Touching the Sun: A Harry Beck Thriller (The Bahamas Series Book 1)

by Len Maynard

  I pulled up outside and switched off the Jeep’s engine. ‘You can tell me the rest once we get inside.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  I looked at her quizzically.

  ‘The pleasure trip? The family from the hotel?’

  ‘Shit!’ I said. ‘I’ll have to use your phone.’

  I let Stevie unlock the door, but remembering what I’d found at the bungalow, I went in first. I didn’t want any unpleasant surprises this time. The Beretta was still tucked into the waistband of my trousers. I took it out and switched off the safety. It looked impressive, even though the only thing I’d ever fired at was the occasional shark off Cat Island. If I were to be confronted by an armed thug, the question wasn’t so much would I have the courage to pull the trigger, but more would I actually hit him if I fired.

  I didn’t get the chance to find out…Stevie’s apartment was empty. It looked like a whirlwind had blown through it, but Stevie assured me that the clothes strewn about the floor and the jumbled pile of paperbacks in the corner was her normal habitat.

  ‘And you accuse me of being a slob,’ I said, noticing the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.

  ‘I never seem to get the time to clean it up,’ she said defensively.

  I shook my head in mock admonition, and then picked up the phone. First I called Doc Roberts, and made arrangements for him to drop by Stevie’s place later in the day. I didn’t tell him the nature of the problem – he’d find that out soon enough for himself – but I intimated it was pretty urgent.

  Next, the hotel. I got put through to Ray Burgess, an old friend of mine who was manager there.

  ‘Harry, dear boy, lovely to hear from you. I won’t ask how things are with you. News travels fast here, as you well know.’

  ‘You heard about Alan’s family?’

  ‘And about poor Stevie. No serious damage, I hope?’

  ‘News does travel fast. I’m with her now. That’s one of the reasons for the call. I won’t be able to make the pleasure trip today.’

  Ray laughed. ‘Fully understood, dear boy, and as it happens it doesn’t matter, as the family you were meant to be taking for the joyride checked out this morning. They were English, and the bombing reminded them too much of home, and the random, but apparently ever present, threat of Al Qaeda terror attacks.’

  I didn’t comment, but the thought did cross my mind that threats living here were different but just as real.

  ‘So they asked to be transferred over to one of Alan’s hotels on Eleuthera. They’d heard Eleuthera was a much quieter island than Grand Bahama.’ He laughed again. Like the excellent manager and good PR man he was, Ray Burgess had granted the request, and offered them dinner in the hotel restaurant on the house.

  Ray asked about Alan. Had he been in touch, did I know where he was? I’d heard the questions before and was getting sick of them, but I answered them all patiently. Ray was a gentleman in its truest sense. He wasn’t asking in an attempt to get some vicarious thrill. He asked because he had known Alan Lancaster almost as long as I had, liked him, but moreover, considered him a friend and genuinely cared about him.

  It was a quality in Alan I had long admired, even envied. He had a certain aura about him that attracted other people. He made friends easily, and moved through all strata of society with ease, picking up friendships as he went. It was another quality that fitted my theory about Jack’s envy of him; there was an aura about Jack as well, but it was something that put people on their guard, as if they sensed they had to stay wary around the man.

  I was different from both of them; I was a loner by nature. Consequently, people often found me to be cold and distant, or so I’d been told, and they tended to shy away, or else, conversely, they found my easy-going manner appealing and wanted to be friendlier than I needed. I had friends, but could count them on the fingers of both hands…and still have a couple of digits left over.

  Before I hung up a thought occurred to me. ‘Ray, what chance is there of having a room at the hotel for a few days?’

  ‘Your place unfit for human habitation?’

  ‘Something like that. It’ll be just until I get the bungalow sorted out.’ I didn’t mention the details of the break in; I figured Ray had enough on his plate right now with Alan out of the picture, without being burdened with my problems.

  ‘No trouble, Harry,’ he said. ‘Strangely enough, a room’s just become vacant.’

  I laughed and thanked him.

