Dark Nantucket Noon (8 page)

“Well, no, we were making too much noise ourselves, I guess. I was cursing because the light had turned on behind our backs, and Letty was squealing, and so was Arthur Bird.”

Homer leaned forward and glared fiercely at Richard Roper. “Can you think of any reason why anybody—
anybody
—would have wanted to kill Helen Green?”

“Oh, heck, no. I mean, she was very much admired. Respected. After all, she was an island girl. The last of the Boatwrights.”

“That's right, she was an orphan, wasn't she? Her parents died in the
Andrea Doria
disaster.”

“Yes. And the Boatwrights were a really old family, one of the first to settle on the island. Proprietors. We Ropers went right on increasing and increasing, but the Boatwrights kept their family within bounds, somehow or other, and finally they started dwindling away until nobody was left in this generation but Helen. Oh, of course, Joe is a Boatwright too, in a way. At least, one of his four sets of great-grandparents was. But I keep forgetting about him, because he didn't grow up here. He never even came to the island until that time when he met Helen at her grandfather's funeral. And of course he doesn't even carry the Boatwright name. I mean, like the man says, some of my best friends are Jews, but it's strange to think of the blood of an old Nantucket family flowing in Jewish veins. Poor Helen.” Dick Roper shook his head sorrowfully. “Known her all my life. Can't see how anybody could have had it in for her. Why, you know she was the leader of a whole lot of people who were working for the good of the island. She was really heroic, the way she went to bat to save it. She even gave up five hundred acres of her own land, gave it to a conservation trust, the Boatwright Trust. And she was the president—I guess you know that—of the Nantucket Protection Society, and I guess it would be fair to say that she was responsible for the new town bylaw to protect the future of the moors. A real crusader, that was Helen.”

“That was at the Special Town Meeting in February? I've heard people talk about it. Was anybody against the bylaw?”

“Against it! Oh, sure. It just barely passed. After all, it took a two-thirds vote because it was a change in zoning. Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, I guess she did make some enemies with that bylaw. Some of the real estate dealers didn't like it, of course. Hated to see all that land pass out of the pool of future development. Although I must say some of the more enlightened realtors voted for it, Mr. Hinckley, for instance, and Mrs. Pettigrew. Of course a lot of other people were against it because they had wanted to make money off their extra land. Matter of fact, I voted against it myself.”

“You did? Why? Do you own land on the island?”

“Well, yes, I guess you could say I own quite a lot of land. Came down in my family. But I was just as glad when the bylaw passed. I never intended to develop it anyway. Not like some of those landowners. They were really angry. Especially that guy Holworthy out at Madaket. Lost a million dollars he was trying to make through a deal with that crummy character Flakeley, the real estate developer. Did you read his letter in the paper? Says he's going to take that bylaw to a higher court.”

“So the point is, I guess,” said Homer, “Helen still had some enemies.”

“Well, if you want to call those people enemies. But I'd say that was a pretty strong word. And anyway, how could any of those people have killed Helen at the lighthouse? Nobody else was there.”

“Could anybody have been in the water nearby? Were there any boats offshore?”

“Oh, well, yes. I could see that classy fishing yacht of Cress-well's, away out in Nantucket Sound.”

“Cresswell? Who's he?”

“Oh, he's that big moneybags who's a boyfriend of Mrs. Magee's. She's in real estate. Excuse me, I shouldn't talk about a big depositor that way. He's in oil, I think, or maybe it's wheat futures. I don't know what the heck it is. Wish I had his kind of money. What I wouldn't give for a forty-five-foot sport-fishing boat like that! I'd take it to the Virgin Islands. You just get in and drive the thing like a bus.”

Homer stared dreamily at the white sails and bright pennants of the whaling vessel that had belonged to Richard Roper's great-great-grandfather. “How far out in the Sound would you say Cresswell's boat was?”

“Oh,
way
out. And I remember seeing a little sailboat, it was a Rainbow, and a red cabin cruiser in the Sound while it was growing dark. And there were some others, I think. Fishing boat from New Bedford, way out, although it was pretty early in the year for that.”

