Dark Destiny

by Edward S. Aarons

  "Sam? Thank you, Sam."

  "Forget it."

  When she had control of herself again, he let her go. "You may take me home now," she said.

  ***

  The heat was oppressive and the air lay like a stifling blanket over the dark mangrove islands. Clouds obscured the moon. Sam sat in the car for a moment, parked in front of the triple garage and watched Mona Somerset walk up toward the Spanish Romanesque house. No one came out to greet them. He considered taking her to the door and then got out of the car and walked the other way along the path that led around the cove toward his own bungalow. He walked slowly through the heat, as if wading through something fluid and formless. It was going to rain. The threatening weather made him uneasy, he thought, and he walked a little faster.

  The weather never bothered Charley, he recalled. Charley had liked everything, rain or sunshine, good times and bad. The most precious gift a man had was the gift of living, Charley always said. Sam shook his head, wondering how he could have killed himself. It wasn't possible. He couldn't believe it; he would never accept it.

  Pausing on the beach, he lit a cigarette and looked up at his bungalow. A light shone in one of the windows and he had not left any lamps on when he left to get Mona. Perhaps it was Benny Suarez, he thought, or Ellen Terhune. He felt resentful of the intrusion and cut across the beach with long strides and went inside.

  George, the Ashton houseboy, was waiting for him in the living room. The man turned with a quick grin when Sam appeared. George was drinking beer out of a can and he lifted it in greeting, but he didn't get up from his sprawled position in one of the easy chairs.

  "Hello, Mr. Cortez. I hope you don't mind my helping myself to a can of beer out of your icebox."

  "I do," Sam said. "What do you want?"

  "You ain't too sociable, are you?"

  George continued to grin. There was something sly about the houseboy that rasped on Sam's raw nerves. He was almost as tall as himself but thinner, lacking the solid maturity of Sam's muscular frame. He had big hands, a loose mouth and pale blue eyes set close together over his inquisitive nose. His sandy hair looked wet and slick. His voice was ingratiating as he finished the beer and said: "Listen, there ain't no reason for you to be so high and mighty, Sam. They tell me you used to live over in the big house and I been waitin' for a chance to talk about it to you."

  "Talk about what?" Sam asked. He closed the screen door to the bungalow and leaned back against it. The air inside felt warm and close. "We have nothing to talk about."

  "Sure we do," George said. He still smiled. "We ought to swap information. I been around a little myself and I know a good thing when I see one. This John Ashton, now, I think I can make myself something out of a guy like that."

  Sam drew a deep breath. "Don't be too sure, George."

  "I know. This setup is a little subtle, ain't it? I see you playing the dame and I figure that's okay; you take her and I take the uncle. That way we got nothing to fight about, you and me."

  Sam felt anger in his throat, but he said nothing. The man's sly grin followed him as he crossed the living room, his face blank and went into the little kitchen beyond. He stood at the icebox, feeling a kind of illness in him and then he took a fresh can of beer and went back to George. George took the beer and nodded.

  "Talk it up some more," Sam said.

  George dipped his long nose and drank from the new beer can. "I tell you," he grinned. "Just one thing bothers me. What is everybody looking for around here? I heard Ashton talking about you over the telephone. He said he thinks you know something special."

  "About what?"

  "Your brother, maybe. And something about money. I guess it's a lot of money, the way he talked. A guy as well heeled as Ashton wouldn't be impressed otherwise."

  "Just what did he say?" Sam asked.

  "I didn't hear too much. Just that he's watching you and that nothing's happened so far. Is there buried treasure on this key or something?"

  Sam forced a laugh. "It's a long story. It doesn't concern you."

  "Maybe it does. I can profit by other people's mistakes. Maybe you and me can help each other. This Ashton gives me the willies, y'know? I'd just like to nail him at something and then I'll have him where I want him. I don't know what your angle is, but we can do each other some good."

  "Blackmail?" Sam asked.

  George looked hurt. "That don't sound so nice."

  Sam felt as if he were walking on the edge of an abyss. "There's nothing in that for you to worry about. You make me sick. Get out."

