The Lower Deep (20 page)

But Paul Henninger was no believer in Hinduism and had probably never heard of the merpeopIe. He was a former soccer player and would-be artist, for God's sake, with no deep religious convictions and no interest in anthropology. It had to be dangerous for him to be doing this! Three or four minutes without a breath? He could kill himself!

Unable to restrain himself longer, Steve lunged forward and seized the man's shoulders, violently shaking him awake.

The swimmer turned over on his back and sat up. Suddenly, as if only then feeling the need to breathe, he opened his mouth wide and began doing so with an intensity that caused his whole body to shake. When his eyelids finished their twitching and were fully lifted, the eyes that stared up at Steve's hovering face were like large glass marbles, almost colorless.

"Wh-wh-what happened?"

"You appeared to be having a nightmare, Paul. Were you?"

Henninger looked wildly about the room. "I've been here? I haven't left this room?"

"You haven't in the past few minutes, at least. I think it's safe to say you've been here right along. Remember the dream, do you?"

"I—I was in the sea again—swimming," Henninger whispered.

"So it seemed. I mean, you certainly seemed to be swimming somewhere."

"But not really, this time? Only dreaming?"

Were you really there that other time, Steve wondered. Or was that a nightmare, too, and you actually went to The Hounfor as Juan Mendoza insists? "Do you know you've an amazing capacity for holding your breath, Paul?"

The manager's eyes bulged even more, this time with apparent terror. "Was I doing that? Holding my breath?"

"You were. Really doing it, too, not just dreaming it. You must have been practicing. I know I couldn't hold my breath half that long."

The would-be artist seemed to have trouble even catching a breath now. "Doctor," he said unsteadily, "may I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Find someone to replace me. Let me leave here before what happened to Mr. Lindo happens to me, too! Please!"

"Are you serious, Paul?"

"I am! Yes, yes, I am!"

"Well. . . I suppose we could replace you, if you insist on it," Steve said with compassion. "It may take some time for us to find someone else, of course. Suppose we talk about it in the morning. Then if you still want to quit . . .

"Thank you," the fat man said faintly.

"Try to sleep now, eh? Without dreaming."

"I never sleep anymore without dreaming," Henninger moaned as Steve picked the sheet up off the floor and spread it over him. "Night after night I—and the terrible thing is, I somehow know the dreams are—are only a prelude—a kind of preparation for something even more terrible."

"You can't mean that. You're just upset, Paul."

"No, no! I mean it! I'm being made ready for something they want me to do!"

"They?" The word had to work its way out through a ferocious frown. "What do you mean, 'they'?"

"I don't know. I wish to God I did."

"Are we talking about voodoo?" Steve demanded.

"Perhaps. I don't know. I don't think so . . .

A long half minute of silence passed while Steve waited for more. Then when nothing more was forthcoming, he said with a sigh, "Well, we'll get you out of here in a few days if that's what you want, friend. Sleep on that now, hey?—and maybe you won't do any more dreaming tonight, at any rate."

With that, and aware that his head was full of hammers and anvils again, he trudged back to his own room and went to bed.

A
t ten-fifteen the following morning Louis Clermont's receptionist opened his door and said "Lieutenant Etienne is here to see you, Doctor. Shall I send him in?"

Slumped in his chair, gazing at Ginette Jourdan's map of the Caribbean on his office wall, Clermont was deep in thought. He was not conscious of the map. Earlier that morning, pursuing an idea that had nagged him for some time, he had phoned a friend at the Hôpital Sacré Coeur in Cap Matelot and asked questions. The answers had convinced him that what was happening in Dame Marie was not as widespread as he had feared it might be. Only Dame Marie people and those at the Azagon were involved, it seemed.

"Eh?" he responded to Simone Valcin, snapping out of his reverie. "Etienne? Of course."

Looking somewhat less dapper than usual, the head of the town's little army post began speaking as he strode into the office. "Sorry to break in on you like this, Doctor, but Ginny Jourdan is missing. Have you seen her?"

Clermont sat up straighter. "Missing? You mean she's run away?"

"God knows. Her parents thought she was at home last night but found out this morning that her bed had not been slept in. After questioning everyone who might have seen her, they called me. I thought you might know something. She's always been a pal of yours, so to speak."

"Not lately," Clermont said, rising.

"Have you any idea where she might be?"

"No, I haven't. Nor do I have any idea why she's doing all these crazy things. Naked at Anse Douce, for God's sake—the nicest girl of her age in the whole town."

Etienne was obviously disappointed. "Well, I'll keep searching for her. But if I don't get onto something soon, I'll have to send for help."

After his caller's departure, Clermont stood in thought for a moment, then walked out to his receptionist. "See if you can get Maurice Jourdan on the phone, will you, Simone? I imagine he's at home." Going back into his office, he leaned on his desk and waited.

When his phone buzzed, he picked it up. "Maurice? Louis. What's this I'm hearing about Ginny from Roger Etienne? About her being missing."

The voice of the girl's father had sobs in it.

"She—she must have left the house after Leonie and I went to bed last night, Louis. When we turned in about ten-thirty, she was sitting in the living room with a book she had to read for school. This morning, when she didn't come for breakfast, we looked in her room and saw that her bed had not been used. Louis, she has never gone out at night before without at least saying something, even if what she told us wasn't the truth!"

