' Grijpstra asked. 'You two are pals? Ishmael visits here?'
'Yes. I visit him too. He plays piano.'
'Expensive hobbies?'
'Collects valueless objects he displays in a four-story former cannery, an ancient building on the Point that he got for free somehow. I say…'
'You say?'
'You did understand,' de Gier said, 'that I sent him to Boston to collect you?'
'Right,' Grijpstra said, looking around. 'Nice place you have here.'
De Gier agreed. The pagoda seemed to be the best choice for a well-funded seeker of truth, out of several vacation homes rented out by Bildah Farnsworth. This temple-like structure was the work of Goldy Yamamoto, a New York architect, designed along neo-Chinese lines. Yamamoto also believed in supplying all comforts: pumped spring water, air-conditioning and oil heat, fireplaces, automated kitchen. And Yamamoto had finished it off nicely. The inside wainscoting was orange-tinged pine, the beams were redwood, the floors western oak. Tall windows with wide windowsills offered views of seascapes and other islands. The apparently simple furniture was Quaker inspired, expensive, labor intensive. Coffee tables were made from varnished driftwood. The rugs were Oriental. A large abstract painting, obviously inspired by the local coast, calmed the mind with easy strokes of green on gray, pale blues for water, a white splash for a sail.
'Money buys good art,' de Gier said. 'The place was custom-built for an investment banker, a practicing Taoist, a man who, by losing his ego, became the flow of money himself.'
'Bankrupt and out of a job now?' Grijpstra asked.
'Right.'
'Nice,' Grijpstra said. 'How much are you paying?'
'Five hundred.'
'A month?'
'A week.'
'To who?'
'To Bildah,' de Gier said. 'Bildah Farnsworth picked it up when junk bonds crashed. He'll make a bundle when the present slump is over and property like this becomes marketable again.'
'You know about Bildah building Hairy Harry a palace at half cost?'
De Gier laughed. 'Ishmael told you. Sure. Harry had his drug profits laundered. Bildah is The Man here.'
'Local business wizard?'
'Local everything,' de Gier said. 'Puppeteer in chief of the Twilight Zone. Checks on the game Hairy Harry and Billy Boy are playing, owns most of the ground Jameson is built on, holds the paper on the fishing fleet, cashes in on whatever is going.'
Grijpstra shivered. 'Bad guy, this Bildah?'
'You cold?' de Gier asked. He got up to make coffee. Grijpstra followed him to the open kitchen. They watched the coffee machine perform. 'Bad guy?' de Gier repeated. 'I don't think so.'
'Marital status?'
'Not married. Housekeeper for half days, bookkeeper a few days a week.'
'Sex?'
'Housekeeper is old, bookkeeper has a relationship with Big Max.'
'Describe Bildah.'
'Peaceful?' de Gier asked. 'Likes to hike beaches and trails. Bildah feeds the birds. Keeps a pet raven, name of Croakie, that flies around him.' De Gier thought. 'Haven't seen Croakie for a while.'
'He who finances local activity with good collateral can enjoy his hiking,' Grijpstra said. 'Interest flows day and night. Subject do any work himself?'
'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.'
