‘Of course I’m right!’
‘OK, OK . . . so when was the second time you saw him?’
‘Tonight! On the beach here at the hotel.’
‘What!?’
‘No doubt about it. There was a man sitting by himself at a table near mine. This was about ten minutes before you arrived, Lee. He was staring at me. I felt distinctly uncomfortable so I went down to the water. When I came back, he’d gone. But I’d swear on the Bible he was the person whose picture I’ve just seen on the television, and the man who was standing by the side of the road three days ago. What on earth can it mean?’
His mind raced.
‘Well, the first sighting must have been, like I said, a coincidence,’ he decided at last. ‘A weird one, but still a coincidence.’
His tone flattened. ‘Tonight is different. I reckon he recognised the background to that Courier photo of you this morning. He’s probably picked up and dropped off dozens of fares at Largo Lodge over the years. I guess he was curious to see you before he got out of town and took a chance you’d be having your evening meal out on the beach. Jesus, it’s creepy as all hell though.’
‘Do you think I’m in danger?’
He considered the question carefully.
‘Don’t take this as a yes, Stella, because I don’t seriously think you are, but from this moment on you’re going to have round-the-clock protection, starting with me. I’m coming straight back there now. In the meantime, lock the door and don’t leave your room.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you. Good God, Lee, this man is even more extraordinarily self-confident than I thought. He has such an innate sense of his own superiority to everyone else. What a risk for him to take tonight! What if you’d already identified him, seen his picture, and you’d been here when he turned up? But all the same . . .’
She fell silent.
‘All the same, what?’ he prompted.
‘Well . . . character is fate, isn’t it? Overweening self-belief and arrogance may be disagreeable characteristics but they can carry a person a long way, especially if they have the kind of luck this man seems to enjoy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I don’t think you’re going to catch Woods in one of your roadblocks, Lee. In fact, you may not catch him at all.’
‘Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘Don’t take it personally. I just mean . . . oh, I don’t know what
I mean. I’ll explain it better when you get back here. I’m all hot and bothered. I’m still feeling a bit funny after that kiss on the beach, to be honest.’
‘Me too. Would you mind if I kissed you again?’
After a distinct pause, she heard herself saying: ‘Actually, I think I’d be rather disappointed if you didn’t . . . did you say you were coming back here now?’
The sound of the phone being quietly replaced at the other end was all the answer she needed.
37
He went straight into the men’s room when he got to the bar. The middle-aged bartender was flirting heavily with two thirty-something women, the only other customers in the place. They didn’t even see him come in.
It was a small set-up and there was only one WC and washbasin in the men’s room, so it was OK for him to lock its door. Secured against surprise, he fished out the plastic bottle and a small comb from his bag and moved to the cracked mirror over the basin.
It didn’t take long to work the peroxide-based lotion into his hair and then his eyebrows. The instructions on the bottle said the stuff should be washed out between thirty and forty-five minutes after application, and he reckoned he’d just about meet the deadline. He’d have to – much longer and his hair would end up bright yellow.
He dumped the empty dye bottle in the trash and rinsed the comb and his hands. When he slipped out of the room the barman was still fully occupied with the women. He left entirely unnoticed.
His ride was a good twenty minutes’ walk away but it was almost dark now – dusk was brief here in the sub-tropics, where the sun dropped almost vertically below the horizon. He just had to stay off the main Overseas Highway and out of any patrol car’s way, and that was easy; there were plenty of quiet residential back roads he could use to get to where he was headed.
He must have been walking faster than he realised because just over a quarter of an hour later he was practically there. He cut across a small patch of waste ground and onto on a palm-lined residential street. It was a dead-end: the bougainvillea-covered cottages and conch houses finished abruptly a few yards from where the Gulf washed quietly onto a beach of white sand.
He took a left at the waterline and picked up the sun-bleached boardwalk that led to a small marina at the southern end of the beach. The dock only had one modest slipway, but a good metalled road connected it to the Overseas Highway so folks could get their trailers right down to the water.
There were only six or seven vessels in the marina’s thirty mooring bays, and there didn’t seem to be a soul around. It was still off-season, after all.
The biggest boat there was a 40-footer with twin outboards, a good-sized cabin with a kitchenette and shower room, and two small but comfortable bedrooms. It was bobbing gently in the furthest bay.
He walked straight to it, taking the cabin keys from his jeans pocket as he stepped on board.
For the last two years he’d had an arrangement with the snowbird who owned the boat. For twenty dollars a month he kept an eye on it, making sure the batteries stayed charged, the hull and deck were hosed clean of pelican shit, and the engines had their legs stretched every now and then. He took it out for a few hours on his days off, sometimes combining his legitimate responsibilities with an unofficial fishing charter for local guys, at ten bucks a head. What the owner didn’t know wouldn’t trouble him.
And what the owner certainly didn’t know tonight was that he would never, ever see his beautiful boat again.
He headed straight for the tiny shiny cubicle aft.
He had to rinse this crap out of his hair right now.
38
Stella’s reference to an inexperienced young man’s perfunctory performance with a woman was not entirely theoretical.
