I sat at the chart table, switched on the gooseneck lamp, and began going through drawers. A good seaman keeps a log, an honest seaman keeps a log—but would Kayles have kept a log? It would be useful to have a record of his movements in the past.
There was no log to be found so I started going through the charts. In recording a yacht’s course on a chart it is usual to use a fairly soft pencil so that in case of error it can be easily erased and corrected, or when the voyage is over the course line can be erased and the chart used again. Most yachtsmen I know tend to leave the course on the chart until it is needed for another voyage. A certain amount of bragging goes on amongst boat people and they like to sit around in a marina comparing voyages and swapping lies.
Kayles had charts covering the eastern seaboard of the Americas from the Canadian border right down to and including Guyana, which is pretty close to the equator, and they covered the Bahamas and the whole of the Caribbean. On many of them were course lines and dates. It is normal to pencil in a date when you have established a position by a midday sun sight and you may add in the month, but no one I know puts in the year. So were these the records of old or recent voyages?
Sam came below and looked at Kayles. ‘Still sleeping?’ He went into the galley, unclipped an aluminium pan, and filled it with water. He came back and dumped it in Kayles’s face. Kayles moaned and moved his head from side to side, but his eyes did not open.
I said, ‘Sam, take a look at these charts and tell me if they mean anything.’ We changed places and I stood over Kayles. His eyes opened and he looked up at me, but there was no comprehension in them and I judged he was suffering from concussion. It would be some time before he would be able to talk so I went exploring.
What I was looking for I do not know but I looked anyway, opening lockers and boxes wherever I found them. Kayles’s seamanship showed again in the way he had painted on the top of each food can a record of the contents. I found the cans stowed in lockers under the bunks and he had enough to last a long time. If water gets into the bilges labels are washed off cans, and Kayles had made sure that when he opened a can of beef he was not going to find peaches.
I opened his first-aid box and found it well-equipped with all the standard bandages and medications, including two throwaway syringes already loaded with morphine. Those were not so standard but some yachtsmen, especially single-handers, carry morphine by special permission. If so, the law requires that they should be carried in a locked box and these were not. There were also some unlabelled glass ampoules containing a yellowish, oily liquid. Unlike the morphine syringes they carried no description or maker’s name.
I picked up one of them and examined it closely. The ampoule itself had an amateur look about it as though it was home-made, the ends being sealed as though held in a flame, and there was nothing etched in the glass to tell the nature of the contents. I thought that if Kayles was in the drug-running scene he could very well be an addict and this was his own supply of dope. The notion was reinforced by the finding of an ordinary reuseable hypodermic syringe. I left everything where it was and closed the box.
I went back to Sam who was still poring over the charts. He had come to much the same conclusion that I had, but he said, ‘We might be able to tell when all this happened by relating it to weather reports.’
‘We’ll leave that to Perigord,’ I said.
Sam frowned. ‘Maybe we should have left it all to the Commissioner. I think we should have told him about this man before we left. Are we doing right, Tom?’
‘Hell, I didn’t know it was Kayles before we left. It was just a chance, wasn’t it?’
‘Even so, I think you should have told Perigord.’
I lost my temper a little. ‘All right, don’t drive it home, Sam. So I should have told Perigord. I didn’t. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. Everything has been going to hell in a handcart recently, from Legionnaires’ disease at the Parkway to the fire at the Fun Palace. And we could do without those bloody street riots, too. Do you know what I was doing when you came to my office?’
‘No—what?’
‘Straightening out a mess caused by the Airport Authority. Their baggage-handling machinery ripped a plane-load of suitcases into confetti and I had over 200 Americans in the lobby looking for blood. Any more of this and we’ll all go out of business.’ I swung around as Kayles said something behind me. ‘What was that?’
‘Who the hell are you?’ Kayles’s voice was stronger than I expected and I suspected he had been feigning unconsciousness for some time while working on his bonds. I did not worry about that—I had seen the knots.
‘You know me, Mr Kayles,’ said Sam, and Kayles’s eyes widened as he heard his own name. ‘You’re carrying no riding lights. That’s bad—you could be run down.’ His voice was deceptively mild.
