by Basil Copper
Mandrake’s body had been recovered, my friend Barney had received recommendations for uncovering the Chicago loot and the local inquiries had duly come and gone. Doc Griffith’s taste for violence had been satiated with his recent spate of post mortems. Even the prospect of the Scottish Pipe Band’s visit didn’t worry me anymore. I put my arm round Stella’s shoulder and drew her close to me.
“I’m glad we’re leaving soon, Mike,” she said quietly. “The routine of L.A. suits me after this holiday.”
“Don’t tell me you’re cracking,” I said mockingly.
She withdrew her body from my grasp. “You know better than that,” she said. “But murder and tourism don’t mix. You must admit that you brought this one in like Macbeth at the finale.”
She’d got a point there. I didn’t bother to reply but I was just reaching out for her can when there was a cough behind and Colonel Clay was standing there. We moved up from the pool and ordered drinks on the terrace. Colonel Clay raised his glass and we drank.
“I think I’ve got everything sorted out, Michael,” he said. “Now that we’ve had your preliminary deposition we shan’t need you any more, the Nassau people tell me.”
“Good,” I said. “Time I got back to work.”
The Colonel smiled.
“Just one thing puzzles me,” said Stella. “Just where were those two men taking Melissa’s body when we came across them?”
The Colonel chuckled. “You won’t believe this,” he said. “There’s an old disused graveyard up beyond the point. No-one’s been buried there for more than eighty years. And no-one goes there. Our two characters had already dug a grave for Melissa. How’s that for gall?”
“We should have waited,” I said. “I always wanted to see a home-made funeral.”
Stella shot me a disapproving glance.
“You sure you won’t stay on until next week?” the Colonel asked me. “We’ve got the return visit of the Scottish Pipe Band and the Yacht Regatta begins on Saturday.”
“I’d be sorry to miss the pipe band,” I said seriously. “I’ll take a rain check on it.”
As Clay got up to go I said. “I still think it was a bit of a risk letting Mandrake dive for the money anyway.”
The Colonel smiled. “I don’t think so,” he said. “You see, we’d already raised Melissa’s instructions the previous night. I dived for it myself. During the engine breakdown. We put a dummy package with phoney instructions for Mandrake to find. All in all, not a bad night’s work really.”
I gasped for air. Then as I struggled for words, the Colonel added, “Don’t bother to say it, Michael. You thought the police out here were rather slow.”
He laughed. “No need to see me off.”
A minute later the scarlet Alvis went past the front of the hotel and down the dusty road. I went over to the hire Cadillac which Phillips had recovered from Stanley Bay. When I came back I saw a splash of flame down by the swimming pool. A blonde girl in a scarlet bikini stood poised against the sky, then she jack-knifed down into the pool with scarcely a ripple. Stella came up to me. She put her hand through my arm without a word. We went into the hotel.
2
A few days later I went down to see Charley Fong in the General Hospital. He was doing fine. I gave him the thousand dollars Mandrake had paid me as a retainer. He wouldn’t need it now and it would do Charley some good. It would just about cover his expenses and eating money back to ’Frisco. In the end I came out to get away from his gratitude.
After that I went back on up to the town graveyard. It was a small place, for whites only, and it wasn’t hard to find. There was a mound of fresh-turned earth with that raw look it always has. There was a standard wreath, from a town florist, the one the municipality always provide. It’s bad for the tourist trade otherwise.
I put my own small spray at the head of the grave. It wouldn’t last long in this heat. I stood for a minute. It was peaceful here, though the noise of the sea could be heard just around the point. Nothing stirred and after a short while I came away.
We left the next afternoon. The Colonel came down to the airstrip to see us off, grave and formal, but with a surprising warmth as he said good-bye. There was just him, Ian Phillips, Doc Griffith, an airline representative and the usual group of unidentified coloured folk.
We circled the strip once and I could still see his handkerchief as we passed over the field for the last time. Phillips was saluting. Stella was silent at my side and she made a pretence of craning out of the window, though there was little to see.
The pilot straightened up on course and then we were over the little cemetery, heading out to sea. I thought of Diane once again, that last night I had seen her. The island slipped astern. Summer was already going. From the air the earth looked dusty and the brightness of the flowers was beginning to fade.
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