  "Listen, you can't-"

  "Out!"

  George hesitated, then looked sharply at Sam's darkened face and shrugged. He put the beer can down regretfully and then apparently thought of something and a leer came on his freckled face.

  "I hear your brother was really a sharp operator, Sam," he said. "Ashton was talking about-"

  Sam didn't want to hear any more. Shaking with anger, he started toward George and the man suddenly became alarmed and backed hastily to the door. "Okay, take it easy. Don't get sore, Sam."

  George's feet hammered on the porch and then hit the sand, moving in a hurry. Sam stood still, listening to his footsteps crunch on the shell path. He drew a deep breath and suddenly shivered despite the stifling heat. For a moment he considered calling George back, thinking he was hasty in not letting the man talk himself out. He felt a strange sense of urgency as if the houseboy's visit had ended the. unnatural quiet that had brooded over Isla Honda since his arrival. It was as if something had been set in motion beyond his power to recall. He went into the kitchen carrying the two empty beer cans with him and drew a glass of water from the tap and drank it slowly. Then he turned into the bedroom snapping on the light. He cursed with soft anger.

  George had done more than just help himself to beer while he had been away. All the drawers in the bureau had been pulled open and his clothes lay strewn around the green-tiled floor. The closet door was ajar and Sam pulled it wide and stared at his suits hanging there, the pockets turned inside out. Turning suddenly, he hauled his suitcase out from under the bed and opened it. Nothing in here had been touched and the four extra fifty-dollar bills he had cached inside were still safe. He pocketed the money and straightened, frowning. He owned nothing of interest to anyone and ordinary thievery had not been George's motive in ransacking the room. Or had it been George? The houseboy had been too much at ease and too sure of himself to have remained the way he did at the risk of Sam's discovering the search while he was still here. No, the more he thought about it, the less he considered George as a possibility. But if not George, then who? Sam shook his head, puzzled and vaguely alarmed by this first overt move against him.

  Abruptly he decided to go back around the cove and see John Ashton. It was only a little after eight. After that, he thought, he could take his car and go into town to see Benny Suarez.

  No one was in sight when he returned to the beach on the other side of the little harbor. He walked quietly through the hot darkness and then paused outside the studio wing where he had seen John Ashton earlier. There were lights inside now, but he saw no one. He hesitated and then obeyed a sudden impulse and stepped inside through the French doors.

  The big room was silent except for a muted sonata playing on the elaborate machine in one corner. The room was wide and comfortable, elaborately furnished with wicker chairs and a huge couch, with a great many paintings of an abstract nature adorning the walls. Sam paused again and then he saw John Ashton seated motionlessly in a corner chair lost in the shadows.

  Ashton lifted a pale hand in greeting. "Are you looking for me, my boy?"

  Sam controlled his start of surprise. "In a way."

  "I want to thank you for what you did for Mona. I know you are discreet enough to keep it to yourself, Sam. I've already been in contact with Deputy Frye to keep it from the newspapers."

  Sam said: "How is Bill?"

  "Drunk and asleep. A pity. If my nephew were mo
re like you, he might be able to keep Mona happier." Ashton got laboriously to his feet, fumbling with his heavy cane. "Don't stand on ceremony with me, Sam. Would you like a drink?"

  "No, thanks," Sam said. He was suddenly sorry he had stopped in here. "I'll be going along. I just wondered what you thought I might have in my bungalow of interest to you?"

  Ashton cocked a sardonic eyebrow upward. "Just what does that mean?"

  "Somebody searched my rooms while I was away. I thought you might have done it. Or Harry Lundy."

  "Indeed not. Why should we?" Ashton laughed softly. "Sit down, my boy. Nothing was stolen, I hope?"

  "Nothing," Sam said.

  "Good. Sit down. I want to talk to you."

  Sam took a seat reluctantly. The muted recording on the turntable filled the air with soft and vibrant music that was fluid and almost palpable. Ashton's faun-like face had a strange, handsome strength as he settled himself and laid aside his cane. When he smiled, his face was that of a satyr in the soft lamplight.

