‘Not deliberately,’ I said. ‘There wasn’t much we could do about it—he had the gun.’
‘But you did go off half-cocked. I warned you about that. Why, in God’s name, didn’t you tell me you knew where Kayles was?’
‘I didn’t know where he was. I thought I knew where his boat was. And I wasn’t even sure of that. I know that Sam Ford knows his boats but I couldn’t be entirely sure. I went down to the Jumentos to make the identification.’
‘Instead of which you made a stinking mess,’ said Perigord cuttingly. ‘Mr Mangan, I told you that this is a professional matter and you were not to butt in. You are responsible for the death of a man; an innocent bystander whom you casually took along on a hunt for a murderer. Fred Bayliss was a married man with a wife and four children. What of them?’
I felt like hell. ‘I’ll look after the family,’ I muttered.
‘Oh, you will? Big deal. You know what it’s like to lose your family. How do you suppose Mrs Bayliss is feeling now? Do you think you can cure her grief with a few dollars?’
Perigord was a man who knew how to go for the jugular. ‘Christ, what can I say beyond that I’m sorry?’
‘Neither your sorrow or your money is of much help. And now I have an armed man loose in the Bahamas who knows he is being hunted, and it is my men who will have to do the hunting. How much sorrow will you feel if one of them is killed in the process?’
‘Jesus, Perigord, enough is enough!’
He nodded. ‘I think so, too. Go back to running your hotels, Mr Mangan. Go back to making money—but stay out of this business.’ He paused. ‘I may want to question you and Sam Ford further—I’ll let you know. That’s all.’
I left Perigord’s office feeling so low I could walk under a snake’s belly wearing a top hat. He was a man who knew how to use words as weapons, and the hell of it was that I knew I had it coming. I had been irresponsible. When Sam had come with the news of Kayles’s boat I should have taken him to Perigord immediately and let the police handle it.
My disposition did not improve when I returned to my office and telephoned home. Luke Bailey answered. ‘Is Mrs Mangan at home?’
‘No, Mr Mangan.’
‘Have you any idea where she is?’
‘She left for Houston this morning.’
‘Thanks, Luke.’ I put down the telephone feeling more depressed than ever.
A few days later Perigord asked to see me and Sam Ford and we met him, not in his office, but in the Customs Department at the harbour. He had had Kayles’s sloop brought up from Duncan Town and, as I thought he might, he had enlisted the aid of Customs officers to give it a real going-over.
The boat had been taken out of the water and put into a warehouse where she looked enormous. It is surprising how much larger a sailing boat looks out of the water than in; one tends to forget that most of a boat is under water. The Customs officers had taken most of the gear out of her and it was stacked on the floor of the warehouse and on tables in small heaps, each heap labelled as to where it was found. Again, it is surprising how much you can cram into a twenty-seven footer.
Perigord took us into a small glassed-in office in a corner of the warehouse and put us through the hoops again, this time with a tape recorder on the desk. It was a gruelling interrogation and it hit Sam hard because he blamed himself for everything, knowing that if he had not left the knife on the chart table then Bayliss might still be alive.
It was a two-hour grilling, occasionally interrupted by a Customs officer who would come in to show Perigord something or other. At last he switched off the recorder and took us out into the warehouse where he had Sam show him the masthead fitting by which he was able to identify the boat, even with its name and colour changed.
I said, ‘Have you found anything useful?’
‘Nothing of interest.’ There was that in Perigord’s voice which told me that even if he had found something he was not going to inform me.
‘Not the drugs?’ I asked in surprise.
His interest sharpened. ‘What drugs?’
‘The stuff in the first-aid box.’
He beckoned to a Customs man and the box was produced. It was empty. The Customs man said, ‘We’ve laid out the contents over there.’ We walked over to the trestle table and I scanned through the articles. The morphine syringes were there but there were no glass ampoules.
I described them, and said, ‘I thought if Kayles was a drug-runner he might be a user, too, and that this was his personal stock.’
