Treasure Up in Smoke

by David Williams

  It was then that Peregrine sighted the outline of a vessel he could not fail to recognize as O’Hara’s yacht glistening in the moonlight and moored, it seemed, a few hundred yards up the line. It was the shock and portent of this sight that temporarily took his mind off matters of more immediate concern. This was unfortunate both because Sir Dafydd had now worked up a respectable head of pressure and also because Peregrine had for the first time – if inadvertently – released the steam brake by falling against this unrecognized object when he had been tossed across the cabin at the points.

  The liberated engine lurched along the line at record speed. Too late, Peregrine applied himself to preventing his bucking mount from forsaking a land-locked life for the beckoning status of a boat train.

  Sergeant Sammy Riley was wet and uncomfortable. Two and a half hours on the flat roof of the guest-house with no shelter and only a rifle for company had done nothing to improve his normally disgruntled and aggressive disposition. He wished now that he had taken a shot at the man in the dinghy – it would have been contrary to orders but he was a marksman, the best in the force. If the objective of this whole ill-explained exercise was to trap Uncle Joe’s assassin – and Chief Inspector Small had virtually implied as much – one well-aimed bullet at a suspicious party behaving in exactly the way predicted of the guilty party would have saved a lot of trouble later. It would also have saved Sammy Riley getting any wetter and Sammy Riley’s latest woman from going to waste on what should have been a holiday.

  But the orders had been to shoot only after challenge – and you could hardly challenge someone nearly a quarter of a mile distant, with fire-boats sirening and church bells ringing, even though you were a good enough shot to lay a bead on him through rain and quivering torchlight.

  The low retaining wall on the roof’s edge had made Sergeant Riley invisible from any angle in the garden throughout his vigil. He had kept watch through the wide draining apertures. His field of vision covered the whole approach area in front of Sarah’s room: obviously he could not see anyone who moved in flat against the wall immediately below him – that came in Sergeant Brough’s designated area of surveillance, and when the track-suited figure used precisely that route to reach the door Sergeant Brough had gone to the fire.

  Sammy Riley did not see the figure go in to Sarah’s room, nor did he at first hear anything below. He did both feel and hear the thud of the door as it closed itself behind the figure now in full retreat and not caring about cover nor anything else save the quickest route to safety.

  ‘Halt or I fire. Halt or I fire,’ yelled Sammy – and fired.

  ‘Stop! Don’t shoot! Stop, Mrs Joyce!’ cried Treasure as he raced around the building from behind. But he shouted too late.

  ‘Lovely morning, Sir Archibald.’ Small was aware that virtually every Caribbean morning was lovely, but you had to say something. He glanced expectantly at Treasure who was already seated at the Council Room table.

  The Governor was slow to acknowledge the policeman’s arrival. He turned his head in Small’s direction, fixed him with a vacant stare which eventually gave place to an unexpected and sickly grin. He nodded towards a chair, then unconsciously let out a long sigh. Treasure smiled at Small in an attempt to indicate his appearance had coincided with rather than precipitated the audible sound of woe.

  Rees was doing his best to shake off his preoccupation with what he kept telling himself was the most trivial event in the whole ghastly catalogue.

  Joe O’Hara had been slain with an injection. The perpetrator of this outrage – the Chief Minister’s wife no less – had been shot dead. Paul O’Hara was in hospital under arrest – and treatment for multiple injuries sustained through the too late abandoning of a stolen trolley-car that failed to bridge the gap between the end of a pier and the stern of a yacht. This last impossible feat had been attempted involuntarily: at the time the trolley was being propelled from the rear by a runaway, abandoned engine.

  It would have been excusable if Her Majesty’s representative on King Charles Island had relegated these incontrovertible happenings for later consideration and concentrated on eliciting whether his own massive, impulsive indiscretion had been discovered.

  Yet perversely, in his mind’s eye everything seemed to pale beside the picture of his beloved steam-engine sunk among the fishes off’ Gull Rock.

  ‘We’ll never get it up.’ The Governor shook his head sadly. ‘I was there at first light. Must have been going like a jet.’ The analogy was somehow consoling: a valedictory tribute.

  Small looked puzzled.