During her three years at Cambridge she had been the focus of unceasing attention from male students (and occasionally, members of the faculty) and by the time she graduated Stella was, in the words of a friend, ‘not without some experience’.
Most of it had been with boys of her own age, although on one occasion she had surrendered to a married Philosophy don’s impressively determined campaign, only to be disappointed when he was so overwhelmed by the reality of conquest that he was unable to perform. His repeated protestations of: ‘Honestly, this has never happened to me before,’ eventually became even more tiresome than what had given rise to them. Or rather, she’d thought wryly as she got dressed again, had not given rise to them.
Lee Foster was knocking on her cabin door and calling softly to her barely ten minutes after she had, to all intents and purposes, invited him to kiss her again. But she wasn’t sorry, she thought, as she went to let him in. After their ill-tempered and prickly introduction they had quickly found each other’s measure and were increasingly at ease together. She liked the fact that he hadn’t been fazed by her uncompromising way of standing up for herself. So many men, in her experience, felt threatened by her intelligence and forthrightness: here was someone who actually seemed to welcome and encourage it.
Anyway, she thought as she looked at him standing in the doorway, grinning at her and holding a bottle of what might be champagne – he was undeniably attractive. Not just because of his looks. He had an unquestionable air of competence and authority. She had no doubt that he had faced some sort of insurrection that morning because of her, but the voice of the officer on the radio earlier had been respectful and deferential. And she appreciated the way Lee had praised the man, too; clearly he was a good team lea
der.
And now here he was, waving the bottle at her and saying: ‘I’m sorry, Stella, the liquor store didn’t have any champagne so I had to get this – it’s some sort of Californian fizzy blush and I’m sure it’s revolting, but needs must.’
‘What needs would those be, Lee?’
He laughed.
‘My need to kiss you again, for a start.’
Without another word he took two steps into her room, wrapped one arm round her waist and pulled her to him for a far more comprehensive exchange than they had enjoyed on the beach earlier.
They were interrupted by a squawk and electronic burst of tone from the corridor outside.
He looked slightly abashed.
‘I’m sorry, Stella . . . I had to bring it with me. The moment we get the bastard, I need to be told. You understand . . .’
She kissed his forehead. ‘Of course I do. Just tell me they can’t hear us.’
‘What if they can?’ he asked innocently as he went back out to collect the short-wave radio. ‘We’re only drinking a glass or two of Pommery together and discussing the case while I act as your overnight bodyguard, aren’t we?’
‘If that’s all you’re planning to do, Agent Foster,’ Stella said drily as she ushered him back inside, ‘you can leave the bottle with me and go sleep in your own room. I’ll take my chances.’
They had left one lamp still burning and afterwards by its glow she looked at the sleeping FBI man’s face. His fringe had fallen all the way forward now, covering his right eye. Stella thought he looked all of fifteen years old.
She gradually slid her arm out from underneath his body, trying not to wake him. Eventually she was free and able to massage her wrist and fingers, which had gone to sleep.
Circulation restored, she reached for the bottle they’d left on her bedside table and poured what was left into the tooth mug they’d had to share when he realised he’d forgotten to bring any glasses.
His prediction had been right: the wine was awful – sweet and sticky. But it was better than nothing, Stella thought, as she sipped the last few mouthfuls. Anyway, she felt like holding a private celebration, however silent and solitary.
Their lovemaking had been wonderful. His body was lean and firm and brown and she’d teased him about his tan. ‘I thought you told me you were working in California,’ she said when she’d eased his shirt from his shoulders.
‘You can go through case notes by the pool just as well as in the office,’ he grumbled as he unbuttoned her blouse. ‘Anyway, look at you – you’re one to talk. You’re not exactly Miss Milkskin yourself, are you? I assume you got that colour hobnobbing with the Kennedys on the beaches of Martha’s Vineyard.’
After that they hadn’t done a lot more talking.
She looked at her watch. It was almost two in the morning. On the dressing table on the other side of the room, she could see yesterday’s Courier with her photograph staring out from page one.
She chewed her bottom lip for a few moments before reaching a decision.
‘Lee. Lee . . .’ She stroked his shoulder. ‘Lee, wake up. You have to go back to your room.’
‘Huh? What? Stella?’ He gulped and surfaced, noisily. ‘What’s up?’
‘You – or you should be.’
‘Why?’
She slipped out of bed and went over to the dressing table where she picked up the newspaper and held it up to him.
‘This. Now you’ve named a suspect the story will go up to another level. They’d love to report that the President’s protégée and the FBI’s finest are . . . well . . . how would they put it?’
‘Screwing?’
Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh God, surely not! They wouldn’t be so crude as to—’
He gave a sleepy laugh.
‘No, of course not. I’m teasing you, honey. But you’re right. It would make a good story, even if they just ran it as innuendo. I’ll get my things – but I’m not going anywhere before we have a cop car parked outside this cabin, OK?’
He dressed while Stella, unselfconsciously naked and cross-legged on the bed, watched him.
‘That was incredible,’ she told him. ‘Just now, I mean.’
He smiled at her and crossed the room, sitting beside her on the bed and taking her face gently in both hands.
