“Hector, you are an angel.”
Chapter 51
Flynn
As soon as the key turned in the lock, Flynn knew it was her.
Dodie entered the cell half a step behind his lawyer, Parfury, and brought a lightness with her. It changed the way the air hung, drab and sour, between the four stark walls. She was wearing her little black Arcadia dress, the one he loved on her with the white cuffs at the elbows, and her hair was tied back demurely with a white ribbon. She strode toward him in the cell with a smile that said there was no place on earth she would rather be.
“Hello, Flynn.”
He didn’t respond, but neither did he stop looking at her.
“Good morning, Mr. Hudson,” the lawyer said.
“Morning, Parfury.”
“Miss Wyatt requested a visit.”
“I told you I didn’t want any more visits from Miss Wyatt.”
“She said it was urgent.”
“Do lawyers in Nassau take no note of their clients’ wishes?”
“Of course, but . . .” The lawyer laughed self-consciously. “That young lady is hard to say no to when she sets her mind to something.”
Flynn had not taken his eyes from Dodie’s face. “What is it, Dodie? What’s wrong?”
She sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside her, inviting him to join her. He almost didn’t. He tried not to. But his legs took him over to her and his body elbowed out the air next to her and claimed the space as its own.
“What’s happened?” he asked quickly.
“I’ve spoken to Ella Sanford.” She glanced at Parfury, who was still standing by the door, regarding her with professional interest, clearly intending to listen to her every word. She swiveled round on the bed so that her back was turned to the lawyer, blocking him out. “She told me things.”
“What things?”
“The investigation into Sir Harry’s murder”—she spoke softly—“is being deliberately sabotaged, evidence destroyed, and this could only come from the top.”
“That’s one hell of an accusation.” He checked whether Parfury had heard. Hard to tell. Flynn was eager to ask for details but thought better of it, and hid his frustration with a shrug. “And the fall guys are me and Marigny.”
“I had a few minutes with Christie. He looks terrible. Going to pieces. Threatening me with lawyers.”
“Better lawyers than goons.”
She smiled. He wanted to take hold of her shoulders and shake her till she recognized the danger she was in, till she was a nervous young woman again, the way she had been when he first watched her patrolling the shallows of her beach before . . .
Before this. Before him.
She saw something of his thoughts, because her eyes grew fierce and she leaned her face toward him, daring him. But she continued speaking as if nothing else was going on.
“We don’t know whether they’re protecting themselves or protecting the island. And no one is mentioning anything about gold.”
“I bet they’re not. They are all wondering which one has it.”
“I’ve been thinking about those gold coins found in your jacket.” She glanced over her shoulder at Parfury, unaware that her tied-back hair flew so close to Flynn’s mouth as she did so, that he could have caught it between his teeth. He smelled the scent of the sea on it. “Mr. Parfury,” she said briskly, “have you come up with any information? What are the police saying about them?”
“They are napoleons. French coins from years ago.”
“You see,” she said as she swung back to Flynn. “They match. Where did they come from?”
Flynn refused to discuss it. He wanted her to forget all about gold and wallets.
When he didn’t respond, she said, “It’s obvious that Morrell must have had more gold coins on him, which the killer stole and then used them to frame you.” She put out a hand and tentatively touched his sleeve. “Do you agree?”
He looked down at her pale pink fingernails on his arm but said nothing.
“Also,” she said, undaunted by his silence, “I went to your landlord again.”
“No, Dodie. Stay away from him.”
“I went with Mama Keel this time.”
Oh, she was clever. If anyone was going to loosen their tongues, it would be Mama Keel.
“So?” he asked.
“They’re thinking about it.” She rolled her eyes with impatience. “So don’t give up hope.”
“Stop it, Dodie.”
Her fingers curled around his cuff.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“You must.”
“No.”
“I don’t want you hurt.”
“I am already hurt. Because you’re in here.”
He wanted to touch her face, to taste her skin one more time.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Though Christie may be threatening me, it’s only with his lawyer. He told me to go to Hector Latcham and—”
Flynn’s hand seized her arm. He shook it hard. “Why? Why the hell would you go to Hector Latcham? Keep away from him.”
“Hector Latcham?”
“Yes.” The word snapped out of him.
“Why? He’s your lawyer.”
“Like hell he is. Parfury is—”
“I work for Mr. Latcham, sir,” Parfury said mildly over by the door.
Flynn’s heart shut down. His skin grew cold. After all he’d done to protect her, he’d not allowed for this, not this . . .
“Flynn?”
He was on his feet and standing right in front of Parfury. “Give me two minutes,” he said urgently. He saw the lawyer glance warily at his clenched fists. “Two minutes. That’s all. Let me have two minutes alone with her.”
“No, I can’t, it’s against the rules.”
“Then break the goddamn rules. Two minutes.”
“No, Mr. Hudson, I . . .” But something Parfury saw in him made him change his mind. He gave a quick rap on the door and made his exit. “Two minutes,” he muttered. “I’m counting.”