‘Goddamn yacht-jackers!’ said Kayles bitterly. ‘Look, you guys have got me wrong. I can help you.’
‘Do you know much about yacht-jacking?’ I asked.
‘I know it happens.’ Kayles stared at me. ‘Who are you?’
I did not answer him, but I held his eye. Sam said casually, ‘Ever meet a man called Albury? Pete Albury?’
Kayles moistened his lips, and said hoarsely, ‘For God’s sake! Who are you?’
‘You know Sam here,’ I said. ‘You’ve met him before. I’m Tom Mangan. You might have heard of me—I’m tolerably well-known in the Bahamas.’
Kayles flinched, but he mumbled, ‘Never heard of you.’
‘I think you have. In fact I think you met some of my family. My wife and daughter, for instance.’
‘And I think you’re nuts.’
‘All right, Kayles,’ I said. ‘Let’s get down to it. You were hired over a year ago by Pete Albury as crew on Lucayan Girl to help take her from Freeport to Miami. Also on board were my wife and daughter. The boat never got to Miami; it vanished without trace. But my daughter’s body was found. How come you’re still alive, Kayles?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know you, your wife or your daughter. And I don’t know this guy, Albury.’ He nodded towards Sam. ‘I know him because I put my boat in his marina, that’s all. You’ve got the wrong guy.’
Sam said, ‘Maybe we have.’ He looked at me. ‘But it’s easily provable, one way or the other.’ He regarded Kayles again. ‘Where’s your log-book?’
Kayles hesitated, then said, ‘Stowed under this bunk mattress.’
Sam picked up Kayles’s knife which he had laid on the chart table. ‘No tricks or I’ll cut you good.’ He advanced on Kayles and rolled him over. ‘Get it, Tom.’
I lifted the mattress under Kayles, groped about and encountered the edge of a book. I pulled it out. ‘Okay, Sam.’ Sam released Kayles who rolled over on to his back again.
As I flipped through the pages of the log-book I said, ‘All you have to do is to prove where you were on a certain date.’ I tossed the book to Sam. ‘But we won’t find it in there. Where’s your last year’s log?’
‘Don’t keep a log more’n one year,’ said Kayles sullenly. ‘Clutters up the place.’
‘You’ll have to do better than that.’
‘That’s funny,’ said Sam. ‘Most boat folk keep their old logbooks. As souvenirs, you know; and to impress other boat people.’ He chuckled. ‘And us marina people.’
‘I’m not sentimental,’ snarled Kayles. ‘And I don’t need to impress anyone.’
‘You’ll have to bloody well impress me if you expect me to turn you loose,’ I said. ‘And if I don’t turn you loose you’ll have to impress a judge.’
‘Oh, Christ, how did I get into this?’ he wailed. ‘I swear to God you’ve got the wrong guy.’
‘Prove it.’
‘How can I? I don’t know when your goddamn boat sailed, do I? I don’t know anything about your boat.’
‘Where were you just before last Christmas but one?’
‘How would I know? I’ll have to think about it.’
Kayles’s forehead creased. ‘I was over in the Florida keys.’
‘No, you weren’t,’ said Sam. ‘I met you in the International Bazaar in Freeport, and you told me you were going to Miami. Remember that?’
‘No. It’s a hell of a long time ago, and how can I be expected to remember? But I did sail to Miami and then on down to Key West.’
‘You sailed for Miami, all right,’ I said. ‘In Lucayan Girl.’
‘I sailed in my own boat,’ said Kayles stubbornly. ‘This boat.’ He jerked his head at me. ‘What kind of a boat was this Lucayan Girl?’
‘A trawler—fifty-two feet—Hatteras type.’
‘For God’s sake!’ he said disgustedly. ‘I’d never put foot on a booze palace like that. I’m a sailing man.’ He nodded towards Sam. ‘He knows that.’
I looked towards Sam who said, ‘That’s about it. Like I told you, he has this tiddy little diesel about as big as a sewing machine which he hardly ever uses.’
For a moment I was disconcerted and wondered if, indeed, we had the wrong man; but I rallied when Sam said, ‘Why do you keep changing the name of your boat?’