‘Yes,’ said Perigord thoughtfully. ‘If he was a user he would certainly take it along, no matter in how much of a hurry he was. It was a liquid, you say?’
‘That’s right; a faintly yellowish liquid.’ I described the ampoules and told of the home-made look they had.
The Customs officer picked up the reuseable hypodermic syringe. ‘It’s funny he didn’t take this.’ He shook his head. ‘A yellow liquid. That’s new to me.’
‘They’re always coming up with something new to blow their minds,’ said Perigord. ‘So now we’ve got a hopped-up gunman. It gets worse, doesn’t it, Mr Mangan? Once his supplies run out he might start raiding pharmacies to resupply. Another headache.’
‘Have you any idea where he might be?’ I asked.
Bayliss’s boat had not been found and, according to Perigord’s gloomy prediction, it never would be. He thought it had been sunk. A small sailing yacht had been stolen from George Town in the Exumas. ‘And it could be anywhere now, with a change of name and colour,’ said Perigord. ‘If Kayles has any sense he’ll be getting clear of the Bahamas.’
I was about to turn away, but thought of something. ‘There are rumours floating around that the fire at the Fun Palace was due to arson. Is there anything in that?’
‘Not to my knowledge,’ he said. ‘Squash those rumours, if you can.’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘It’s in my interest to do so.’
So I went home and found that Debbie had returned.
She was spoiling for a fight. I was greeted with: ‘Where were you? You’re never here when I want you.’
‘I could say the same for you,’ I returned acidly. ‘In point of fact I was being shot at down in the Jumentos.’
‘Shot at!’ I could see her disbelief. ‘Who by?’
‘A man called Kayles—remember him? He killed a man down there, and damn near killed me and Sam Ford.’
‘Who is Sam Ford?’
‘If you took more interest in me and my doings you’d know damn well who Sam Ford is. He’s boss of the marinas division.’
‘So you found Kayles.’
‘Sam did, and you’re looking at a damn fool. I tried to take him myself and got a poor bloody fisherman killed. I’m beginning to sicken myself.’ I poured myself a stiff drink and sat down. ‘Commissioner Perigord doesn’t think a great deal of me these days. Just about as much as you seem to do.’
‘And whose fault is that?’ she flared. ‘What interest are you taking in me? You’re never around any more.’
‘My God, you know the problems I’ve had recently, what with one thing and another. And a new one has just come up—the Fun Palace fire. There’s a meeting of the Hoteliers’ Association and the Ministry of Tourism in Nassau tomorrow. I’ll have to leave early.’
‘That was bad,’ she said. ‘I read about it in the Houston papers.’
‘You would. If you were in Timbuctu you’d have read about it. That’s the problem.’
‘But what has it got to do with you? Why should you fly to Nassau?’
I looked at Debbie thoughtfully and decided to cool it. She was in a worse temper than I had ever seen, but even though she was being unreasonable she deserved an explanation. ‘Because I’m in the business,’ I said patiently. ‘It affects the Theta Corporation. The Bahamas seems to have become a disaster area lately and we’re trying to figure out ways of minimizing the damage. My guess is that the Ministry of Tourism will propose a levy on the industry to fund a n
ew advertising campaign.’
‘Oh, I see.’
I adopted a more conciliatory tone. ‘Debbie, I know I haven’t been around much lately, and I’m sorry—truly I am. I’ll tell you what. Let me get straightened out here and we’ll take a holiday. Maybe go to Europe—London and Paris. We’ve never had a holiday together, not a real one.’
‘A second honeymoon so soon after the first?’ she said ruefully. ‘But will you get straightened out? Won’t there be something else come along to need your personal attention? And then something else? And something else? Won’t it be like that?’
‘No, it won’t be like that. No man is indispensable in a decently run organization, not even the boss. And this run of bad luck can’t go on for ever.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘No, Tom. I’m going away to think this out.’
‘Think what out, for God’s sake?’
‘Us.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with us, Debbie. And can’t you do your thinking here?’
