His forehead was high under dark, slicked-back, parted-in-the-middle hair; the eyes in his oval face were alert and hazel, smile broad and ready, nose sharp.
“Mr. Heller?”
“Mr Higgs?”
His grip was firm. He sat and ordered breakfast from a black waiter; my food was already on the way.
“One of Sir Harry’s good deeds, you know,” Higgs said.
“What’s that?”
“Giving hotel jobs to the colored population. That’s one of the reasons Sir Harry was so beloved.”
“I understand your client treats his Negro employees well, too.”
Higgs’ smile moved to one side of his face. “Yes…but not in the far-sweeping manner of Sir Harry Oakes. I’m afraid, right now, my client is as unpopular with the black population as he is with the social crowd he’s gone to such lengths, over the last few years, to alienate.”
“Why so much resentment against him? I’ve only viewed him at a distance, but he seems at least as charming as he is obnoxious.”
Higgs laughed brittlely. “Well put. But you’ll find soon enough, in your investigations, that outsiders here…unless they’re tourists spreading money around…are viewed with suspicion and disdain.”
I drank some coffee. “So that French accent of his, that charms the pants off the ladies, doesn’t win him points with the men.”
“That’s part of it.” His tea had arrived and he was stirring it idly, cooling it. “You see, Mr. Heller, the local people in Nassau…of either color…are unbelievably lazy. If an outsider comes in, and has the success that Fred has had…from his yachting victories to this chicken farm of his, which is so prosperous…it rankles.”
“But Sir Harry wasn’t resented that way?”
“Hardly. Oakes didn’t do anything but bring money in and spend it…which is what white men are supposed to do in the Bahamas. Freddie, on the other hand, arrived with an accent and a title, worked side by side with blacks, seduced the local ladies, and made himself a general pain in the posterior.”
“I like him better already. But the notion that an entire population is ‘lazy’ seems a little silly to me….”
His smile turned wry. “I understand you’re from Chicago. I’m told that’s a city where every citizen has his hand in another citizen’s pocket. Is that generalization at all true, or am I being offensive?”
Now I had to smile. “No-more like an attorney who’s made his point.”
He sipped the tea. Muscular-looking as he was, he moved with grace. “You see, Mr. Heller, Nassau is an easy-money town…it’s part of the pirate mentality.”
“What do you mean?”
His expression was almost condescending. “Don’t be taken in by all these lovely flowers and this luxurious sunshine-New Providence is a barren island…the soil is a thin layer over stone, nothing much can be grown here. The major crop of the Bahamas has always been, and probably always will be, piracy of one form or another.”
“Loosely speaking, that would include the rum-running of a few years ago, and the tourism of today.”
He nodded. “Exactly. And to this day, wealthy pirates like Sir Harry Oakes-no disrespect to the dead intended-seek shelter here from civilization…that is, taxes…in much the manner Blackbeard, Captain Henry Morgan, Anne Bonney and the rest found these islands a safe, secluded haven.”
I smiled over my coffee. “The roots of the Bay Street Pirates.”
Higgs chuckled softly. “Yes…and many of them are my clients, so I’ll ask you to grant me confidentiality on these views. But always keep in mind, Mr. Heller, as you search for the truth in this island of lies…many local residents are descended from wreckers.”
“Wreckers?”
He looked out the window absently, then back at me. “One hundred years ago, the major industry locally was luring cargo ships onto the rocks and reefs and pillaging them. It was governmentally sanctioned…people had ‘wrecking licenses,’ ships were registered as ‘salvage vessels.’ Easy money, Mr. Heller-that’s Nassau. And that’s why Freddie de Marigny goes against the grain.”
“In how bad a position does the local resentment against de Marigny put his defense?”
The smile was gone, now. “There are already signs of government collusion against my client.”
“Such as?”