Kayles was nonplussed for a moment, then he said, ‘I don’t.’
‘Come off it,’ I scoffed. ‘We know of four names already—and four colours. When this boat was in the marina of the Royal Palm in Freeport just over a year ago she was Bahama Mama and her hull was red.’
‘Must have been a different boat. Not mine.’
‘You’re a liar,’ said Sam bluntly. ‘Do you think I don’t know my own work? I put up the masthead fitting.’
I thought back to the talk I had had with Sam and Joe Cartwright in my office a year previously. Sam had seen Kayles in the International Bazaar but, as it turned out, neither Sam nor Joe had seen the boat. But he was not telling Kayles that; he was taking a chance.
Kayles merely shrugged, and I said, ‘We know you’re a cocaine smuggler. If you come across and tell the truth it might help you in court. Not much, but it might help a bit.’
Kayles looked startled. ‘Cocaine! You’re crazy—right out of your mind. I’ve never smuggled an ounce in my life.’
Either he was a very good actor or he was telling the truth, but of course he would deny it so I put him down as a good actor. ‘Why did you go to Cat Island?’
‘I’m not saying another goddamn word,’ he said sullenly. ‘What’s the use? I’m not believed no matter what I say.’
‘Then that’s it.’ I stood up and said to Sam, ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘Sail this boat back to Duncan Town and hand him over to the local Government Commissioner. He’ll contact the police and they’ll take it from there. But not until daylight.’
‘Scared of sailing in the dark?’ jeered Kayles.
Sam ignored him, and said to me, ‘I’d like a word with you on deck.’
I followed him into the cockpit. ‘What did you tell Bayliss?’
‘Enough of the truth to shut him up. He’d heard of the disappearance of Lucayan Girl so he’ll stick around and cooperate.’ He picked up the flashlamp Kayles had used and swept a beam of light into the darkness in a wide arc. There came an answering flicker from a darker patch of blackness about 200 yards to seaward. ‘He’s there.’
‘Sam, why don’t we sail back now? I know it’s not true what Kayles said.’
‘Because we can’t,’ said Sam, and there was a touch of wryness in his voice. ‘I was a mite too careful. I was figuring on what might happen if Kayles got loose and I wanted to hamstring him, so I got some of Bayliss’s fish net and tangled it around the propeller. That engine will never turn over now. Then I cut all the halliards so Kayles couldn’t raise sail. Trouble is neither can we. I’m sorry, Tom.’
‘How long will it take to fix?’
‘Splicing the halliards and re-reeving will take more than an hour—in daylight. Same with the engine.’
‘We could take Kayles back in Bayliss’s boat, starting right now.’
‘I don’t think he’d do it,’ said Sam. ‘Fishermen aren’t the same as yachtsmen who sail for fun. They don’t like sailing around at night because there’s no call to do it, so they don’t have the experience and they know it.’ He pointed south. ‘There are a lot of reefs between here and Duncan Town, and Bayliss would be scared of running on to one. You don’t know these folk; they don’t work by charts and compasses like pleasure boat people. They navigate by sea colour and bird flight—things they can see.’
‘You’d be all right on the tiller,’ I said.
‘But Bayliss wouldn’t know that. It’s his boat and he wouldn’t want to lose her.’
‘Let’s ask him anyway,’ I said. ‘Call him in.’
Sam picked up the lamp and flashed it out to sea. There were a couple of answering winks and I heard the putt-putt of the engine as Bayliss drew near. He came alongside, fending off with the boathook, and then passed his painter up to Sam who secured it around a stanchion. Sam leaned over the edge of the cockpit still holding the light. ‘Mr Mangan wants to know if you’ll take us back to Duncan Town now.’
Bayliss’s face crinkled and he looked up at the sky. ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘Might if there was a full moon, but tonight no moon at all.’
I said, ‘Sam here is willing to navigate and take the tiller, too. He’s a good man at sea.’
It was just as Sam had predicted. Bayliss became mulish. ‘How do I know that? This the only boat I got—I don’t want to lose her. No, Mr Mangan, better wait for sunrise.’
