The Deadly Ackee

by Joan Hess

  “What did Trey say when you caught him?”

  “He said it was practically a family tradition,” she said, beginning to sniffle. “He said almost every male in his family did it. Not his father, of course, but all the black sheep branches.” The sniffling increased, until she was forced to blot the tip of her nose with a towel. “It’s one of the reasons he’s forever being booted out of school.” The sniffling evolved into a deluge. “It was so humiliating,” she sobbed. “What if one of my friends had caught him? I would have died, literally died, right there on the dorm floor. My parents would have had to bury me in a pine box out behind the stables. The obituary wouldn’t have made the Penny Saver, much less the Times. It was just so totally icky.”

  Theo waited quietly until the sobbing had run its course and her composure had returned, at least to some extent. He then said, “Some men do like to dress in women’s clothing. It’s rare, but perhaps not as rare as we presume. It doesn’t mean that he’s a homosexual, however.”

  “I just couldn’t go through with the marriage. What if he wanted to wear the garter at the wedding? A bridesmaid’s dress rather than a tuxedo? My analyst and I agonized for days over it, but he agreed that I would never overcome my phobia that Trey might be a homosexual—or at least a bisexual. There’s no way I could deal with that; my analyst says I have a very fragile ego due to a lack of parental warmth during my formative years. I don’t intend to rear children who can’t tell Daddy from Mommy without a scorecard.”

  Theo reached across the table to pat her hand. “I understand your reaction to the disturbing scene and your decision to break off the engagement.”

  “When I gave him back the engagement ring, he had the nerve to ask for my half-slip. He said it was awkward to shop for that sort of thing, especially in the finer stores, and that he adored silk. It was so disgusting that I almost barfed.”

  “I truly do understand. However, my dear, you might do well to put that behind you and continue with your life. There are many other men in the world; I’m confident you will encounter a more conventional one—if you cease this obsession with Trey’s behavior.”

  “Like Sandy?” She let out a short laugh. “He may be Biff’s best friend, but he’s hardly a suitable match. Once he graduates, he’ll have to do some dreadfully tedious stint in the Navy, on an aircraft carrier or a submarine. After that, he’ll stay in the Navy as his father did. The best he can aspire to is admiral; the prestige is not unpalatable, but the salary certainly is. Sandy does not come from a wealthy family, and there is no possibility of a trust fund from some obscure relative. He’s forever scrambling about for mere pocket money. He even works in the summer doing unskilled labor. Biff almost has to kidnap him to have him crew at the regattas.”

  Theo could sense it was not a match made in heaven. “There will be others along the road, but you must be careful not to judge them too quickly.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Bloomer. I’m going to ask for transcripts, credit references, bank account statements, potential trust situations, and prenuptial contracts. I fully intend to protect my personal and family wealth. My father worked hard for our money; I am not going to allow some callous fortune hunter to take advantage of my naiveté.”

  “So I see. Well, please don’t let me disturb you further. I suspect we’ll go out to dinner tonight, since the servants haven’t returned. I suggest we meet on the terrace in an hour to discuss where we might want to go.” He went around the pool and tapped on the sliding glass doors of Trey’s bedroom. After a muffled grunt that he assumed indicated permission to enter, he opened the door and went in to be met by an acrid cloud of smoke.

  The figure sprawled on the bed flapped a hand in greeting. Theo opened both windows, remaining near one in order to savor the air. Trey pulled himself up partway and aimed a finger in the direction of a chair. “Have a seat, Mr. Bloomer. Have a toke, for that matter, or a martini if you prefer the more staid vice of alcohol.”

  “I shall stay where I am, thank you. I thought the police had confiscated your marijuana.”

  “They sure did, the arrogant bastards. I had to go all the way across the street to buy some from the gardener. It’s pretty good, but not nearly the quality of the stuff those damnable policemen stole from me. They’re probably higher than kites by now—on my designer ganja.”

  “From whom did you make your original purchase?”

