Mitch asked, "Did he tell you where he was staying? Or how long he intended to be on the island?"
Jonas smiled expectantly at Harry. More cash was exchanged.
"He did not."
"Hey! Give me back that hundred, you son of a bitch."
Jonas looked hurt. "Please, sir, do not become agitated. The gentleman did not tell me his plans. But he did ask me some sights to recommend."
"And?"
Another smile. Harry Bain's patience was fraying. "Don't push it, kid."
Mitch looked pointedly at his gun lying on the bedside table. The pilot decided not to push it.
"For diving, there is only one place and that is Nosy Tanikely."
"Nosy what? What is that? A beach?"
"It as an island," Jonas explained politely. "A place of sanctuary for the wildlife of the ocean."
"A marine reserve?"
"It is where the divers go. Your friend, the gentleman, was traveling with diving equipment."
Harry Bain looked at Mitch and smiled. "Thank you, Jonas. You've been a lot of help."
"Yes, I am delighted to make this service to you. Now you are giving me some dollars for my transport, and I think it is the end of our business."
GRACE STOOD OUTSIDE LE COCON FOR a long time. She hadn't expected to feel emotional. After everything that had happened, she didn't believe she was capable of it anymore. But as she stood on the steep cobbled street, looking up at the thick stone walls that had once made her feel so protected, tears streamed down her cheeks.
She was surprised to learn that Mr. Beerens was in residence. She'd assumed he bought Le Cocon on a whim, as Lenny had done, one of a fleet of vacation homes he thought about from time to time but rarely visited. She gave her name as Charlotte Le Clerc, and was even more surprised when Beerens agreed to see her.
"May I offer you a drink, Ms. Le Clerc?"
Jan Beerens was middle-aged, fat and amiable, with thinning reddish blond hair and brown eyes that twinkled when he smiled.
"Thank you. A glass of water would be great." Grace struggled to maintain her composure. Inside, the house had not been changed at all. She hadn't realized that Beerens had bought it lock, stock and barrel, including her and Lenny's furniture and artwork. She even recognized the glasses, crystal tumblers she'd had shipped especially from Paris.
Grace's hair had grown out a little at Dillwyn and in the weeks since her escape. In Mombasa, she'd had it cut into a chin-length bob that she dyed a rich, mahogany brown. Catching sight of herself in the library mirror, she thought, The only thing in this house I don't recognize is myself.
"What brings you to Le Cocon? To Madagascar, for that matter. You are on vacation?"
"Sort of. I stayed here once, with a friend. Years ago."
"You were a guest of the Brooksteins?"
"My friend was. It's actually a little awkward, but this friend of mine, he's been going through a hard time recently."
Jan Beerens looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thanks. He took off a few weeks ago and no one's heard from him since. I know he made it as far as Madagascar. I wondered if maybe, out of nostalgia or whatever, he'd stopped by the house." She pulled out a picture. "I don't suppose you've seen him?"
Beerens studied the picture for a long time. Grace's hopes soared, then plummeted when he handed it back to her.
"Sorry. I feel as if I recognize him from somewhere. But he hasn't been here."
"You're quite sure?"
"Positive, I'm afraid. You're my first visitor in over a year. That's partly why I decided to sell. I adore the house and the island, but it's too isolated. I'm only here now to sign the papers, and to say my farewells. You're lucky you caught me."
"Oh." She didn't know why, but it made Grace feel sad that this kind, thoughtful man would be leaving Le Cocon. "Who's the new owner? If you don't mind me asking."
"Actually, it's all rather mysterious. I was approached by a lawyer in New York, and he's handled everything, but he's never divulged the name of his client. Whoever it was clearly knew the house intimately. This lawyer made a number of requests for specific pieces of furniture, carpets, that sort of thing. He's moving in on Monday, I believe."
Grace's breathing quickened. She felt the hairs on her arms prick up. Whoever it was knew the house intimately.
Jan Beerens walked her to the door. "I'll say this for Lenny Brookstein. He may have been a crook, but he'd have made a hell of an interior designer. I'm gonna miss this place. As for your friend, I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."
Grace shook his hand. "Actually, you've been very helpful. Good-bye, Mr. Beerens. Good luck."
HARRY BAIN AND MITCH CONNORS DECIDED to split up. Madagascar was the size of Texas, and all they had to go on was what Jonas Ndiaye had told them.
Harry said, "I'll stay in Antananarivo. I can interview staff at the airport, taxi drivers, real estate brokers. I'll talk to the managers of all the good local hotels. If he was here, someone'll remember him, especially with that stammer."
Mitch took a small plane to the north of the island. Nosy Tanikely was a tiny atoll in an extensive archipelago off Madagascar's northwest coast. A diver's paradise, there was nothing there but beach and ocean. For a roof over their heads, divers and sightseers alike had to go to nearby Nosy Be. It amused Mitch that the capital of Nosy Be was called "Hellville." If anywhere truly lived up to the brochure fantasy of paradise, with white sandy beaches and tranquil turquoise waters, it was this place. If you were going to spend the rest of your life on the run from U.S. authorities, this was the place to do it, all right. John Merrivale was nobody's fool.