"You probably never needed more."

"Till now I didn't… Do I think Ben's guilty? It sure as hell looks like it, and he's not bothering to deny it. Only one who thinks otherwise is Dr. Bill, with his usual…"

He shook his head.

"His usual single-mindedness?" I said.

He forced a smile. "My word was "fanaticism.' Don't get me wrong, I think he probably could have won a Nobel Prize for something if he'd put his mind to it. He's helped my mother and me plenty, giving her a free lease on the restaurant till things get better, paying for my schooling. I felt like a shithead, mouthing off to him last night. But you've got to understand, he's like a moray eel- gets hold of something and won't let go. What the hell does he want me to do? Let Ben walk on his say-so and watch the whole damn island explode?"

"Is the island near exploding?"

"Hotter than I've ever seen it- a lot worse than when AnneMarie got killed, and we had grumblings then."

"The march up South Road?"

"No march, just a few kids shouting and waving sticks- but look where it led. Now some people think they were fooled into believing a sailor did AnneMarie, and they're doubly pissed."

"Fooled by Ben?"

"And Dr. Bill. 'Cause Ben's seen as Dr. Bill's boy. And even though people admire Dr. Bill, they're also… nervous about him. You hear stories."

"About what?"

"Mad scientist shit. Growing all this fruit and vegetables, bringing some into town, but rumor is he hoards it."

"Is that true?"

"Who the hell knows? Guys who work the estate say he fools around with dehydration, nutritional research. But who cares? What's to stop anyone from growing their own stuff? My mother does. Dr. Bill set her up years ago with soil and seeds, and she grows her own Chinese vegetables for the restaurant. But people get dependent, they like to piss and moan. Doesn't take much to get their tongues flapping. AnneMarie was a newcomer, no roots here, but everyone liked Betty."

"Including the sailors."

He turned toward me very slowly. "Meaning?"

"Moreland said she'd socialized with them. As had AnneMarie."

"Socialized… yeah, Betty liked to party before she got engaged, but for your own safety I wouldn't repeat that."

"Any chance Betty and Ben had an affair?"

"Not that I heard, but who knows? But whatever Betty did, she was a nice kid. Didn't deserve to be ripped up like that."

"I know. I spoke to her the morning before she died."

He put his cup down. "Where?"

"At the Trading Post. I bought drinks and magazines. She told me about her baby."

He arced his feet off the desk and they hit the floor hard.

"Yeah, her mom said she loved the idea of having a baby." Real pain clouded his eyes. "Anyone who'd do that should have his nuts cut off and stuffed down his throat."

The phone rang. He grabbed it. "Yeah? No, not yet. No, not before his lawyer- I don't know."

He slammed the phone down. "That was Mr. Creedman. Wants to do a story for the wire services."

"Opportunity knocks," I said.

"Meaning?"

"He's a writer. Now he's got a story."

"What do you think of him?"

"Not much."

"Me, neither. First day he got here, he hit on my mother. She straightened him out soon enough."

He trained his eyes on me. He was a handsome man but I thought of a rhino, ready to charge.

"So tell me, doc, is Ben one of those guys, when you hear about his killing someone you say, "No way, couldn't be'?"

"I don't know him well enough to answer that."

He laughed. "Got my answer. Not that I've got any grudge against him. I've always admired him for the way he pulled himself up. I grew up without a father, but my mother's good enough for ten parents. Ben's mom was a dirty drunk and his dad was a real asshole, beat the hell out of him just for laughs. According to you guys, isn't that exactly the kind of thing that grows killers?"

"It helps," I said. "But there are plenty of abused kids who don't end up violent, and people from good homes who turn bad."

"Sure," he said, "anything's possible. But we're talking odds. I took psychology, learned about early influences. Someone like Ben, I guess it's no surprise he cracked. I guess the big surprise is the time he had in between, acting normal."

"In between what?"

Instead of answering, he finished his coffee. I'd barely touched mine and he noticed.

"Yeah, it's lousy- want some tea instead?"

"No, thanks."

"The situation's really bad," he said into his empty cup. "Betty's family, Mauricio. Claire, her kids. Everyone thrown together, people can't escape each other."

The phone rang again. He got rid of the caller with a couple of barks.

"Everyone wants to know everything." He looked above me, at the bikini girl. "I should take that down. Ed and Elijah like it, but it's disrespectful."

He got up and came toward me. "I've seen plenty, doctor, but never anything like what happened to those two women."

"One thing you might want to know," I said. "After I read the Valdos file I called my detective friend. He ran a search for similar murders and came up with one, ten years old, in Maryland."

"Why'd you ask him to look?"

"I didn't. He did it on his own."

"Why?"

"He's a curious guy."

"Checking out the island savages, huh? Yeah, I know about that one. Two satanists ate a working girl." He shot out some details. "My computer rarely works right, but I phone stuff in to the MPs on Guam and they hook into NCIC."

"What do you think of the similarities?"

"I think satanic psychos have some sort of script."

"Any evidence Ben was into satanism?"

"Nope."

"Have you ever seen evidence of satanism on Aruk?"

"Not a trace, everyone's Catholic. But Ben was in Hawaii ten years ago- who knows what kind of shit he picked up?"

"Did he take any side trips to the mainland?"

"Like to Maryland? Good question. I'll look into it. For all I know, he killed girls in Hawaii and never got caught. For all I know, he was lucky the only thing they got him for was indecent exposure."

The look on my face made him smile.

"That's what I meant by acting normal in between."

"When?" I said.

"Ten years ago. He peeped in some lady's window with his pants down and his dick out. He was in the Guard and they handled it. Ninety days in the brig. That's how a lot of sex killers get started, isn't it? Watching and beating off, then moving on to the heavy stuff?"

"Sometimes."

"This time." He looked disgusted. "Okay, have your hour with him. Give him his moral support."

27

Behind the battered door was a warren of small, dim rooms and narrow corridors. At the back was a dented sheet-metal door bolted by a stout iron bar.

Laurent removed my watch and emptied my pockets, placed my belongings on a table along with his gun, then unlocked the bar, raised it, and pocketed the key. Pushing the door open, he let me pass, and I came up against grimy gray bars and the sulfur-stink of excreta.

A two-cell jail, a pair of three-pace cages, each with a cement floor, a grated, translucent window, a double bunk chained to the wall, a crusted hole with heel-rests for a toilet.

The ceilings were six and a half feet high. Black mold grew in cracks and corners. The plaster had been scored by decades of fingernail calligraphy.

Laurent saw the revulsion on my face.

"Welcome to Istanbul West," he said, with no satisfaction. "Usually guys don't stay here for more than a few hours, sleeping off a drunk."

The nearer cell was empty. Ben sat on the lower bunk of the other, chin in hand.

"Well, well, looks like we've had some movement," said Laurent, loudly.

Ben didn't budge.