Angel Death

by Patricia Moyes

  Dr. Vanduren held up his hand. “Please, please. Don’t worry. It will give me the greatest pleasure to use some of the Mafia’s own money to help outwit them. Allow me to take over the treasury.”

  “You’re very kind,” Henry said. “We’ll repay you, of course.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. I’m not about to accept honest money to replace…well, never mind. Forget about money. The thing is—where do we start?”

  Henry said, “We start at the airport. We have to watch every flight as it comes in to know when the so-called Carstairs return to the Seawards. That’s a job I think I shall have to do because Emmy only saw the couple once, in a darkened nightclub. I saw enough of them, I can assure you, never to forget their faces. You, Doctor, and Emmy must try to locate the real Carstairs. Obviously, they are on this island. I don’t know how they were taken off the Windflower or by whom. My recollections are extremely hazy—I was heavily drugged by then. I know there were the five of us to start with, and then—” Henry passed his hand over his forehead. “Damn it, I must remember. The Carstairs…wait a moment…the Carstairs went ashore at St. Thomas in the dinghy. We were to wait for them at anchor. Jill and Harvey had been dropping acid—LSD—and were very high. And then the Carstairs came back…no, they didn’t…somebody came aboard.”

  “Who?” asked Emmy. “You must remember who.”

  “I don’t. I never saw who it was. I was down below… I don’t remember any more until I woke up in hospital. The hurricane…everything…it’s gone. But somebody was on that boat, and somebody sailed her back to St. Matthew’s, beached her, and disappeared, along with the so-called Blackstones.” He paused. “Beached her before the hurricane. Of course. That’s how it was done. Everybody was much too preoccupied making preparations to notice a boat going ashore in an isolated bay. Then the Blackstones must have been taken ashore on St. Matthew’s and brought over here during the lull between the storms. I’ve an idea—it’s no more, but we have to start somewhere—two ideas, in fact, about where they might be. We’ll have to split up, so we must arrange a series of rendezvous. Who’s got a map of the island?”

  Nobody had, but the front desk was glad to supply the whimsily drawn pamphlet that they gave to visitors. Henry laid it on the table and took up a pencil. “Now,” he said, “here’s the airport, and here’s… ”

  The three heads bent earnestly over the little colored map. Outside the rain still fell, ambulances still wailed along near-impassable roads, and the enormous task of cleaning up began. In the bar downstairs, more near-miss stories circulated, more drinks were drunk, and the hurricane already seemed history. Only to the bereaved, to the relatives waiting at the hospital for news, to the exhausted salvage workers, to the Governor, to Inspector Ingham, and to the three people in the hotel bedroom did things seem to be as anxious and as desperate as ever.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  LIFE WAS RETURNING to normal. The telephones were working again and electric power was expected by the evening. The desk clerk informed Emmy that limited numbers of flights in and out of the island were due to start later in the afternoon. The road to the airport had been given priority as far as repairs were concerned and was now open for at least one-lane traffic. Emmy called the taxi stand and asked for Shark Tooth. He answered in great good humor and told her that both he and his taxi had escaped damage in the hurricane. Certainly he would drive her husband out to the airport and then return to take her…where?

  “I don’t really know, Shark Tooth,” Emmy said. “I’ll explain when I see you.”

  Shark Tooth laughed richly. “Never had a fare like you, my dear,” he said. “Mystery lady, eh? O.K. then. Be seeing you.”

  When Henry had departed for the airport, Dr. Vanduren set off on foot for the marina. Emmy waited in the lobby until the ever-smiling Shark Tooth reappeared, reporting that the road was rough but passable, and that he had delivered Henry safely. The airport, Shark Tooth said, was crammed with people trying to leave the island. Nobody seemed to know when flights would start, but the runway was in fair condition, and rumor had it that a plane from St. Thomas would soon be landing.

  “And now, mystery lady, where we going?”

  Emmy climbed into the back of the taxi and said, “I’m looking for a house. Up in the hills above the harbor—quite a bit higher than the hotel. I’ve only been there once, at night.”

  “Know whose house it is?”

  “A woman called Pearletta Terry lives there. A policewoman.”

