"There are some things I'd like to discuss with you," I said.

He stared at me.

"Things we never got to last night."

"Yes, certainly. In the morning, right after I call Dennis-"

"I'm staying up, too. We can talk now."

He fidgeted with the neckband of his nightshirt. "Of course. What say we leave the terrace to the ladies and move to my office?"

I squeezed Robin's hand and she squeezed back and sat next to Pam, who looked baffled. But the two of them were already talking as Moreland and I left.

"What's so urgent?" he said, flicking the lights on in the bungalow. The newspaper clippings were gone from his desk. So were all his other papers; the wood surface gleamed.

"We never talked about A. Tutalo-"

"Surely you can see why that wouldn't be a priority at this time-"

"There are other things."

"Such as?"

"Murder. Ben. What's really going on with Aruk."

He said nothing for a while, then, "That's quite an agenda."

"We've got nowhere to go."

"Very well." He pointed crossly to the sofa and I sat, expecting him to settle in a facing chair. Instead, he went behind the desk, lowered himself with a grimace, opened a drawer, and began searching.

"You don't believe Ben could have done this," he said. "Do you?"

"I don't know Ben very well."

He gave a small, tired smile. "Psychologist's answer… Very well, I can't expect you to follow me blindly; you'll see, he'll be vindicated. The notion of his butchering Betty is beyond ridiculous- all right, trivial things first. "A. Tutalo.' You couldn't find an organism by that name because it's not a germ, it's a fantasy. A local myth. The "A' stands for "Aruk.' "Aruk Tutalo.' An imaginary tribe of creatures who live in the forest. Goes back years. A myth. No one's believed it for a long time."

"Except Cristobal."

"Joseph hallucinated. That's not belief."

"You convinced him he hadn't seen anything?"

Pause. "He was a stubborn man."

"Have there been other sightings?"

"None since I've lived here. As I said, it's a primitive idea."

"Creatures from the forest," I said. "What do they look like?"

"Pale, soft, hideous. A shadow society, living under the forest. Nothing unique to Aruk; all cultures develop fantasies of fanciful, lustful creatures in order to project forbidden desires- animal instincts. The minotaurs, centaurs, and satyrs of ancient Greece. The Japanese have a saucer-headed anthro-creature called the kappa who lurks by forest streams, abducting children and pulling their intestines through their anuses. Witches' rituals use animal masks to hide the faces of participants, the Devil himself is often thought of as the Great Beast with goat feet and a serpentine tail. Wood-demons, anthro-bat vampiric creatures, werewolves, the yeti, Bigfoot, it's all the same. Psychological defense."

"What about the catwoman-"

"No, no, that was something totally different."

"A response to trauma."

"A response to cruelty."

"Worm people," I said.

"There are no mammals native to Aruk- one uses what's at hand. "Tutalo' is derived from an ancient island word of uncertain etymology: tootali, or wood-grub. From what I've gathered they're large, humanoid, with tentaclelike limbs, slack bodied but strong. And chalky white. I find that particularly interesting. Perhaps a covert indictment of colonizers: white creatures "appearing' on the island and establishing brutal control."

"Demonizing the oppressor?"

"Precisely."

"Was Joseph Cristobal politically active?"

"On the contrary. A simple man. Illiterate. But fond of drink. I'm sure that had something to do with it. Today, your average villager would laugh at the notion of a Tutalo."

"He was your gardener. Did he sight the Tutalo here?"

He licked his lips and nodded. "He was working on the eastern walls, tying vines. Working overtime, everyone else had gone home. It was well after dark. Fatigue was probably a factor as well."

"Where did he see the creature?"

"Making its way through the banyans. Waving its arms, then retreating. He didn't tell anyone right away. Too scared, he claimed, but I suspect he'd been drinking and didn't want to be thought of as a drunkard or old-fashioned."

"So he suppressed the vision and began hallucinating at night?"

"It began as nightmares. He'd wake up screaming, see the Tutalo in his room."

"Could the original sighting have taken place as he slept?" I said. "Could he have dozed off on the job and made up the vision to cover up?"

"I wondered about that, but of course he denied it. I also wondered if he'd fallen off his ladder and hurt his head, but there were no bruises or swellings anywhere on his body."

"Was he an alcoholic?"

"He wasn't a raving drunk but he did like his spirits."

"Could the visions have been alcohol poisoning?"

"It's a possibility."

"Bill, exactly how endemic is alcoholism on Aruk?"

He blinked and removed his glasses. "In the past it was a serious problem. We've worked hard at education."

"Who's we?"

"Ben and myself, which is why what's happened tonight is madness, Alex! You must help him!"

"What would you like me to do?"

"Speak to Dennis. Let him know Ben couldn't have done it, that he simply doesn't fit the profile of a psychopathic killer."

"Why would Dennis listen to me?"

"I don't know that he would, but we must try everything. Your training and experience will give you credibility. Dennis respects psychology, majored in it in junior college."

"What profile don't you think Ben fits?"

"The FBI's two forms of lust-killer: he's neither the disorganized, low-intellect spree-murderer nor the calculating, sadistic psychopath."

The FBI had earned a lot of TV time with patterns of serial killers obtained from interviews with psychopaths careless enough to get caught. But psychopaths lied for the fun of it, and profiles rarely if ever led to the discovery of a killer, occasionally confirming what police scut work and luck had already accomplished. Profiles had been responsible for some serious fallacies: Serial killers never murdered across race. Till they did. Women couldn't be serial killers. Till they were.

People weren't computer chips. People had the uncanny ability to surprise.

But even if I'd had more faith in the orderly nature of evil, Ben wouldn't have been easily acquitted.

Right after Lyman Picker's death, Robin and I had discussed the hardness of his personality, and I recalled the cold, impersonal way he'd jabbed needles into the arms of the schoolchildren.

Family history of alcoholism.

Rough childhood, probably abuse from the "ugly drunk" father.

A certain rigidity. Tight control.

Outwardly controlled men sometimes lost it when under the influence of booze or drugs. A high percentage of serial killers committed their crimes buoyed by intoxication.

"I'll talk to him," I said. "But I doubt it'll do any good."

"Talk to Ben, too. Try to make some sense of this. I'm shackled, son."

"If I'm to succeed with Dennis, I need to be impartial, not Ben's advocate."

He blinked some more. "Yes, that makes sense. Dennis is rational and honest. If he responds to anything it'll be the rational approach."

"Rational and honest," I said, "but you don't want him dating your daughter."

It had slipped out like loose change.

He recoiled. Sank heavily into the desk chair. When he finally spoke, it was in a low, resigned voice:

"So you despise me."

"No, Bill, but I can't say I understand you. The longer I stay here, the more inconsistent things seem."

He smiled feebly. "Do they?"