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“And now cannibalism,” Sergeant Lemure said.

“One other thing, Mr. de Ratour. Would you mind telling me how you know for sure that your professor is dead?”

“I was sent a tape. It’s quite graphic.”

The agent nodded. “I figured as much. And given that Freddie Bain paid for the expedition, don’t be surprised if he doesn’t come looking for that tape if he gets wind of it.”

“He already has,” I said. I hesitated and then said, “I know him personally. I’ve even been out to his place. It’s in the Hays Mountains, west of here.”

“The Eigermount.” Agent Johnson nodded, very interested in what I had to say. “Could you describe the interior for me?”

I did so in some detail. I also told him about the shady characters and how there seemed a lot of coming and going for an ordinary household. I admitted that my stepdaughter, Diantha Lowe, was out there with him as we spoke.

Agent Johnson nodded as though he already knew. Of a sudden I realized why he was here, why he was telling me all this, and what he wanted. “Is there any way you could get in touch with her?” he asked.

“She has one of those pocket phones,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

The agent appeared to muse to himself. “Perhaps she could look around for us.”

“That could be very dangerous,” Lieutenant Tracy put in.

“Too dangerous,” I said. “I don’t want her exposing herself like that. I want her home.”

The FBI man nodded, not at all rebuffed. “When she comes home, I would like to talk to her if that’s possible. She might have learned something. She might be able to provide us with a pretext for a search warrant.” He took out a card and put it on the desk.

They left a short while later, the federal agent mixing banalities of caution with those of reassurance. I wasn’t reassured in the least. To me it seemed a sump hole of evil had opened right up under my feet. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Freddie Bain had had something to do with Elsbeth’s death.

So I sit here now, in my own little eyrie, on the longest night of the year, resisting an overwhelming urge to take my father’s gun, drive out to that ridiculous stone bastion, make that gangster listen to my rebuttals, and rescue my stepdaughter. But I fear that, upon arrival, Diantha would answer the door, laugh at my intentions, and invite me in for a drink.

34

It is Christmas morning, the wee hours, and I have received the best present imaginable under the circumstances. Diantha has returned home. Late yesterday afternoon, as I was fidgeting around this big empty house feeling mocked by the glitter of the little tree I managed to set up, as I mourned as never before Elsbeth’s absence, as I thought of ginning myself into oblivion, Diantha came through the front door. She threw herself into my arms, she pulled me to her, and she wept hot tears on my neck. “Oh, Norman, Norman, I am so glad to see you. I will never leave you again. You are like … civilization.”

I was nearly at a loss for words. I couldn’t exactly chastise her for being away so long. Yet I felt constrained in returning her effusions, as for me there is a very thin line between certain kinds of affection and darker, richer, more palpable feelings. I did manage to gaze smilingly into her eyes and express both great joy and great relief that she had returned safely.

“Let’s have a cup of tea,” she said, “and I’ll tell you all about it. I want one of your English cups of tea, real tea out of a pot with milk and sugar. You know, the way you learned to drink it when you were in …”

“Jesus,” I said, “Jesus College, Oxford.”

So we retired to the kitchen while Diantha, perched on a stool, looking the worse for wear, to judge from the dark circles under her eyes, told me what she had been doing.

“Well, you were there …”

“Yes. It was like a fortress of sorts,” I said, keeping my remarks neutral as I got the electric kettle going. “Eccentric, to say the least.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Dad. I mean he’s got these killer guard dogs and some really creepy-looking guys around. And these