been
caused by nothing more than too many glasses of undiluted vodka. He had almost
decided not to meet Paul Springer at all, but to call up the restaurant and
make some Byzantine excuse. However, by five o’clock he had begun to feel a
little more composed; and the more he thought about meeting Paul Springer
again, the more the idea appealed to him. He was also vain enough to want to
hear what somebody else thought about The
Necessary Evil, which he had always considered to be one of his most
original pieces of work.
He had walked along the beach
promenade, partly to see if the beach was still cordoned off, and partly (he
had to admit it) to see if the wet-footed girl was anywhere around. The police
lines around the beach were marked by flashing amber beacons; they winked
through the fog like hopeless messages. There was scarcely any wind, and the
surf sounded flat and clattering as the tide came in. He was passed by two
gasping joggers and a rotund woman walking her pet Weimaraner, but there was no
sign at all of the girl.
I am your own creation, she had told him. If you are scared, then you are only scaring yourself.
He walked up one of the narrow
sloping side-streets to Camino del Mar. In one of the houses close to the top
of the street, a man and a woman were shouting at each other in Spanish. In the
room next to them, a television was blaring out Galeria Nocturna. When he
reached the corner, Henry dropped a quarter into the newspaper-vending machine,
and bought himself a copy of the Tribune. He shook it open with one hand and read the headlines.
‘North Beaches Closed by Jellyfish Threat,’ was the main banner. Henry skimmed through the
front-page story, and recognised it for the blatant cover-up that it was.
Lieutenant Salvador Ortega must have
been working overtime, he concluded.
The story said: ‘Police and
coastguards today cordoned off several miles of north county beaches from La
Jolla to San Elijo Lagoon after the body of a young woman was washed up at Del
Mar, apparently having been stung to death by jellyfish.
‘The young woman – who was probably
attacked while she was enjoying a nude midnight swim – has not yet been
identified. Police say she was “blonde, beautiful, and well-proportioned” and
that she wore a silver chain around her left ankle.
‘Lt. Salvador T Ortega, in charge of
investigating the girl’s death, warned that there could be ‘scores more’
jellyfish swarming off the beaches. He has called in marine biologists from the
Scripps Institute to assist in identifying the deadly creatures.
‘They could be “sea-wasps” –
scientific name chironex fleckeri – which
are usually found off the coast of Australia, but which may have migrated to
Southern Californian waters. Sea-wasps can kill a human being in eight minutes.
Bathers and surfers were warned this afternoon that...’
Henry folded up the paper, and
tossed it into a trashcan without breaking his stride.
So, Salvador had successfully
managed to persuade the media that the beaches had been closed off because of
jellyfish. Well, he supposed that Salvador was not to blame. Jellyfish at least
were explicable. There was nothing explicable about those eels.
Just as he reached the entrance to
Bully’s North, he was surprised to see Gil’s yellow Mustang turn into the
entrance; and then, as he reached the doorway, he saw Susan Sczaniecka arrive,
in her splotchy white dress.
He waited by the doorway without
opening it. A middle-aged couple pushed past, and the woman frowned at him for
getting in the way. From inside the restaurant he heard laughter and the
clinking of glasses. A man came out and, standing next to Henry, said loudly to
his companion, ‘We can lease for half that. Why do you want to buy, when we can
lease?’ Up above his head, green neon flashed the name of Bully’s North.
Susan Sczaniecka came up the steps
towards the doorway, and it was obvious that she didn’t recognise Henry at all.
She must have
caused by nothing more than too many glasses of undiluted vodka. He had almost
decided not to meet Paul Springer at all, but to call up the restaurant and
make some Byzantine excuse. However, by five o’clock he had begun to feel a
little more composed; and the more he thought about meeting Paul Springer
again, the more the idea appealed to him. He was also vain enough to want to
hear what somebody else thought about The
Necessary Evil, which he had always considered to be one of his most
original pieces of work.
He had walked along the beach
promenade, partly to see if the beach was still cordoned off, and partly (he
had to admit it) to see if the wet-footed girl was anywhere around. The police
lines around the beach were marked by flashing amber beacons; they winked
through the fog like hopeless messages. There was scarcely any wind, and the
surf sounded flat and clattering as the tide came in. He was passed by two
gasping joggers and a rotund woman walking her pet Weimaraner, but there was no
sign at all of the girl.
I am your own creation, she had told him. If you are scared, then you are only scaring yourself.
He walked up one of the narrow
sloping side-streets to Camino del Mar. In one of the houses close to the top
of the street, a man and a woman were shouting at each other in Spanish. In the
room next to them, a television was blaring out Galeria Nocturna. When he
reached the corner, Henry dropped a quarter into the newspaper-vending machine,
and bought himself a copy of the Tribune. He shook it open with one hand and read the headlines.
‘North Beaches Closed by Jellyfish Threat,’ was the main banner. Henry skimmed through the
front-page story, and recognised it for the blatant cover-up that it was.
Lieutenant Salvador Ortega must have
been working overtime, he concluded.
The story said: ‘Police and
coastguards today cordoned off several miles of north county beaches from La
Jolla to San Elijo Lagoon after the body of a young woman was washed up at Del
Mar, apparently having been stung to death by jellyfish.
‘The young woman – who was probably
attacked while she was enjoying a nude midnight swim – has not yet been
identified. Police say she was “blonde, beautiful, and well-proportioned” and
that she wore a silver chain around her left ankle.
‘Lt. Salvador T Ortega, in charge of
investigating the girl’s death, warned that there could be ‘scores more’
jellyfish swarming off the beaches. He has called in marine biologists from the
Scripps Institute to assist in identifying the deadly creatures.
‘They could be “sea-wasps” –
scientific name chironex fleckeri – which
are usually found off the coast of Australia, but which may have migrated to
Southern Californian waters. Sea-wasps can kill a human being in eight minutes.
Bathers and surfers were warned this afternoon that...’
Henry folded up the paper, and
tossed it into a trashcan without breaking his stride.
So, Salvador had successfully
managed to persuade the media that the beaches had been closed off because of
jellyfish. Well, he supposed that Salvador was not to blame. Jellyfish at least
were explicable. There was nothing explicable about those eels.
Just as he reached the entrance to
Bully’s North, he was surprised to see Gil’s yellow Mustang turn into the
entrance; and then, as he reached the doorway, he saw Susan Sczaniecka arrive,
in her splotchy white dress.
He waited by the doorway without
opening it. A middle-aged couple pushed past, and the woman frowned at him for
getting in the way. From inside the restaurant he heard laughter and the
clinking of glasses. A man came out and, standing next to Henry, said loudly to
his companion, ‘We can lease for half that. Why do you want to buy, when we can
lease?’ Up above his head, green neon flashed the name of Bully’s North.
Susan Sczaniecka came up the steps
towards the doorway, and it was obvious that she didn’t recognise Henry at all.
She must have
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