“How could I find out what boats went out from Nantucket that day?”

“Why don't you ask Charley Piper? Shellfish warden. He's out there every day at Straight Wharf. Sees everything. Never forgets anything. He'd know. At least he'd know who went in and out of the harbor. He might not know about boats from the mainland that were just cruising by the island to see the eclipse.”

“Charley Piper.” Homer took a small notebook out of his coat pocket and scribbled in it. Then he asked another question, looking once again at the portrait of the ship on the wall. It was a cautious question, and Homer felt as if he were putting the tip of his toe very delicately below the surface of the painted waves. “As far as you could see, Joe and Helen Green were happy together? They seemed to get along all right?”

“Oh, well, sure. Of course. That goes without saying. Joe worshiped her, anybody could see that. How could he help it? Ye gods, she was so splendid. Oh, he didn't say much, or make a fuss over her in public. He isn't that sort. He was quiet. She always did most of the talking. But—well, I tell you, this death of hers, it's a tragedy. That young woman Katharine Clark ought to be—well, she's your client, but I must tell you there's a good deal of feeling about her being let out on bail. She was obviously insane. People are worried about her, walking around among their wives and children on the streets of Nantucket. Afraid of what she might do.”

Homer's response was serene but savage. “You had a knife of your own, I understand, Mr. Roper?”

“Oh, that.” Richard Roper's cheerfulness was unshaken, and he laughed, showing a perfect set of teeth. “My fish knife? Chief Pike took that. Exhibit B. I've bought myself another one just like it. Can't get along without it. Comes from Finland.” He took a slender silver object out of his coat pocket and showed it to Homer. “See? Good and sharp. So was the other one. But good God, man, why in blazes would I want to kill Helen Green? Known her all my life. And we were all together, I tell you, and when we came down Helen was dead, and that girl was standing over her, covered with blood. Besides, if any of us had wanted to kill Helen Green, there was a much easier way. Just a little nudge on that crazy iron staircase and she'd have gone down. Why should we have bothered with a weapon at all?”

9

… all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain …

Moby Dick

The old Portuguese bell in the tower of the Unitarian church was striking its traditional fifty-two hollow strokes when Homer came out of the Pacific National Bank. The bell was rung three times a day, and since it wasn't dawn and it wasn't curfew, it must be noon, and that meant that he was late for his appointment with Arthur Bird.

Arthur had a corner bedroom in a seedy big house on India Street.

“I'm sorry we can't meet in pleasanter surroundings,” he said. “I'm a person who is physically upset by ugliness, I mean
physically.
This sort of thing almost makes me sick to my stomach.” He waved his hand around the room at the furniture, a bijou bedroom suite dating from the 1890s.

“Whassamatter with it?” said Homer. “Lookit the carving.”

“Oh, well, if you like that sort of thing. Actually, I'm about to move out of here. I've found a
charming
place. Melville Estates at Monomoy. Lovely cottages. Belongs to Mrs. Magee, a woman of
perfect
taste. Of course it's much more expensive, but I'll be delighted to pay anything to get out of
this
revolting atmosphere.”

Pay anything …
Homer had heard that Arthur Bird was the heir to Bird's Mercerized Thread. Some clever inventive ancestor had piled up a fortune, and then the family had dwindled down to this pantywaist. “You're going to stay on the island? What for?” said Homer bluntly.

“Well, you see, I feel so close to this case. I want to be right here, so that if I am needed I will be available. Of course if there's anything I can do to help Miss Clark … You know, Mr. Kelly, in every lifetime there are just one or two people who stand out from the rest like beacons, who point the way, do you know what I mean? Well, Miss Clark has been one of those shining lights for me.”

“Well, good. Tell me why you came to the island.” Disgusting loathsome ass that you are.

“Why, I came to see the eclipse, of course.”

“But according to your statement you were two weeks early for that, weren't you?”

“Well, actually, since I am a student of American literature, naturally I am interested in the work of Joseph Green, the novelist. I called on him, and we became acquainted.”

“Then that's why you came to Nantucket—to meet Joe Green?”

