ericlustbader.the ninja-第5章

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　Village　Police　of　West　Bay　Bridge。　He　had　a　beery…cheeked　face　on　which　was　positioned　dead　centre；　as　if　it　were　the　bull's…eye　of　some　target；　a　bulbous　red…veined　nose。　His　skin　was　tanned　to　the　colour　of　cured　leather；　his　salt…and…pepper　hair　was　cut　en　brosse。　He　wore　a　brown　Dacron　suit　not　because　he　liked　it　but　because　he　had　to。　He　would　just　as　soon　have　e　to　work　in　a　flannel　shirt　and　a　pair　of　old　slacks。　'What；　then；'　Florum　said　equally　slowly；　'did　he　die　from？'
　'He　was　poisoned；'　Doc　Deerforth　said。　'Doc；'　Florum　said　as　he　wearily　rubbed　his　hand　over　his　face。　'I　want　this　to　be　real　clear；　understand？　Crystal　clear。　So　perfectly　clear　that　there　won't　be　any　possibility　of　a　misunderstanding　when　I　make　out　my　report。　Because；　beside　the　State　Detectives　who；　I'm　sure　you're　aware；　I'm　gonna　have　to　copy　on　this　…　and　when　I　do；　they're　gonna　be　down　here　like　locusts　on　a　wheat…field　asking　us　to　do　all　their　goddamned　field　work　and　then　sucking　us　dry　…　beside　those　sonsabitches；　I've　gotta　contend　with　the　county　bastards　who're　most　probably　gonna　claim　that　this　thing's　in　their　jurisdiction。　And；　to　top　it　all　off；　now　that　you　tell　me　it's　a　murder；　I'm　gonna　have　Flower　rumbling　in　from　Hauppauge　on　his　white　horse　wondering　why　our　investigation　is　taking　so　long　and　when's　he　gonna　be　relieved　of　the　stiff；　his　staff's　so　overworked。'　Florum　slammed　the　flat　of　his　hand　down　on　the　cover　of　a　copy　of　Crime　in　the　United　States；　1979。　'Well；　this　time　they're　just　gonna　have　to　wait　long　enough　so　that　they're　one　great　step　behind　me。'
　A　sergeant　came　in；　handed　Florum　several　typewritten　sheets　and　went　out　without　a　word。
　'Christ；　it　makes　my　blood　boil　sometimes。　I'm　no　goddamned　politician。　That's　what　this　job　calls　for。　Who　the　hell　cares　whether　I　know　police　procedure　or　not。　God！'　But　he　got　up；　still；　and　came　back　with　a　file　which　he　opened　on　his　desk。　He　ran　a　hand　through　his　hair；　scratched　at　his　scalp。　He　began　to　shift　through　a　number　of　eight…by…ten　black　and　white　prints　which；　even　upside　down；　Doc　Deerforth　recognized　as　shots　of　the　drowned　man。
　'First　of　all；'　Doc　Deerforth　said　calmly。　'I've　taken　care　of
　Flower。　He　won't　bother　you；　at　least　for　the　time　being。'
　Florum　looked　up　briefly；　inquisitively；　then　his　gaze　returned　to　the　photos。　'Yeah；　how'd　you　work　that　little　miracle？'
　'I　haven't　told　him　yet。'
　'You　mean　to　say；'　Florum　said；　as　he　reached　out　an　oblong　magnifying…glass　from　a　desk　drawer；　'that　nobody　knows　about　this　。。。　murder　but　us　chickens　right　here　in　this　room？〃
　'That's　precisely　what　I　mean；〃　Doc　Deerforth　said　quietly。
　After　a　time；　Florum　said；　'You　know；　there's　nothing　shows　up　on　these　photos。'　He　shuffled　the　photos　like　a　deck　of　cards　until　a　close…up　of　the　head　and　chest　of　the　drowned　man　was　on　top。　'Nothing　but　a　routine　drowning。'
　'You　won't　find　anything　there。'
　'That's　what　I　said。'
　'Doesn't　mean；　though；　that　there　isn't　anything　to　see。'
　Florum　sat　back　in　his　chair　and　crossed　his　hands　over　his　ample　belly。　'Okay；　Doc。　I'm　all　ears。　You　tell　me　about　it。'
　'What　it　boils　down　to　is　this。　The　man　was　dead　before　he　even　hit　the　water。'　Doc　Deerforth　sighed。　'It　was　something　that　might　have　been　overlooked　by　even　as　good　an　M。E。　as　Flower。'　Florum　grunted　but　said　nothing。　'Look；　there　is　a　small　traumatic　puncture　wound　in　the　man's　chest；　middle…left；　and　it　could　easily　have　been　mistaken　for　a　rock　scrape　…which　it　is　not。　The　puncture　led　me　to　take　blood　samples；　one　of　which　was　from　the　aorta；　where　this　type　of　poison　concentrates；　it's　flushed　from　the　rest　of　the　bloodstream　within　perhaps　twenty　minutes　of　death；　by　what　means　I　have　no　idea。　It's　a　highly　unusual　cardio…vascular　poison。'
