Angel Death

by Patricia Moyes

  “Of course not—there’s been no mail for over a week. In any case, it’s of no further interest. Miss Sprague is alive and well, and Miss Vanduren is dead.”

  Henry sighed. “I won’t say any more for the moment,” he said. “Will you let me go back to my hotel now and call me in the morning when that message comes through?”

  “If the message comes through.”

  “You will, then?”

  “Oh, very well. Get out of my office, if you please. Sir.” Suddenly Ingham grinned, a flashback to his old self. “Man, what am I going to tell the Governor?”

  Henry grinned back. “Tell him that you’re too busy to arrest me now, but that you’ll do it in the morning. Tell him that I’m at the Harbour Prospect with my wife, behaving myself like a good boy, and that I’m planning to leave on the first possible flight, which is what he really wants. See you tomorrow.”

  Pearletta Terry gave the Tibbetts a distinctly unfriendly look as they walked out through her office to the street, where Shark Tooth was patiently waiting.

  Henry said, “Just down to the marina again, Shark Tooth, to pick up our friend, and then back up to the hotel.”

  The marina bar was a blaze of light, but the Harbour Master’s office was dark. The sky was still cloudy, and big seas rolled in from the channel. There was no sign of Dr. Vanduren. In the protective darkness, Henry and Emmy made their way down the pontoon, hoping to get close enough to Ocean Rover to hear what was going on onboard, even with the cabin doors closed. However, they need not have bothered to take any precautions against being seen, for when they got to the end of the jetty, the mooring was empty. Ocean Rover had put to sea.

  Emmy turned to Henry in dismay. “What’s happened? They’ve all gone—the Montgomerys and Janet and her father—”

  “And the unfortunate Carstairs with them, if I’m not mistaken,” said Henry. “But not, I hope, very far.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, as you said, we have to trust somebody, and we decided it was to be Dr. Vanduren. Of course, if he’s been secretly on their side all along, then they’ll be heading away from Seawards waters and it’ll be too late to save the Carstairs. But if Vanduren is playing his cards right, then I think this is all part of the prearranged plan. I think we shall find Ocean Rover at Bob Harrison’s yard. Come on.”

  For the second time, much to Shark Tooth’s amusement, his cab approached Harrison’s yard in the darkness. Peering through the wire fence, Emmy could see that Katie-Lou was no longer ashore on a cradle; she had obviously been put back into the water, awaiting the arrival of her owners. However, her whereabouts was not important for the moment. What was important was that the now-familiar silhouette of the Ocean Rover was clearly visible. She had not taken a berth, but was riding at anchor in the small bay. Her dinghy trailed astern of her and a light was on in her cabin.

  Henry sighed with relief. “Thank God for that. Let’s hope that Bob keeps his promise and delays Katie-Lou in the morning.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  HALF-PAST FIVE IN the morning. The very first strands of light were creeping across the sky, turning it from black to palest pearly gray, when Henry awoke. Emmy was sleeping serenely beside him in their room at the hotel. No hurry now, he had said the night before, after telephoning Bob Harrison. They won’t be able to leave until after ten, after the Starfish message. By then, Ingham will be convinced. The Carstairs are safe for the moment. Nothing we can do.

  But now, Henry woke with a sudden sense of urgency, an instinct that his colleagues had often described as his “nose.” It even crossed his mind that some sort of heightened perception—a remnant of his drug experience—might still be affecting his mind. Perhaps he had miscalculated, had been wrong to trust Vanduren and Bob Harrison. Whatever it was, he found himself wide awake and absolutely certain that something was wrong. He hesitated a moment, then woke Emmy.

  “What… ?” Emmy struggled back to consciousness and looked at her watch. “Half-past five? Henry, what on earth… ?”

  “I don’t know, darling. I just know that we have to get down there.”

  “Down there?” A ripple of alarm ran through Emmy’s heart. She remembered that PCP can cause aftereffects, which recur even days after the last dose. Certainly Henry did not sound rational at the moment.

  He said, “To the yacht yard. There’s something wrong.”

  “But Henry—”

  “Come on. Get up and dressed. There’s no time to lose.”

  Emmy did not argue. In ten minutes they were both dressed and in the deserted hotel lobby. No smiling Shark Tooth and his taxi at this hour, and the big front doors to the hotel were locked. However, ringing a bell marked NIGHT PORTER eventually produced a yawning black man, who opened the doors for them.

  Outside, it was getting light with the suddenness of a tropical sunrise, reminding Emmy of the morning when she had seen Dr. Vanduren in St. Matthew’s. As in a nightmare, time had stretched so that the days before the first hurricane seemed eons ago.

  Henry said, “Down through the gardens. Quickest way.”

  There was no question, of course, of going through the locked and shuttered discotheque; however, a garden fence—not too difficult to negotiate—led to a narrow alley and eventually onto Main Street. From there, ten minutes’ hard walking brought them within sight of St. Mark’s Yacht Charter Services.