  “Sure, I know Pearletta’s house. Matter of fact, I been there many time.” Shark Tooth sounded positively disappointed that the mystery had proved so easy to solve. “O.K., let’s go.”

  “D’you think the road—?”

  “We’ll try,” said Shark Tooth.

  The first portion of the road above the hotel was concrete and in fairly good order. Higher up, however, the steep dirt road deteriorated sharply, and the taxi struggled through deep ruts carved by torrents of rainwater. Emmy began to protest, but Shark Tooth grinned and grunted and gunned the engine and kept going. At last, however, a big tree that had fallen squarely across the road brought him to a halt.

  Shark Tooth got out of the car and pointed upward. “There’s the house,” he said. “You can make it on foot from here.” He paused. “Nobody there, I reckon. Nobody come up or down this road since the hurricane.”

  Emmy said, “Can you turn the car around?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, I’ll go up on foot. You turn around and wait for me.”

  “O.K., my dear.”

  It was hard going, scrambling over the fallen tree and on up the ruined road, but within a few minutes Emmy was standing outside the little house on its outcrop of rock, looking down at the harbor which, from this height, looked astonishingly normal. Emmy knocked loudly on the door.

  Everything was silent and deserted. Emmy tried the door. It was unlocked. She pushed it open and went into the cheerful room that she remembered from her last visit.

  Now, it was far from cheerful. The big plate-glass window that overlooked the sea had been smashed by the force of the wind. The careful Pearletta had taped it so that broken glass would not fly about—but its shattered remnants hung dismally, suspended by webs of thick paper tape. With the window gone, Beatrice had had a high old time with the furniture and fittings. Everything was awry and overturned—lamps smashed, chairs rolled over, papers everywhere. Pearletta was not going to have a very pleasant homecoming.

  Emmy stepped inside. She called as loudly as she could, “Is anybody here?”

  Silence. She began opening doors—a tiny, neat kitchen, a small bedroom, and a bathroom. All empty. In the bedroom closet, a spare police uniform and a selection of bright, pretty dresses arranged on hangers under plastic covers.

  Feeling like a Peeping Tom, Emmy went back to the living room and began picking up some of the papers that had blown around. Among them was a small diary for the current year. The entries were mostly in the type of shorthand that people use when recording information for themselves alone. There were initials with times, indicating meetings—the letter D with four-hour spans, which Emmy took to mean spells of duty. On certain recent dates, which Emmy could recall, came the entry SF, with a time. So these were Pearletta’s own loggings of the Starfish messages. Emmy turned the page and saw another of them. D 8-12. SF 10. She looked at the date. Tomorrow. Tomorrow… Emmy hesitated, wondering whether to take the diary with her, then decided against it. Henry had emphasized that she should leave no trace of her visit.

  Next she went over to the shattered window and looked out onto the balcony, which hung out over the crag like a platform in space. There had been a couple of wicker chairs out there and a small table—all now twisted and wrecked by the hurricane. But there was something else, too. Broken and useless now, it lay among the debris—a small telescope that had been mounted on a tripod. A telescope through which one could look from this eagle’s nest down at both the harbor and
the marina. Emmy took her handkerchief and carefully polished any surfaces or doorknobs that she had touched. Then she left the house and went to rejoin Shark Tooth and his gallant cab. He dropped her back at the hotel and went off to the airport again to rejoin Henry.

  At half-past four, Emmy and Dr. Vanduren met by arrangement in the hotel lounge. The doctor seemed jubilant.

  “She’s there,” he announced.

  “The Ocean Rover?”

  “The same. I managed to get into conversation with the woman. As far as I could tell, she was alone on board. Say what you like about hurricanes, they do break the ice. Everybody was talking to everybody else. She told me they’d been lucky—got into St. Matthew’s just before Alfred struck and slipped across to St. Mark’s between the storms.”

  “That would fit,” Emmy said.

  “I mentioned that I’d heard that at least one boat had been lost—the Windflower.”

  “Any reaction?”

  “Complete vagueness. She’d heard something about it—must have been a charter boat, she supposed. Then she changed the subject.”