　Florum　snapped　his　fingers。　'Proof！　Heart　attack。'
　'Yes。'
　'You　sure　about　this？'
　'About　the　poison；　yes。　Otherwise　you　know　I　wouldn't　have　e　to　you。　But　I've　still　got　some　more　tests　to　run。　It　appears　likely　that　a　sliver　of　whatever　punctured　the　man's　flesh　is　still　lodged　in　his　sternum。〃　'There's　no　exit　wound？'
　'No。'
　'The　fall　could　have　dislodged　it。　Or　the　sea　…'
　'Or　it　was　pulled　free　after　the　man　fell。'
　'What　you're　saying；　Doc。。。'　He　paused　and；　pushing　aside　the　photos；　consulted　a　filled…out　preprinted　form。　〃This　guy；　Barry　Braughm；　an　account　executive　at'　…　here　he　named　Sam　Goldman's　advertising　agency　in　New　York　…　'lived　at　three…oh…one　East　Sixty…third；　was　murdered。　But　in　this　way？　For　what　reason？　He　was　out　here　alone。　No　jealous　wife　or　boyfriend。。。〃　He　laughed。　'He's　got　a　sister　in　Queens　whom　we've　already　contacted　and　interviewed。　We　checked　on　his　house　on　Dune　Road。　Nada。　No　sign　of　it　being　broken　into　or　even　that　anything　was　taken。　His　car　was　where　he　had　driven　it　up　and　parked　it　in　front　of　the　house　as　secure　as　Fort　Knox。　There's　nothing　to　…'
　'There's　this；'　Doc　Deerforth　said；　knowing　that；　at　last；　he　had　e　to　the　moment　he　had　been　dreading　ever　since　he　had　discovered　the　puncture　wound　and；　subsequently；　had　pulled　the　blood　from　the　drowned　man's　heart。　It　isn't　possible；　he　kept　telling　himself；　all　the　time　his　hands　and　eyes　were　running　the　tests　that　were　confirming　it；　saying　it　over　and　over　to　himself　like　a　litany　against　evil。　And　he　felt　now　rather　out　of　himself；　a　dreamlike　unreality　that　allowed　him　to　sit　in　another　part　of　this　room　and　watch　himself　talking　to　Ray　Florum　just　as　if　he　were　an　actor　in　some　film。
　From　outside　there　came　the　sound　of　a　child's　laughter；　harsh　and　brittle　in　the　night；　transformed　by　some　aural　magic　into　an　eerie；　other…worldly　sound；　the　mocking　shrillness　of　the　macaws'　cries　in　the　Philippine　jungle。
　'It's　the　poison；'　he　continued。…　'It's　a　very　specific　type。'　He　ran　his　palms　down　the　sides　of　his　trousers。　It　had　been　a　long　time　since　he　had　felt　his　hands　wet　with　sweat。　'I　came　across　this　particular　pound　when　I　was　stationed　overseas。〃
　'During　the　war？'　Florum　said。　'But；　good　God；　man；　that's　thirty…six　years　ago。　Do　you　mean　to　tell　me　…'
　'I　could　not　forget　this　poison；　Ray；　no　matter　how　many　years　have　passed。　A　patrol　went　out　one　night。　Five　men。　Only　one　returned　and　he　just　made　it　to　the　perimeter。　We'd　heard　no　shots；　nothing　but　the　birds　and　the　buzz　of　the　insects　。。。　It　was　odd；　that　kind　of　stillness；　almost　creepy；　we'd　been　fired　upon　by　snipers　all　through　the　day　and　every　day　for　about　a　week。'　Doc　Deerforth　took　a　deep　breath　before　plunging　onwards。　Anyway；　they　brought　me　the　man　who'd　e　back。　He　was　a　boy；　really。　No　more　than　nineteen。　He　was　still　alive　and　I　began　to　work　on　him。　I　did　everything　I　could；　everything　in　and　out　of　the　book；　but　I　was　helpless。　He　literally　died　before　my　eyes。〃
　'Dying　of　this　stuff？'
　Doc　Deerforth　nodded　bleakly。　'The　same。'
　'Do　you　want　me　to　go？'　Nicholas　asked　her。
　'Yes；'　Justine　said。　'No。　I　don't　know。'　She　stood　behind　the　couch；　her　fingers　pulled　distractedly　at　the　tufted　Haitian　cotton。　'My　God；　but　you　confuse　me。'
　'I　don't　mean　to；'　he　offered。
　'Words　don't　mean　anything。〃