  11

  After speaking with Ray Burgess I telephoned the police. Reynolds was out of the office so I was put through to Henderson. I told him about Stevie and the bungalow, and he, in return, roasted me for not informing him sooner. ‘And if you think I’m giving you a hard time, Harry, I assure you it’s nothing compared to what you’re going to pick up from Reynolds when he gets back. He’ll have your balls on a plate.’

  ‘He’s welcome to them,’ I said, and hung up.

  Stevie had made some coffee, and I sipped at it as I punched in the number for Max Donahoe. I’d deliberately left him until last because he was the one I wanted to speak to least. I thought I’d finished with that family a long time ago, and the thought of getting enmeshed with them again didn’t appeal to me one iota. But despite my misgivings, the curiosity factor needed satisfying. I hadn’t spoken to Max since Katy and I split, simply because I’d never had a reason to get in contact with him. Still, this seemed like it was going to be a week of surprises.

  Max wasn’t at home. He had a butler, Jenkins, and Jenkins told me Max was entertaining clients on the Minotaur, the yacht he kept at anchor off the New Providence coast. Jenkins offered to patch my call through to the Minotaur’s radio, but I told him not to bother. I’d radio him later when I got back to The Lady.

  Stevie was sitting on the couch, flicking through a magazine. I glanced at the cover and wasn’t at all surprised to see it was a journal on the finer points of kickboxing. I went and sat down next to her, finishing off my coffee down to the grounds. ‘Any more where that came from? All that talking has left me dry.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, and took my cup.

  I watched her as she walked through to the apartment’s tiny kitchenette. If it wasn’t for the marks on her face, hands, and arms you wouldn’t have guessed anything was wrong with her, let alone that she’d been subjected to a painful and terrifying ordeal.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she said as she came back to the lounge. ‘You look like you’re ready to strangle someone.’

  I took the coffee from her. ‘Thanks. Sit down and we’ll pick up from where we left off outside. We should have time before your visitors arrive.’

  She looked alarmed. ‘Visitors?’

  ‘Doc Roberts and the police. Jim Henderson’s going to come personally, and you know Jim, so there’s nothing to be concerned about.’ She relaxed a bit and sank back carefully into the puffed-up cushions on the couch. ‘Still hurt?’ I said.

  ‘Pride more than anything else. I don’t think the nose is broken. Christ, I was so stupid. I know where you keep your guns. If only I’d managed to get hold of one first, instead of walking out there like a lamb to the slaughter.’

  ‘Hindsight makes wise men of us all,’ I said. ‘But then, if you’d come up armed, you might be talking to the fishes right now, instead of sitting here talking to me. They were armed too, don’t forget. You don’t want to hear it, but you were lucky to get off as…lightly as you did.’

  She agreed I had a point, so she picked up the story from where she’d left off.

  ‘They said they’d seen Alan at the harbor that morning, and they asked if he’d told me where he was going. I told them no but they didn’t believe me. Then the woman asked if Alan had given me something to look after for him. A package of some kind. Again I said no. The woman hit me then and called me a liar. She lit a cigarette, and then said something to the big one and he grabbed me and held me down. That’s when I got these.’ She lifted her arms and
looked down at her burns.

  ‘You say the woman said something to the big man. What did she say?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was foreign.’

  ‘And you didn’t recognize the language?’

  ‘Italian, Spanish, Greek, they all sound the same to me.’

  ‘Not a lot of help,’ I said.

  She glared at me furiously. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Harry. Remind me to book up for some foreign language lessons sometime in the near future, so the next time I get tortured I can give you a full bloody translation!’

  ‘Simmer down,’ I said, and I thought she was going to take a swing at me.

  ‘No, I won’t! It’s all right for you, sitting there so bloody smugly, asking your stupid questions. But it was me who was strung out there on that bloody rail for an hour while they did those things.’

  I looked at her sharply. ‘What things?’

