by Basil Copper
I piled up a half a dozen carcasses on the rack as a platform and found I could sit in reasonable comfort on top in order to scrape away at the ceiling; the humming was much louder here and I could feel the vibration through the metal plating the ice covered. One of the steel hooks on the rack served me as a useful tool; I bound my pocket handkerchief round it for a handle and started scraping away. The ice was old, tough and very, very cold; it seemed to breathe out a freezing vapour over my face and the splinters as I worked pricked my cheeks and tinkled down to the floor among the racks and sides of meat.
I didn’t seem to be making much progress but at least it was better than sitting around waiting to ice over and after a few minutes I began to feel a little warmer. I looked at my watch again; I was surprised to see that it was more than two hours since I was locked in. By now I had enlarged an area about as big as a small handkerchief. I put my face up against the ceiling and started to examine the surface.
I was looking for small irregularities in the ice. They would be screw holes or slots in the inspection plate. After a short while I found a disc of caked ice. I raked it over with the hook; some of the surface chipped away, but the bump didn’t disappear. I put my face up against it and breathed. I repeated this three or four times and when I put the hook at it again I saw a circular shape beneath the last thin coating of ice.
What I was looking at was the head of a screw; it was a big flat thing about as big as a dollar and it had a large slot across it. I frowned. It looked like one of those gimmicks that need a special tool to undo it. And that was just what I hadn’t got. However, I kept making with the meat hook and breathing on the ice at intervals and eventually I got right down to the metal.
I could see a small crack opening up which I took to be the edge of the panel. This was encouraging. I fished in my pocket with half-frozen hands; there was a choice between coins and a pen-knife. I decided to save the knife for emergency and try the coins first. The experiment was encouraging. After some fiddling about I was able to get the coin to fit the slot but I couldn’t shift it; after I had breathed on it a few times something gave, and the screw started to turn, slowly at first and then faster. It fell clittering to the floor and when I pulled at the edge of the plate a sheet of ice came away; I felt a tiny current of warm air and the noise of the generator was louder. I didn’t exactly cheer but it wasn’t a bad feeling. Half an hour later I had shifted three more screws and uncovered the whole side of an inspection panel about two feet long; I put my half-frozen hands into the slit between the roof and the edge of the plate and levered myself off the meat rack.
There was a grating shriek as I fell to the floor and the plate tore back. I landed on my feet, slipped and prevented myself from falling by catching hold of a metal upright. I was panting heavily. I glanced up at the roof; the plate hadn’t come right away but it had bent back all along its length. I could see machinery inside and now and again a blue spark from a dynamo brush; I picked up the first of the stunning pistols and prayed that it hadn’t frozen sufficiently to prevent it from operating properly.
I climbed stiffly back up on top of the rack and balanced myself on the meat carcasses. I carefully sighted the barrel of the pistol to put the bolt where it would do most good; it just fitted against one of the air vents in the end of the dynamo motor. My hand and the pistol were inside the inspection chamber; I levered my body to one side, behind the shield of the bent plate, braced myself as best I could and squeezed the trigger. The pistol jerked in my hand as the compressed air went out with a whoosh, there was a bang and the metal bolt spanged back across the deep freeze chamber with infinite force, splintering frozen particles of ice about the area in a white fringe. The whine of the dynamo went on.
I looked back inside the machinery room. The bolt had made a deep scratch in the edge of the metal of the air vent, instead of going on through. I only had one more pistol and one more bolt, so I had to get it right this time. I soon saw that I hadn’t allowed for the heavy rim of the pistol barrel, which had sent the bolt into the metal instead of on through. I tested the distance with the second pistol and tried again.
This time I got it right. It was pretty spectacular under the circumstances. The pistol hissed again, the bolt spat through the dynamo vent and a fraction later there was an explosion followed by a sheet of flame; pieces of metal flew about the room, there were clouds of acrid smoke, the smell of burning rubber and the machinery stopped. I jumped down off the rack again. The lights flickered for a moment and then steadied. There was a heavy silence. I took a turn about and lit another cigarette. Now all I could do was wait.
2
“I’m real sorry about this, Mr. Faraday,” said Mr. Frost for the fourteenth time. A tall, balding man in his forties, with horn-rimmed glasses, he blinked nervously around at the debris in the freeze chamber. A native sergeant with an overcoat round his shoulders fumbled at a meat-rack; a glum-faced white photographer took pictures as though he had no conviction they would come out, and if they did that they would be of any use.
It was now about six in the evening and I felt I had had enough. I had been outside to de-ice myself for the last half-hour and had just come back in to collect Clay. He looked grim-faced as he conferred with Frost. He had been away on the other side of the island when the constable got back with the launch; hence the delay. It could have been serious but fortunately the manager had let me out before Clay and a launch-load of police turned up.
He had been checking on the chambers and had found a one-degree drop in temperature on the dial outside. I thought I’d never forget his face when he’d opened the door. It would have been comic except to me it was the most welcome sight in the world right then. But after the shock he seemed more worried about the damage to the refrigeration chamber than anything else.
