‘Enough about what?’
He looked thoughtful. ‘Have you ever been to a criminal trial?’
‘No,’ I said, wrestling with my headache.
‘A good counsel never asks a question unless he knows at least ninety per cent of the answer. I’d like to know a little more about this woman before I interrogate her.’
I suppose it made sense. He didn’t even know what questions to ask. I said, ‘All I know is that she was an air hostess. That’s how she met her husband.’
‘Did she tell you that?’
‘Yes.’
Hanna snorted and seemed to discard the information.
He dropped me at the casino ferry and said, ‘Stay out of sight until I tell you to come out. I don’t want you running around where Barstow can get you.’
‘You’re taking a hell of a chance. What about that inspector this morning?’
‘I can handle that.’ His tone was confident but I didn’t think he was. ‘Stay invisible,’ he said. ‘And that goes for Miss Tomsson.’
He watched me walk on to the ferry, waited until it got to the other side, then drove away. I went up to the penthouse. Leotta took one look at me and said, ‘You need the doctor.’ I eased my bruises into a comfortable chair while she telephoned.
The doctor was minatory. ‘You shouldn’t have gone out this morning.’ His finger jabbed into me and I winced. ‘You should be in bed. You’re all bruise and no brains.’
He was right. My torso was coming out in lovely colours – iridescent blues and purples, like a sunset in reverse – and my head throbbed as I searched for that elusive bit of information I had mislaid.
‘He won’t go out again,’ said Leotta. She sounded like a nurse. She helped the doctor strap me up again after he had been liberal with the liniment and I smelt like a football locker-room. Then he went away and she said firmly, ‘Bed!’
I grinned at her. ‘Thanks for the invitation but I ache too much right now.’ To my surprise she blushed. ‘Sorry,’ I said, and changed the subject. ‘Is that a chaise longue on the patio out there?’
So I lay out there in the sun and, after a few desultory bites of lunch, I slept. Ever since I had arrived on Campanilla I had been on the hoof, as busy as a bee but gathering very little nectar. The usual reason for going to Campanilla is to relax, lie in the sun and soak up the vitamin D, to get that exact shade of bronze which the discerning eye knows does not come from a sun tan lamp in winter, the badge of the jet set. Instead, I had been threatened, manipulated, beaten up and shot. I thought it was about time I behaved like a tourist. Besides, I had nothing else to do.
I slept for two hours and when I woke up Leotta was beside me, stretched on a beach towel and taking in the sun. She rolled over as I stirred. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Marvellous,’ I said dreamily.
‘You snore,’ she said, and began applying sun tan oil to her arms.
‘It doesn’t worry me,’ I said, and picked up the bottle of oil. ‘I’ll do your back.’
‘All right.’ She lay prone and unfastened her bikini top. I massaged the oil into her silky skin and she lay with her head pillowed on her arms, her eyes closed. Presently she said, ‘What do you think will happen?’
‘About what?’
‘About us.’
I wasn’t quite sure what she meant. Was she talking about our respective circumstances on this exotic island, both caught up in deadly political manoeuvrings that neither of us had sought out? Or was she hinting at something more personal, something I couldn’t deny that I felt, but which seemed curiously inappropriate given the present situation?
‘We could leave,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing to stop us. That might put Hanna in a jam, though. I was assaulted by the police and you’re a witness to it. He needs us for evidence.’
‘But he can’t find those four men.’
‘He’s looking,’ I said. ‘If he finds them and we’re not around to tell the tale, he could be for the chop.’
‘And after that, you’ll be going to England?’
‘That’s right.’
‘To Devon?’
I smiled. ‘I could do with a month in Devon. There’s probably some snow about this time of year.’
‘I don’t like snow.’
I stopped myself from saying that I wasn’t offering her any. ‘The first snowdrops will be coming up, and then the crocuses and daffodils. And the birds will start singing. You ought to hear our English birdsong.’
She opened her eyes and twisted her head to look at me. ‘You sound quite poetic.’
‘I’m a country boy at heart. You know, I haven’t heard a bird sing all the time I’ve been here. Hell, even in London the birds sing.’