  ‘There you go again. Bloody questions. Well, okay, Harry, if you really want to know I’ll tell you. The big one had a blackjack. You know what a blackjack is, Harry? It’s a stick about eight inches long, made out of leather and filled with lead shot. At first I thought he was going to hit me with it. Oh, he gave me a few playful taps, just so I knew what it was and what it felt like. But he had another use in mind. They dragged me back over the rail, so I was hanging face down, then the woman grabbed my ankles and spread-eagled me.’ She stopped, breathing hard, her face flushed, tears pressing out from her eyes. ‘Do you want to know what he did next, Harry? Do you really?’

  She didn’t have to tell me. I could read it in her eyes, and it sickened me. I shook my head and reached out for her. I wanted to hold her in my arms, to comfort her, to protect her, I suppose. But I was too late…much, much too late.

  She sat upright to avoid my embrace. ‘No, Harry. I’ll cope with this my own way. But can we stop these fucking questions?’

  ‘No more,’ I said. ‘I didn’t realize…’

  ‘Leave it, Harry. Just leave it. I’ll get over it, given time. I’m as hard as nails, remember? Stevie Bailey, toughest broad in Freeport…scourge of the local bars. It’s the image, you see? My way of surviving since Daddy died. But I’m a woman too, Harry. I can be hurt in ways that only women can. And those bastards knew that. They knew it!’

  I sat in silence. I’d never heard her talk this way before. It was an unsettling experience, like looking in the mirror and not recognizing the face staring back at you.

  ‘I think I’d better go now,’ I said. It sounded pretty feeble. ‘You going to be okay?’

  She looked at me bleakly. ‘Jim’s going to want to know about it too, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. There was no point lying to her. ‘And now, with what you’ve told me, he’ll probably order a full physical examination. He’ll treat it like any other sexual assault.’

  She shuddered. ‘I’ll try and get Doc Roberts to do it; at least I know him.’ I reached out and ruffled her hair. She grabbed my hand and held it tightly. ‘You’re a good friend, Harry. I’m sorry I let rip at you. It had to come out though, do you see?’

  I put a finger to her lips, leant across, and kissed her on the forehead. It was the first intimate contact I’d had with her, of any kind, despite Katy’s assertions. Perhaps I was finally seeing Stephanie, the woman who hid inside Stevie, the buddy.

  12

  I waited with Stevie until Doc Roberts arrived, and then went down to Louis’ for something to eat. I parked the Jeep outside and stepped out before I remembered I still had the gun sticking from my waistband. Louis’ had a free and easy atmosphere, but not so free and easy that someone packing a gun wouldn’t attract attention. I opened the glove compartment and slipped the gun inside, then made my way into Louis’ under the candy-striped awning.

  The place was empty and, at this time of the morning, the atmosphere was flat. Night was the best time to eat at Louis’. The interior was small and sparsely decorated. The tables were wooden, covered with gingham cloths, and apart from a draped fishing net and a 10 x 8 framed photograph of a very proud Louis showing off a one-hundred and twenty-pound marlin he’d caught off Bimini, the walls were bare. Three lobster pots hung from a black-beamed ceiling, and at the back of the place was a long leather topped bar, which separated the kitchen from the dining area.

  Where Louis’ scored was the frontage, which looked out on the sea. There were more tables out there, and it was the best place to dine.

  I remembered several romantic nights sitting out there with Katy, listening to the waves lapping on the white sand, serenaded by the cheerful, carefree music of the calypso band Louis employed in the high season. In the morning light the magic wasn’t there, or perhaps it was simply that I was eating alone. It was something that never usually bothered me, but today, it just seemed to make me feel bloody miserable.

  Even Louis wasn’t his usual self. The grin on his round black face dropped as soon as I entered the bar. He’d heard the news – It seemed like everyone on the island had heard about it – and decided that it must be a great personal tragedy for me, which, to a certain extent, it was. But I didn’t need to be reminded of it every five minutes. When he served me he wore a mournful expression, and kept shaking his head and muttering, ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’ Finally, I could stand it no longer and went across to the jukebox in the corner, which stood in as a poor substitute for the calypso band, and put on the happiest, liveliest song I could find.

