“And how is Job?” asked Hilary.
“Bitter. His whole future was geared to promoting Governor Playfair at the national level. Now that’s gone, and he’s floundering hopelessly in the job of governor. After he serves out the rest of Playfair’s term, he’ll probably retire from politics. He’s just not the type who can run for high office on his own and hope to be elected. His only chance lay in being the tail of other candidate’s comet, and now he’s lost that.”
Mariquita de Miranda, white-haired and grave, received the northern strangers with unshakable dignity and introduced Carlos’ younger sisters, Eulalia and Manuela, as imperturbably as if unexpected guests arrived at twelve hours’ notice or less every day of her life. Watching her, Tash realized how much of Carlos’ character had been formed by his mother. The devotion of Spanish sons to their mothers was famous throughout Europe.
Over before-dinner sherry in the patio, the party split up into smaller groups, and Tash found herself with Wilkes and Carlos.
“You can’t blame Jackman for asking me to resign,” said Wilkes to Carlos. “In his place, I’d have done the same thing. After all, I was in charge.”
“What, will happen now?” asked Tash.
“I don’t know, but I’m afraid my successor is going to arrest the wrong man. That’s why I’m here.”
“How can we help?”
“By letting me talk. If we pool information and ideas, we may think of something that will lead us to the real murderer.”
Carlos strolled over to a television set in one corner of the cloister. “Let’s find out what’s happening now.”
“You’re too early, Carlito!” said Eulalia, with a trace of sisterly discipline. “The news doesn’t come on until eight.”
“Which will give us plenty of time to get sound and picture adjusted before it comes on,” said Carlos with a trace of brotherly rebellion.
As a courtesy to his guests, Carlos turned on a broadcast in English, so they all understood the big news of the evening when it came just before dinner.
“We interrupt this program with a news flash from the mainland. A former citizen of Barlovento, known to the police as Halc6n, and wanted for questioning about the assassination of Governor Playfair, has just been shot and killed by police here while resisting arrest. The new Governor, Job Jackman, deplored the fact that Halcón can now never be brought to trial. The police officers who shot him are now under arrest pending investigation. . . .”
“Halcón!” Wilkes’ face was tight as a clenched fist. “That’s the man I was talking about. The wrong man. He never killed the Governor.”
Nothing more was said until Carlos mother and sisters had left the patio. Eulalia and Manuela would have lingered had not their mother’s firm voice indicated her displeasure at the very thought of such a possibility.
Tash’s parents were never slow to take a hint. They pleaded jet fatigue and followed the Miranda women into the shadows of the cloister.
“I admire your mother,” said Tash to Carlos. She has her daughters well in hand.”
“For how long? Next autumn they go to college on the mainland.”
“Of course they must if they are to survive in the kind of world we shall all have to live in. At least they’ll start out with a moral sense.”
Tash smiled. “I’m not worried about their morals. I’m I’m just afraid they’ll lose their charming manners.” Wilkes stood under the gold tree, a glass of brandy in one hand. “He wasn’t a nice character.”
“Who?” asked Hilary.
“Halcón. A thief, a pusher, a pimp, and a heroin addict. Yet, for that very reason, I don’t believe he shot Governor Playfair. The Family does not entrust the art of assassination to petty hopheads. Hitmen are the most specialized of all criminals, highly paid for their superb marksmanship. Halcon’s hands shook so, that he couldn’t have hit a barn door at ten paces.”
“So it was a fanatic after all!” cried Carlos. “A psycho yielding to a sudden impulse, triggered no doubt by that abusive editorial in the local rag. Editorials like that were published before the assassinations of both McKinley and Kennedy.”
“Impulsive?” Wilkes shook his head. “That trick of getting hecklers to distract the audience from the assassin had to be organized. That implies premeditation. The whole thing had the professional touch—organized, swift, accurate, anonymous. Only the Family could have supplied the human weapon that fired that shot, but I’m not interested in him. I want the man who really killed the Governor, the man who got the Family to do it.
“Halcon must have known who that man was, but now Halcon himself is dead. He’ll never be cross-examined now. We’ll never know what he knew. That’s a Family technique. Get rid of your victim first, and then get rid of any witnesses. ‘Resisting arrest!’ The classic pretext.”
“Did the newscast say who actually fired the shot that killed Halcón?” asked Hilary.
“No. They said there was a scuffle when Halcon was being moved from one cell to another. Several guns went off. Ballistics will identify one of them. If I were there, I should look for some cop who had got just a little too close to the rackets and laid himself open to blackmail.
“The real killer must be feeling safe tonight. The public has seen a scapegoat sacrificed, and the Playfair case will now go into a file marked Closed.”
“And what has become of Freaky?” asked Tash.
“Vanished as if he had never existed. That also suggests professionals with safe houses and underground escape routes just like a spy network.”
“It’s another world,” said Hilary. “A shadow world as dark and remote from ours as the other side of the moon.”