  Everything seemed quiet and still, but as the Tibbetts approached the gate, Henry suddenly grabbed Emmy’s arm.

  “Stop!” he whispered. “Somebody’s moving about in there!”

  They froze in their tracks. Then they heard Dr. Vanduren’s voice. He was making no effort to keep it low, obviously believing the place to be deserted. “Hi, Ed! I can’t find one here. I’ll have to try in that other shed. Back in a minute.”

  A moment later, Vanduren appeared, hurrying and dodging among the shrouded shapes of grounded boats. He reached Bob Harrison’s office, and Henry saw him wrestling unsuccessfully with the locked door. On impulse, Henry stepped up to the wire fence and said in an urgent whisper, “Vanduren!”

  The doctor whirled around, terrified. Then he recognized Henry and hurried over to the fence. “Tibbett! Is this a miracle or an answer to a prayer?”

  “Both, I suspect. What’s up?”

  “I’ve only got a minute or so. Make this quick. Jan and Ed are on board Katie-Lou. Ocean Rover came round here last night. Ed boarded Katie-Lou for a checkout and found something wrong with the engine. We’ve been up all night fixing it. It’ll be done in a few minutes. I’m supposed to be finding a plug wrench.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t interrupt. I don’t have time. They’re not waiting for Harrison to arrive. They’ve smelled a rat and as soon as the engine’s fixed we’ll all be away. Jan and Ed on Katie-Lou, the Montgomerys, the Carstairs—poor devils—and myself on Ocean Rover. Message goes out at ten.”

  “Where’s the rendezvous?”

  “Don’t know. They didn’t say and I didn’t dare ask.”

  “How about you?”

  “I think they believe I’m with them, but I’ve got to get back and act natural. Get this. The real rendezvous will be at half-past two, somewhere not far from the bogus one, obviously. That’s when the Carstairs will be killed and put aboard Katie-Lou, while Ocean Rover makes off with the rest of us.”

  A man’s voice called, “Hey, Doc, how’s it coming?”

  Vanduren shouted, “I’m trying to get this goddamn door open!” Whispering, he added, “There’s a telephone and radio in the office. I was trying to get a message to you. Got to go now.” He disappeared.

  Henry and Emmy moved quietly away until they were out of sight and earshot of the yard. Henry said, “You were right. He is to be trusted.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “They’ll be off in no time. Somebody’s got to go after them, or those two young idiots will be as dead as mutton.”

  “Inspector Ingham—?”

&n
bsp; “You think he’d believe a story like this at six in the morning from me? Anyhow, even if he did, there’s no time.” Henry thought quickly. Then he said, “Unsatisfactory, but it’s the only way. As soon as the boats leave, we break into Harrison’s office. I take the keys to his launch and go after Ocean Rover—at a safe distance. My guess is they’ll be under sail—make everything appear natural—so they’ll be in sight for some time. You get on the telephone to Ingham and convince him if you can—otherwise we have to wait until the Starfish message at ten, which will certainly get him. Meanwhile, I’ll keep in radio touch with you from Harrison’s launch. Just remember though that everyone listening out in the Seawards will be able to hear what we say.”

  “Henry—”

  “There’s nothing else we can do. Dammit, we ought to have the whole police force and the U.S. Coast Guard and everybody else down here arresting these people, but so long as the authorities think I’m crazy, well…there you are. Listen!”

  In the quiet of the morning, they heard the unmistakable sound of an auxiliary engine turning over, spluttering, then starting. A man’s voice called out something unintelligible. Henry and Emmy arrived back at the wire fence in time to see an apparently serene and beautiful early-morning scene. Two graceful sailing yachts, their motors running quietly, puttering away from the yacht moorings and out into the bay against the light breeze, with trim and energetic crew members hoisting the big mainsails as they went. Not a sight to cause anything but appreciation and possibly envy in these delectable islands. Not, by any normal standard, in the least sinister.

  “O.K.,” said Henry. “Here we go. Over the fence.”

  “You lift me up first, and I’ll find a ladder,” said Emmy briskly. “I’ve done this before. E. Tibbett, the well-known breaker and enterer.” Five minutes later they were both inside the compound.

  The office—a small wooden building—was padlocked, but it proved a reasonably simple job to lever off the hinges with a stout chisel, which a workman had thoughtfully left beside one of the boats. The launch’s keys were hanging on a board, labeled with the boat’s name—MARK ONE—as though for the convenience of burglars. Emmy would have liked to wish Henry luck, to caution him, to get final instructions, even to kiss him for what might be the last time; but he was in and out of the office in five seconds flat, leaving her facing a telephone and a VHF radio, which she had no idea how to operate. She sat down at the desk and went into action.

  Her first call was to the police station. An unfamiliar male voice informed her that Inspector Ingham was at home, snatching the first bit of rest he had had since Beatrice struck.

