‘Conrad,’ said Rollo helplessly, looking for guidance.
Conrad finally turned. ‘Help me take her out.’
They peeled the net off the woman as best they could, swept the sand crabs from her face and body, and drew her out by the feet. She was completely rigid, unbending, as if frozen or hewn from a block of white marble.
Her hair snagged in the mesh. Rollo proffered his jackknife, but Conrad ignored him, finally freeing the woman from the clutches of the seine.
Rollo seemed reluctant to touch the woman again, so Conrad took her in his arms and carried her up the beach.
Two
Tom Hollis lit another cigarette and turned to the sports pages. The Amagansett Bonackers had defeated the Hampton Bays by a score of 9-7 in Sunday’s game. Some fellow called Lambert had gone four for five, knocking in two runs, and his batting was described as ‘spectacular’.
‘About what?’ asked a gruff voice.
Hollis looked up to see the considerable bulk of Chief Milligan filling the door of his office.
‘About what?’ said Milligan, repeating himself.
Hollis frowned, still unsure.
‘You said, “Who gives a damn?”’ explained Milligan.
‘I did?’
Christ, not only was he talking to himself now, he didn’t even know it.
‘Oh, you know, the baseball.’ He flapped the East Hampton Star vaguely in Milligan’s direction.
‘My boy scored the winning run in the twelfth.’
He should have remembered. He did remember. Young Tim played for the Bonackers. Southpaw. Swing like a caveman killing his lunch. It was coming back now. All too late. ‘Think you could give a damn about this?’ said Milligan, advancing. He slid a sheet of paper across the desk. Hollis scanned it.
His first thought was ‘There goes my lunch.’
Hollis turned left on to Newtown Lane from the East Hampton Town Police Department. From here it was pretty much a straight run east of two miles into Amagansett, but as he cleared the town limits he swung the patrol car south on to Skimhampton Road, opting for the back roads.