  In the corner were a young courting couple who, up until the music started, were so besotted with each other I didn’t think they were even aware I was there. As the Latin rhythms and vibrant congas of Santana blasted out through the jukebox’s powerful speakers, they turned as one and gave me a withering look. I smiled at the boy, winked at the girl, and sat down to finish my lobster. Louis stared at me with open-mouthed amazement, so I winked at him too for good measure.

  It brightened my day.

  Louis’ Oyster Bar had carried the name for as long as anyone could remember. The current Louis was the third that I knew of. It wasn’t his bar as such. Sure, he ran it, managed it, and did all the hard work, but it was Jack who owned it. My old friend Jack Dylan. Though on nights when I’d drunk too much, and was more deeply nostalgic than was good for me, I had unformed ideas that the real owner was still likely to be Alan Lancaster.

  The missing Alan.

  I got back to my bungalow to find it had been turned into a circus.

  The police were there in force, with Reynolds in charge, swarming over the place like ants at a picnic. A forensic team was dusting every flat surface; other officers were going through my belongings, checking the damage, and looking for clues to the identity of the intruders. When I looked down to the harbor, I saw another team was there, giving The Lady of Pain the same treatment.

  Reynolds finally noticed me and stormed over. I was standing outside the bathroom watching one officer who had his arm down the lavatory bowl, though what he was looking for I couldn’t begin to guess.

  Before Reynolds could open his mouth, I said, ‘I know what you’re going to say, Inspector, and you’re quite right. I should have contacted you straight away. And, in fact, I was halfway through dialing the number when I saw Stevie down on The Lady.’

  ‘I’ve seen Miss Bailey,’ Reynolds said. ‘I have just come from there. Sergeant Henderson thought it important enough to call me in and, after speaking with Miss Bailey, I have to agree with him. And despite what you say, and whatever noble motives you see in your actions, what you did was irresponsible.’ He waved his finger under my nose. ‘In fact, it was only a fraction short of criminal.’

  I spread my hands humbly. ‘I can only apologize, Inspector,’ I said.

  Reynolds stared hard at me. I could tell he was reining in his temper. He gave a snort, spun on his heel, and went to speak with a junior officer. As he spoke to him he kept glancing back at me, emphasizing the odd word by slapping his fist into the palm of his hand, which I assumed was acting as a substitute for my f
ace. Then he walked out of the bungalow and I heard a car engine revving. I didn’t see Reynolds again that day.

  He was right, of course, and he had every reason to be angry with me. And, if he’d known how events were going to develop, he might have been more than angry.

  He might have arrested me there and then.

  13

  The circus finally left town and I was once again on my own. I spent a few hours trying to get the place straight, salvaging what I could from the mess. My wardrobe was in a worse state than I’d thought. They’d been looking for something, sure, but I was certain that there was an element of vindictiveness about it all. Who the hell hides anything in their underpants? But they’d been ripped up too.

  They’d asked Stevie if Alan had given her a package, and got very nasty when she’d said he hadn’t. Whatever was in the package must be important, and it must have been what they were looking for here.

  As I worked in the bungalow, I tried to figure what it was Alan was involved in, but the more questions I asked myself the more questions I seemed to be left with. Whatever it was, it was enough to drive a wedge in between Alan and Anna. I tried to think back to all the conversations I’d had with Alan over the past few months, but again came up with nothing.

  I was trying to make the bedroom habitable when there was a knock at the door. That had been my first job, screwing the door back into place. The last thing I needed were visitors turning up unannounced, especially if they were the type of visitors Stevie had encountered down on The Lady.

  Jim Henderson stood on the step, his cap gripped in his hand. ‘Hello, Harry. Can I come in?’

  ‘Sure.’ I held the door open for him and showed him through the lounge. ‘Care for a drink?’

  He sat down on the couch, turning his cap over and over in his hands. ‘Officially I’m on duty, but…. Yes, I will. Got any brandy?’

  ‘That kind of day, huh?’