  ‘We were talking about the steam-engine,’ Treasure offered gently. ‘Sir Archibald was surprised it got across the causeway to Gull Rock – the timbers of the viaduct are apparently just as rotten as the pier further on. That collapsed, of course.’

  ‘Good thing Mr Gore jumped for it – could have been very nasty. Wonder the thing didn’t explode.’ Small also wondered why they had him discussing trains at a time like this.

  ‘I doubt it would have occurred to Peregrine to go down with a sinking engine.’ Treasure spoke lightly and without malice. Altogether Peregrine had retrieved as well as preserved himself. It was unlikely he would have been able to restrain the trigger-happy police sergeant if he had remained at the beach, so it was as well he had been engaged elsewhere at the time of the summary execution.

  The Governor visibly stirred himself. ‘That girl – Sarah – you say she didn’t reach the lodge until five-thirty yesterday morning?’

  ‘Or thereabouts.’ Treasure marvelled at the time it had taken Rees to return to a subject of such primary importance.

  ‘So she couldn’t have seen the . . . the er . . .’

  ‘She didn’t see Mrs Joyce go in or come out. We just let Mrs Joyce and a number of others think she was there all night – or most of it.’

  Rees abjured referring to the fact that he had been included among the others. ‘You suspected Mrs Joyce?’

  ‘Mr Treasure did, sir.’ This was Small. ‘My money was on Paul O’Hara.’ There seemed no point in dissembling when he had earlier left O’Hara trussed and tractioned in the hospital, having charged the man with arson and advised him – in compensation – that he was lucky to be alive.

  ‘O’Hara certainly had a motive for doing away with his brother – and he’s a thoroughly nasty piece of work. Personally, I came to the conclusion he’d stop short of murder.’ Treasure paused. ‘Almost certainly he’d been blackmailing Joe for some time – over the cigar business.’

  ‘The cigar business?’ Rees appeared genuinely puzzled.

  ‘It seems unlikely we’re ever going to prove it, but it’s a reasonable supposition that the popularity of King Charles Elegantes has been based on their heavy content of marijuana.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would. And no one else will either.’ Treasure glanced sagely at Small. ‘The fact is that the O’Haras and Father Babington have been operating a tight little ring in soft drugs for the Florida gentry for quite some time.’

  ‘But they’ll be found out.’ Rees sounded more resigned than surprised. The modest exposure planned for that part of the British Commonwealth of Nations over which he held constitutional sway was promising to escalate into a full frontal revelation.

  ‘Unlikely.’ Treasure sounded matter-of-fact. ‘There’s no hard evidence left on the island, and when the American news media announce the sad condition of the O’Hara clan I doubt there’ll be any in the USA either.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’ This was an understatement: the Governor metaphorically had hardly set out.

  It was Small who interposed with his own theory. ‘When Paul O’Hara’s customers in the States hear he’s in trouble – and his brother murdered – they’ll likely assume it’s something to do with their favourite cigars, sir. They’re all monied, which in my experience means they’ll not need lessons in self-preservation.’ The Chief Inspector shot a half-apologetic gl
ance at Treasure whose cynical grimace indicated tacit agreement with this raw empirical judgement. ‘They’ll know they’re on a list the police could get hold of. Mr Treasure’s right, sir. By tonight there won’t be what he calls a fortified Elegante in existence anywhere.’

  ‘But how have the O’Haras got away with it – as you say, for all these years?’ The Governor was still trailing.

  ‘Because it was in the interests of everybody involved to see that they did.’ Treasure’s tone was inconsequential. ‘Lesser secrets have been kept by larger numbers.’

  This remark registered with the Governor who happened to be a Freemason. ‘But you said there was blackmail.’

  On reflection Treasure now wished he had eschewed making that disclosure. It had been breakfast-time in Zurich – two a.m. on KCI – when he had made his second telephone call to the President of Grifer, Lerc. On that occasion, with the sure knowledge that Paul O’Hara had criminal charges to answer, he had been in a strong position to barter for information with Pierre Lerc. In the event, the Swiss banker had been extremely grateful for the intelligence that a client to whom he was just about to advance money against an expectancy could look forward not only to a severe drop in income but also to a probable period in jail. These were the kind of expectations that seriously altered the status of Grade A customers.

