'Well how come?' asked Janice.
'I'll tell you how come,' said Mary. 'Because he eats only what and when he likes. He has a light breakfast and skips lunch, when he runs. He pigs it up at dinner. But that's only once a day.'
'All work should be put behind you by dinnertime,' I said. 'There should be nothing but pleasant things from six o'clock on. Music on the stereo… the chatter of friends… laughter of children… evening twitter of birds, et cetera. A cocktail or glass of wine… an easy chair… the aroma of cooking food. In short, this experience; now. What the hell's a wrong with you?'
Mary was wiping away a tear. She was thinking of Mr. X, and the photograph of Jim Schilling. She didn't like any of it. We talked all during dinner about what was going on, what it all meant. It broke my rule of nothing but pleasant things after six, but there was no escaping it. Jim and I agreed on how easy it would be for Schilling to falsify his death, especially in a remote region of Alaska. If he were willing to part with a $300 rifle-which he was- the ruse would gain instant credibility. He could have either bribed the guide or arranged another escape route. Both Jim and I strongly suspected the latter strategy, since a bribed guide is generally a poor liar, whereas a duped guide is an earnest witness. It would have been simple for Schilling to arrange a clandestine meeting with a pilot a few miles from the swamped boat. Three hours' trudge would take them far enough away from the camp so the guide would never hear the small, single-engined pontoon plane…
But why?
We agreed the most logical explanation was that he wished to return to Massachusetts to seek revenge on his former employer. But if this were true, hadn't he taken a long time to act? What was he engaged in during the past year? It was all curiouser and curiouser, but unfortunately no clearer.
'Go to the police, Charlie,' Jim said.
'No.'
'Yes dammit!' screamed Mary. She was crying, and hadn't eaten.
'OK,' I said.
I wrote a letter to Chief Hannon summarizing the events of the past two weeks. It was no masterpiece but it would serve well enough to lay out what had been happening, both in my mind and the real world. I sent a copy to Joe too. Either Chief Hannon would be impressed, or he would think I was crazy.
CHAPTER TWELVE
'Know what your problem is?' said the chief as he put my letter down on his desk and peered at me over his glasses. 'You're crazy.'
'I was hoping you weren't going to say that.'
'What am I supposed to say for Chrissake? You see a boat that looks like another and they both disappear. You ask around and discover that a certain man's private life and his business aren't all they were cracked pup to be-as if that's a rarity. You get in a bar fight up in Gloucester-which, by the way, you are too old to be doing-and later get hit on the head and tossed in the drink. A hundred miles away, I might add, and two weeks after you presumably saw Windhover's reincarnation down on the Cape. Now Doc. What am I supposed to say?'
I felt like a naughty kid in the principal's office. I stared idly out Brian's window and watched a gray squirrel hop along a giant oak limb, fluffing its tail and chattering. The word was getting around fast; even the squirrels knew I was crazy. A blue jay shrieked, and the squirrel chattered and flipped its tail in little quick jerks.
Brian Hannon picked up the phone and summoned an aide. He told the aide to run down some background information on James Schilling and Daniel Murdock.
'You did it. Why did you, if I'm imagining the whole thing?'
'I don't want you to suppose anything from it. Remember this: you still haven't a thing concrete to go on. It's one pipe dream strung to another, all the way along. But I can get the information, and will, if there is any to be got. I can do it without pangs of conscience because doing so will indirectly protect you, which is what I'm paid to do. We'll get back to you in a few days. You can be reached at home?'
'No. We're taking off from the Cape tomorrow early. I'll be spending two days or so getting Ella Hatton ready.'
'Who's she?'
'My boat.'
'Oh I see. Getting her ready to take her out of the water?'
'No. Getting her ready for a cruise around Cape Cod Bay. I don't want anyone except you and the family, and Jim DeGroot, to know where I am or how long I'll be gone. If you need me, call Mary and leave a message.'
'and what do you intend to do on this cruise?'
'I'm going to find the boat: Penelope, Windhove r… Whatever the hell her name is, I'm going to find her if I have to pick up Cape Cod by Provincetown and Buzzards Bay and turn it upside down and shake it.'
'That's a dumb idea.'
'I didn't expect you'd think it was a great idea. Mary is not too wild about it either.'
I rose to go, but he detained me. He opened a small metal filing case behind him and drew out my card. It was my application to own and carry a handgun. These are very difficult to get in Massachusetts. If you are caught toting a handgun and are not so licensed, you are sentenced to a year in the can. No ifs, ands, or buts. Chief Brian Hannon, after some debate, had granted me the Permit to Carry two years ago when I took up target shooting. He examined some slips of paper behind the card.
'Hmmm. Two additions since your original purchase. Ruger Bull-Barrel auto target pistol, caliber 22. Browning 9 millimeter auto. Tell me, Doc, you're not thinking of taking these along with you on your cruise are you'? And if you do, do you really think you might need them?'
I paused at the doorway and turned.
'As Fats Waller used to say: 'One never knows, do one?' '
'I still can't believe we went, Charlie,' said Mary as she slid into the front seat. It was just before midnight and we were leaving the Surf Theater in Wocasset.
'How did you like them?'
'I can't believe they're legal. Honest to God I had no idea-'
'But how did you like them?'
'I think they're disgusting. I mean even the titles.'
'I don't know, I thought the titles were rather clever, especially A Hard Man Is Good to Find.'
'Hmmm. What was the other one called?'
' Genitals Prefer Blondes.'
'Well it was disgusting.'
'Well then I'm sorry I took you.'
'You didn't like them, did you?'
'I think a little dirt every now and then is nice. You sure you didn't like them even a little bit?'
She protested that she didn't. The movies exploited both men and women she said, and debased sex. And furthermore, if she'd any idea that they were that explicit and graphic she never would have consented to go in the first place. And she would never go again. I kept my mouth shut.
We had arrived back at The Breakers the day before. All through the drive we discussed-argued actually-the merits and disadvantages of my secret Bay cruise aboard the Ella Hatton. I was propounding the former, she the latter. I finally managed to convince her that I would be safe because I would remain inconspicuously in the background: in small bays and inlets, in snug harbors and along beaches.
We swung into the wide gravel drive, exited the car and started up the back steps. The surf was loud. Mary