‘It was for me too, Stella. And I’m only leaving now because . . . well, because . . .’ He gestured towards the crumpled newspaper.
‘I know. Anyway, it was my suggestion you should leave.’
‘Sure.’ He kissed her forehead, and moved his hands down to take both of hers in his.
‘Look, Stella. I realise we’ve barely got to know each other, despite, well, just now . . . and that you’re going to have to go back to Massachusetts before long and I’ll be sent God knows where next, but . . . I really, really like you. And I’d really, really like to go on seeing you. Even if that means getting on a plane and crossing three time zones to do it. Do you feel the same?’
She nodded. ‘I do. I think you’re lovely, Lee, and admirable, and I—’
She was cut off by the portable radio.
‘Headquarters to Agent Foster.’
He looked at her triumphantly. ‘This could be it.’
He grabbed the radio’s microphone and squeezed the transmitter.
‘Foster here. Who’s that? Over.’
‘Sergeant Thompson, sir. Sorry to wake you. There’s no sign of Woods. He’s done a complete vanishing act. As you know, he got to his house before we did, but I took it on myself to order a second search of the property and we just found a wall safe hidden behind a locker in the den. The safe’s open and empty, so we can reasonably assume he took some cash and maybe other valuables before he cleared out.
‘Also, sir, there’s no sign of his Dart anywhere on the Key. He’s not approached either roadblock and as per your instructions, we’ve trawled every street on the island. Nix. Maybe he’s pushed it off a jetty into one of the deeper docks, or even the ocean, but if he has, how’s he planning to get off the island? Over.’
Lee rubbed his stubbly chin. ‘You’ve got men covering public transport? Over.’
‘Of course.’ The sergeant sounded aggrieved. ‘We’ve got this place sealed off tighter’n a duck’s ass, sir. Over.’
‘And you’re liaising with the Coastguard, as per my orders, in case he tried to leave by boat?’
‘That’s a bit trickier, sir, at such short notice. They’ve sent a coupla cutters down from Miami but with so many private boats coming in and out of all the marinas and harbours down here, they need some kinda steer on what to look out for. I’ve said that if we get a report of a stolen vessel, we’ll pass it on to them.’
‘Hmm . . . OK, sergeant, I’m coming in. We need to figure this out. Meantime I’d be obliged if you send a patrolman over to Largo Lodge to park his sedan outside Miss Arnold’s cabin. I’ll explain when I get there. Over and out.’
He dropped the mic, and saw that Stella was wearing a strangely abstracted look.
‘What? What is it, Stella?’
Stella climbed slowly off the bed, and reached for the bathrobe that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
‘Well,’ she said, turning to him as she tied off the robe’s belt and pushed her hair back from her forehead with both hands, ‘I’m grateful for the police protection, really I am, but listening to that little exchange I honestly don’t think a patrolman is going to be necessary here. I’m awfully sorry, Lee, but I think our Mr Woods is long gone from this island. He probably got away sometime soon after sunset.’
He shook his head obstinately. ‘Not possible. He must be here still, lying low. Otherwise we would have picked him up, either in one of the patrol sweeps or at a roadblock.’
She sighed. ‘Oh Lee . . . I told you that he’s as slippery as an eel. It’s obvious. He’s wriggled into the water, hasn’t he? He’s already left by sea.’
PART THREE
39
Fall
had definitely come to Massachusetts. Although the days remained gloriously sunny and defiantly clutched the tattered skirts of summer about them, nights were chilly now and their darkness lasted longer than the diminishing daylight hours. From Stella’s bedroom window in the house on Bancroft Road, she could see that the leaves on the American Elms planted down both sides of the street were already turning from green to gold.
‘You’ve come home at my favourite time of the year,’ Dorothy told her as she hugged Stella at Logan Airport. She’d had to collect Stella by herself; Jeb was giving his first lecture of the new term and Sylvia was back in class. ‘October’s a wonderful month here. Oh, it’s so good to see you again, darling Stella! And look at you! All brown and glowing and sparkly-eyed! My goodness,’ she said suddenly, ‘you haven’t gone and fallen in love with someone, have you?’
Stella had blushed and stammered and ended up in a coughing fit. Dorothy laughed: ‘Well, well! You must tell me all about him during the drive home. And then I want to know everything else that’s been going on. Oh, Stella, you can’t imagine our astonishment when we saw you in the papers and realised where you were and what you were up to! And then just a day or so later the police named their prime suspect! That was of course your doing, wasn’t it?’
Stella nodded. ‘Well yes, some of it. Much good it’s done them, though. They can’t find him. Frankly, I’m not sure they ever will.’
John Henry Woods had indeed vanished into thin air. But in the hours and days after his disappearance a steady stream of details about his background had emerged thanks to a squad of investigative reporters, America’s finest, and were published in the fullest detail by newspapers across America.
Agent Foster and his colleagues had found themselves temporarily eclipsed by the Press.
‘I got bawled out by Hoover himself today,’ Lee told Stella gloomily over dinner at their hotel three nights after Woods’s disappearance. ‘He phoned me direct from Washington first thing this morning and told me he was considering giving my job to the chief reporter of the New York Times. Christ.’
The Way You Look Tonight Page 15