“You might say it was, in a way.” Arthur's cherubic face turned solemn. “I will tell you something in strictest confidence, Mr. Kelly. I am writing a book. The personal life history of Joseph Green.” He pointed a plump finger at a pile of papers on the bureau. “Since I feel already so deeply involved, knowing Miss Clark as well as I do, since, as I am sure you are aware, Miss Clark and Mr. Green were once extremely
close
, since I was present at the climactic event of last week, I feel I have a natural intimacy upon which I can base further study, and, having been schooled in the field in which they are both engaged, I know of no other single individual who might undertake a study of this kind with a better right, a work, that is, of this peculiarly delicate nature, a task—”

There seemed no way to turn the blithering idiot off but by breaking in. “What about Joe?” said Homer. “Did he agree to talk to you about Kitty?”

“Well, when I knocked on his door and reminded him that I was a student of Miss Clark's, he invited me in, and I must say I expected more of the interview than what took place. When I explained my project to him he became rather cool and unresponsive. Genius, you see, Mr. Kelly, is often shy. A great man of a creative temperament often becomes a recluse. But by patience, by constant effort, by gentle insistence, by simply being
there
, over and over again, I hoped to break down the wall of his reserve. Although, after this
spectacular
event, I must say I have a great deal to go on even if I learn nothing more.”

Homer looked with suppressed fury at the stack of papers on the dresser. He could almost see the leeches crawling all over it. “Tell me, Arthur, did you arrange ahead of time with Joe to meet him at Great Point on the day of the eclipse, or did you just happen to …?” Horn in, he wanted to say.

“Why, I just thought that the lighthouse at Great Point would be an excellent place. It was so out in the open, and all.”

“You mean, you read in the local paper that the Greens were going to be there,” said Homer ruthlessly.

“Why, yes. Yes, I did. Of course I assumed that the place would be crowded. I didn't think one more person would make any difference. And then, of course, I was surprised to find myself one of a select group.”

“Did you rent that pickup truck? And what time did you get out there?”

“Yes. I rented it the day before from Mr. Woodrow. And I was there early. I went to the Greens' house first, around ten-thirty, but there was no one there, so I assumed they had already gone, and I set out at once. But when I got to the lighthouse around eleven-thirty, they weren't there yet. So I was all alone for about an hour before they came along.”

“You took pictures out there, I understand. What happened to the roll of film?”

“Oh, I turned it over to the police instantly. I knew it would be of the utmost importance in reconstructing the event.” Arthur's brown eyes grew big. “It was in
color.”

Think of the blood, he meant. Think of the blood in color. Homer wanted to kick him. He gathered himself together and asked another question. “When did you realize that the girl approaching the lighthouse was Kitty Clark?”

“Well! We had all been watching this girl come across the sand, looking so
sexy
with her dress blowing up that way—I mean, it was a whole new
facet
of Miss Clark's personality—so when she took off her sunglasses and I saw who it was, I must say I was surprised! Of course it's true that I did know she was coming to the island to see the eclipse, because she told our class about it at the beginning of the semester when she was making up the schedule for the year. But I'd never seen her look like this! Afterwards, well, naturally, it was plain that she had been out of her mind, that she was in some sort of sexual delirium.”

“When you recognized her you said her name, I gather. What happened then?”

“Well, when we knew who she was, Helen Green so
kindly
said she would go down and tell her to come up. I was just flabbergasted. I knew I was watching history in the making! And then I took a picture of Joe, waiting for her. His face was
etched
with suffering! And then the eclipse began, and the light turned on behind us, and we pressed up against the glass, and I found myself actually shouting.”

“Could you see anything that was going on down below?”

“Oh, no, it was much too dark. And we were watching the sun, of course. And then when the sun came out again we all started downstairs, and that's when we discovered Helen's body, and there was Miss Clark standing over it, her hands all
blood
, and I saw her knife in the sand. And she seemed so
cheerful.
It was so out of keeping with the solemnity of the occasion. I took a picture of her right away, and I hope I caught the expression on her face. She was quite, quite mad.”