‘I’d rather go home—be among my own family.’
I took a deep breath. ‘I wish you wouldn’t, Debbie, I really do, but if you must I don’t suppose I can stop you.’
‘No, you can’t,’ she said, and left the room.
I poured myself another drink, again a stiff one. As I sat down I reflected that although I had told Debbie I had been shot at, never once had she asked if I had been hurt. We had gone so far down the line. The Mangan marriage appeared to be another part of the Bahamian disaster area.
Bobby Bowen flew me to Nassau early next morning and I spent the day arguing the toss with Ministry of Tourism officials and a crowd of apprehensive and tight-wadded hoteliers. Everyone agreed that something must be done; the argument was about who was going to pay for it. The argument went on all day and ended as I had predicted; there would be a levy on the industry and the Government would put up dollar for dollar.
I got home at about seven in the evening to find that Debbie had gone, but had left a note.
‘Dear Tom,
I meant what I said yesterday. I have gone back to Houston and will stay until the baby has come. I don’t want to see you until then, but I suppose you will want to come just before the birth. That’s all right with me, but I don’t want to see you until then.
I have not taken Karen with me because I think it would be unfair to take her from her school and her friends and into what is a foreign country. Besides, she is your daughter.
I can’t see clearly what has gone wrong between us, but I will be thinking hard about it, and I hope you do the same. It’s funny but I still love you, and so I can end this note with
Love,
Debbie.’
I read that letter five times before putting it into my wallet, and then sat down to write my own letter asking her to come back. I had no great hopes that she would.
TEN
The week after Debbie left we lost Bill Pinder.
He was taking four American fishermen to Stella Maris on Long Island which they were going to use as a base for hunting marlin and sailfish off Columbus Point and on the Tartar Bank in Exuma Sound. I was going with them, not because I am particularly charmed by American fishermen, but because Bill was flying me on to Crooked Island, 100 miles further south, where I was to look at some property on behalf of the Theta Corporation.
As it chanced I did not go because the previous evening I slipped in the bathroom and broke a toe which proved to be rather painful. To look at property and to walk a few miles on Crooked Island in that condition was not a viable proposition, so I cancelled.
Bill Pinder took off in a Navajo early next morning with the Americans. He was flying over Exuma Sound and was filing his intentions with Nassau radio when suddenly he went off the air in mid-sentence, so we know exactly when it happened. What happened I know now but did not know then. The Bahamas may be the Shallow Sea but there are bits like the Tongue of the Ocean and Exuma Sound which are very deep; the Tartar Bank rises to within seven fathoms of the surface in Exuma Sound but the rest is deep water.
The Navajo was never found, nor any wreckage, and Bill Pinder disappeared. So did the four Americans, and two of them were so influential on Wall Street that the event caused quite a stir, more than I and the Bahamas needed. After a couple of weeks some bits and pieces of clothing were washed up on one of the Exuma cays and identified as belonging to one of the Americans.
The death of Bill Pinder hit me hard. He was a good man, and the only better light plane pilot I know is Bobby Bowen. It is hard for blacks like Bill and Bobby to achieve a commercial pilot’s ticket, or at least it was when they pulled off the trick. I suppose it is easier now.
There was a memorial service which I attended and to which many of the Corporation employees came, as many as could be spared without actually closing down the hotels. A lot of BASRA pilots were there, too. After the service I had a word with Bobby Bowen; I had not had a chance to talk to him much because, being an aircraft short, he was an overworked man. I said, ‘What happened, Bobby?’
He shrugged. ‘Who knows? There’ll be no evidence coming out of Exuma Sound.’ He thought for a moment. ‘He was filing with Nassau at the time so he’d be flying pretty high, about I0,000 feet, to get radio range. But why he fell out of the sky…?’ He spread his hands. ‘That was a good plane, Tom. It had just had its 300-hour check, and I flew it myself three days earlier.’ He grimaced a little. ‘You’ll hear talk of the Bermuda Triangle; pay no heed—it’s just the chatter of a lot of screwy nuts who don’t know one end of an airplane from the other.’
