by Len Maynard
‘I’ve just left Stevie. Harry, I’m sorry I gave you a hard time earlier. I can see why you didn’t want to leave her on her own. She told me what they did to her. I had to call Reynolds in after that.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘Did he give you a hard time?’
‘Balls on a plate. Sautéed.’
‘Sorry. I had no choice.’
Jim had reached the age when he was nearer retirement than most, and yet he did his job with a passion that put many of his younger colleagues to shame. I poured a Remy Martin and handed it to him. His hands were shaking. He looked up at me, grateful for the brandy, but there was something else in his eyes.
‘It’s hard when it’s someone you know, Harry. Christ, I remember taking her down to the beach to play volleyball when she was just a kid, when old Tom was alive. When I think what those bastards did to her, it makes me want to….’ He hesitated and gulped his brandy.
‘Rip them apart with your bare hands?’
‘I can think of worse things, but yeah, I’d like to get my hands on them.’
I poured myself a Chivas Regal and joined him on the couch. ‘How’s the investigation coming along?’
He grimaced and shook his head. ‘Very little to go on,’ he said. ‘The forensic boys say C4 plastic explosive was used on the car, but the type of bomb it was doesn’t tie in with the MO of any known terrorist group. This looks more like a personal attack.’
‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me. Alan wasn’t into politics in any big way.’
He picked that one up quickly. ‘So you think the bomb was meant for Alan, not Anna and the kid.’
‘Isn’t that what you think? Alan used that car every day to buzz around the island. Anna drives…drove…a little Fiat to do her running around. The only reason she was driving the Mercedes that day was because she was in the process of leaving Alan, and was taking her luggage to the airport. She wouldn’t have got all the cases in the Fiat. Whoever planted the bomb couldn’t have been doing it on spec. They must have had the Lancaster’s under observation for a time, so they would have known the Mercedes was Alan’s car.’
Jim nodded. ‘Reynolds agrees with you.’ He’d finished his brandy. I poured another. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this, I’m still on duty.’
‘Live a little,’ I said. ‘God knows, life’s too short as it is.’
He shook his head and stretched out on the couch. He wasn’t a big man, only about five ten, but he kept himself in shape, and I’d seen him clear a bar full of rowdy drunks single-handed on more than one occasion. His biceps were almost as big as my thigh, and his legs were like ebony tree trunks. He put his drink down on the side table and went back to torturing his cap.
‘The problem is, we just don’t know where to start,’ he said. ‘The bombing was bad enough, but then with Stevie, and the break in here…I’d give a year’s salary to know what it was they were looking for. You don’t know, do you?’
‘Of course I don’t, and the question’s been bothering the hell out of me too,’ I said.Jim suddenly fixed me with an intense gaze, the whites of his eyes very bright in his black face. ‘Alan isn’t into narcotics, is he, Harry?’
I reacted as if I’d been stung. ‘What the hell kind of question is that, Jim?’ I said. ‘You’ve known Alan for years. You know what his feelings are about drugs and shit like that.’
And indeed he did. Alan had once called the police in when he discovered that a guest at one of his hotels on Eleuthera was holding cocaine parties. It caused a hell of a stink at the time, and for a while the hotel, and Alan in particular, had picked up some bad press, but he’d told me it was worth all the fuss. His mother had been a heroin addict, and had ended her days in a Miami sanatorium, burnt out and used up. With parents like his Alan knew all about the perils of drug abuse, and he was fervent in his condemnation of both the users and suppliers.
‘There’s no way Alan would get himself mixed up in anything like that, Jim, and you know it.’
He sighed and nodded his head slowly. ‘I had to ask, Harry. Reynolds has been trying to get an angle on this affair, and he knows Alan’s not as pure as the driven snow.’
‘Meaning?’
He gave me what can only be described as an old-fashioned look. ‘You’ve done the liquor run from Cuba for him yourself in the past, Harry. You know exactly what I’m talking about, so spare me the righteous indignation.’
I stared at my feet. ‘Liquor’s one thing, Jim, but drugs are in a completely different league.’
