“I see,” he said finally. “So you went to Mr. Sanford’s ketch with the gun. But Mr. Sanford wasn’t there.”
“No.”
“Then what was it you found that made you decide to stay?”
“I found King stretched out on the floor in his frogman’s suit. He was dead.”
Apparently Kirby had prepared for some such announcement because he seemed to take the statement in stride. The ruddy face remained impassive as he nodded and his voice had an even, conversational cadence.
“Would you care to tell us the rest of it? Was the door to the main cabin unlocked?”
“It was partway open,” Laura said. “I was pretty sure by then that Barry wasn’t aboard and if the door hadn’t been open I might not have gone inside. But it was. And the car lights were on enough so that I could see this black thing on the floor. I don’t know where I got the courage to keep going; I guess I wasn’t even thinking at that point. The faceplate on the rubber suit had been pushed back and as I bent over I could see it was King. I think I tried to shake him. I called his name. I didn’t want to turn on a light so I used my cigarette lighter and then I saw the slit in the rubber suit and the blood around it.” She hesitated and seemed to make a small involuntary shudder.
The silence came again as she finished and she let it linger, the green eyes fixed on something only she could see until Kirby reminded her to continue.
“And then,” he said gently.
“I went out to dismiss the driver.”
“Because you didn’t want him to know what had happened?”
“I guess so.”
“And you thought Mr. Sanford had killed—”
She interrupted, her tone brittle and the words coming fast now, as though she could not get them out quickly enough.
“There’s no point in asking me what I thought. I can’t tell you. All I knew was that Barry had told me five hours before that King was trying to kill him and now he was the one who had been murdered. It may have occurred to me that Barry had killed King and run away but the only thing I could think of was that when the body was found he would be arrested. Maybe I acted from shock or panic or even hysteria, but in my state of mind there wasn’t much room for such things as logic or reason. I did a terrible thing to Barry in New York a long time ago and maybe I wanted to help him now. All I know for sure is something told me to get rid of that creature in the frogman’s suit and I did.
“Luckily for me,” she went on swiftly before Kirby could interrupt, “King was a small man. I couldn’t carry him but I could drag him. Somehow I got him into the cockpit and then on one seat and finally I could roll him over the rail.”
Sanford had heard the story unfold with growing astonishment and now, as the girl stopped and lowered her glance, his reaction was emotional rather than cerebral. At the moment he could not have said anything even if he had wanted to; the mere thought of what this girl had done for him left him feeling humble and grateful and very close to her. Kirby, equally impressed but in a different way, nodded thoughtfully.
“You then went back to the hotel?”
“As fast as I could.”
“You didn’t see Mr. Sanford?”
“No.”
“Was there no blood?”
“Yes. I told you. On the front of the—”
“I mean on you?” Kirby said interrupting. “Your hands, for instance.”
“Oh—yes.” The green eyes blinked as some remembered thought came back to her. “I felt something on my fingers but I thought it might be just water until I came out on the street by the hotel. Then I saw it was blood.”
“What did you do about it?”
“Why—I wiped it off,” she said as though the answer should have been obvious. “There was a handkerchief in my bag and I took it out and wiped my fingers and—”
“What about the handkerchief?”
“I kept it until we were riding out to the houseboat. I pretended I was letting my hand trail in the water over the side. When no one was looking I let go of the handkerchief.”
“Umm,” said Kirby. “So when you reached the hotel you went up to the bar?”
“Yes. Howard and Pete were standing around and wanted to know where I’d been and I said to the Ladies Room. They said didn’t I think it was time to go and I said yes and so we left.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary happened after you had reached the houseboat?”
“Nothing that I saw.”
“Very well.” Kirby gathered his papers, pushed back bis chair and came to his feet. “I think that will be all for now and I thank you for coming. As I said before we will need formal statements from all of you individually and we will be in touch with you later. I don’t think I need to warn you not to try to leave the colony.
“Oh,” he added as an afterthought when the others stood up. “Would you ladies be good enough to wait a moment? Inspector Larkin would like a word with you privately. It shouldn’t take but a minute or two.”
17
Barry Sanford was the first one out of the room and he did not wait for the others but turned left into the corridor that led to the stairs and lobby. He wanted very much to see Laura but Kirby’s request for the meeting with Inspector Larkin forestalled any immediate opportunity and he had nothing at all to say to the others of the group. Once outside, he headed for the narrow roadway leading to the seawall, some new restlessness nagging him and no particular objective in mind.
He thought the police might have sealed the ketch but no one was aboard, and when he saw the damaged lock on the companionway door he went below and got his tool box. To make a neat job would take some carpentry that he was not ready to do, but he made makeshift repairs that would serve temporarily and tried the key to make sure it worked. The stain in the cabin, somewhat obiterated now, still remained near the centerboard trunk and he thought about scraping it dean, but not for long. He had no stomach for such a chore at the moment and so, the restlessness still driving him, he left the boat and started toward town.