‘It must be nice,’ she said softly, and closed her eyes again.
The telephone jangled a foot from my head, startling me so that my fingers dug into Leotta’s flank. ‘Ouch!’
‘Sorry.’ I picked up the telephone and found I was listening to Negrini. ‘Bill, I have Jill Salton on another line. She’s been phoning around trying to get you – your hotel, the Salton Estates office and now here. I said I’d have you paged. Do you want to talk to her?’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Put her on.’
Leotta was kneeling up, fastening her bikini strap. Jill said, ‘Bill?’
‘Speaking.’
‘I didn’t have a chance to talk to you this morning.’ I could sense a wry smile as she spoke. ‘I had to reserve all my attention for Superintendent Hanna.’
‘I’m sorry if you found it tough.’
‘It was hard to take,’ she said sombrely. Her voice brightened. ‘But I’d like to see you. Could you come to El Cerco this evening? Wait a moment before you answer,’ she went on quickly. ‘I’d like you to bring Miss Tomsson with you, if she’ll come.’
I glanced at Leotta. ‘What do you want to do, scratch her eyes out?’
Jill said, ‘I loved David, you know that, Bill. But more than that, I respected him and I respected his judgement. If he saw something in her, I’d like to find out what it was for myself.’
‘Wait a moment.’ I put my hand over the mouthpiece. Leotta was doing things to her hair. ‘Jill Salton wants me to go out to El Cerco. She’s invited you too.’
‘Why?’
I shrugged. ‘To chop your head off, to choke you with cream, to measure the one-time opposition. How the hell would I know? I’m no connoisseur of the female mind.’
Leotta was very still, then she nodded her head gravely. ‘Very well.’
I uncovered the mouthpiece. ‘Okay, Jill. But not tonight. My doctor wouldn’t approve.’
‘Doctor? What’s wrong, Bill?’
‘I ran into a slight riot last night.’
‘But you seemed all right this morning.’
‘Pills and willpower,’ I said. ‘But they didn’t last. I am really bushed, Jill, but I’ll be all right tomorrow.’
‘Come whenever you like,’ she said. ‘I’ll be here. And in the meantime, look after yourself. Stay out of riots.’
‘Just one thing,’ I said. ‘Don’t tell anyone where I am. And anyone really means anyone. It could be important.’
‘All right,’ she said, and rang off leaving me wondering what that was all about. I supposed she might even have been telling the truth.
Negrini did not sleep in the penthouse that night but went home to Marshalltown and connubial domesticity. Leotta and I had dinner served by a uniformed waiter direct from the restaurant below. The stars hung on the other side of the huge window like a theatrical backdrop and there was a gibbous moon to add to the romantic atmosphere.
We talked, but not about Campanilla or anything to do with why we were there. I learned a lot about Leotta and, I suppose, she learned a lot about me in those few hours. She told me something of her early life and why she had left Campanilla to go to New York. The reasons were economic, mainly – the islands of the Caribbean are generally not paradises for those who have to live the
re. She’d studied nursing and worked at it for a few years before she was discovered as a model. ‘Shortly after that I met David,’ she said, but was silent about it thereafter.
Over coffee and brandy I smoked one of Negrini’s Havana cigars and felt rich and contented. I told Leotta about England and everything I thought she’d need to know if she was going to live there. She was still interested in Devon and made me describe the land and its people. By the stars in her eyes, I judged she regarded it as some kind of heaven. Perhaps it would be to one such as Leotta.
‘But there’s not much call for modelling in Devon,’ I warned.
‘You have hospitals, don’t you? I can work.’
‘You might have to go to school again,’ I said.
She nodded contemplatively. ‘I was thinking of doing that, anyway. Do you think I could be a doctor?’
‘It would take hard work and a long time.’
She merely inclined her head in acceptance of that and said no more.