‘So you don’t think there’s the remotest possibility that Alan has somehow got himself tied into it? You see, if it’s not drugs, what else could it be? Alan hasn’t said anything to you, anything at all?’
‘I’m not going to repeat myself, Jim. In fact, I think it’s best if you leave now.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t want there to be bad blood between us over this, Harry. We’ve been friends a long time. Just remember I have a job to do. Sometimes I have to ask questions, even when they hurt.’ He got up from the couch and walked to the door. ‘If it means anything to you, Harry, I don’t happen to think Alan’s involved in drugs. But the question had to be asked.’ He looked sad, and it made him look older, more tired. ‘The other question that they will ask is…if Alan knew his wife was leaving him, did he plant the bomb himself.’
He let himself out and I heard his car start up. I swallowed the last of my whisky and stared at the empty glass in my hand, then threw it at the wall, where it exploded into a thousand glittering pieces.
14
I sat morosely for a while, turning things over and over in my mind and getting nowhere. Finally, I got sick of just sitting there and went down to The Lady, started her engines, and headed out to sea.
I found that being out there on the ocean had an immensely calming effect on me. Something about the sheer vastness of all that water gave me a perspective on life, and on my place in the universe. When I was out there and a storm was blowing force ten, and my boat was being tossed about like a cork in a cauldron, it was very hard to retain any sense of self-importance. I was only too aware that the elemental force of the sea was all-powerful. That if she wanted to, she can could snuff out your life as easily as one snuffed out a candle.
And yet the force was also beneficent. People like my father, like Ernie and Raoul Rodriguez and, to a lesser extent, me, made a living from the sea. She gave us food to eat, put money in our pockets, and asked for very little in return. Only that we show her some respect. And as any fisherman or yachtsmen would tell you, if they didn’t respect her, then her punishment was quick and cruel.
Today, however, the sea was as flat and as calm as a millpond, and as I cruised out I let the problems of the last two days drain away. It was good therapy.
I came from a long line of dissolutes who could trace their lineage back to Randolph Beck, a loyalist to the British Crown who’d fled America in 1784, the year after the end of the Revolutionary War.
My father, Lucas Beck, upheld the family line – a fisherman, smuggler, and sometimes gunrunner – and played authority for a fool, until the day the authorities decided enough was enough and slapped him in jail for five years. Before that happened though, he’d met and married the beautiful Louisa Fletcher, who gave him a son, me. There was a daughter who followed five years later, but my mother who, despite her beauty, was a sickly, physically weak woman, didn’t survive the rigors of childbirth the second time around. My sister, Caroline, succumbed to meningitis in the first year of her life.
Being alone in life sort of became a habit.
Life with my father was a lonely existence, and when I met Alan it was that shared feeling of isolation that formed the bond between us. Alan, me, Jack, and occasionally a few other kids from the island, would often spend time down on my father’s fishing boat, The Majesty, unloading the nets and generally helping out.
Those times on The Majesty cemented the bond between the three of us boys, b
ut especially Alan and me, and as we grew into adulthood the cement grew stronger. When my father started his jail term and The Majesty was impounded by the authorities, Alan stood by me, offering help and advice, even loaning me the money to buy my first boat. And, as the years went by, he tried to interest me in various business ventures, as equal partners, with him supplying all the capital, but some fatuous sense of pride always made me refuse.
So now he found himself not only my best friend but also my landlord, as he owned the freehold on my bungalow and the surrounding land, which included the small harbor where I moored The Lady of Pain. It was here we made our only deal. Alan let me live rent-free, and I, in return, gave the guests of his hotels first refusal on my time and on my boat.
Alan was my friend, and whatever trouble he was in I had to help him.
I anchored about a mile offshore and was sitting on the deck smoking a cigarette when I suddenly remembered I was meant to call Max Donahoe. It had gone completely out of my mind. I flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the sea and went to the wheelhouse and tried to raise The Minotaur.
Max didn’t waste time getting on the radio. ‘Harry, great to hear from you. Katy gave you the message then. When she suggested she come and see you I told her you’d probably send her away with a flea in her ear.’
