by Ed McBain
“The Fielding house,” Zach said suddenly. “The sugar in the basement, jars of it. Is that why you wanted me out?”
“That’s where we’re cutting and packaging the stuff, Blake. And once we’ve—”
“Enid!” Zach shouted. “Pull away! Get to shore!”
He saw the gun swing towards him, and he leaped forward. The explosion echoed on the water. He felt searing pain in his left shoulder, and then he slammed back against the side of the boat. He felt himself slipping to the deck, powerless to stop himself, saw the boards coming up, and then saw Rambley’s sneakered feet as they turned from the wheel and closed in on him. He looked up into the open end of the .45. He sucked in a deep breath and waited. It was over now, it was all over.
And then Ahab left the wheel and hit Rambley from behind, and Zach saw Rambley collapse to the deck a moment before the pain in his shoulder claimed his consciousness.
18
The hospital room was very white, and it smelled clean and antiseptic. Zach sat up in bed with his bandaged shoulder, and Lieutenant Whitson of Axel Center stood beside him and said, “You’re a hero, Blake, and I hate to tell a hero it was all for nothing. But you could have saved yourself a bullet wound. We’d have cracked this without you.”
“How?”
“We picked up the Indian this morning. In the woods off one of the pounds. He gave us all we needed.”
“What’d he tell you?”
“He was their sailor, the only one other than Barton who could handle a boat. He’s a swordfisherman and who suspects the comings and goings of a swordfisherman? What swordfisherman ever had to pass customs inspection? He was an ideal man for them. A good sailor who never roused any suspicion. They were going to send him out alone this year. That’s why he was in possession of the forty-five grand.”
“What happened?”
“They killed his wife. As simple as that. They killed the person he loved. He’d already been a witness to one murder last year, but this was something different.”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t want any part of their operation any more. So he ran. But he knew he wouldn’t be safe if he took their money with him. He left it for them, and sent them a note telling them where to find it. Apparently, you intercepted it. Why didn’t you turn it over to me, Blake?”
“I was pretty much involved. I … I was afraid for my daughter.”
Whitson nodded. “We’d have learned that, too, if you hadn’t shaken my men in Providence.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“You didn’t have to. The damn Providence traffic took care of that.”
“What about Carpenter? Did the Indian tell you about him?”
Whitson smiled. “There is no Carpenter. Carpenter is Barton and Barton is Carpenter. We picked him up right after the regatta. He came in second, he thinks.”
“What do you mean?”
“He really came in last. He’s the brains behind this whole thing, you know. Had this operation going on the Vineyard and similar ones wherever the hell there was a regatta. The regattas gave him a legitimate reason for being wherever his shipment was coming in. There’s always a boat race somewhere, and there’s always a ship coming in from someplace. He didn’t even need exact timing. His damn races could be as much as a month before or after the shipment. It didn’t matter. They provided the excuse for him to be near water, near the white gold that was coming in from all over the world.”
“A shrewd cookie,” Zach said.
“But not shrewd enough. He claims he’s not involved in this at all. Wait until he sees the comparison tests we ran on his hair and the hair we found in Evelyn Cloud’s fist.”
“If you can get my clothes from the nurse,” Zach said. “You’ll find a regatta medallion in one of the pockets. I found it at the Cloud house. I imagine it’s Barton’s.”
“Withholding evidence, huh, Blake?”
“There’s also a kid named Roger who—”
“Roger’s an old friend of ours. We’ve already got him behind bars.”
Zach shrugged. His shoulder ached when he moved. “Then it’s finished,” he said. “It’s all over.”
“Except a thank-you to an honest sailor named Ahab who sure as hell knows how to swing a belaying pin. You might look him up when you get out of here.”
“I will.”
“Also, there are two young ladies waiting outside to see you. They’re both blond, and they look sort of alike.”
“One is my daughter,” Zach said.
“And the other?”
“I hope she’ll be my wife.”
Whitson grinned. “In that case, I’ll get the hell out of here.” He stopped at the door. “Come back again, Blake. Maybe for your honeymoon, huh?”
He went out, and Zach leaned back against the pillows, grinning. Once upon a time, he thought, in the family called Blake, there was Penny and Enid and Zach.…
The door opened. Penny and Enid came into the room. And for the life of him, he didn’t know which one to kiss first.
About the Author
Ed McBain is one of the many pen names of legendary author Evan Hunter (1926–2005). Named a Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America, Hunter is best known for creating the long-running 87th Precinct series, which followed an ensemble cast of police officers in the fictional city of Isola. A pioneer of the police procedural, he remains one of the best-loved mystery novelists of the twentieth century. Hunter also wrote under the pseudonyms Richard Marsten, Hunt Collins, John Abbott, Ezra Hannon, Curt Cannon, and others.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1958 by Ed McBain
Cover design by Jason Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-5040-3922-2
This 2016 edition published by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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