  “I wonder—” Emmy began, but was interrupted by the girl from the desk.

  “There’s a telephone call for you, Mrs. Tibbett.”

  Henry’s voice came urgently down the line. “They’re here. The plane from St. Thomas just got in, and they’re on it. No, don’t worry, they haven’t seen me. They’re not through Customs and Immigration yet. I’m leaving now—expect me in half an hour or so.”

  Emmy made her way back to Dr. Vanduren. She said, “They’ve arrived.”

  The doctor’s euphoria evaporated abruptly. He said heavily, “Janet? Is it Janet? Ah, well, we’ll soon know. Is Henry tailing them?”

  “Nothing so obvious. He’s left the airport ahead of them. But he’s pointed them out to Shark Tooth, who’s going to make sure he brings them into town. Then he’ll report to us where they are.”

  “Can you trust this man—this driver?”

  Emmy shrugged. “Here we go again. I think so. I can’t say more. I found him quite by chance, and he’s been helpful and discreet up to now and prepared to do what I ask without question. You spoke to Dr. Harlow, did you?”

  Vanduren nodded. “He wasn’t happy, as you can imagine, but he’s agreed to leave the screens around Henry’s bed and not notify the hospital office until tomorrow that he’s discharged himself.”

  “So that anybody calling the hospital would be told that Henry was still a patient there?”

  “That’s right.”

  By five-fifteen Henry was back from the airport, and it was only ten minutes or so later that Shark Tooth called Emmy.

  “Marina,” he said succinctly. “Lady made a phone call from the airport, then I drove them to the marina. They gone into Reception, booking a room most like. O.K.?”

  “O.K.,” said Emmy. “Thank you very much. Any conversation in the cab?”

  “A bit. Something about a boat being ready tomorrow.”

  “Thanks a lot, Shark Tooth.”

  “That’s O.K., my dear. You want me again this evening?”

  “Hold on a moment. I’ll ask Henry.”

  Emmy made her report. There was a quick conference, and she went back to the telephone. “Yes, Shark Tooth. Can you come up here in about half an hour? We’re going to the marina.”

  Henry’s next move was a telephone call to Bob Harrison, whom he caught just as the latter was leaving his yard for the day.

  “Mr. Harrison? This is Chief Inspector Henry Tibbett. You may know I’m here officially on an investigation, and two of our suspects have a boat in your yard, which they plan to take away tomorrow. Now I know this is an unusual request, but… ”

  The harbor entrance lights were twinkling red and green in the dusk when the Tibbetts and Dr. Vanduren arrived at the marina. The restaurant and bar looked inviting, with ships’ lanterns glowing on the tables, and there was a light in the Harbour Master’s office. Henry and Emmy waited in the shadows on the quayside while Dr. Vanduren approached the Reception desk. He spoke to the clerk, then came back to the Tibbetts.

  “Yes, they checked in, just for the night. Now they’ve gone out again, and the girl said she saw them walking down the pontoon, looking at the boats.”

  Emmy said, “Ocean Rover.”

  “I guess so.” Vanduren took a deep breath. “Well, I guess I’d better go and get it over. You’ll be there?”

  “Out of sight but within earshot,” Henry said. And then, “Good luck, Doctor.”

  Vanduren walked away in the direction of Ocean Rover, like a man going to the gallows. Henry and Emmy followed at a discreet distance and stationed themselves so that they were hidden by a moored boat, as close to the Montgomerys’ yacht as possible. Golden lamplight spilled out through the open hatchway and into the cockpit.

  “Ocean Rover, ahoy!” Vanduren’s voice did not falter. Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “Sorry to disturb you. Can I come aboard? There’s something—”

  He was in the cockpit already and disappearing down the companionway into the cabin. For a moment there was silence. Then Henry heard him say, “Janet!”

  And a girl’s voice, slow and slurred but apparently unsurprised, said, “Hi, Dad.”

  Montgomery’s voice, loud and full of bluster, began to boom astonished platitudes, but he was cut short by his wife. In her deep and unmistakable tones she said, “Shut up, William. Let me handle this. So you are Dr. Vanduren, the Florida connection? Close the hatch, William. There’s talking to be done, and you never know who may be listening.”

