"No, thanks, but I wouldn't mind a newspaper now and then. Just to stay in touch with the world."

"I'm sorry, son, can't help you there. We used to get papers more often when the Navy let us ship things on their supply planes, but now we depend upon the boats. Don't you find the radio news sufficient?"

"I noticed some American papers on your desk."

He blinked. "Those are old."

"Research?"

Our eyes locked. His were clear and alert now.

"Yes, I use a clipping service in Guam. If you'd like I can have them bulk-order some periodicals for you. And if you'd like to watch TV, I can get you a portable set."

"No, it's not necessary."

"You're sure?"

"Hundred percent."

"Please tell me if there's anything more you need by way of creature comforts. I want your stay to be enjoyable."

He ran his tongue under his right cheek and frowned. "Has it been- enjoyable? Excepting last night, of course."

"We're having a fine time."

"I hope so. One tries… to be a good host." He smiled and shrugged. "My apologies again about the hissers-"

"Let's really forget it, Bill."

"You're very gracious… I suppose I've been living here by myself so long that the niceties of social discourse elude me."

Staring at the floor again. Holding his bandaged hand with the other and getting that absent look in his eyes.

Then he snapped out of it, stood suddenly, and surveyed the lab. "Back to work."

"Don't you think you should rest?"

"No, no, I'm tip-top. By the way, what was it you came here for?"

What I'd come for were piercing questions about Samuel H. and radiation poisoning. Payoffs, half-truths, and subterfuge. What, if anything, his role had been forty years ago.

Now something else: why was my involvement in crime cases "perfect"?

I said, "Just wanted to know if there were any specific cases you wanted me to look over."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't presume. As I told you at the outset, you have total freedom."

"I wouldn't mind reviewing any other nuclear fallout cases you might have. Neuropsychological sequelae of radiation poisoning. I don't think anyone's studied it. It could be a great opportunity for us to produce a unique theoretical base."

His head retracted an inch and he put a hand on the counter. "Yes, it could."

He began arranging boxes of dried food, peering at ingredients, straightening a test tube rack. "Unfortunately, Samuel's is the only radiation chart I took with me. Til I came across it, I didn't know it was there. Or perhaps I left it there unconsciously. Wanting a reminder."

"Of what?"

"The terrible, terrible things people do under the guise of authority."

"Yes," I said, "authority can be horribly corrupting."

Short, hard nod. Another burdened look.

He stared at me, then turned away and held a test tube of brown liquid up to the light. His arm trembled.

"It would have been an interesting paper, Alex. Sorry I haven't any more data."

"Speaking of authority," I said, "I was at the Trading Post this morning and happened to catch the tail end of Hoffman's press conference in Guam."

"Really?" He inspected another tube.

"He was talking about his plan to develop Micronesia."

"He made his fortune building shopping centers, so I'm not surprised. That and so-called "managed forestry.' His father was a lumberjack, but he's responsible for more timber clearing than his father could have ever imagined."

"He has a reputation for being ecologically minded."

"There are ways."

"Of what?"

"Of getting one's way without fouling one's own nest. He chopped down rain forest in South America but supported national parks in Oregon and Idaho. So the ecology groups gave him an excellent rating. A fact he reminded me of last night. As if that excused it."

"Excused what?"

"What he's doing here."

"Letting Aruk die?"

He put down the test tube and glared at me. "A loss of vigor doesn't imply the terminal state."

"So you have hope for the island?"

His hands dropped to his sides again, skinny and rigid as ski poles. Blood had seeped under the bandage and crusted.

"I always have hope," he said, barely moving his lips. "Without hope, there's nothing."

He lit a Bunsen burner and I returned to my office. Why hadn't I been more forthright?

The fall? His seeming fragility?

Falling. Forgetfulness. Tremors.

Sleep deprivation as he claimed, or was he just an old man in decline?

Declining along with his island.

His reaction to my suggestion that Aruk was dying had been sharp. The same type of frosty anger he'd shown Pam last night. I wondered if he'd once been a harder, colder man.

Without hope, there's nothing.

Hope was fine, but what was he doing about it? The same question: why not take heroic measures to revive things, rather than put his energy into the nutritional needs of bugs?

Because he was running out of energy?

Needed a universe he could control?

Lord of the Roaches…

Where did I fit in?

22

I left to find Robin but she found me first, coming up the path with Spike, looking troubled.

"What's wrong?"

"Let's go inside."

We returned to the office and sat on the couch.

"Oh, boy."

"What is it?"

"I took another walk. To the northeast corner of the estate where it curves away from the banyan forest. Actually, I followed Spike. He kept pulling me there."

She pushed curls away from her eyes and rested her head on the back of the sofa.

"The stone walls continue all around, but as the road curves there's a very thick planting of avocado and mango that blocks the border. Hundreds of mature trees, you have to really squeeze to get through. Spike kept huffing, really yanking me. After a hundred feet or so I figured out why: someone was crying. I ran to see."

She took my hand and squeezed it.

"It was Pam, Alex. Lying on a blanket between the trees. Picnic stuff with her, a thermos, sandwiches. Lying on her back, wearing a sundress… oh, boy."

"What?"

"The straps were down and one hand was here." She cupped her own left breast. "Her eyes were closed; the other hand was up her dress. We just burst in on her-"

"Crying from pleasure?"

"No, no, I don't think so. More like emotional pain. She'd been… touching herself, and for some reason it had made her miserable. Tears were running down her cheeks. I tried to leave before she saw us, but Spike started barking and she opened her eyes. I was mortified. She sat up and adjusted her clothes, and meanwhile Spike's running straight to her, licking her face."

"Our little protector."

"Lord, lord."

"Poor you."

"Can you imagine, Alex? The size of this place, you'd figure you could find a private spot without Sherlock Bones sniffing you out."

"Rotten luck," I agreed. "Though I guess a really private spot would have been in her room with the door closed. How'd she react?"

"A split second of shock, then calm, ladylike, as if I was a neighbor dropping by to borrow sugar. She invited me to sit down. I wanted to be anywhere but there, but what could I say? No, thanks, I'll just leave you to whatever dark and depressing sexual fantasies you were having, ta ta? Meanwhile, Spike's sniffing the sandwiches and drooling."

"The boy knows his priorities."

"Oh, yeah, the world stops for ham and cheese. Actually, having him there was a good distraction. She played with him for a while, fed him, and we were doing a pretty good job of pretending it never happened. Then all of a sudden she burst into tears and stuff just started pouring out- how rotten her marriage had been, what an ugly divorce… I felt like a sponge, soaking up her pain- I don't know how you've done it all these years. I didn't say a thing, but she just kept going. It was almost as if she was glad I'd found her."