“Not as remote as you might think,” retorted Wilkes. “Our vices still finance it as they did during Prohibition. Mrs. Playfair’s drug habit was one link between the two worlds, and there are many other more important links, financial and political. The underworld reverses our world and so proves that it is a reflection of our world, a mirror-image. It stands still only when we stand still. It moves only when we move.”
Tash was watching Wilkes’ face. “A penny for your real thoughts. You haven’t come so far just to tell us things like that.”
“You won’t like my thoughts.”
“Try us,” said Carlos. “We may be more broadminded than you think.”
“At first glance, this case is like a cliff without a handhold or even a toehold for the climber,” said Wilkes. “But, even on the blankest cliffside, a determined mountaineer can usually find one or two toeholds, however slight.”
“And you have found some?” cried Tash.
“Just one. And it is only acceptable if we assume three things we haven’t proved. First, that the killing of Halcón was the killing of a scapegoat by some agent of the Family in order to protect the real murderer of Governor Playfair. Second, that Mrs. Playfair’s death was murder, too.”
“I knew it all along!” exclaimed Tash. “I had warned her about keeping an ashtray on her bed with a burning cigarette in it. She’d promised she’d stop. I knew she meant it from the way she said it. If she was being as careful as that, I don’t see how the fire could have started accidentally. It was arson, and it was meant to kill her and Jeremy both. He only escaped because he was with me, and the murderer couldn’t have anticipated that.” “What is your third assumption?” asked Hilary. “That both murders were planned by someone intimately associated with the Governor and Mrs. Playfair.” “And the toehold?” prompted Carlos.
“I’ve found out why the fire alarm didn’t go off in time the night of the fire. We missed the reason because it was so obvious, right in front of our eyes, and we were looking for something hidden and subtle.
“You recall the penny that was found in Miss Perkins’ office after the dead canary was left on her typewriter? And the dimes found in Mrs. Playfair’s room after the fire?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Have you all forgotten that a coin will blow a fuse and
cut out any electrical circuit, including the one that powers an alarm system? If you are able to put a new fuse in the fuse box afterward, there will be no evidence to show what has happened.”
“Of course!” said Tash. “Carlos, I remember your telling me that we had an old-fashioned alarm system at Leafy Way with no long-term batteries to back it up if current went off during a storm.”
“Simple, isn’t it?” said Wilkes. “As you know, each floor at Leafy Way had its own fuse box, and each suite of rooms its own alarm system with its own circuit. How easy to blow a fuse, knock out a circuit, and leave the alarm in one suite off long enough for the fire to get out of control and spread. Then replace the fuse, so the alarm will go off too late to be of any use as a warning, but early enough to keep people from realizing that the alarm must have been turned off temporarily when the fire started. Its delayed reaction would be put down to some flaw in the mechanism.”
“Wouldn’t it have been even simpler to set and reset the alarm buttons?” suggested Hilary.
“To do that, you’d have to find out the combination. There was a different one for each suite of rooms. Much easier to bypass all that and simply control one of the alarm systems through its power source.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Tash. “Short-circuiting an alarm inside the house could only be done by someone already inside.”
“Exactly. It was an inside job.”
“And the alarm was short-circuited by the same person who let Freaky in and out?”
“Obviously. The Family must be involved, but the murders were made possible by someone in the Governor’s own household. He was betrayed by someone he trusted.”
Carlos’ dark eyes blazed. “Are you suggesting . . . ?”
Wilkes said, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
And walked out of the patio.
“This is intolerable!” cried Carlos. “A guest in my own house who—”
“Who is trying to find Jeremy’s murderer,” said Hilary. “We’ve got to help him. After all, it’s only for a few hours more. He did say he was going back to the mainland.”
“He’d better! He has insulted my guests and me. You may help him if you like, but I shall leave the house now and not return until he has gone.”
“I feel the same way, Carlos,” said Tash. “I shall get a headache tomorrow morning and stay in bed so I don’t have to see him again before he goes.”
She was half asleep when her mother came into her room to say good-night. They talked of nothing for a few moments, and then her mother said, “You were in love with him, weren’t you?”
Tash nodded.
“Dear girl, you must make a clean break, Come to me in Boston, or go to your father in Rome, but don’t try to go on living where you knew him.”
“Running away?”
“What’s wrong with running away if it saves life or reason? Unnecessary heroism is just vanity.”
She didn’t have to invent a headache. She awoke at seven with a sore throat and a slight fever.
Mariquita de Miranda took one look at her and said, “I am going to take everybody out in the launch for an excursion to the other islands so you can go back to sleep. Carlos has gone off by himself somewhere, so you’ll have the house to yourself all day.”
Tash awoke again at nine feeling better but still without appetite. She could tell from the silence that no one else was about. Felipe and the rest of the staff must be in their own quarters.
In such stillness her thoughts could range free over many things without distraction. The slight fever seemed to spur them to wander further afield than they had gone before.
Carlos, Job, Hilary, the three people in Jeremy’s household who had been closest to him—three people she had liked and trusted, but suspicion, once planted in the mind, grows perversely with the unwanted strength of a weed.