　He　was　quite　startled　to　see　that　her　face　in　profile　seemed　remarkably　different；　as　if　he　were　seeing　her　now　from　the　perspective　of　a　different　age；　some　other　life。　In　this　respect；　she　reminded　him　of　Yukio。　Of　course　with　Yukio　he　had　always　imagined　it　to　be　the　diverse　mixture　of　her　heritage；　shrouded　in　some　mysterious　world　to　which　he　did　not　belong　and　to　which　he　had　brought　but　the　insight　of　an　alien。　That；　he　knew　now；　had　been　a　purely　Westernized　response　to　what　was；　quite　obviously；　inexplicable　and　it　somehow　confounded　him　that　here；　in　the　West；　it　should　strike　him　so　differently。　Perhaps　it　was　but　the　passage　of　time　…　a　certain　distancing　from　the　anguish　…　which　enabled　him　at　last　to　see　Yukio　for　what　she　really　was；　to　him　and　to　those　around　him。　It　was；　he　thought；　the　space　he　had　gained　from　all　the　ramified；　ritualized　patterns　of　his　life　in　Japan；　which　allowed　him　to　realize　the　mistakes　he　had　mitted；　to　understand　the　role　of　his　participation　in　it　all。
　Justine　stirred　on　the　other　side　of　the　couch；　as　far　from　him　as　if　she　were　in　another　country；　and　he　smelled　her　fragrance。
　'It's　late；'　she　said。　But　it　made　no　sense；　was　meant；　he　supposed；　to　fill　a　void　that　was　being　too　threatening　for　her。
　Bur　this　kind　of　inner　tension　was　one　of　the　things　that　most　intrigued　him　about　her。　Oh　yes；　she　was　extraordinarily　beautiful　in　his　eyes；　if　he　had　passed　her　on　a　busy　Manhattan　street；　he　would　surely　have　turned　his　head；　even；　perhaps；　followed　her　into　Bendel's　or　Botticelli　before　he　lost　her　in　a　swelling　crowd；　what　else　does　he　do　with　that　kind　of　fantasy？　When　one　followed　them　up；　one　was　invariably　disappointed。　Then　she　would　have　been　on　his　mind　for　an　hour　or　so。　But　so　what？　Physical　beauty；　he　had　learned　quite　early；　was　the　arbiter　of　nothing；　could　even　be　a　dangerous　and　bloody　thing。　More　than　anything　else；　he　needed　a　challenge；　with　women　as　much　as　with　all　the　interests　in　his　life。　For　he　felt　quite　deeply　that　nothing　in　life　was　worth　possessing　without　a　struggle　…　even　love；　especially　love。　This　too　he　had　learned　in　Japan；　where　women　were　like　flowers　one　had　to　unfold　like　origami；　with　infinite　care　and　deliberateness　finding　that；　when　fully　opened；　they　were　filled　with　exquisite　tenderness　and　devious　violence。
　Just　the　creamy　splash　of　the　surf　now；　the　record　gathering　dust　on　the　immobile　turn…table。　There　came　the　cry　of　a　gull；　lonely　and　querulous　as　if　it　had　somehow　lost　its　way。
　He　wondered　what　he　had　to　do；　whether　he　really　wanted　to　do　anything。　After　all；　there　was　fear　inside　him；　too。
　'Have　you　been　with　many　women？'　she　asked　abruptly。　He　saw　that　her　arms；　as　rigid　as　pillars；　were　trembling　and　that　she　had　brought　her　head　up　with　an　effort。　She　stared　at　him；　daring　him　to　deride　her　or；　perhaps；　revile　her；　confirming　her　suspicions　of　him　and；　more　generally；　of　men。
　'That's　an　odd　question　to　ask。'
　She　turned　her　head　slightly　and　he　saw　the　warm　lamplight　define　the　bridge　of　her　nose；　slide　down　into　the　hollow　beneath　one　eye；　at　the　crest　of　her　neck。　The　crimson　motes　were　like　points　of　burnished　brass；　the　right　side　of　her　face　was　entirely　in　shadow。　'Will　you　answer　it？'
　He　smiled。　'Some　that　I've　not　cared　about。　Few　that　I　have。〃
　And　all　the　while　she　watched　his　eyes　for　any　hint　that　he　might　be　mocking　her。　She　found　none。
　'What　is　it　you　wish　to　know；　Justine？'　he　said　softly。　'Are　you　afraid　I　won't　tell　you？〃
　'No。'　She　shook　her　head。　'I'm　afraid　that　you　will。'　Her　nails　plucked　at　the　nubs　of　cotton　as　a　musician　fingers　the　strings　of　a　harp。　'I　want　to　and　I　don't　want　to；'　she　said　after　a　while。
　He　was　about　to　say；　with　a　smile；　that　it　wasn't　so　serious　but　he　realized　that　it　was；　he　knew　what　she　was　talking　about。　He　came　around　the　end　of　the　sofa；　stood　by　her。　'It's　only　me；　Justine；'　he　said；　'who's　here。　There's　only　the　two　of　us。'
　'I　know。'　But　it　was　not　enough　because　she　had　said　it　like　a　little　girl　who　did　not　quite　believe　what　she　was　saying；　wanting　only　some　outside　reassurance　for　an　important　i