  “From Eli. No problem, he kept telling me. He got hot and bothered the day I flashed it on the street, but other than that he was a real cool dude. We mustn’t speak ill of the dead, you know.”

  Eli was seeming less and less the ideal policeman, Theo thought with a grim smile. Selling ganja, blackmailing the neighbors. One could only speculate where his career might have headed, had his career had the opportunity to head anywhere. “When did you purchase it?” he asked.

  “About ten minutes after we arrived. Service with a smile. Old Eli had a damn discount store in his room, although his quantities weren’t impressive. He offered to put us in touch with major retailers. He was a real sport—humble, polite, eager to serve in any capacity. Damn shame he kicked off like that.”

  “Did he subsequently put you in touch with major retailers?”

  Trey rolled his eyes. “No. I figured he would double-cross us. Dealers have been known to pocket the money from the sale, then report their clients to the customs officials and make a little more change. And,” he said, wiggling a finger through the smoke, “I figured that out before we found out he was a narc. I really have no intention of passing a few years in some tropical dungeon. I think I’ll do the Grand Tour this fall, see how many European women I can lay in seventeen countries, seven days, ground transportation and gratuities included.”

  “While shopping for lingerie in Paris?” Theo said softly.

  “Ooh la la, the fancy silks and satins of Paris. I suppose Bitsy has been spilling her icy little heart to you? How like her to confide in any male who remembers her name for more than fifteen seconds. She’s just a little kitten waiting to curl up in her daddy’s lap and purr out all her troubles.”

  “I’m not interested in your private amusements. I am curious about your Uncle Billy’s fond memories, though. What did he tell you of his antics with D’Orsini during their days at Harvard?”

  “Uncle Billy didn’t much go for dressing in drag,” Trey said pensively, lighting what Theo prayed was a conventional cigarette. “Not to say that he didn’t have a certain fondness for polyester pants suits, but he was a mere youth and we must forgive him his minor sins. He made it through without the big boot, but only by the seat of his skivvies. D’Orsini wasn’t as fortunate. Both of them were caught in bed, but at different times and with decidedly different people. Uncle Billy was with a dean’s wife, which is why it was hushed up. D’Orsini was, if I remember correctly, coupling on a regular basis with the janitor’s son. He was booted across the state line. That’s what one deserves if one insists on coupling with the lower classes.”

  “I wondered if he might be a homosexual,” Theo said. “Despite the implication that he lavishes love and attention on single women, I suspected it might be of the platonic variety. Not that it alters much of anything. It does lend credence to a somewhat fanciful theory, though.”

  “A fanciful theory? I am impressed, sir. My theories are no better than mundane, idle, hazy fragments of speculation.”

  Theo told him to be prepared to go to dinner in an hour, then escaped from the cloying miasma of smoke and bitterness. After he showered and changed into a light gray suit, he went to the terrace to enjoy the pinkish hues of the clouds as the sun began to set. A foursome of strolling minstrels wandered by the house, laden with their island instruments. Theo shook his head when they called to him. As they moved along, he heard them call to Count D’Orsini next door, who apparently also declined a private performance.

  It was not difficult to understand why D’Orsini was in no mood for music, Theo told himself. The perti
nent roll of film was still missing, but might well surface at any moment, followed by flashing blue lights, sirens, handcuffs, and a lengthy session in the hot, grimy interrogation room at the police station. His associates would be identified and included in the unpleasantries. And Theo was beginning to think he knew the identity of one of them—the one he’d heard the first night.

  But that individual was not apt to have murdered Eli. D’Orsini had admitted that he had entertained a Colombian businessman; he also had claimed that the same had departed the next morning—and would not have stooped to poison in any case. That implied the existence of yet a third person, someone who had negotiated a drug deal beside the pool. Someone who might have objected to being blackmailed and had been willing to take extreme action to avoid it.

  Trey was a candidate. He had a fondness for drugs and a disinterest in either the legality or the morality of using them. But the police had searched the villa most thoroughly, uncovering Trey’s baggie along with Bitsy’s lingerie and Dorrie’s skin conditioners. None of the young people could have hidden a significant quantity of cocaine in the villa, and they had no contacts outside the villa with whom to leave a package.