I argued a bit but it was useless; the more I argued the more Bayliss dug in his heels. ‘All right,’ I said in the end. ‘We wait for sunrise.’
‘Jesus!’ said Sam suddenly. ‘The knife—I left it on the chart table.’ He turned and looked below. ‘Watch it!’ he yelled. ‘He’s coming through the forehatch.’
I looked forward and saw a dark shape moving in the bows, then there was a flash and a flat report and a spaaaang as a bullet ricocheted off metal. Sam straightened and cannoned into me. ‘Over the side!’
There was no time to think but it made immediate sense. You could not fight a man with a gun on a deck he knew like the back of his own hand. I stepped on to the cockpit seat and jumped, tripping on something as I did so and because of that I made a hell of a splash. There was another splash as Sam followed, and then I ducked under water because a light flashed from the sloop and the beam searched the surface of the water and there was another muzzle flash as Kayles shot again.
It was then I thanked Pete Albury for his swimming lessons on the reefs around Abaco. Scuba gear had just been introduced in those days and its use was not general; anyway, Pete had a hearty contempt for it. He had taught me deep diving and the breath control necessary so that I could go down among the coral. Now I made good use of his training.
I dribbled air from my mouth, zealously conserving it, while conscious of the hunting light flickering over the surface above. I managed to kick off my shoes, being thankful that I was not wearing lace-ups, and the swimming became easier. I was swimming in circles and, just before I came up for more air, I heard the unmistakeable vibrations of something heavy entering the water and I wondered what it was.
I came to the surface on my back so that just my nose and mouth were above water. Filling my lungs I paddled myself under again, trying not to splash. I reckoned I could stay underwater for two minutes on every lungful of air, and I came up three times—about six minutes. The last time I came up I put my head right out and shook the water from my ears.
Then I heard the regular throb of the engine of Bayliss’s boat apparently running at top speed. Ready to duck again if it came my way I listened intently, but the noise died away in the distance and presently there was nothing to be heard. The sound of a voice floated softly over the water. ‘Tom!’
‘That you, Sam?’
‘I think he’s gone.’
I swam in what I thought was Sam’s direction. ‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t know.
He took Bayliss’s boat.’
‘Where’s Bayliss?’ I saw the ripples Sam was making and came up next to him.
‘I don’t know,’ said Sam. ‘I think he went overboard, too. He may still be in the boat, though.’
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ I said. ‘That might have been Bayliss running away, and Kayles might still be around.’
Sam said, ‘I was bobbing under the bows and Kayles was swearing fit to bust a gut. First, he tried to start the engine and it seized up. Then he tried to hoist sail and found he couldn’t. I think it’s fairly certain he took Bayliss’s boat.’
‘Well, if we’re going to find out, let’s do it carefully,’ I said.
We made a plan, simple enough, which was to come up simultaneously on both sides of the sloop, hoping to catch Kayles in a pincer if he was still there. On execution we found the sloop deserted. Sam said, ‘Where’s Bayliss?’
We shouted for a long time and flashed the light over the water but saw and heard nothing. Sam said, ‘It’s my fault, Tom. I botched it. I forgot the knife.’
‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘Which way do you think Kayles went?’
‘I don’t know, but in his place I’d head north. He has fifty miles of fuel and maybe more, and there are plenty of cays up there to get lost in. He might even have enough fuel to get to Exuma.’ He took a deep breath. ‘What do we do now?’
I had been thinking about that. ‘We wait until sunrise, do the repairs, find Bayliss if we can, go back to Duncan Town and report to the Government Commissioner, and have Bill Pinder make an air search for that son of a bitch.’
It was an uneasy night and a worse morning because, while Sam was repairing the halliards, I went under the stern to cut the fish net from around the propeller and found Bayliss jammed in there. He had been shot through the head and was very dead.
That broke up Sam Ford more than anything else and it did not do me much good.
NINE
Deputy-Commissioner Perigord was thunderous and gave the definite impression that invisible lightning was flashing around his head. ‘You had Kayles and you let him go!’ he said unbelievingly.
Wyatt's Hurricane / Bahama Crisis Page 39