It was Dupont.
He signalled me to join them. He seemed quite agitated.
“Look,” he said.
There, in the short grass, was something horrific — a mess of white fur with blood and intestines scattered around.
“It’s poor old Prissy,” said Dupont. “They found her here this morning.”
“Most likely she was attacked by one of those big weasels they call ‘fishers’ around here,” said the soldier next to me. “They come in from the woods — fences can’t keep them out. They prey on small animals, and that includes cats.”
“It was my own fault for letting her out at nights,” said Dupont. “I was warned about the fishers, but she was always so insistent.”
THE SOLDIERS SHOVELLED the remains of Prissy into a garbage bag and, though we’d no appetite, Dupont and I went to the dining hut for coffee and bagels. I was relieved to see that Marsha wasn’t there. With any luck, I’d be on the road back to Camberloo by the time she got out of bed.
“What a way to start a day,” said Dupont as we ate half-heartedly. “I was already exhausted. I barely got a wink of sleep last night.”
At those words, I tensed up. If he hadn’t slept well, he must surely be aware that for part of the night Marsha wasn’t in bed with him but in the room next door with me.
But in fact, he wasn’t aware of it. When he told me the reason for his sleepless night, I felt even sicker.
AFTER DINNER the night before, when we’d been leaving Ye Olde Mill, Dupont had picked up Marsha’s suitcase at the front desk. Or so he thought. Actually it was the wrong suitcase, full of men’s clothing. It wasn’t till they were getting ready for bed at the institute that they noticed. Marsha was very upset for she’d left her passport and other confidential documents in her suitcase.
Dupont immediately phoned the Mill and discovered that one of their guests had taken the wrong suitcase and brought it back. So at least the mix-up was now resolved.
Marsha persuaded Dupont that they absolutely must go back to Waterville right away or she’d never sleep. Since she hadn’t had nearly as much wine as Dupont, she’d do the driving. They got to the Mill well after two in the morning and the suitcases were exchanged, to everyone’s relief. Marsha and Dupont were in no mood for the return drive to the institute and took a room at the Mill for the night. The concierge would arrange for the Mill’s limo to take her to the airport for her noon flight.
“SO I WAS ON the road by myself at the crack of dawn this morning,” said Dupont. “I wanted to make sure I was in time for breakfast with you before you left. I have a general staff meeting scheduled right afterwards, too. I hope I can stay awake.
“I got here about half an hour ago and the guard told me they’d found what was left of little Prissy. I’m glad Marsha didn’t come back with me and see that. By the way, she’s sorry she didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to you. She really enjoyed meeting you and hopes we’ll all get together again sometime soon.”
As he told me all this, the sun was shining through the hut window directly on him, giving his face a golden sheen that was rather eerie and unsettling. My bagel had turned into sawdust. Not Marsha? Marsha wasn’t the woman who’d been with me in bed in the pitch darkness? Then who was it?
“Well, I know you need to get on the road,” said Dupont, and we both stood up and shook hands.
“It was great to see you again,” he said. “It’s hard to believe so much time has passed since we met. I always feel I can really talk to you. Next time, we’ll make sure we’re not in such a rush.”
We promised each other we’d keep in touch. He went off to his meeting and I returned to the hut to pack my bag.
MINUTES LATER I was just about ready to go to my car when Dupont, quite out of breath, rushed into the hut.
“I’m glad I caught you,” he said. He was looking at me with great curiosity. “I just found out it was Griffin who killed Prissy. I thought you ought to know that.” Apparently, on his way to his meeting, Griffin’s guard had called him over. He’d just seen bloodstains on the door handle of her room. Dupont went with him and saw the blood for himself.
The guard opened her door for him.
Griffin was sitting quietly on her bed. She wasn’t quite as hard to spot as usual because of the blood smeared all over her dress. She admitted it was the blood of a cat she’d killed.
“It seems,” Dupont told me, “she slipped out last night when the guard left the door ajar to pick up her dinner tray. He didn’t notice she was gone because he’s so used to not noticing her.”
He was watching me now in that inquisitive way, but I tried to look as unperturbed as possible.
“Let’s not beat around the bush,” said Dupont. “She told me she was with you, Harry. And that from the moment she saw you, she felt very attracted to you. When we came back from Waterville she was already in the guest room, waiting for you. She was watching you while you undressed. Of course, you wouldn’t have seen her even when your light was on.”
But I had heard something — that sound I’d taken to be doves’ wings disturbed by Prissy outside the window. It must have been Griffin, watching me, excited at what was about to happen.
“She asked me if you’d be there again tonight,” said Dupont. “She wants you again. You might say you’re her idea of love at first sight.”
My stomach was upset. I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
“Believe me, Harry, I’m telling you the truth,” said Dupont. “It was after leaving you, on her way back to her room, that she killed Prissy. She just picked her up and ripped her to pieces. I asked her why, and she said why not? Of course, when she said that, I knew the procedure must have turned her into a predator as well as a sociopath. Maybe the sliver of her brain we removed had something in it that would have blocked the violent impulse. If so, that’s another valuable finding for us — there may be some way of reversing the problem by more snipping in that area of her brain.”
I was shocked but Dupont was looking at me with admiration, or perhaps envy.
“Well, well, Harry,” he said. “You do realize she might just as easily have killed you, too? She was the most dangerous lover you’ve ever had.”
I didn’t know what to say. I could see he thought I’d been well aware it was Griffin who was in bed with me. I couldn’t protest that I’d actually believed it was his lover, Marsha.
Dupont now tried to coax further information out of me. What kind of sexual activities did Griffin prefer? Was her role in them of the dominant sort? Were there any notably bestial aspects to her methods?
I refused to answer.
“I know it’s embarrassing to be asked about such intimate things,” Dupont said. “But this is just the kind of insight that’s invaluable to our research. In the past, we’ve always had to deal in speculation and not hard facts in these matters.” He then made a quite surprising admission. “That’s why, at one point, I even considered having the procedure done on my own brain. If a trained scientist like me could communicate how the world appears to a pre-human primate, what a contribution to knowledge it would be.” Dupont shook his head. “But what if the surgery destroyed the very part of the brain that values such knowledge? Until we find that out, we can’t risk operating on an expert.”
I was shocked to hear he’d even thought about such a crazy thing.