The moment the door swung shut, Flynn pulled Dodie to her feet and spoke fast. “Don’t go near Hector Latcham. You hear me? He’s dangerous.”
“But he was helpful. He is Ella Sanford’s friend and so is being kind to—”
Flynn gripped her shoulders. “Remember I told you that the mobsters had another guy on this island, my contact here. Named Spencer?”
Her lips opened, their color drained away.
“His real name is Hector Latcham. He’s the one who hired thugs to beat you up. So don’t tell me that mob lawyer is helpful and kind. Don’t . . .”
Without warning he pulled her against his chest, so hard that her chin nearly cracked a rib. “Dodie, you must swear to me you won’t go near him again. I didn’t tell you his name before because I figured it meant you wouldn’t go near him. I was trying to keep you safe.”
She stood still and silent in his arms, but he could feel her heartbeat. Out of control. Quietly she started to talk.
“Flynn, this means you won’t get out of here. Not with Hector Latcham overseeing your case at the trial. I’ll arrange a different lawyer immediately, I can’t . . .” The words seemed to swell in her throat. “I can’t . . . bear to think that—”
“Don’t, Dodie.”
She lifted her face and he kissed her mouth. He had only seconds left. “Promise me you won’t go near him.”
“I promise, but . . .” Suddenly she pulled back from him, eyes huge. “Ella!”
“Ella Sanford? What about her?”
“She was meeting him today to ask him all about Portman Cay.”
Before he could argue, she was out of his arms and hammering on the door. “Let me out!”
Chapter 52
Ella
Hector parked up on the road and they walked down together through the shade of the trees. The gleaming white beach burst out at them with blinding brilliance when they emerged, a perfect horseshoe of shimmering sand that curled away in both directions. Beyond, a sea and sky of such fierce turquoise was clamped tightly around it that for one odd moment Ella had a feeling that there was no escape.
“What do you think?”
“It’s certainly beautiful,” Ella commented.
Hector was pressing a hand flat on top of his smooth brown hair as if he were suffering a headache, but his eyes were bright and his movements alert. He reminded Ella of one of the sandpipers that stalked the water’s edge, never still.
“I need to know more about the person who bought this beach,” Ella said. “Dodie Wyatt told me it was someone called Mr. Alan Leggaty.”
“Did she indeed?”
“Do you know him? You must have drawn up the contract.”
“I didn’t meet Mr. Leggaty personally.”
“Isn’t that odd?”
“Not really. I have minions for that.”
Something was wrong. Ella didn’t know what, but she could feel it. Perhaps Hector was regretting giving up so much time to bring her out here, because certainly his mind seemed to be elsewhere. They were walking a stretch of the beach close to the surf where the sand was firm and Ella carried her shoes in her hand, letting the breeze snatch away the images in her head of the mass grave at the bottom of her garden. But she couldn’t stop a shiver when she thought of Dan.
“Are you all right, Ella?”
“Yes.” She looked at the man beside her, solid, dependable Hector whose passion was yacht racing and whose only vice seemed to be a tendency to bore his wife, Tilly, with boat talk too much. “No, Hector,” Ella said truthfully, “to be honest I’m not all right.” She came to a halt on the warm sand and looked up into his face. “I’m frightened.”
His cheeks were red. The sun? Or the headache? Strangely he didn’t look startled by her admission.
“Frightened? My poor Ella, tell me why.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t . . .”
On the empty beach he took her hand between his. “Yes, you can tell me. I’m your friend, Ella. I’m here to help.”
So she told him. About the chickens. About her worries that someone could be watching her.
“Why would anyone be watching you?” he asked, and she heard the understandable ripple of amusement in his tone.
“Because I saw something that I wasn’t meant to see.”
“And what was that?”
She almost didn’t tell him. Almost. But his concern felt so real and he wasn’t the kind of man to scoff.
“I saw a hoard of gold in Sir Harry’s house. The night Morrell was there, the man who was—”
A strange noise came from him. Partway between a cough and a groan. “A hoard of gold? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I called there that night collecting for the Red Cross and it was on the table.”
She told him about the coin that Dodie had brought to her and that she had believed it was a warning from Morrell to beware of Sir Harry. But now she wasn’t so sure.
“They both saw the gold and now they’re both dead.” Slowly she raked her foot through the sand. “What do you think, Hector? Should I be frightened or am I just being foolish? You’re a lawyer, you know about these things. I don’t want to worry Reggie. Give me advice, because I haven’t told the police yet, not formally.”
“Haven’t you?”
Hector was staring out to sea, where the waves were rolling in with soft murmurs.
“Have you told anyone you think the murders are connected with the sale of this tract of land?”
“No.”
“Good,” he said, and it seemed to be aimed more at the waves than at her.
Ella frowned. Again that feeling that something wasn’t quite right. She followed his line of sight and noticed a yacht anchored about a mile offshore, flickering like a white seabird in the sunlight. She lifted her hand to shade her eyes.
