Island of Bones(52)

Louis scanned the diners, but didn’t see Frank.

Damn, had he somehow gotten off the ferry somewhere else? Then, suddenly, there he was, emerging from a door with a MEN sign over it. Louis dropped back and watched as Frank stopped and began talking to the man behind the bar. The man nodded and disappeared. Louis braced, ready to move if Frank ran or tried to leave. But he just looked around the dining room, moved to a table in the corner, and sat down.

He was wearing the fishing hat, pulled low over his face, but Louis could see his eyes darting around the room, over the other diners, like he was searching for someone or something.

Frank wrapped his hands around a plastic glass before him but did not take a drink of the beer.

Then he spotted Louis and froze. Louis went to the table. Frank looked up at Louis, his eyes almost sad.

Louis slid into the chair across from him. Frank pulled the hat off his head. His hair was a mess, his jaw dark with whiskers. He was badly sunburned, his nose peeling. An odor rose off him, like he hadn’t bathed in days.

Frank dropped his head, his shoulders sagging. “How did you get here?” he asked softly.

“Never mind that,” Louis said.

“You weren’t on the ferry. How did you get here?”

“Frank,” Louis said, “I’m taking you in.”

Frank shook his head slowly, still not looking up.

“You don’t have any choice,” Louis said.

Frank shut his eyes. He was still gripping the beer.

“You go back on the ferry with me, nice and quiet, or I call the police to come out here and haul you back. Either way, you are going in.”

Frank didn’t move.

“You hear me, Frank?”

Frank’s head came up and his eyes darted around the room. For a second, Louis thought he was going to bolt, but then he sagged back into the chair. He was staring in the direction of the dusty painting hanging over the bar but his eyes were unfocused, almost dreamy.

“I haven’t been here in years,” he said softly. “It hasn’t changed.”

A young boy came up to the table. He was about ten, the strings of the white apron wrapped twice around his slender waist.

“Do you want a menu?” the boy asked Louis.

“No, we’re not staying, thank you.” Louis looked at Frank, who was looking at the boy.

“What’s your name, son?” Frank asked gently.

The boy stared at Frank, glanced at Louis in confusion, then looked back at Frank.

“Roberto, sir.”

“Roberto,” Frank repeated softly.

The boy left, Frank’s eyes following him until he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Frank,” Louis said, “who was that man I saw you talking to, the one at the bar?”

“No one.” He seemed to be staring at the painting over the bar again.

“Don’t lie to me,” Louis said. “Why did you come out here?”

"Non debui umquam ab hoc loco discesse.”

“What?”

“Non debui umquam ab hoc loco discesse. Si mansissem id prohibuere potuissem."

Frank was still staring at the painting. Louis turned to look at it. It was just a dusty old print of what looked like an orgy, a bunch of Roman soldiers and fat women. Louis touched Frank’s arm.

“Frank, talk to me, man.”

“It’s too late now.”

“What’s too late?” Louis leaned closer.

“I can’t bring them back.” He covered his face with his hands. “I just let them die.”

Louis sat back, stunned. Jesus, Frank had confessed. Just like that. He needed to get a hold of Horton fast. But he couldn’t leave Frank alone for a second, even to make a phone call. He looked at his watch. The ferry back was leaving in a half hour. Until then, he was going to get as much out of him as possible.

Louis leaned forward. “Who’d you let die, Frank?”

Frank’s hands were still covering his face.

“Did you kill those girls?” Louis pressed.

Frank shook his head.

“Where are they, Frank?”

“Gone...dead. They’re all dead,” he murmured through his hands.

“Where did you bury the bodies?”

“I...oh, Jesus.”

Louis leaned closer. “Damn it, Frank, talk to me. It’ll be a lot easier if you do.”

Frank took his hands down from his face. “Hic solutio est,” he said.

“What?”

“Hic solutio est.”

“Knock it off,” Louis said. “Tell me where they are.”

Frank’s eyes were darting around the restaurant. He looked like a trapped animal. The women at the next table were staring at him, whispering.

“Come on. Let’s go,” Louis said.

Frank looked up, his face sunken with exhaustion, resignation, and what Louis could only read as fear. It was over, the man knew it.