  "Really, Sam, you must not think you have deluded me. I should be insulted if you underestimated me to that extent. I know very well why you came back to Isla Honda and I think it time we discussed it rationally." When Sam said nothing, Ashton smiled quickly. "To put it with rather indelicate bluntness, you think I had something to do with the embezzlement that caused your brother's death. You think I came back here for some obscure purpose concerning Charley's unfortunate end and you mean to find out my intentions after all these years have elapsed."

  "Go on," Sam said.

  "You do not deny all this?"

  "No."

  "I'm glad. We shall get along much better if we are frank with each other. Most of all I want your cooperation, Sam. I admired your brother more than you think. I want to help you. If you are determined to clear his name, of course, that is impossible. What he did in collaboration with his Havana associates took place without my knowledge or approval. He had only himself to blame for the outcome."

  Sam said harshly: "I don't accept that."

  "Indeed? Why not?"

  "I don't believe he was a thief. It's as simple as that."

  "But, really, my boy, all the facts-". "The facts aren't enough. The facts have changed."

  Ashton smiled. "I thought that was what is in your mind. You are referring, of course, to the discovery of Gabrilan's body?"

  "And other things," Sam said. He stood up, anger in him.

  "Gabrilan's body is found and you turn up again after three years. Not only do you return, but you take over Isla Honda. Why?"

  "Why not?" Ashton said quietly. "I like this house and it was available. If you think I had any other reason, suggest it."

  "You're looking for the same thing I'm after."

  "And that is?"

  "The money," Sam said. "And the answer to Charley's death. I'm not convinced. If Gabrilan died nearby, three years ago, then the money may be somewhere on Isla Honda, still. That's what you're looking for."

  "I've considered that possibility," Ashton nodded.

  "I'm not interested in the money that way," Sam said. "I'd like the chance to get my boatyard back, sure. But I'm more interested in what it may prove about my brother."

  "Charles was not innocent," Ashton said irritably. "And you are a foolish young man. You will break your heart all over again. And," Ashton added, "you may be hurt otherwise."

  His words were very quiet, dropped into the rippling pool of music that filled the room. Sam stood still, looking at the twisted man. He felt touched by an unreasoning, momentary fear.

  Ashton was smiling, but Sam wondered what thoughts raced swiftly behind those coldly intelligent eyes. He would have given a lot to know. He wondered what it was about John Ashton that made others feel repelled and often humiliated in his presence. It was more than the other's mental superiority, more than the mere recognition of a cold intellect dwelling in that crooked body. It was something unnatural, defying analysis at the moment.

  "You must realize," Ashton went on, "that I discuss this with you only because I would like to be of help, for Charles's sake. He was a fine man who made one grievous mistake and paid for it tragically. I warned him against his association with Gabrilan and Jaquin, but he trusted them. In many ways, Charles was naive in his honesty, especially for a banker. Perhaps he was morally innocent, but the record shows otherwise. If you try to prove anything else at this late date, you will hurt only yourself." His voice sharpened. "And you may do more harm than you suspect."

  The recording machine in the corner shut itself off with a soft click. The silence in the room suddenly seemed tired and heavy. Ashton stared thoughtfully through the window into the oppressive night, as if suddenly oblivious to Sam's presence.

  Finally he said, "Good night, Sam. And thank you again for Mona."

  "It was nothing," Sam said.

  Ashton laughed quietly. "As you say. It was nothing."

  5

  He found Benny Suarez an hour later on the docks at Key West. Thunder rumbled in the dark sky but as yet no rain had fallen. He had stopped for a drink on Duval Street and the heat of the night served to quicken the rum's reaction in him and he knew he was a little drunk. It didn't bother him. He felt as if he would like to get drunk for a week. Maybe Ashton was right. Maybe he would never be able to prove anything. Everything since his return to Isla Honda had only served like shrouds of the past to entangle him in a web of despair.