He pointed his teaspoon at me. “Keep in mind there’s no love lost between Freddie and our Royal Governor. The Duke once asked Freddie to divert some water on land of his on Eleuthera, one of our ‘out’ islands, away from the black villagers and onto the property of the Duke’s rich friend Rosita Forbes. Freddie declined, and the Duke took angry exception, and Count de Marigny, in his tactful way, within the earshot of several, called the Duke ‘a pimple on the ass of the British Empire.’”
“How to win friends and influence ex-kings.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Then there’s Hallinan….”
“The Attorney General?”
Higgs nodded. “Not so long ago a sailboat washed up on Freddie’s beach in Eleuthera-in it were seven half-dead refugees from Devil’s Island.”
“The prison colony?”
“Yes. When France fell, the prison was shut down, and its prisoners declared free men. Under conditions of enormous physical and emotional strain, these seven had found their way to Nassau. Freddie admired their pluck-fed them, bathed, clothed them. Local churches joined his effort. But Harold Christie objected.”
“Why?”
“This ‘rabble’ was an embarrassment to the Bahamas. At Christie’s request, our Attorney General provided a solution: he slapped the refugees in jail.”
“On what grounds?”
He chuckled again. “None in particular-and that’s why Hallinan has his grudge against Count de Marigny. Freddie invoked the War Act and promised Hallinan public embarrassment if he didn’t release the prisoners.”
“So Hallinan did.”
“Reluctantly. Now they all have jobs-three were Vietnamese from Saigon, who found work in a local Chinese laundry.”
Around us in the dining room and on the enclosed porches were a number of Army officers; the brass were using the B.C. as their billet.
“All this makes de Marigny an ideal murderer,” I said, “from the Duke and his Attorney General’s point of view.”
He pointed a finger at me. “Yes-and remember, the Duke personally invited these American detectives aboard-who, my sources indicate, are ignoring any evidence that doesn’t pertain to my client. Washing the walls of bloody fingerprints being a prime example….”
I had mentioned that to him on the phone last night.
“And there are other suspicious occurrences,” he continued. “The two watchmen on duty at the Oakes estate the night of the murder have disappeared…blending into the local native population, apparently…but the police have made no effort to question or even find them.”
One of those was Samuel, who’d been surrey chauffeur to Marjorie Bristol and me.
“The prison doctor, Ricky Oberwarth, is a friendly acquaintance of Freddie’s. The day of the arrest, he examined Freddie for singed hairs and didn’t find any.”
I sat forward. “I was there when Barker and Melchen said they saw plenty of singed hairs.”
“Did you see them yourself?”
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow, set it back down. “Neither did Dr. Oberwarth. Within hours of the examination, Oberwarth was relieved of his duties at the prison. He asked why, but was refused an answer.”
“Couldn’t he demand one?”
“Not really. Ricky is a refugee from the Nazis…Jewish. He was allowed safe haven here only because a doctor was needed at Bahamas General.”
“So,” I said, “he decided it was the better part of valor not to press the issue.”
“Yes. And most interesting of all…when Freddie was arrested, he repeatedly asked the police to call his attorney of record-Sir Alfred Adderley, who is considered the leading defense specialis
t in the island.”
“But I read in your local paper that Adderley was hired to prosecute de Marigny.”
“Precisely.” Higgs smiled humorlessly. “Mr. Adderley claims never to have received the Count’s messages. Instead, Freddie’s stuck with me-a corporate attorney who’s not been in court more than a dozen times.”
“You strike me as good representation, Mr. Higgs. But why did de Marigny come to you?”
He shrugged those broad shoulders. “I’d been his attorney in several minor business matters. We’re yachting club friends, as well. I suggested he acquire top legal counsel from either the United States or Great Britain…but he insisted on me.”
“That’s quite a vote of confidence.”
“It is. Even better is Freddie’s assurance that if at any point in the case I’m less than convinced of his innocence, I may withdraw.”
Our breakfast arrived; mine was scrambled eggs and toast, but Higgs had grits with jelly-coconut milk.
“Mr. Heller,” Higgs said, spooning his grits, “I’m pleased to have your aid. An investigator of your reputation is going to make my first major criminal case somewhat easier, I think.”