  In return for this timely warning, Lerc confirmed that the numbered account into which Joseph O’Hara had been paying substantial amounts was not unconnected with a close relative.

  Treasure had already revealed this confidence to Chief Inspector Small on the understanding that it was in the cause of affirming McLush’s innocence. He nodded at Rees. ‘I said I think it probable Paul had been blackmailing his brother, but that too will be difficult if not impossible to prove. It shouldn’t go any further.’ Treasure was reassured by the knowledge that before the interview was over the Governor’s total discretion promised to be forthcoming on all counts. ‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘if Paul hadn’t been so greedy Joe wouldn’t have wanted to wind up the illegal but profitable element in the cigar business.’

  ‘And that would have avoided all this . . . ?’ The Governor’s words were slow; the tone curiously sceptical.

  ‘No, not the murder, nor of course the beheading.’ Treasure was careful to observe the effect of his last words. The Governor’s eyebrows had lifted perceptibly. ‘The fact that he was being blackmailed about the cigars prompted Joe to write off the future in ganga – with Babington’s reluctant but committed co-operation.’ He glanced questioningly at Small.

  ‘That’s about it, Mr Treasure,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘I’ve just finished breakfast with Father Babington – and very indigestible it was too. He’s not admitting anything, but on the other hand he’s not categorically denying much either. The situation was just as you figured it. He’s still very depressed that Joe O’Hara wasn’t letting him in to his confidence about his real intention on the future of the island – but he’s thankful the murder had nothing to do with the cigar business.’

  ‘So,’ Treasure continued, ‘if Paul hadn’t been avaricious, yesterday morning he’d have inherited the cigar company – ganga and all. As it was, he needed Babington’s continued co-operation for that to happen. But Babington had pledged his loyalty to Joe – at least in that connection. His denouncing Joe at the Mass was not to do with cigars or ganga.’

  ‘And you’ve arrested Paul?’ This fact had not been difficult for the Governor to recall since it was connected with a water-logged steam-engine.

  ‘On a charge of arson with intent to defraud Lloyds of London of a quarter of a million pounds, sir.’ As Small continued, Treasure privately wondered whether the very British policeman would have sounded quite so shocked if Buckingham House had been insured in some other national capital. ‘He had the policy on him.’ Small shook his head to emphasize what he evidently considered a bald extension to the perfidy. ‘Of course, we’d have had difficulty nailing him if it hadn’t been . . .’

  ‘For Gore giving chase,’ the Governor interrupted solemnly. His words concerned Peregrine but his thoughts and sympathy lay with Sir Dafydd at the bottom of the ocean.

  ‘Actually, no, sir. Oh, it was Mr Gore who apprehended him – in a manner of speaking, but all that proved was that O’Hara sneaked back to this area in a dinghy from the yacht that went no further than the Gull Rock pier.’

  ‘It was his kitchen maid who turned him in.’ This was Treasure. ‘A woman slighted with a vengeance. In return for supplying home comforts over a considerable period, plus an alibi for the night before last, she’d demanded marriage in the near future and the run of the house from yesterday. O’Hara was daft enough to send her packing as part of his official leave-taking last evening – one of the reasons why he went to such pains locking up.’

  ‘She came back, of course, probably intending to break in and pinch whatever was handy as some kind of compensation.’ There was a most un-policeman-like implication in the Chief Inspector’s tone that all things considered the girl’s purpose was entirely justified. ‘She saw O’Hara setting fire to the place and couldn’t wait to tell me about it later.’ Small paused, coughed nervously, and made a show of glancing at his watch. ‘And now if you’ll both excuse me, I’ve arranged to see Mr Joyce at ten o’clock – at his request. Er . . . we’re doing what we can to play down the more sensational aspects, sir. There’s a lot that doesn’t need to come out – with your approval, that is.’

  The policeman addressed this last surprising observation to Sir Archibald Rees, but his questioning expression as he got up to leave was firmly fixed on Treasure.

  CHAPTER XXI

  The Governor broke the momentary silence. ‘You suspected Mrs Joyce? I don’t see . . .’