“No sign of Henaway?” Clay asked him. Henaway was the Bahamian handyman I had bumped into on my arrival at the island. Frost shook his head.
Clay turned a worried face towards me. “In with the others, obviously,” he said.
“Probably locked me in himself,” I said.
Clay turned back to Frost. “We’ll search the Cay before my men leave,” he said. “If you hear anything let us know pretty sharp.”
Frost nodded.
“Your people had better give this place a thorough going-over,” I said. “Ten to one this was where Grosvenor got it. Though I doubt if we’ll ever find anything useful.”
Clay went back into the chamber and gave some instructions to the native sergeant. I went on out; the air was a warm temperature and the sea, pale green and indigo was slapping lazily at the rocky shore. I went and took some deep breaths and stared at the sea and the sky and the real estate. There were footsteps behind me and I turned to find Clay, the police launch coxwain and Frost.
“Sorry about your freezer,” I told the latter mechanically. “No hard feelings,” he smiled. We shook hands and then Clay and me and the constable walked back down to the water’s edge and got into the launch. I sat down in a seat in the stem and smoked as the constable fooled with the wheel and jockeyed the launch out from the shore. Then and only then he started up the engine. I began to realise I was hungry. I looked up to see Clay’s eye on me; he still looked worried.
“Relax,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have gone in alone. And anyways, there’s no harm done.”
He stiffened his jaw. “All the same, Michael,” he said, “it’s about time we had a showdown with those people on the yacht.”
I shook my head. “Play it my way,” I advised him. “As it is we haven’t got a thing on them. Leave them alone for a day or two and they’ll give themselves away.”
He looked gloomy as he gazed out over the water that chopped past the swiftly-moving launch.
“Just as you say, Michael,” he said, “but I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“A little patience won’t hurt,” I advised him. “That’s just what our friends haven’t got. I’m t
he only one they’re gunning for at the moment. They won’t do anything drastic until they’re sure I know too much. This is their way of warning me off. Crude, but effective with some people.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said, echoing his former words. “I’ve go to do some explaining in Nassau if anything happens to you.”
I looked at him sharply but I couldn’t make out whether he was serious or having a little joke.
“I know I’m right,” I assured him, feathering out smoke through my nostrils. The tobacco tasted cool and fresh on an empty stomach. Despite the softness of the air I could still feel ice in my bones.
The Colonel was silent. Then he spoke again.
“Let’s hope so, Michael, let’s hope so,” he said.
I sat and watched the friendly outlines of Stanley Bay coming up the far horizon.
3
I finished my second brandy and sat in my chair. It wasn’t perhaps the most satisfying moment of my life but it ran it pretty close. In the background the samba band vibrated, round us was the murmur of voices of bored, contented people and on the table lay the remains of a dinner that wasn’t exactly unpalatable, even by the Catamaran’s high standards.
“So what did you do then?” said Stella. Her face, glowing with sun and the effect of the wine smiled impishly.
“Like the Titanic passenger ‘Steward, I ordered ice, but this is ridiculous’,” I said.
Even Colonel Clay joined in the laugh.
“Nevertheless, this is a bad business, Michael,” he said. “Can’t you get him to take things seriously, young lady?” he added, turning to Stella.
She puckered up her face. “I’ve known him for nearly four years now, Colonel, and he’s never been any different,” she said.
“Let’s change the subject,” I said. “We shall know more tomorrow when we get that call from Chicago. In the meantime there’s no sense in wasting the evening.”
The Colonel smiled agreement. After we finished he got up from the table and went out on the dance floor with Stella. I sat and smoked and watched them. He danced pretty well for an old guy I thought. Though he was straight, with shoulders hard back, he knew how to relax; his footwork was pretty nifty too. Evidently Stella thought so also; last time I saw her she had her head on his shoulder. I thought the Colonel looked red and uncomfortable as he danced past me. That made me smile again.
Around eleven we broke up; we walked the Colonel down to his car. He was driving the Alvis on this occasion. The moon-shimmer danced on the polish and chrome of the bonnet as he sat in the driveway of the Catamaran with the engine idling almost inaudibly.
“Come to breakfast,” I said. “Around nine a.m.?”
“This is getting to be a habit,” he said. But he didn’t sound displeased. Then I saw that he was looking at Stella. She chuckled quietly in the gloom beside me.
“All right,” he said. “Then we’ll go down to the office later and take that call.”
He waved once and then went quietly out of the entrance and whispered along the lane. I heard the crackle of the exhaust a short while after that, but not until he got about a quarter of a mile away. There were plenty of people sleeping round about and the Colonel was always a considerate man.
went back inside with Stella, said goodnight to McSwayne and we went up to our rooms. We stood on the balcony for a moment before going our ways; the little fountain tinkled in the forecourt and I thought of Grosvenor once again. Not as I’d last seen him on the beach but the queer, strained look he’d given me as he went past that afternoon—almost like he’d known he hadn’t got long to g°-
As though she knew what I was thinking. Stella tightened her fingers on mine.