  Except for Mary Margaret, Theo amended with a frown. She seemed to have made quite a few friends in the few days they’d been in Jamaica. Male friends. He glared at the driveway, down which she’d vanished. He glared at the pool, in which Eli’s corpse had been discovered. He glared at the fence, behind which D’Orsini had conducted illegal business. When he again glared at the driveway, he found himself glaring at Sergeant Stahl. Which wasn’t at all friendly, although somewhat appropriate since the sergeant appeared to be in an equally foul mood.

  “No film, Mr. Bloomer,” Stahl said as he sat down. “We checked every place on the island; no one had the roll of film we’re looking for. I know D’Orsini’s a dope dealer, but I don’t have a damn bit of evidence. I know somebody murdered one of my men, but I don’t have the faintest lead as to the identity of the murderer. I’m still getting calls from the ex-governor and the island elite assuring me that D’Orsini is a splendid chap.” He banged his fist on the table. “I don’t have shit.”

  “Officer Staggley was a bit more of an entrepreneur than we’d realized,” Theo said, repeating what Trey had told him about the so-called discount store below the pool. “His offer to put Trey in touch with a major dealer leads me to think he might have been encouraging his investigation by providing his suspect—D’Orsini—with a purchaser. It is not entertaining to run surveillance on someone who’s failing to do anything worthy of said surveillance. Eli must have decided to recruit a purchaser in order to facilitate progress.”

  “And did he succeed?” Stahl asked.

  “I don’t see how it could be anyone from this villa. Your men searched every inch of it and found nothing beyond Trey’s small bag of ganja.” Theo glanced up at the balcony, then added in a lowered voice, “I do know the identity of the photographer who took the shots of the … ah, the nubile sunbather. It seems one of our young men noted the opportunity from his bedroom window. He claims he put the used film in his camera case, and was flabbergasted when your men did not come across it during the search.”

  Stahl took out a notebook and flipped through the pages. “Yeah, I have a notation that Bedford Hartley has a camera and a case. So he put the film in his case … and someone put it in Staggley’s room. It certainly threw us off the track. This Hartley doesn’t have any idea who stole his film?”

  “He claims no knowledge whatsoever,” Theo said, still keeping an eye on the balcony. “He is a rather oblivious type, unaware of anything that doesn’t directly concern his immediate personal well-being. Egotism is a common malaise within this group. Of epidemic proportions.”

  “So I noticed,” Stahl said in a rueful voice. “I’ve never before taken down so many statements that centered on hair conditioners, wardrobe changes, and manicures—from both sexes. What about the Ellison boy? What’s his problem?”

  “It is deep-seated and complex, but I’m not convinced he has anything to do with this muddle. As one of the girls commented, he’s been too stoned to do much of anything. You don’t seem surprised to learn that one of your officers was selling dope.”

  “I wish I were surprised. We found some stuff in his room, but we were assuming it was evidence, that it had something to do with the investigation. Hoping, anyway. But a lot of my officers—most of them, to be frank—smoke ganja in their time off. It’s readily available, cheap, and grown in most every backyard. We discourage them from showing up high or dealing, but that’s the best we can do. It’s the island.”

  “Have you done anything about the missing girl? I realize it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but I am increasingly concerned about her.”

  “I had the patrolmen check the beaches, the hotels, and the bars for her. There’re about a hundred private parties at any given hour, though, and she’s likely to be at one of them—or on a boat, or shacked up in a hotel room, or in a private residence, or in a Jeep, or simply moving around. Jamaica’s got more than four thousand square miles, man. Maybe she went to Kingston to prowl or to the Cockpit country to look at those crazy folks. Or maybe she’s next door in D’Orsini’s hot tub. As you said, it’s been less than twenty-four hours—and I’ve got a murder on my hands.”