“Hector, is that Storm Cloud?”
He nodded.
“What’s she doing here?” Ella asked.
“I sail her to this bay sometimes. When I want some peace and quiet.” Storm Cloud was Hector’s new boat. “I keep a tender in an inlet among those rocks over there. A guard watches over things some days.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Morrell is dead, Ella. So is Sir Harry. Why don’t you leave it to the police? That’s my advice to you. Don’t get involved.”
“Like Dodie Wyatt has done, you mean? No, Hector, it’s too late for that.” Ella started to walk up the slope of the beach. “Let’s go back. I’ve seen enough.”
But she hadn’t gone more than a few paces when Hector said with deliberate emphasis, “When Miss Wyatt found Morrell dying, she claims he didn’t have any gold with him. Not even the ivory box it came in.”
Ella’s foot halted. Her breath stopped. All she could hear was the silence as she turned back to face Hector. He was smiling sadly at her.
“What ivory box, Hector? I’ve not mentioned any kind of box.”
“Come out to my boat, Ella. It’s a good day for a sail, there’s a stiff breeze out there.”
Hector’s words sounded ridiculously calm and reasonable. But her heart was thundering in her chest. Could she be mistaken? Surely a man who was her friend, whose wife was her closest friend, could not be saying what she thought he was saying, could not mean what she thought he was meaning.
“You know I’m a rotten sailor, Hector,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s head on home now. It’s too hot out—”
“Ella!”
That one word told her what she didn’t want to know.
She turned to face Hector. He was pointing a gun at her.
Chapter 53
Dodie
Dodie raced through the streets of Nassau. She dodged across roads, tore around corners, ducked under parasols, wove through the crowds ambling along the hot streets, a scream of fury lodged in her throat.
Hector Latcham.
He had smiled at her.
He had promised her help.
He had called her my dear young lady.
And all the time he was laughing. Because he’d burned down her house. Had her beaten to a pulp.
Hector Latcham.
The name was branded on her skin in bruises. What kind of man was he? One who destroyed people at will. One who hid behind a wall of smiles, passing unnoticed among his colonial herd.
She ran onto Bay Street. With its friendly pastel face. Its canopied walkways. Its elegant shops. Her heart was pounding as she sped over the pavement, aware that above her, above the shops, above the street, above the law, rose the offices. Where lies were told. Deals were struck. Fates were sealed.
Hector Latcham. The name gleamed innocently on the brass plaque on the door. She rang the bell to his office.
Be there, Ella. Please. Be there.
* * *
“So where is she?”
“I don’t know, Miss Wyatt.”
“Where did he take her?”
“I don’t know, Miss Wyatt.”
“You must know something.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help.”
“When did they leave?”
“Well over an hour ago, I think. But Mr. Latcham didn’t mention where they were going.”
“Did he say when he’d be back?”
“No, he didn’t. Look, Miss Wyatt, is it really so urgent that you can’t wait until—”
“Yes. It’s urgent. Yes. It’s very very urgent. Please, think. Did either of them mention Portman Cay?”
“No, not that I heard. But .
. .”
“What?”
“Well, just as they were walking out of the office, I heard Mrs. Sanford laugh and say she wasn’t wearing shoes that were right for the beach.”
“Thank you. Thank you.”
Chapter 54
Ella
“Hector! What are you doing?”
“I warned you, Ella, not to get involved.”
He approached her over the sand. Even a bad shot couldn’t miss from there. Ella forced herself to look away from the blunt business end of the gun and to look at the face of the man who intended to kill her.
“Hector, have you gone crazy?”
But it wasn’t Hector’s eyes that looked back at her. They were the cold eyes of someone she didn’t know. His pupils were dark pinpoints of anger and his mouth was twisted in a grimace.
“Why did you force me into this, Ella? You fool, there was no need for it. If you’d kept out of everything and let me deal with your interfering friend, Miss Wyatt, and her Yankee troublemaker, there’d have been none of this.”
He nudged the gun toward her and she backed off a pace. The trees were close but not close enough. If she made a run for it he’d put a bullet in her back, she didn’t doubt it for a second.
“The chickens were my warning?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“And you expected me to lie down and keep my mouth shut? To do nothing?” She was advancing on him now, a pulse pumping at her throat.
A bullet hit the sand in front of her feet. It shattered the silence of the bay and sent a flock of gulls wheeling up into the air with a clatter of wings.
“No further.” The gun pointed at her chest.
“Or what? You’ll kill me? You’re going to do that anyway. Like you killed Morrell, I presume. And Sir Harry too? Or was that Christie who . . . ?”
She saw his eyes narrow a fraction and knew he was about to pull the trigger.
“Why, Hector? What’s this about? Tell me that much, at least.”
“What do you think it’s about, Ella? Money. Everything is always about money.” He gave her a crooked half smile. “Or love.”
The way he said the word “love.” It had claw marks on it.
The Far Side of the Sun Page 33