Palindrome

CHAPTER 32

The helicopter's blades slowed, and the engine wound down. Before the rotors had stopped, a man of about forty dressed in khaki shirt and trousers and a Stetson hat stepped to the ground. "Good afternoon, Bob," Germaine said as he approached the front porch of the inn, where she and Liz were waiting. "Why don't you come around back?"

"All right," he said, eyeing the guests who littered the front porch. He waited until they were out of sight of the guests before asking any questions. "Now, why don't you tell me exactly what happened, Germaine?"

"Bob, this is Liz Barwick; she's living up at Stafford Beach Cottage. Liz, this is Bob Walden, our sheriff."

"Hey," the sheriff said.

"Nice to meet you," Liz replied.

They reached Liz's Jeep. "Liz had better tell you about it," Germaine said. "She's the one who found it." Liz explained how she caught sight of her find at Lake Whitney. She went to the rear of the Jeep, popped the tailgate, and pointed at a sheet of green plastic.

"That's it." As the sheriff approached the Jeep, Liz and Germaine involuntarily moved back a step.

"I don't want to see this, do I?" Germaine said.

"Probably not," Liz replied.

Sheriff Walden gingerly unrolled the plastic and looked at the arm. "Jesus Christ," he said softly. "I never saw anything like that before."

"And I never want to see anything like that again," Liz said, turning away.

"Miz Barwick, why did you bring it with you? Why didn't you leave it where you found it and get some help?"

"I thought there was a man attached to it, and I tried to pull him out of the grass," Liz said. "When I realized what had happened, I thought I'd better bring it with me, or it might not be there when I got back with help."

"You sound like you know what happened," the sheriff said. "I'd like to know, too; tell me about it."

"It had to be Goliath," Liz said.

"Goliath?"

Germaine spoke up. "We've got a big gator in a lake on the north part of the island."

The sheriff looked at the arm again. "The way it's mangled above the elbow, it looks like it was torn off. Those are teeth marks, I reckon." Liz did not look. "You have any idea who it belonged to?" the sheriff asked.

"I think it's my cousin, Jimmy Weathers," Germaine said. "That's his watch, anyway, or one like his."

"Are you sure it's his arm?"

"Well, I never expected to have to identify him by his arm," Germaine admitted, "But the hair on it is light brown, like Jimmy's. I last saw him this morning; he was going around the island with an architect."

"And where's the architect?" the sheriff asked.

"I hadn't thought about that," Germaine said.

Hamish Drummond came out the back door. "Hi, Bob, what's going on?" he asked. The sheriff nodded toward the back of the Jeep.

Hamish looked at the arm, grimaced, and turned away. "That's Jimmy's wristwatch, isn't it?" Germaine asked him.

"Could be. Who found it?"

"I did," Liz said. "I hope the hell it was at Lake Whitney," Hamish said.

"It was. On the dike thing where the road goes."

"Good. I'd hate to think that old gator was roaming around down here somewhere."

Angus Drummond pulled up in his jeep, followed closely by Buck Moses in his battered pickup. "I saw the helicopter," he said. "What's going on?"

Everybody filled Angus in. "Did you see any of the rest of him?" Angus asked Liz, not unkindly. "No. I just wanted to get out of there before I saw that alligator again."

"Again?" Hamish asked. "You saw him before?"

Liz nodded. "I was taking pictures down there one day, and he came after me. I was lucky to get away; as it was, he ate half my tripod."

"How big was he?" Angus asked.

"He looked gigantic," Liz said, "but mostly, I just saw jaws."

"He twenty foot," Buck said.

"How long since you saw him, Buck?" Angus asked.

"'Bout a year. He twenty foot if he a inch."

"I believe it," Angus said.

"I believe it, too," the sheriff replied, "after looking at that arm." Angus and Buck had a look at the arm, and the sheriff gingerly removed the wristwatch from the wrist.

"Nothing engraved on it," he said, "but there'll be a serial number, and if he registered the warranty when he bought it, they'll have a record. I can check it with a phone call."

He dropped it into a plastic bag and zipped it shut, then he wrapped up the arm again. "I want to refrigerate this while we look at your lake."

Germaine shuddered. "All right, come on with me, and I'll get you a cooler and some ice."

She stopped. "Somebody's got to call Jimmy's wife, too, I guess. Any volunteers?"

Nobody said anything. "I didn't think so." Germaine sighed, then started for the house again.

"Could that arm belong to anybody but Jimmy?" Angus asked when they had gone.