  Theo considered the wisdom of relating the existence of the ransom note, but decided once again to delay the revelation. Sitermann might come up with information from his Connecticut cohorts. The information was apt to be damning for one of his sextet. And there wasn’t much Stahl could do about it, anyway, Theo concluded with an admittedly minuscule edge of justification. “Have you had an autopsy report?”

  “This is Jamaica, not Los Angeles. We won’t hear anything from Forensics for weeks. We’re assuming Staggley came back from the railroad station in MoBay, ate lunch and teased the women, visited D’Orsini, then came back over here. He made a pitcher of rum punch, went to the pool, drank the lethal stuff, and eventually collapsed and fell into the pool. Several of the boys who do yard work in the neighborhood swore they didn’t see anyone go in or out of the gate here. That means the rum was laced with ackee pulp and given to Staggley sometime before noon yesterday. He had the pertinent roll of film when he visited next door, and he didn’t go anywhere else after the visit. Someone made the exchange before we searched his room this morning.”

  “D’Orsini couldn’t have climbed the fence or come through the back?”

  “We thought of that, but the Greeley woman said she was there all afternoon. She swears she drove up just as Eli came down D’Orsini’s driveway, and she didn’t leave until almost seven o’clock. Even though we’re aware of the friendship between the two, we’re operating on the premise that she wouldn’t lie to cover a murder.” Stahl’s teeth flashed for an instant. “It’s not to say that we didn’t check out her story. The boy across the street saw her famous flamingo wagon arrive, and he saw it leave about the time she told us. There’s no gate in the back, no way to force a path through the thicket of thorns and overgrowth there. The vines on the fence haven’t been disturbed.”

  “D’Orsini could have given the rum to Eli during the blackmail attempt,” Theo said, yanking at his beard hard enough to pull out a hair. “I don’t think he did, though—since Eli didn’t have the film in his possession. He could have talked his way out of verbal allegations, but not out of black-and-white evidence.”

  “Which we don’t have.”

  “The film is missing,” Theo agreed. “Mary Margaret is missing, evidence of D’Orsini’s criminal activity is missing, and the identity of his associates is missing. As are the cook and the maid, for that matter. The real estate agent is trying to persuade them to return, but seems to have had no success thus far.”

  “I’m missing dinner. I’ll be missing an ear if I don’t get home and apologize to my wife. If you run across a roll of film, give me a call.”

  Stahl went down the driveway, n
odded to Sandy and Biff as they came through the gate, then drove away. Sandy had his golf bag over one shoulder, and his face was pink from the exertion of carrying the weight. Biff was also carrying a golf bag, but his face, in contrast, had the milky whiteness of a hibiscus Diana.

  “Has Dorrie said anything?” he asked softly.

  Once again Theo prudently glanced at the balcony. “She arrived at the correct premise over an hour ago. She did so with no hints from me.”

  “Is she totally pissed off?”

  “That would be a mild description of her initial reaction and present mood.”

  “Did she resemble her mother?”

  Theo nodded. Biff ran his fingers through his hair, peeked at the balcony, and then, with a shudder, went through the dining room and up the stairs. To the lion’s den.

  “Wow,” Sandy said, “what was that about? Old Biff looked as if he might roll over and die.”

  “Dorrie has determined the identity of the photographer who took the shots of Mary Margaret beside the pool. She was not amused.”

  Sandy leaned his golf bag against the rail and joined Theo at the table. “And she’s gone into melt-down mode over that? God, we thought it was a stitch. Biff said he was going to pin up the prints all over his room at school, and tell everybody how hot she was for him. But it wasn’t totally serious or anything. He knows which side of the toast the caviar’s on, and he was just using Mary Margaret to make Dorrie jealous.”

  “The sergeant and I were discussing the girl’s disappearance. The police are somewhat more concerned, and have gone so far as to make a desultory search of the public beaches and bars, but they seem to continue to treat it as a lark on her part. I am still perplexed and more than a little worried. Count D’Orsini was extremely agitated when he returned with you. Think back to the trip, Sandy. When you first went to his villa, was there anything at all that struck you as the slightest bit peculiar?”