  Small’s abrupt departure had been by prior arrangement. The banker felt less than comfortable about what was to follow, but it had been a considerable relief to the policeman that Treasure had volunteered to handle the most awkward aspect of the whole affair.

  ‘I’d hoped very much we’d not have to suspect anyone of anything very serious.’ Treasure let the words register before continuing. ‘Until Small got the autopsy report it seemed highly probable that Joe O’Hara had died from a coronary – induced by the stress of his argument with Paul, followed by the climb to the cabin.’

  ‘Exactly. I thought. . .’ Rees hesitated and then made no effort to continue.

  ‘Once we knew it was murder, and, in view of the means employed, a premeditated murder, Mrs Joyce was a pretty obvious candidate.’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘But you knew about her husband’s relationship with another woman?’

  Rees nodded: he looked embarrassed. ‘That was a situation entirely –’

  ‘Entirely governed by Joe O’Hara’s intractable attitude to marriage,’ Treasure interposed quietly. ‘At least, so far as the top people on his island were concerned. The fact that the Joyces could never be divorced so long as Joe was alive must have been every bit as irksome to Mrs Joyce as it was to her husband – and considerably more degrading.’ He paused. ‘Freedom and dignity. Very strong motives, Sir Archibald. Given that Mrs Joyce was aiming to recapture both, she certainly had the means and the opportunity to eliminate Joe. She must have been sure the cause of death would be taken to be a heart attack – which it would, but for the decapitation.’

  Rees passed a shaking hand across his mouth. He made as though to speak, then thought better of it.

  Treasure was anxious to continue. ‘The use of curarin definitely pointed us towards Mrs Joyce – but not exclusively to her. She was a biochemist and had the knowledge and facilities to make the stuff – but Small proved last night that curarin wouldn’t be difficult to come by here in any case. No, it was the sophisticated nature of the crime, plus the need for the murderer to know Joe’s whereabouts, that reduced the field of suspects. Almost certainly it had to be someone at your dinner-party on Thursday evening – and if it was, then Mrs
Joyce was the only one with a predetermined alibi.’

  ‘Predetermined? How d’you mean?’

  ‘As I said, she assumed there’d be no autopsy – but if there was one she knew her husband would swear they’d been together all night. He’d have to cover himself, and in the process he’d be accounting for her. I doubt Chief Ministers are very ready to admit to perjury. Mrs Joyce was certain of it. She had a watertight alibi in advance, vouched for by someone who’d have to assume it was true without knowing whether it was or not.’

  ‘But who’d never deny its validity. It was very astute of you to deduce all that.’ The Governor spoke without emotion.

  ‘It was very raw deduction, and highly theoretical. It was Sarah’s story that put us up to the idea of setting a trap.’

  ‘And risking a young life. Tempting the guilty into committing a much more terrible crime.’ This time Rees’s words were highly charged – almost venomously so.

  ‘Not really,’ Treasure answered lightly. ‘You see, Sarah spent the night in my dressing-room – I hope you don’t mind. And the trick worked, of course. Mrs Joyce panicked.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’d be charitable to think she went to Sarah’s room with the idea of buying her silence – or even pleading for it.’

  ‘But she was carrying a knife.’

  ‘And a hypodermic charged with curarin. She didn’t take her husband’s hand-gun – according to Small, he has one – but there’s no doubt she meant to kill the girl. She must have been convinced Sarah had seen her at the lodge. Of course, she hadn’t.’

  The Governor looked up with a jerk. ‘Did Sarah see anyone at all?’

  Treasure cupped his right hand in the palm of his left and appeared studiously to be examining his fingers. ‘Around five-thirty she thought she saw a man she knew enter the lodge and a minute or two later place Joe O’Hara’s head on the window ledge.’ The banker looked up from his hands. Rees was sitting quite still, staring glassily into space. ‘I believe O’Hara’s – er – visitor arrived with the intention of offering him a ride to Mount Manitou on the footplate of a steam-engine, which he’d stopped on a test run ten minutes’ walk away from the lodge – and which he subsequently drove back to Rupertstown arriving well within the time it would have taken to do the full round trip.’