  An unshaded light bulb shone midway to the end of the shrimp dock and Benny's boat was tied up among others. On the outboard side was a smaller boat with an open cockpit. Benny Suarez was waiting for him just in the outer rim of shadow cast by the garish light bulb. He came out into the light. "I've been trying to get you all evening, Sam."

  "I'm here now. Relax, Benny."

  Benny laughed. "You're all right, eh? Ellen was worried about you. I was worried, too."

  Benny was a small, dark man, thin and wiry, with a lot of gray in his black hair. He had come over from Cuba long ago and as far as Sam could remember, he had worked for Charley in the bank office. Running a shrimp boat was quite a change. Sam had difficulty picturing Benny dragging for shrimp off the Tortugas. He was a man of quick movements, a bright intelligence and an unwavering loyalty to Sam which Sam suspected had been transferred from his brother Charley.

  "Did you get the boat?" Sam asked.

  Benny nodded. "Tied up next to the Serafina." He indicated the twenty-footer with the open cockpit. "She's all gassed and ready for you. You can bring her back here every night if you like, or tie her up at Isla Honda, depending on how it suits you."

  "And the diving rig?"

  "I brought that, too. It's aboard. I had to get some new gaskets on the air pump."

  "I don't think I'll need it. The water won't be deep."

  Benny said: "You'll still be taking a chance. Do you have to, Sam? Why can't you leave it alone?"

  Sam made no immediate reply. He looked shoreward along the narrow pier. The wind made the white shrimp boats tied nearby thump and jostle each other. Sam looked at the small, wiry man. "Who is in charge of the new investigation?" he asked. "Gabrilan, I mean."

  "Hank Frye," said Benny. "That son of a bitch. He was on the one about Charley, so they gave this to him, too. He hasn't done much so far. There was some money they dug up in a strong box near the bones-about twenty thousand dollars in it-and they checked that with the Caribe Traders' records. The serial numbers check the same as the man's teeth. There's no mistake about it."

  Sam felt elated. "That's what I was hoping for."

  "But what does it prove?" Benny asked.

  "They didn't get away. The storm that night upset their plans. So the money is still there. I've been reading the records, too, Benny. The night Charley died the weather was pretty wild and those two Cubans took off in their boat just before Charley's body was discovered. The money is still around somewhere."

  "Sam, it can't be."

  "It's got to be," Sam said.
"And I'll find it."

  "Even if you're right, there won't be anything left of it after the sea has had it for so long."

  "They found money with Gabrilan's bones, didn't they? And I'll bet they've dug up all of Little Cat Key and didn't find any more. Did you bring the charts, Benny?"

  "They're all aboard. I did some of the figuring for you, too. It wasn't too hard, but it took a lot of time. I had to borrow some of the newspaper accounts, so you'll have to give them back to me."

  Sam nodded. "Was there a description of Gabrilan's boat?"

  "Not much. A cabin cruiser, decked over, with a small bridge up forward."

  "I'll find it," Sam said. "I'll keep diving until I find it. Nobody has started dragging yet, have they?"

  "No," Benny said. "I don't think Frye has thought of it."

  He lit a cigarette and smoked nervously. The sound of quarreling came from the dark street that curved away from the shrimp boat basin. "I went to see Pearson, the real estate agent, like you asked me to, Sam. I asked him about Isla Honda."

  "And?"

  Benny looked more worried than before. "It was as you thought, Sam. John Ashton didn't haggle over the price. He paid more than was being asked for the season's rental."

  "Paid in cash?"

  "No. That, too, was as you expected. Just a down payment and all the rest of it was due two weeks ago, but it hasn't been paid yet. I checked around the grocery store and other places where things have been ordered for the house. All of it on credit and none of it paid."

  "I'm betting he's broke," Sam said. "And he's looking for that money. That's why he's here."

  "Sam, listen. You'll never find out what really happened. It was too long ago-and there is no proof. The sea took it away. And even if you did learn something, what good would it do? Charley is dead."

  "And buried under a black name," Sam said bitterly. "Maybe it was long ago, but I still live with it and I can't forget it."