“You’ll be careful, Mike, won’t you?” she whispered. I nodded. She kissed me very lightly on the mouth and then slipped away. I heard her door close very softly. I smoked one final cigarette before going in. I gum-shoed my way silently along the corridor, walking on the balls of my feet like I did in L.A. when I was on a job. I don’t know why, except maybe because of an inborn caution after last night. I stopped as I got near to my door. There was a thin bar of light coming from underneath and spilling on to the carpeting of the hall.
I knew I hadn’t left any lights on when I came down earlier and the chambermaids didn’t go to guests’ rooms in the evening. I tip-toed very quietly over to the door and tried it. It was unlocked. I eased back the handle, pushed it open quickly and stepped aside. I looked round the lintel cautiously; the room seemed to be empty but there was a curious atmosphere that I couldn’t place at once.
I walked in and shut the door behind me. Then I caught it again, the subtle aroma of a woman’s perfume. I went on over near the bed and stopped. There was the scrape of a match followed by a flame as someone lit a cigarette. Then I saw that the bed wasn’t empty.
There was a beautiful bare pair of shoulders on the pillow. Above was a mass of golden hair spread out over the bed. It was the sports job in the polka-dot bikini. She gave a low chuckle.
“Come on in,” she said.
CHAPTER SIX
Mafia
1
“I’M GOING to get this door-lock changed,” I said. “This place is about as private as Stanley Bay Bus Station.”
She chuckled. She drew at her cigarette, blew out the smoke and patted the coverlet. “Come and sit down,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said. I was beginning to wonder if it was my room. I looked round. She seemed to guess my intention and threw me her packet. I took a cigarette out of the blue and gold package. She leaned forward and lit it with a slim gold lighter. I drew in the smoke.
The night wind came in at the big balcony windows, bearing with it the scent of many flowers; the noise of the sea was faint but clear while nearer at hand the slap of water still sounded where a solitary swimmer got in the last dip of the day at the marble pool at the edge of the hotel grounds.
“What are you doing here?” I said. “Or shouldn’t I ask?”
She shrugged as she drew on her cigarette. I went and sat down in a chair at the side of the bed. I dragged it over where I could watch her face in the pale slice of light cast by the bedside lamp.
“Worried?” she said.
“Anxious about my reputation,” I said. She laughed then.
“I suppose I should introduce myself. Diane Morris.”
“My name’s Faraday.”
“I know,” she said.
“That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing in my bed,” I told her.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said. I said nothing but smoked on and waited. She drew on the cigarette and frowned to herself. The frown looked good on her.
“How did you get in?” I said.
“Not very difficult,” she said. “I told one of the maids I’d forgotten my key. She didn’t know it wasn’t my room.”
“Like my visitor last night,” I said. “You wouldn’t know anything about that?”
“I might,” she said.
“Genial fellow,” I said. “Goes in for breaking furniture with his bare hands.”
She smiled. “That would be Otto.”
“Friend of yours?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Not so’s you’d notice. He didn’t seem to scare you very much.”
“He did his best,” I said.
“He is rather crude,” she said. “I think he was looking for something.”
I must have looked as blank as I felt for she went on, “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”
“It would help a bit if you’d explain,” I said. “He’s welcome to what I’ve got. Apart from my money, that is. I only brought bathing trunks.”
“I know,” she said. “I looked already.”
She smiled again. “There wouldn’t be much point in going into details if we’re at cross-purposes.”
I thought for a moment. “If you and Otto are on the same side I think you’re missing out,” I said. “The rough and the smo
oth. I must say I prefer your technique to Otto though.”
“I didn’t say that,” she said.
“Let’s level, shall we?” I said. “Just what are you after? And just what was Mr. Grosvenor carrying that’s so important to you and your friends?”
That hit home. She coloured up and looked confused for a second or two.
“If you think you can come in here and offer me a lazy lay you’ve chosen the wrong man,” I said. “Not that I’m averse to a prettily-turned ankle. But I’m tired, it’s hot as all hell and if we’ve got nothing to say to one another but verbal clichés I’ll say goodnight. But if you want to lay your cards on the table, Miss Morris, instead of your can on the bed-clothes we can do business.”
Her eyes looked at me levelly as she flicked the ash off her cigarette. “Always the gentleman,” she said. “Sorry, I can’t take you up on that.”
“Then there’s really nothing else to say,” I said.
She hesitated. “Some other time.”
I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.
“Surely,” I said. “And now you must excuse me.”
I got hold of the bed-clothes and ripped them back. I don’t know what I expected but it was a real eye-opener. She was stark naked under the bed-clothes and she didn’t care who knew it. At least as far as I could see and that was around the waist. I didn’t look any farther. She had excellent skin and everything else to go with it. She looked at me calmly and finished drawing at her cigarette.
“Nice tan,” I said mechanically.
“You were saying?” she said.
I put back the bed-clothes reluctantly but firmly. “I think it’s time you were on your way,” I said.
Her eyes flickered. “You disappoint me, Mr. Faraday.”