He had it in mind to go to his office and try to do some work, but as he passed opposite the Hotel Bradley a new thought occurred to him and he crossed the street. There was no one in the tiny lobby so he started up the stairs and went along the corridor to Irene Dumont’s room. He knocked four times before he was ready to admit that no one was home. As he retraced his steps, a new feeling of frustration had come to augment his restlessness. He was perspiring now and the sun seemed unusually hot on his back as he came outside and started for the bar building. It was then that he noticed the elderly Negro with the tattered straw hat who was on his knees working on the border of the grounds.
“Hello,” he said as he stopped beside the man and waited for him to glance up. “Do you know Miss Dumont? The lady that plays the piano at the Ft. James?”
“Oh, yes sir.”
“Have you seen her lately?”
“Just now,” the man said, using a phrase that might mean anything from two minutes to an hour.
“Where?”
“A police car come for her.”
“A police car?” Sanford parroted.
“Stop right there.” The man pointed at the street. “A constable get out and come into the hotel. Pretty soon he come out with Miss Dumont. They get into the cat and ride Off.”
That there was nothing unusual about the information—the police were probably checking on anyone who could help them set up a timetable for murder—did little to relieve Sanford’s newly acquired feeling of frustration but it did make him forget the soft drink he intended to order in the bar. For right then, and from out of nowhere, a new seed of hope took root in some recess of his brain and he began to nurse it carefully as he started for the street.
The new thought was so obvious that he wondered why he had not thought about it before, and the focus of the idea that was now budding so swiftly, was Willie, the watchman, who had been on duty at the customs house the night before.
A glance at
his watch told him it was twenty minutes of four and he was well familiar with Willie’s habits. The watchman was due at his job at four o’clock, but because of the odd bits of work he occasionally did for Sanford, plus a frequent bonus in the form of a tot of Barbados rum, Willie often stopped on the way to work to pass the time of day. Common sense told Sanford that Willie had probably been thoroughly questioned by the police but that did not matter greatly. If Willie had any information, Sanford knew he could get it. And now, with some reasonable objective in mind, his restlessness vanished and he lengthened his stride.
He reached the seawall by the ketch at twelve minutes of four. He took a few steps toward the customs house but when he saw no one out front he turned and came back because he knew that Willie always passed this way instead of using the road. The watchman came into sight about two minutes later, a hundred yards away now, not hurrying, one hand holding a brown paper sack in which he carried his evening meal. At almost the same instant something caught the corner of Sanford’s eye and as he glanced down the roadway toward the hotel he saw Laura Maynard coming purposefully toward him. When she saw that he was looking in her direction she waved and he waved back and went to meet her.
Her face was a little flushed as the green eyes examined him. “You ran away,” she said as she slipped her arm inside his and they started slowly back toward the ketch.
“Did I? When?”
“After our session with the superintendent.”
“I didn’t know how long you’d be with Inspector Larkin,” he said. “I thought you’d be going back to the houseboat. What happened to the rest of them?”
“Oh, they went back. George Breck too. He had some business to talk over with Howard Aldington.” She gave him a quick bright smile. “But you see, I don’t have to go back to the houseboat any more if I don’t want to. Ever … I wanted to be with you,” she added simply. “After the others left I waited around the pool for a while and I decided to see if you were here.”
“I’m glad you did,” Sanford said and meant it. “What did Larkin want?”
“You’ll never guess,” she said and smiled. “Lipstick.”
“Lipstick?”
“He asked if Blanche and I had lipstick in our bags and we said yes and he asked if he could see it. He took a knife and cut a tiny bit off of each stick. He put a sample in a clean slip of paper.”
“Is that all?”
“Just about. He asked us if we always used the same kind and we said no but it was the kind we’d been using recently.” She waved her free hand. “He thanked us, and that was it.”
They were at the seawall now, with Willie plodding along about fifty feet away, and Sanford stopped to face the girl. They were very close and he wanted very much to put his arms about her and feel her mouth against his. The green eyes told him it would be all right with her, but he knew this was not the place and so he spoke of Willie to cue her in. By the time he had finished the watchman was close and Sanford introduced him.
“Laura,” he said as he moved a step to intercept the old man, “this is Willie, an old friend of mine—Miss Maynard.”
Willie doffed his battered gray felt and bowed and Laura smiled and said: “Hello, Willie.”
“Willie does a bit of work for me now and then and he’s very fond of Barbados rum. Right, Willie? Could you use a spot before you go on duty?”
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Sanford,” Willie said. “I surely could.”
“Come aboard,” Sanford said and led the way.
He had to unlock the door again, and when he came back from the cabin with a small glass and a bottle of rum in one hand Laura had seated herself on one of the cockpit cushions and Willie had perched opposite her. Sanford poured a generous drink—Willie wanted no dilution—and passed him the glass. He sat down next to Laura and put the bottle on the deck next to his feet.
“Knock it back,” Sanford said. “You should have time for another quick one but first I’d like to ask you some questions about last night. You know what happened, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes sir.” Willie tossed off the rum and smacked his lips. “Real bad trouble last night, sir.”