Using quaint old expressions like that were all part of Max’s charm. And he used his charm to great effect. Many business rivals were taken in by his courteous manner and his rather antiquated turn of phrase. Those of us who knew him better weren’t so easily lulled into the very false sense of security. Max Donahoe had a mind as incisive as a laser, and was as ruthless as they came. But I liked him. Katy was right…he’d always treated me fairly.
‘It’s been too long, Max,’ I said, and meant it.
‘So, when are you coming to see me?’ he said.
‘I didn’t know I was. Katy just said you wanted to talk to me.’
He chuckled. ‘And so I do, Harry, so I do, but I don’t like doing business over the telephone, let alone this squawk box. Come and see me. I’ll be out here on The Minotaur for the rest of the week. Drop by and we’ll have a drink together. There’re a few things I want to discuss with you.’
I pressed him but he wasn’t giving anything away. If I wanted to know what he had to discuss then I was just going to have to accept his invitation. I fixed it for the following morning at eleven.
I went back out on deck and found it had started to rain. It rained a lot in the Bahamas, especially during the summer months, and no one took notice of it. Besides, it was usually nothing more than a tropical shower, rarely lasting more than an hour. If anything the rain came as a relief, clearing the air, cooling things down.
I pulled up a deck chair and sat back, lulled by the gentle rocking of the boat. A few gulls flapped overhead, but once they realized I wasn’t fishing and there were no easy pickings to be had, they wheeled away in search of a meal. Away on the horizon a vast oil tanker was making slow progress across the ocean as if it had all the time in the world and, as I sat there on the deck of The Lady, Freeport seemed like a million miles away. After the events of the last few days I was beginning to wish it was.
The peace was interrupted by the radio crackling into life, and I heard my call sign being repeated. I cursed and went to find out who it was.
It was Max again.
‘Harry,’ he said. ‘How are you planning to get over here? Plane?’
‘I’ll get a flight to Nassau in the morning,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll charter a boat to get me out to The Minotaur.’
‘Don’t trouble with that, Harry. I’ll have the Lear waiting on the runway at Freeport International at nine tomorrow morning. It’ll get you to Nassau in a couple of shakes. My launch will be in the harbor to bring you out to the yacht. How does that sound?’
‘Sounds great, Max. But don’t go to any trouble. I’m quite capable of getting to you under my own steam.’
‘Wouldn’t hear of it, m’boy. You just get yourself down to the runway at nine tomorrow, and let me worry about things from there, okay?’
‘Fine, Max, and thanks. See you in the morning.’
15
I switched off the radio and stood there for a long time, thinking that whatever it was Max Donahoe wanted to see me about, it must be pretty important. He hadn’t gotten to be a rich man by making extravagant gestures, and a Lear jet wasn’t the most inexpensive way to island hop. My hopes for a restful, thought-free afternoon were shattered by that call. Irritably, I weighed anchor and headed home.
By the time I got back to the bungalow the rain had stopped and the sun was shining again. It was going to be a glorious evening. I let myself in and went through to the bedroom to pack a bag, hoping the room at the hotel would be a quiet one. I really didn’t fancy spending the night in a room above the hotel’s disco.
I found my overnight bag in the bottom of the wardrobe and set about packing whatever clothes I could find that hadn’t been ripped or torn. I ended up with three shirts, one pair of shorts, a pair of chinos, and a pair of grey slacks. I did rather better with the underwear. Five pairs of underpants had remained unscathed. I had no idea how long it was going to take me to get the bungalow back in a habitable condition. I just hoped the hotel’s laundry service was efficient.
I was about to leave when the telephone rang. It was Stevie.
‘I’ve been trying to get you all afternoon,’ she said. ‘Where are you?’
‘Home. What is it? Is everything okay?’
‘Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to know what we’ve got on for tomorrow, that’s all.’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I’m going across to New Providence to see Max Donahoe. You’ve got the day off, so relax and enjoy yourself.’
‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed.