I said, ‘We’ll need another plane and another pilot.’
‘You won’t get one like Bill,’ said Bobby. ‘He knew these Islands right well. About another plane—something bigger?’ he said hopefully.
‘Perhaps. I’ll have to talk it over with the board. I’ll let you know.’
We watched the Pinder family walking away from the church. Bobby said, ‘It’s bad for Meg Pinder. Bill was a good husband to her.’
‘She’ll be looked after,’ I said. ‘The pension fund isn’t broke yet.’
‘Money won’t cure what’s wrong with her,’ said Bobby, unconsciously echoing what Perigord had said about Bayliss’s wife, and I felt a stab of shame.
But how could I know that someone was trying to kill me?
Billy Cunningham paid a flying visit. He came without warning at a weekend and found me at the house where I was packing a few things to take to my suite at the Royal Palm. We talked about Bill Pinder and he said the usual conventional things about what a tragedy it was, and we talked about getting another aircraft. He appeared to be a little nervous so I said, ‘Stop pussy-footing, Billy. Sit down, have a drink, and get it off your chest. Are you an emissary?’
He laughed self-consciously. ‘I guess so. I’ve had obligations laid on me.’
‘Cunningham obligations?’
‘Score one for you—I never did think you were stupid. You had that subtle look in your eye when you were inspecting us back home when you married Debbie. I suppose you didn’t miss much.’
‘A tight-knit bunch,’ I observed.
‘Yeah. The advantages are many—one for all and all for one—that stuff. A guy always has someone guarding his back. But there are disadvantages, like now. Old Jack’s not been feeling too well lately so he couldn’t come himself.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said sincerely.
Billy waved his hand. ‘Nothing serious. Frank had a business meeting in California—important. So I was elected.’
I said, ‘Tell me one thing. Does Debbie know about this? Does she know you’re here?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It’s just that Jack wants to know what the hell is going on. Personally, I think it’s none of our business, but…’
‘But the Cunninghams look after their own.’
‘That’s about it. Hell, Tom, I told Jack that interfering between man and wife is pure poison, but you think he’d lis
ten? You know the old man.’
‘Not too well,’ I said coolly. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘It’s not what I want to know—it’s what Jack wants to know. Jack and Frank both. They’re both mad at you.’ Billy paused, then said meditatively, ‘If Frank had come on this mission he might have taken a poke at you. Very protective is Frank.’
‘Why should he do that?’ I demanded. ‘I don’t beat up his little sister every Friday night as a regular routine.’
He grinned crookedly. ‘It might have been better if you had. The Cunningham women…’ He stopped short. ‘Anyway, Jack wants to know why his little girl has come running home looking as blue as a cold flounder.’
‘Didn’t he ask her?’
‘She clammed up on him—and on Frank. Me—I didn’t bother to ask. What is it, Tom?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It appears that she wants me to stay home and hold her hand. Says I’m neglecting her. But, God, you know what’s been happening here. If it hasn’t been one bloody thing it’s been another. Did she tell you about Kayles?’
‘No. What about him?’
I told Billy in some detail, and said, ‘I know I made a damn fool of myself and I’m sorry a man was killed—but Debbie didn’t even ask if I’d been hurt.’
‘Self-centred,’ observed Billy. ‘She always was, and I’ve told her so to her face, many times. So where do you go from here?’
I took out my wallet and showed Billy the note Debbie had left and he made a sour face. ‘If she wasn’t family I’d call her a bitch,’ he said. ‘What are you doing about Karen?’
‘She’s staying with me at the hotel for the moment. I doubt if it’s good for her but it’s the best I can do right now.’
‘Do you want me to talk with Debbie?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Keep out of it. She must work this thing through herself. And tell Jack and Frank to keep out of it, too.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve already told them, but I’ll pass on the message from you.’
Wyatt's Hurricane / Bahama Crisis Page 40