“I’ll try. If it won’t spoil your breakfast, I’ll share some of my thoughts on the murder room…I was out there again yesterday with a reporter friend of mine.”
“Reporter friend?”
“A well-known mystery writer from America-Erle Stanley Gardner.”
Higgs beamed. “Perry Mason! I could use some pointers. Nonetheless, let’s be selective about what we give Mr. Gardner access to, in our investigations. The case is already receiving incredible attention in the American press-let’s use him to put our best face forward.”
“Agreed.”
He pushed his half-eaten grits to one side, touched his lips with a napkin. “Why don’t you fill me in about the murder scene, on our way.”
“Our way?”
“Yes-I think it’s time you met our mutual client….”
The warden was a polite, mustached Canadian named Miller; in khakis and pith helmet, he led Higgs and me in a three-man safari down the narrow, clammy corridor. Then, at the last of four cells, he turned the key, admitted us, and turned it again and was gone.
The best thing you could say for de Marigny’s cell was that it wasn’t a dark dungeon; it was a blindingly bright dungeon. Two light bulbs-five-hundred-watt jobs, easy-were at the apogee of a high domed ceiling and made torture out of the illumination that bounced off the whitewashed walls of the eight-by-twelve cubicle. The floor was unevenly set stones and opposite the door was a barred window-too high to see out of, even on tiptoe, but it kept the warm cell from being stuffy.
The furnishings were limited: an army cot against the wall, a stool on which rested a battered enamel basin of water, and in one corner, a big, uncovered galvanized bucket that served as the incarcerated man’s toilet, and gave the cell its distinctive aroma.
De Marigny-in yellow silk shirt and tan pants, but without belt-was standing; with his beard, he looked like a tall, sorrowful devil. He was obviously much too big for the fold-up cot he’d been provided, to which he now gestured.
“Please have a seat, gentlemen,” he said. In these surroundings his thick, suave accent seemed very much out of place. “I prefer to stand.”
“How are they treating you, Fred?” Higgs asked.
“Well enough. Captain Miller is a fair man. Who is this?” He was referring to me, and now he spoke directly to me. “I’ve seen you. I saw you at Westbourne. You’re one of the police!”
“No,” Higgs said, patting the air with one hand. “Freddie, this is Nathan Heller, the American detective your wife hired.”
Now the Count smiled; his lips were wide and sensual, so there seemed something wicked about it.
“You’re the one who placed me at Westbourne’s front door,” he said.
“Actually, I did you a favor.”
“Oh? Perhaps you might explain.”
I shrugged. “I backed up your story. Those two RAF dames might’ve just been covering for you.”
He thought about that, and his smile turned almost friendly. “I never thought of it that way. Had you, Godfrey?”
Higgs said, “Yes.”
“Sit, sit!” de Marigny said, suddenly a fussy host.
We sat on the cot.
“Have you a cigarette, Godfrey? I’ve run out.”
Higgs provided one, and lighted it with a silver, crested lighter. De Marigny sucked in the smoke hungrily, and shook his head, in relief.
“Bring me more. Even if they’re American.”
“All right, Freddie,” the attorney said. “I thought you and Mr. Heller should meet. He’s going to be a vital member of our defense team.”
“From hiding in my bushes,” de Marigny said, his smile smug now, “to beating the bushes for me-searching for clues, searching for the real killer. Quite a turnabout.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, Count,” I said, “I find it interesting that you’re so unperturbed by all this.”
He moved the water basin off the stool and sat; he was all legs, a gawky farmer who misplaced his milk cow. He frowned, mildly. “First of all, Mr. Heller-may I call you Nathan?”
“Nate.”
“Nate. First of all please don’t call me Count. I’ve never used the title, and I’ve constantly requested the local press not to refer to me as such. Only my wives seem compelled to use it.”
“What woman doesn’t see herself as a countess?” I said.