That evening was to prove the happiest and most relaxing time I had on Campanilla. We turned in early – about ten o’clock – and I considered making a pass at Leotta. But I didn’t because I was scared that she would turn it down, and even more scared that she would fall into bed with me. We didn’t know each other well enough for it to be anything other than a one-night stand, and suddenly I found that I wanted more than that.
I went to bed alone.
II
Negrini showed up for breakfast. ‘How are you kids going?’ He wore a broad grin.
I looked at him sourly because I had spent a restless night, and not the kind of restless night he evidently had in mind. I said, ‘Why so cheerful?’
‘Seen the Chronicle?’ He tossed it on the breakfast table. ‘Things are starting to jump.’
I picked up the newspaper and shook the folds out. The headline slammed at me and I began to smile. My sour mood vanished and I felt a pulse of excitement. ‘What is it?’ asked Leotta.
I held up the newspaper so she could see the headline: ‘McKITTRICK GOES LIB!’
‘He’s done it,’ I said. ‘So that’s what John meant.’
‘Who is John?’ asked Negrini.
‘McKittrick’s grandfather.’
I scanned the story, which led off:
In a dramatic move yesterday, Dr Jacob McKittrick broke with Joe Hawke and the People’s Party to return to the fold of the Campanillan Liberal Party. He is now expected to defend the seat of North End, currently vacant due to the recent death of David Salton.
Leaders of the CLP unanimously welcomed the move at a meeting yesterday. A reshuffle is expected to take place in the upper echelons of the party hierarchy, with Dr McKittrick tipped for a role in Cabinet if the Liberals win the election. Some rumours suggest he could even be in line for the Premiership.
Following the announcement last night, Dr McKittrick wasted no time in laying out his political agenda, including the promise of a complete overhaul of the police force. He also launched a scathing attack on his former colleagues, claiming: ‘The citizens of this country are being misled by the demagogues of the People’s Party. I know because I watched it happen. I was there. Joe Hawke wants to lead Campanilla along the road to revolution – but it’s the road to hell, poverty and ruin.’
He pledged full allegiance to the policies of the CLP and, in a moving tribute to the late leader of the opposition, admitted: ‘There was a time when I disagreed with the ideas of David Salton. But I was wrong and David Salton was right. I believe he was the greatest man this nation has produced, and I commit myself unreservedly to the realisation of his political plans.’
Dr McKittrick’s dramatic switch took onlookers by surprise and is sure to transform the political landscape just weeks before a critical election. The walkover that was predicted for the Conservative Party after the death of Mr Salton now looks far from certain.
In an exclusive interview with the Chronicle, Dr McKittrick said: ‘I think the CLP has a good chance of winning – maybe not the chance it had when David Salton was alive, but a good chance nevertheless. If Mr Conyers wants to remain Prime Minister and to continue to mismanage the economy, he will have to fight harder than he has fought in his life.’
The Prime Minister was not available for comment, but Mr Hawke, leader of the People’s Party, said: ‘How can the honest people of this country believe a man who has been a traitor not once but twice? Any man who will turn his coat again and again for political advantage is clearly not to be trusted.’
(Cont. p.2; Editorial p.12)
I said, ‘Well, well. So he did it after all.’
‘Did you know about this?’ asked Negrini.
‘A little,’ I said. I didn’t feel like going into the details, that I had advised McKittrick to do this and it might never have happened without me. It gave me a strange feeling to realise that perhaps I had altered the destiny of a country, even one as small as Campanilla, with just a few persuasive words.
I looked up at Negrini. ‘Will you be contributing to McKittrick’s fighting fund?’
‘If he’ll take the dough. He might not.’ He smiled. ‘He’s more of an idealist than Salton was.’
‘He’s learning,’ I said. ‘If I see him I’ll talk to him – tactfully, of course.’ I leaned back in my chair. ‘Looks like Joe Hawke over-reached himself.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He was drumming up all this unrest by exploiting the name of Salton, but the leadership of the CLP were too naive to take advantage. McKittrick may be many things but he isn’t naive. He’ll also flog the name of Salton.’ I tapped the paper. ‘He’s already started. He’ll cream off everything Hawke has done for the benefit of the CLP. But unlike Hawke, I think he means it.’