She could not see a motive for any one of them, Carlos, loyal friend and perfect ADC, Hilary who loved Jeremy as a son, Job, whose whole life was a scaffolding built to support Jeremy’s future career.
How could a treacherous friend bear to be present at the end? Could it be that Job’s quick trip to Washington was an attempt to escape that? No, Job was away August 8th, Jeremy died September 9th. The dates were too far apart to be confused.
What about Wilkes himself?
There were corrupt policemen. He himself had said that a security system is only as strong as its weakest human link. The mere fact that Halcon was said to have been shot by police while resisting arrest suggested police involvement. Jeremy himself had not trusted Wilkes enough to ask him for help with Vivian’s drug problem. By coming down to Sotavento, Wilkes had given himself an alibi for the actual shooting of Halcon, but he might have planned it. Who was in a better position than Wilkes to make contact with petty criminals like Halcon and Freaky? As a policeman, he dealt with such people every day. Did Job suspect him? Was that the real reason Job had fired him? Had Wilkes discussed the case last night because he wanted to find out if any of them suspected him?
He was in a unique position to stay close to the investigation. All the policemen who had worked with him before his downfall would talk to him freely about the case. They might even ask him for help or advice. That would put him in an ideal position to turn suspicion away from himself if it veered in his direction.
It wouldn’t occur to any of them that he himself might be involved. He had not been dismissed. Job had allowed him to resign. What else could Job do if there was no evidence against him? No doubt, there had been an exchange of polite letters published in the newspapers. Everyone would sympathize with Wilkes because he had happened to be in charge of the Governor’s security when the Governor was killed through no apparent fault of Wilkes.
Who could possibly imagine that the man responsible for Jeremy’s safety was the man who had arranged for Jeremy’s murder? Yet who had a better opportunity to do so?
And now Wilkes was leaving Cayo Siesta in a few hours. She might never be so close to him again. Could there possibly be some clue, some indication of the truth in the things he had brought with him? She would never have a chance to find out again.
Of course, a cop turned crook would be even more cunning and knowledgeable than a professional crook in hiding his traces and getting rid of things that might incriminate him as he went along, like a tidy housewife washing her pots and pans after each step in her cooking. And yet . . .
All humanity is fallible, especially criminal humanity with its great psychological burden of guilt. He just might have overlooked something.
Barefoot, in shirt and shorts, she went down the arcade that led to his room, silent as a ghost.
The suitcase was empty. In the bureau drawers there were only nightclothes and underclothes. In the old-fashioned wardrobe, nothing but the slacks and jacket he had worn when he got off the plane.
Her disappointment made her realize how much she had counted on the possibility of finding something. Now she had to face the probability that her theory about Wilkes was all wrong, and that made her heartily ashamed of herself for having searched his room. In future she would leave detection to the police.
She went back to the patio and looked about for a book to read. She was sure she had seen some on the coffee table that morning. She remembered thinking: Someone will have to bring them in if it rains. And then she had realized that it hardly ever rained in Sotavento at this time of year.
The books were still there. She picked up the one on top of the others, and from its pages a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Apparently, it had been used as a bookmark.
As she picked up the paper to put it back in the book, she glanced at it and froze.
She sat down to look at it more carefully.
It was a letter in Spanish from someone in Madrid, a letter handwritten in a smoothly flowing, stylish script as clear as print.
Calle de Valencia, 100,
Madrid, Espana.
10-6-71
We eagerly anticipate your visit, but please let us know when you expect to reach the airport, so I can make proper arrangements to meet your plane.
Your devoted cousin,
Saturnino.
She read the first four lines again.
Why had they caught her eye? What was wrong with them?
Suddenly, she knew.
She put the letter in her pocket. Carlos would never miss an old scrawl he had used as a bookmark. Even if he did, it no longer mattered now.
She went to the telephone and tried to make a person-to-person call to Bill Brewer. She heard his secretary’s voice tell the operator he wasn’t there and no one knew where he was.
She called the airport. The quickest route was a local plane from Cayo Siesta to Miami, a jet from Miami to Washington, and another local plane to her own city.
If she could catch the plane for Miami that left Cayo Siesta at eleven, she could go straight through without delays and reach her destination around five-thirty.
She didn’t stop to pack, but she scribbled a short note.
Dear Carlos,
Something desperately important has come up. I must leave for the States at once. I can’t even wait to say good-bye to your mother or I’ll miss my plane. Please forgive me and apologize for me, and tell everybody I’ll be back to explain myself in a day or so.
Yours,
Tash.
She rang for Felipe and gave him the note.
“Can you run me over to the airport in a car, or shall I get a taxi?”
“A car is at your service, senorita.”
Thirty minutes later, she was airborne.
In Washington there was no plane available, so she went on by train.
In the dingy, old railway station, she found a pay telephone and called Bill’s office again. She knew she could not handle this alone, and she was counting on Bill’s help, but he was still out.
“I’m sorry, Miss Perkins,” said the secretary. “But he’s been out all afternoon. No, I don’t know when he’ll be back, but why don’t you try again later?”
Helen McCloy Page 16