  The hatch door slammed and there was silence. Henry and Emmy were already halfway up the pontoon, heading back to Shark Tooth and his taxi. As they passed his office, Elwin Anderson came to the door and stood framed against the light.

  “Mr. Tibbett!” he said. “They told me you were in the hospital.”

  “I was,” said Henry shortly.

  The Harbour Master seemed about to say something else, but changed his mind. “O.K. then.” He went back to his desk.

  Henry and Emmy got into the taxi. “Police station, please, Shark Tooth.”

  “Police, is it now?” The driver grinned. “Beats me which side of the law you people are on.”

  Pearletta Terry was on duty at the desk in the outer office or the police station. She greeted the Tibbetts with a charming smile, although she looked very tired. She was sorry, however, but there was no chance of them seeing Inspector Ingham. No, he was not off-duty—they had all been working round the clock since the hurricane—but he was out on an incident, and she had no idea when he would be back. Perhaps…

  Henry was past her and at Ingham’s door before she could get to her feet to stop him. Ignoring her squeaks of protest, he threw open the door to reveal Herbert Ingham, his feet up on his desk, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a telephone in the other.

  “Tibbett! What on earth—?”

  Pearletta was hovering in the background. “I’m sorry, sir. I did as you said, but—”

  “All right, Pearletta. Get back to your desk and be a bit more efficient next time.” Ingham sounded like a man at the end of his tether. Then, to the telephone, “Yes, it is true, Sir Alfred, and what’s more he’s just come bursting into my office…yes, both of them…all right, sir, I’ll call you back.”

  He slammed down the receiver. “Now, what do you want…sir?” He made the last word sound like an insult.

  Henry said, “You’ve got to listen to me, Ingham. I’ve got proof now.”

  Ingham sighed. He said, “And I’ve got a warrant for your arrest and deportation, signed by the Governor. Don’t you think we’ve got enough troubles on this island, without—”

  Emmy said quietly, “Please, Inspector Ingham. Henry is right—you must listen to him. Even if you don’t believe everything he says, there’s a double or triple murder that we can prevent if you help us now. You’re a policeman. You can’t just sit back and let two youngsters be killed.”
/>   For a long moment, Ingham looked from Henry to Emmy and back. Then he said, “Proof? What proof?”

  “I’m not asking you,” Henry said, “to take my unsupported word for anything. I know my credibility is in shreds, and I don’t blame you for thinking I’m still crazy. So what I’m going to do is this. I’m going to tell you what is going to happen tomorrow.”

  Ingham raised his eyebrows. Crazy, he seemed to imply, was the word.

  Henry went on. “At ten o’clock or thereabouts tomorrow, another Starfish message will come in. Pearletta Terry will be on duty, and she will log it and report it to you. This time, it will be very much more explicit than the previous ones. It will mention a boat, the Katie-Lou. It will make it perfectly clear that she is carrying—”

  Ingham broke in. “My dear Tibbett, we searched the Katie-Lou this morning! She’s—”

  “I know. I made a mistake because my memory was still playing tricks. In fact, there will be a small quantity of marijuana on board, but the Starfish message will imply that it is a big and important cargo. It will also mention a specific rendezvous, probably for the afternoon. Naturally, you’ll send your police launch to intercept the yacht. That is, you would do so if you didn’t know what I’m telling you now—that the whole thing is a frame-up. Now, wait a moment—” Ingham was showing signs of interrupting—“all I’m asking is this. If things happen as I’ve said, if that message comes through as I’ve told you it will, will you believe me and take action at once? Before the Katie-Lou sails, in fact?”

  Ingham said, “If such a message comes through, the Katie-Lou will already be at sea.”

  Henry shook his head. “No. She won’t be ready.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just have the feeling. She’ll still be at Harrison’s yard.”

  “But the message—”

  Impatiently, Henry said, “The message isn’t intended for the Katie-Lou, for heaven’s sake, man. It’s intended for you. And if you fall for it, it’ll be the end of your personal career, let alone a lot of other things. I don’t suppose that photograph of Janet Vanduren arrived from England, did it?”