“Very perceptive, Nate. Second, I’m unperturbed because I’m innocent of this crime. It should be easy enough for you good men to prove it.”
“Not with the deck stacked against you and us.” Higgs shook his head. “Hallinan and possibly the Duke himself are obviously pulling strings….”
“Four-flushers,” de Marigny said bitterly. He sucked on the cigarette. He laughed at me. “You’re squinting.”
“It’s too goddamn bright in here,” I said.
“All this light does serve a purpose-I can keep track of the rats, spiders and cockroaches more easily. Of course, sleeping is difficult, since they stay on all night. I must apologize for the foul fragrance…I’ve never had to sleep with my own excreta before.”
“What the hell,” I said. “I’ve never heard the word ‘excreta’ used in a sentence before.”
He studied me a second, and laughed. “Charming sense of humor. Your manners are questionable, but then of course, you’re an American.”
“Of course. Why did Harry Oakes hate you?”
I’d thrown him a curve, but he hit it like DiMaggio.
“Because he resented my having sex with his daughter,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “Before or after you married her?”
His smile was wide and wicked again. “It never came up before the marriage.”
That was a straight line if I ever heard one, but I kept quiet; trying to improve my manners.
“A few months after we wed,” he was explaining, “we were in Mexico City, when Nancy fell ill with typhoid fever-she also was in need of extensive dental surgery. Our blood type is the same, and I was able to supply blood for transfusions. A few months later, on the advice of her doctors, due to her continued ill health, a pregnancy was terminated.”
He paused to inhale on the cigarette again; his jauntiness was absent now.
“Apparently Eunice and Harry somehow got the idea that I had raped Nancy in Mexico City-crawled onto her hospital bed between transfusions, perhaps, and ‘violated’ my wife. Oakes raved and ranted-called me a sex maniac. Nothing Nancy could say would dissuade him. He was a very uncouth man, you know-rudely eccentric.”
“I see,” I said, thinking all that was pretty fucking bizarre.
“That’s only the beginning,” de Marigny said, bleakly amused. “Before long, Nancy went to New York for some further dental surgery; at the same time, I was in need of a tonsil operation. So we checked in simultaneou
sly, took adjacent rooms. Sir Harry discovered the arrangement, charged in like a bull, expecting an orgy no doubt, threatening to kick me out of the room. I told him to get the hell out, or I’d bash his head in.”
“A poor choice of words, considering,” I said.
That hadn’t occurred to him; he sighed and continued: “That was when relations between the Oakes family and myself deteriorated into what was at best a chilly truce. Last March Sir Harry charged into my house to remove his teenage son, Sydney, who is quite fond of both his sister and me, and whose affections Harry felt I was stealing.” He shrugged. “That was the last time I saw Sir Harry.”
“You know those Miami cops say they have fingerprint evidence,” I said.
“Nonsense,” he said, with a wave that was like a fly swat. “I hadn’t been in Westbourne in over two years. If they found any prints, I left them there during my questioning.”
Higgs frowned. “This fellow Barker is being represented as a fingerprint expert…”
“That guy isn’t an expert on anything but rubber hoses,” I said.
“You think the Americans are dishonest?” de Marigny asked.
“Probably. Thick as a plank? Certainly. They’ve got you pegged as the killer-anything they can’t make fit that scenario, they’re tossing out.”
“With Hallinan’s help, no doubt,” de Marigny said bitterly. For a moment his cocky mask dropped. “Back home in Mauritius we were brought up to take such little people for what they are-professional civil servants. Lacking the ability to make a success of their life, not good enough for the diplomatic service, eking out an existence on some miserable coral reef. Doing their best to convince themselves and everyone around them that they’re so ve-ree important.”
“Forgive my ignorance,” I said, “but what’s Mauritius?”
De Marigny looked at me with pity. That so ignorant a boob could walk the planet must have seemed a reverse miracle to him.
“Mauritius is my home-an island in the Indian Ocean, a British possession but French in language, customs, population and tradition.”
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