"Germaine says everybody else is accounted for except the architect who was with Jimmy."

It occurred to Liz that one other person was not accounted for: Keir Drummond. She thought about the arm. It could be Keir's, she realized with a thump of her heart; still, she had never seen him wear a gold Rolex wristwatch, and she didn't think he was the sort who would choose something that gaudy.

"Well, it's the first man we've lost to Goliath," Angus said. "God only knows how many of my deer he's taken."

Germaine returned with a cooler of ice, the sheriff, and another man. "This is Henry Rhinehart, Jimmy's architect," she said. "He just got back to the inn. I've told him what happened."

Rhinehart looked stunned. "Where did you last see Jimmy Weathers?" the sheriff asked.

"We were walking the beach," he said, "and then Jimmy wanted to look at something else; he didn't say what. He headed off through the dunes, toward the interior of the island."

"How long ago was that?" Rhinehart looked at his watch.

"About three hours. It took me that long to walk back to the inn.

"How much light we got left?" the sheriff asked nobody in particular.

Buck Moses looked at the sun. "'Bout five hours," he said.

"Well, I guess we'd better go up there and see if we can find the rest of him. Maybe we'll get a shot at that gator, too."

"You ain't gon' find that boy," Buck Moses said.

The sheriff seemed to understand that he was in the presence of a backwoods expert. "Why not?"

"That gator, he gon' take his kill and stick it up under something'-a log, a rock-something' under the water. You put folks to looking' in the water, and the gator gon' get somebody else."

"Well, I'm not anxious to get in the water with a twenty-footer, myself," the sheriff said.

"You're not going to kill that animal, either," Angus said firmly.

"That's a man-eater, Mr. Drummond," the sheriff replied. "I've got to do something about him if I can."

"That's my gator, and he's on my island. He was doing what comes naturally, and nobody's going to shoot him for it."

"Ain't no gator gon' come out of the water to get at a man," Buck said. "He got Jimmy, Jimmy was in the water."

"Why would he go in the water?" the architect asked.

"Dunno," Buck replied. "But the gator ain't gon' come out of the water at him."

"He had a go at me," Liz piped up.

"Was you in the water?" Buck asked. "Yes," she admitted. "About knee deep."

"You lucky you got a knee," Buck said.

"Don't I know it."

"All right, all right," the sheriff said. "What I need is as many armed men as I can get-rifles and shotguns with double-aught buckshot."

"I don't want anybody shooting at that gator," Angus said. "Well, we've got to have a look for the rest of this body, and I'm not going to ask any man to do that unarmed," the sheriff said.

"Just as long as you understand that nobody shoots at him unless he's in danger," Angus said, "then I'll scare up some weapons. An hour later, the group arrived at the end of the dike.

"Allz right, Miz Barwick," the sheriff said, "where did you find the arm?" Liz pointed.

"There; about fifty feet along the dike, sticking out of the grass. I only saw the hand and the wrist."

"I want two men right behind me," he said and pumped the lever-action thirty-thirty in his hands. The sheriff walked slowly out on the dike, keeping his attention on the high grass along the lakeshore, followed by Buck Moses and the architect, both clutching shotguns.

"He ain't gon' get you, sheriff!" Buck cackled. He seemed vastly amused by these white men.

"About there," Liz called, and the group stopped. The sheriff moved the grass aside with his rifle barrel. "There's some blood, a lot of blood." All three men began poking in the grass with their rifles.

"Looka here!" Buck called out. "Gator done dragged him in right here!"

"Miz Barwick," the sheriff called, "could you come out here with your camera?" Liz took a deep breath and walked along the dike to where they stood. "Please photograph the bloody place, here, where you found the arm, and that spot in the mud, there, where it looks like something was dragged into the water."

Liz did as she was told, but she was trembling. A few minutes later they regrouped at the cars.

"I don't know what the hell else to do," the sheriff said, mopping his brow. "I never had one of these on my hands before."

"Ain't nothing else you can do," Buck said. "Gator done gone with Jimmy. We ain't gon' see Jimmy no more."

"You don't think that gator would come out of the water to get a man, then, Buck?" the sheriff asked.

"Naw, sir," Buck said. "Jimmy done gone in the water." He paused.

"Or somebody done put him in there." Everybody turned and looked at Buck.

"Who would hate Jimmy enough to do that?" the architect asked.

Buck grinned toothlessly. "Jes' about ever'body, I reckon."