"The charter company didn't mention anything about delays."

"They never do. They just cancel without warning."

"Great."

"It's a different way of life," she said. "People don't feel bound by the rules."

"Sounds like Washington."

She put the scone down and smiled, but held on to her butter knife. "Washington has its own set of rules."

"I'll bet. How long have you been working for the government?"

"Since I got out of grad school." Her eyes returned to the clouds. "As they get lower, they pick up moisture, then they turn jet-black and burst all at once. It's something to see."

"You've been to the region before?"

She examined the cutting edge of the knife. "No, but I've been other places with comparable patterns." Another glance upward. "It could come down in sheets. Only problem'll be if the cisterns fill too high for the filters to handle and the germ count rises."

"I thought Bill had the water situation under control."

"Not without access to the town he doesn't. But you heard Laurent. He's stuck here. All of us are. Guilt by association."

"At least you've got your gun."

She raised her eyebrows. Put the knife down and laughed. Pointing her finger at the coffeepot, she pulled an imaginary trigger.

"Crack shot?" I said.

"It was Ly's."

"How'd he get it through baggage control?"

"He didn't. Bought it in Guam. He always traveled armed."

"Exploring dangerous places?"

Filling her juice glass, she drank and looked at me over the rim. "As you said, it's impossible to escape crime."

"Actually, you said that. I said life could be a prison."

"Ah. I stand corrected." She put the glass down, snatched up the scone, bit off half, and chewed vigorously. "It's incredible, being that close to a psychopathic killer. Ben seemed okay, maybe a little too pukka sahib with Bill, but nothing scary." She shook her head. "You never know what's inside someone's head. Or maybe you do."

"Wish I did," I said.

Dipping her hand into the pastry basket, she scooped up croissants, muffins, and rolls, and then broke off a cluster of grapes.

"Working lunch," she said, standing. "Good talking to you. Sorry you didn't have time to solve the mysteries of the island psyche."

She headed for the door to the house. When she got there, I said, "Speaking of prisons, this place would make an especially good one, don't you think? U.S. territory, so there'd be no diplomatic problems. Remote, with no significant population to displace, and the ocean's a perfect security barrier."

Her mouth got small. "Like Devil's Island? Interesting idea."

"And politically expedient. Ship the bad guys halfway around the world and forget about them. With the crime situation back home, I bet it would play great in Peoria."

Crumbs trickled from her hand, dusting the stone floor. Squeezing the pastries. "Are you thinking of going into the prison business?"

"No, just thinking out loud."

"Oh," she said. "Well, you could take it one step further. When you get back home, write your congressman."

Yet another folded card on my desk:

O let not Time deceive you,

You cannot conquer Time.

In the burrows of the Nightmare

Where Justice naked is,

Time watches from the shadow…

WH Auden

Below that: A: Don't you think Einstein would agree? B."

What was he getting at now? The ultimate power of time… deceitful time… Einstein- time's relativity? The nightmare- death? Impending mortality?

An old man losing hope?

Making a typically oblique cry for help?

If so, I was in no mood to oblige.

I read a few more charts but couldn't concentrate. Returning to the house, I encountered Gladys coming out the front door.

"I'm glad I caught you, doctor. Dennis- Chief Laurent's on the phone."

I picked it up in the front room. "Dr. Delaware."

Dead air, then a click and background voices. The loudest was Dennis, giving orders.

I said, "I'm here, Chief."

"Oh- yeah. My man said you had something to tell me."

"I was wondering if I could come into town to talk to Ben."

Pause. "Why?"

"Moral support. Dr. Moreland asked me. I know it's a tall order-"

"No kidding."

"Okay, I asked."

"You don't want to do it?"

"I don't particularly want to mix in," I said. "Any idea when the rest of us will be allowed off the estate?"

"Soon as things quiet down."

"Robin and I have reservations out in five days. Any problems with that?"

"No promises. No one's allowed off the island till we settle this."

"Does that include the sailors on the base?"

He was silent. The noise in the background hadn't subsided.

"Actually," he said, "maybe you should come down to talk to him. He's acting nuts, and I don't want to be accused of not providing proper care, create any technicalities."

"I'm not an M.D."

"What are you?"

"Ph.D. psychologist."

"Close enough. Check him over."

"Pam's an M.D."

"She's no head doctor. What, now that I want you, you're not interested?"

"Are you concerned about a suicide attempt?"

Another pause. "Let's just say I don't like to see prisoners behave like this."

"What's he doing?"

"Nothing. That's the point. Not moving or talking or eating. Even with his wife there. He wouldn't acknowledge her. I guess you'd call it catatonic."

"Are his limbs waxy?"

"You mean soft?"

"If you position him, does he stay that way?"

"Haven't tried to move him- we don't want anyone claiming brutality. We just slide his food tray in and make sure he's got enough toilet paper. I'm bending over to protect his rights until his lawyer shows up."

"When's that?"

"If Guam can free up a public defender and Stanton lets him fly in, hopefully in a couple of days- hold on."

He barked more orders and returned to the line. "Listen, you coming or not? If so, I'll send someone to pick you up and drive you back. If not, that's fine too."

"Pick me up," I said. "When?"

"Soon as I can get someone over."

"Thanks. See you then."

"Don't thank me," he said. "I'm not doing it for your sake. Or his."

He came himself, an hour later, emotions hidden behind mirrored shades, a shotgun clamped to the dash of the little police car.

As I walked out, he looked up at the gargoyle roof tiles and frowned, as if in imitation. I got in the car and he took off, speeding around the fountain and through the open gate, downshifting angrily and taking bumps hard. His head nearly touched the roof and he looked uncomfortable.

When we were out of sight of the estate, he said, "I'll give you an hour, which is probably more than you need 'cause he's still playing statue."

"Think he's faking?"

"You're the expert." He grabbed the gearshift as we went around a sharp curve. His forearms were thick and brown, corded and veined and hairless. White crust flecked the corner of his mouth.

"He told me you two grew up together."

Bitter smile. "He was a couple of years older but we hung out. He was always small, I used to protect him."

"Against who?"

"Kids making fun- his family was trash. He was too, didn't comb his hair, didn't like to bathe. Later, he changed so much you couldn't believe it." He whipped his head toward the window, spat, returned his eyes to the road.

"After he moved in with Moreland?"

"Yeah. All of a sudden he got super-straight, studied all the time, preppy mail-order clothes, and Dr. Bill bought him a catamaran. We used to go out sailing. I'd have a beer; he never touched it."