"You all right, you and Leonie?"

"I don't think Leonie can hold up under this, Louis. After what has already happened, no. It's just too much."

"Should I come over?"

"Well, no. Not now, at any rate. I would rather you tried to help us find Ginny."

"All right. I'll keep in touch and come over later." Clermont hesitated. "Tell me something. I suppose you've been to Anse Douce to see if she's there. Or sent someone."

"Yes, yes, I've been there myself."

"I hate to say this, but did you walk the whole cove? Did you—look for her clothes, for instance?"

The silence lasted too long, Clermont thought. Then Maurice Jourdan said unsteadily, "I—walked the whole beach, Louis."

"And found nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Well, that's a relief, at least." It was, too, and Clermont let his breath out. "All right, good friend. Keep the faith, and I'll see what I can find out."

He hung up and went out to his receptionist
again. Just before the arrival of Lieutenant Etienne he had seen a number of patients, but his outer office was empty now. "I'm going over to the alcoholics' place, Simone," he said. "Shouldn't be gone long."

She nodded.

He drove his old car to the Azagon and sat in Steve Spence's little office and told Steve about the missing girl. "It may be nothing more than what we should have expected, of course, after the way she's been behaving. She's been working up to something like this, no question of it. On the other hand, maybe she hasn't just run off. Maybe something has happened to her, Steve."

Steve gazed at the black Abe Lincoln slouching before him and wondered why Clermont had come to him. Not in hope that he might be able to help, he guessed. More probably just for someone to talk to about this latest turn of the screw. Louis Clermont was fond of the missing girl and her parents. For Ginny he apparently entertained an affection he would have felt for a daughter of his own. There was a real need, then, to find some way of helping him.

With a frown Steve said, "Something happened here last night, too. Maybe there's a connection."

"Oh?"

Steve recounted how he had seen the cook leaving the grounds and wondered if he might be on his way to The Hounfor to visit the man who made coffins. "I've told you about the coffin-maker, haven't I?"

Clermont nodded.

"Well, I was about to follow Lazaire again when
Juan Mendoza appeared, obviously doing that very thing."

"The Cuban fellow."

"Yes. The one who says he followed Paul Henninger to the red-light district, the night Paul claims he woke up at sea. With him playing detective again, I headed for bed. But first I looked in on Paul."

With Clermont scowling at every word, Steve told what had happened in the manager's room.

"This gets curiouser and curiouser," the St. Joseph medic said.

"You haven't heard all of it yet."

"Oh?"

"This morning when I went to ask Mendoza what happened, he wasn't there. He still hasn't turned up. I haven't a clue where he might be."

"Brother. Ginny and your handsome young Cuban both missing? What about the cook?"

"He's here. I asked him where he went and he said to visit a friend. When I implied I didn't believe him, he became indignant and handed me a woman's name and address. Said he lived with her once in the capital, and I could check with her if I thought he was lying."

"An address in The Hounfor?"

"No. She lives in a place called Carrefour, wherever that is. I didn't mention his walk to the voodoo district. Guess I'm saving that until I can be sure of using it with some effect."

"Carrefour is a mini-village on the sisal plantation," Clermont said. "If you remember, we saw him on the plantation the day the boat disappeared." His frown deepened and he brought a
hand up to rub his jaw. "You suppose I was on to something there a minute ago? What I said about Ginny and your Cuban fellow?"

"You don't mean—"

"He's young. He's handsome."

And unpredictable in many ways, Steve thought with a deepening scowl of his own. Was it possible? Dame Marie was a small community. The two could easily have met somewhere.

Mendoza. Here was a good-looking, energetic young fellow—energetic, hell, he was hyper!—who
had fled with his parents from Cuba's political
turmoil to the States when still a boy. In the U.S. he'd become a doctor after a growing-up that in
cluded about every adventure known to high-
spirited youth. Along the way there must have been girls, probably many of them. And the young
man was in some ways still a rebel, eager to try his hand at any new adventure that came down the pike.

And Ginny Jourdan? From what Clermont said, she was an unusually pretty girl and bright enough to be something of a rebel herself, probably demanding more out of life than being buried forever in a place like Dame Marie. She could hardly be faulted for being attracted to a man who seemed to offer a life of excitement.

Yes, it was entirely possible the two had found common ground somewhere.

Steve looked at his caller. "When Mendoza comes in, I'll have a talk with him and call you, Louis."

"Good."

They talked awhile longer—two concerned men putting forth ideas on what might be behind the grim things that were happening. Though full of respect and affection for each other now, each of them spent more time shaking his head at the other's theories than nodding in agreement. Clermont talked about the Jourdans and the Bensons, the loss of George's boat. Steve revealed that eight patients had left the Azagon and others had reservations to do so. "And it's going to get worse, Louis."

"What about your Dr. Driscoll? He must feel like the captain of a sinking ship."

"We haven't told him everything. Been worried about that stroke he had. But I've asked myself if it mightn't be a mistake to keep him in the dark."

"He's a psychiatrist, isn't he?"

Steve nodded.

"Being asked for help might snap him out of his depression. I think I'd bring him into this, Steve. Make him feel needed again."