‘You could be right at that,’ said Negrini. ‘But I wish the goddamn elections were over. Politics are bad for business.’
He went away to do whatever casino operators do first thing in the morning. As I turned to page twelve to read the editorial, Leotta said, ‘Aren’t we supposed to be going to El Cerco?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that and I don’t know if Hanna would like it very much. Jaunting across Campanilla in broad daylight isn’t exactly staying out of sight. I’ll ring him at a more civilised hour.’ I returned to the editorial, which was decidedly euphoric.
As it happened I didn’t ring Hanna, because Negrini returned and said, ‘Hanna wants to see you in his office. He wants to talk to you.’
‘What’s wrong with the telephone?’
Negrini twitched a sheet of paper in his fingers. ‘He thinks his phone is bugged, and mine might be. That’s why he sent a letter by hand. He wants me to take you in my car.’
I looked at Leotta and shrugged. ‘Why not?’
We didn’t use the main lift but a dingy service lift at the rear of the building, emerging into a garage. Negrini nodded towards a Cadillac. ‘That’s mine.’ We went over and he opened the boot. ‘Jump in.’
‘For God’s sake!’
‘This is the way Hanna wants it,’ said Negrini sharply. ‘He doesn’t want you out in the open.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I left my cloak and dagger upstairs.’ Negrini made an impatient noise so I obediently got into the boot and he slammed down the lid. There’s one thing about big American cars: they have plenty of luggage space, so I wasn’t cramped at all. I was glad Negrini didn’t drive a Volkswagen.
I lay there for more than twenty minutes and amused myself by trying to estimate just where the car was at every stage of the journey. We crossed to the mainland on the ferry and then went along the waterfront and past the market. After that I got lost. Eventually, after an unexpected swooping passage that reminded my stomach of a roller-coaster, the engine stopped and presently Negrini opened the boot.
I climbed out stiffly and stretched. We were in an underground garage in what was presumably police headquarters. There was a line of Black Marias and, in a far corner, a couple of armoured cars equ
ipped with water cannon. A man in plain clothes was standing by. He said quietly, ‘This way, Mr Kemp,’ and led us to a lift.
As we went up, I said to Negrini, ‘I have a nasty feeling I’m on the verge of being arrested for something.’
He grinned. ‘Broken any laws lately?’
‘None that I can think of, but I’m not at all sure that’s necessary here.’
The lift stopped and the door opened. Standing in the corridor was a uniformed policeman, who nodded briefly to our escort. ‘Move quickly, Mr Kemp,’ said the man at my side, and emphasised his words with a push.
We walked along the corridor and around a corner. I noticed what seemed to be a relay team of police stationed at strategic points and we were hastened along by a series of nods and beckoning arms. At last we went past a door, through an outer office and into Hanna’s sanctum. The lights were on and the venetian blinds were drawn.
Hanna looked up, waved away our escort, and said, ‘I suggest you leave and have a cup of coffee, Mr Negrini. Come back in half an hour.’
‘Goddamn it!’ said Negrini. ‘What am I? A chauffeur service for the cops?’
‘Your services are appreciated, of course,’ said Hanna. ‘But there are things which Mr Kemp and I must discuss in private.’
‘I get it,’ said Negrini. ‘What I don’t know won’t hurt you. Okay, Bill, I’ll be back in half an hour.’
He left, and Hanna snapped a switch. ‘No one is to come into my office unless I say so. I repeat, no one at all. If anyone wants me, tell me.’ He switched off the intercom, leaned back in his chair, and said, ‘Sit down, Mr Kemp.’
I took the chair on the other side of his desk and studied him. He appeared to be screwed up to a pitch of tautness I had not seen before. His eyes were exceptionally bright and his movements precise and controlled to the point of being finicky. He said, ‘It is now more essential than ever that you stay out of the hands of the police, especially the uniformed branch. I would hate to lose you – or Miss Tomsson – at this stage.’
I stretched out my legs and smiled at him. ‘I’m right in the middle of police headquarters. A funny place to be.’
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