‘Are you sure everything’s all right?’
‘Yeah, fine, Harry. Everything’s great. It’s just that I didn’t really want…I mean, I didn’t like the idea of staying here…. Oh shit! Look, Harry, just skip it, okay?’
‘Do you want me to come over?’ I said. ‘I can drop my bag off at the hotel and come direct.’
‘I said skip it, Harry. I’ll be fine. Jackie’s dropping by later, and we’re going to….’
I didn’t hear anymore. My gaze was fixed on an envelope lying on the doormat. I was pretty sure it wasn’t there when I came in, though I supposed I could have stepped over it without noticing. ‘Hold on a moment, Stevie,’ I said, and went across to pick it up. I wasn’t sure why I felt the envelope was important – perhaps it was some kind of sixth sense – but when I picked it up a tingle ran down my spine. The envelope had only one word on it. My name…Harry. But I recognized the handwriting.
Alan Lancaster had written it.
I didn’t open it straight away. Instead I went back to the phone. ‘Sorry about that, Stevie. I had something boiling over on the stove. What was it you were saying?’
‘I said, Jackie and I will probably go to the movies tonight, so there’s no need for you to come over.’
‘And you’ll be all right tomorrow?’
‘Don’t worry about me, Harry. I might spend the time tidying the place up. Just didn’t want you to have to spend the day alone, that’s all. If you’re tied up that’s fine. Give me a call when you need me again. See you.’ She hung up.
I sat down in my mutilated armchair and opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. I took it out and read it.
Like the envelope it was in Alan’s hand, but what it said made no sense, no sense at all.
Harry, look where you’d least expect it, Alan.
That was all it said. I turned the paper over to see if he’d written anything on the back, but it was blank. I read it through again, but its meaning remained as elusive as the first time around.
Look where you’d least expect it.
I couldn’t begin to fathom what it meant.
16
Max Donahoe’s L
ear jet was waiting on the tarmac at Freeport International just as he said it would be. I had no reason to doubt it would be there, as I’d always found Max to be as good as his word.
Inside, the jet was luxurious…white leather upholstery and a well-stocked bar. He even had a stewardess on hand to serve drinks and minister to the comforts of the passengers; not that she had too much room to minister in such close confines. It was ironic that for all its comfort and luxury, the Lear was the only one of Max’s status symbols he couldn’t exactly experience firsthand. He had a fear of flying that bordered on the pathological.
The jet, like the yacht, was there to impress. Max saw himself as an international business tycoon – a self-appreciation that was pretty accurate – and his toys, as he liked to call them, were there because they fit the image. But it wasn’t all artifice. Max had a canny enough grasp of psychology to know that first impressions counted for a lot in his world, and the Lear, with its plush interior and luxurious ambience, created a strong, and lasting, first impression.
The flight was only a short one. It seemed that no sooner had we taken off from Freeport than we were preparing to land at Nassau. I, like Max, though not quite so extreme, was a nervous flier, so I welcomed the journey being brief.
I was still puzzling over the letter from Alan, and spent many minutes staring down through the Lear’s window at the scattering of coral cays, thinking that somewhere down there was the answer. Something was niggling away at the back of my mind. Fleeting and wispy, a memory so thin I could only see its shadow. When the stewardess came up and asked me if I wanted a drink, the shadow vanished completely.
We landed and I stepped out of the plane. A silver Rolls Royce was sitting not ten yards away, its chauffeur polishing the bonnet with a yellow duster. The stewardess escorted me to the car and the chauffeur opened the rear door. It seemed I was being given the VIP treatment, but I felt self-conscious because I really didn’t look the part. I was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt, hanging loose over my shorts; no socks, but on my feet were a pair of canvas shoes with rope soles. I made a mental note to raid my bank account in the not too distant future and buy myself a new wardrobe. It would be a sacrifice; I tended to use all my spare money keeping The Lady seaworthy, and I’d recently bought a new linear drive autopilot for her, which had all but cleaned me out. But I couldn’t walk around looking like a scarecrow for very much longer.