“You sit out front of the customs house most of the time, don’t you? You were there last night when I came by around twenty minutes after eleven. I guess maybe sometimes you catch a few winks, don’t you?”
“That’s the truth.”
“How about before I came? I’d like to know what you saw during that hour. Did anything happen on or around my boat that you can remember? Anything at all? It doesn’t matter if it’s important. I just want to know.”
“The only thing I see for sure is a small boat. It came from that way.” Willie pointed beyond the lighthouse. “Didn’t see it come in the river. Don’t know where it came from. When I see it she’s on the far side by the other wall.”
“Who was in it?”
“Can’t rightly tell that. Only somebody rowing.”
“How small, Willie?” Sanford said, remembering now the little dinghy he had seen at the houseboat. “Eight or ten feet?”
“’Bout that, sir. I wonder where it’s going and why she stay over across the way like that. Not much light then. Only from stars ’cause the moon’s about gone. Pretty soon I lose sight of it and wonder if someone has gone ashore. Then I see something closer.”
Willie pointed again. “Black and shiny it is, moving upstream. Right out front there by the customs house. I think maybe porpoise; then I say no. Plenty around outside but not in the river. Don’t see long. Too dark. Pretty soon the Cay Queen spar move.”
“Move?” Sanford said. “How do you mean?”
“I’m looking upstream and I can see the spar against the sky.” Willie held his forearm and hand in a vertical position and swung them pendulum-like from side to side, using his elbow as a fulcrum. “It swing like this. Like from big swell or if somebody climbed over rail and go aboard. Then I see the little boat again.”
“Where Willie?” Sanford asked as he tried to visualize the picture that was unfolding.
“Must have been waiting across the way in the shadows. She row straight across to the Cay Queen. Can see pretty good now as she come alongside. Right quick I see a little light from inside, like someone struck a match. Just once.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I say: ‘Willie, you’re a crazy man. Your eyes humbug you.’ I start to fill my pipe and then I hear someone rowing fast.”
This time he pointed toward midstream. “Out in the middle I see the little boat again. This time she’s heading to sea.”
“Didn’t you see who was in it?” Sanford said.
“Not good.”
“A man or a woman?”
Willie considered the question and examined his empty glass. Sanford reached for it and poured more rum. Again Willie said: “Thank you kindly, sir,” and poured the drink down his throat. He handed back the glass and came to his feet.
“Wouldn’t want to say for sure, Mr. Sanford,” he said. “I guess I thought it was a man and this time I walked out to the wall to see where the boat went.” He waved one arm. “Out past the lighthouse. Last time I can see anything she is halfway to the houseboat”
“You didn’t see anything more at the ketch?”
“After a while a car come—”
“That must have been me,” Laura said.
“Next thing I see,” Willie added, “is you, Mr. Sanford.”
“Did you tell all this to the police?”
“No sir.”
“Didn’t they question you?”
“Plenty.”
“You told them about seeing me, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes sir. I tell them that because I know you will tell ’em too. But all the police ever do for Willie is give him trouble. A man makes mistakes sometimes when he’s young and the police don’t forget. Even when somebody else makes trouble they come around and humbug you.” He hesitated, and for the first time looked concerned. “You think I should have told them,
Mr. Sanford?”
“I think you may have to Willie,” Sanford said. “It might be important. It might even help me a little.”
Willie nodded but made no direct reply. He said he had to get to work. He turned to Laura and bowed formally. He said: “Good-bye, ma’am,” and Laura smiled and said: “Good-bye, Willie. Thanks for your help.”
Sanford stood with her while they watched the old man step up on the seawall and put on his battered hat. Then he was shuffling toward the customs house, brown paper bag in one hand.
“What do you think, Barry?” Laura said finally.
“A lot of things,” Sanford said, “but I haven’t got them put together yet.”
“What do you want to do now?”
“I’d like to go out to the houseboat and ask some more questions, but maybe I’d better telephone Superintendent Kirby first. We can do it from the hotel. Okay?”
Sanford used the telephone in the little cubby of the Pan American Land Company adjacent to the hotel lobby with Laura listening as she leaned on the counter. He got Police Headquarters without difficulty and was told that Superintendent Kirby was not in. He asked for Larkin and after some delay the inspector answered.
“How’re you doing?” Sanford asked when he had identified himself. “Any progress?”
“Some. You will be interested to learn that Corvado, the Indian who attacked you, has begun to talk.”
“Oh? What started him?”
“We took him down and showed him Hubbard’s body. He finally admitted Hubbard hired him. We’re still working on him.”
“Well, that’s something … What did you want with Irene Dumont?”
“What do you mean?”
“I stopped at the hotel to see her and she wasn’t there. I understand somebody picked her up in the police car.”
“Among other things,” Larkin said, “we wanted her statement about what time you took her home last night.”
“So what’s with the lipstick bit?”
“I beg your pardon,” Larkin said, sounding a little confused.
“You wanted a sample from Miss Maynard and Mrs. Hubbard.”
With Intent to Kill Page 14