  Emmy said, “Are you listening out on VHF?” There was a moment of silence and then the voice said, “Sure, lady.”

  “There will be some messages from Mark One. Would you please be sure to log them? I may call you back and ask about them if I miss them myself.”

  “Who is this speaking?”

  “Bob Harrison’s yard,” said Emmy, and she hung up quickly.

  She looked at the radio with some trepidation and was relieved to see a simple-looking switch marked OFF-ON, and another marked RECEIVE-TRANSMIT. She set this to RECEIVE and switched on. Sure enough, she was rewarded by a crackling sound from the loudspeaker. And then Henry’s distorted voice.

  “Mark One to Blandish. Mark One to Blandish. Are you receiving me? Over.”

  Blandish was Emmy’s maiden name. She switched to TRANSMIT, picked up the microphone, and said, “Blandish to Mark One. Loud and clear. Over.” Decades ago, Emmy had been a controller in the wartime W.A.A.F. It was extraordinary how the years slipped away, how easy it was to be talking into a microphone again.

  “Mark One to Blandish. Everything set for a good day’s sail. I’ll be in touch later. Out.”

  Emmy put the set back on RECEIVE and picked up the telephone again. This time she called Inspector Ingham’s home number, which she found in the directory on Bob’s desk. A soft-voiced lady answered.

  “Inspector Ingham? Oh, he’s just got to sleep. Unless it’s really urgent…my husband has been… ”

  “I know he has, Mrs. Ingham,” Emmy said, “but this really is urgent. I’m so sorry. Please tell him it’s Mrs. Tibbett and I must speak to him.”

  Ingham’s voice was sleepy and unfriendly. “Really, Mrs. Tibbett…ten o’clock this message is supposed to come through… ”

  “I know, Inspector, but things have changed. The Katie-Lou has left, and Henry’s gone after her.”

  “He’s—what?”

  “I’m speaking from Bob Harrison’s yard. Henry has borrowed Bob’s launch and—”

  “Mrs. Tibbett, I’m sorry. I may as well tell you that I’ve just had a call from Dr. Harlow, telling me that your husband discharged himself from hospital against medical advice and that his mental condition is probably still far from stable. If I get that Starfish message, naturally I will investigate it. Otherwise… ” The line went dead.

  It was by then nearly seven o’clock and the sun was up in a clear sky. Emmy dialed the number of Bob Harrison’s home.

  “Bob?”

  “You just missed’im.” The woman’s voice was pure London, quite unaffected by her move to this exotic clime. “Just left for the yard,’e’as. You’ll catch ’im there in a few minutes.”

  “On the contrary, he’ll catch me,” Emmy thought, but aloud she said, “Thanks so much. I’ll find him at the yard.”

  Then to the radio again. “Blandish to Mark One. Blandish to Mark One. Are you receiving me? Over.”

  “Mark One to Blandish. Loud and clear. Over.”

  “Blandish to Mark One. I’m afraid Herbert can’t join the picnic, at least not until later on. Over.”

  “Mark One to Blandish. Never mind. I hope he manages to come later. He’d hate to miss it. Out.”

  Henry sounded positively cheerful. Indeed, against all logic, he was enjoying himself. Mark One was a sweet-running, beautifully maintained boat, and there was enough sheer pleasure in being on the water on a gold-and-silver morning to create a sensation of well-being. Also, he felt that his makeshift plans were succeeding quite well. He had radio contact with Emmy, and she had access to a telephone. He also had the two sailing yachts, Katie-Lou and Ocean Rover, well in view, while keeping far enough away not to attract their attention. He idled the motor and gave as good an imitation of fishing as could be done with no fishing tackle. His quarry had set sail due west, toward St. Matthew’s, with a light wind astern. For the moment, nobody else seemed to be on the water. Henry had only to wait.

  Bob Harrison’s jeep pulled up outside the boatyard at twenty past seven. He was still fiddling with the key in the padlock on the gate when Emmy came out of the office.

  “Mrs. Tibbett! How did you get in there?” Bob was genuinely astonished. “What’s happening, then? Pity about Katie-Lou’s motor going on the blink,” he added, with a grin and a wink.

  Emmy said, “I’m afraid things haven’t gone according to plan, Mr. Harrison.”

  “Bob.”

  “Sorry. Bob. They came into the yard last night in another boat, went aboard to check up, and found the engine wouldn’t work. They’ve been up all night repairing it, and they left at about half-past six.”

  “Did they indeed?” Bob had opened the gate and was now inside. “Left without paying and broken into the office, too, by the look of it.”

  “No,” Emmy said. “I’m afraid that was—”

  “Well, if they’re dangerous as well as dishonest, as Mr. Tibbett says, the thing to do is to go after’em,” said Bob. “Even if they’re motoring. They can’t do more than five or six knots with that little auxiliary. I’ll get Mark One—”

  “Bob,” said Emmy. “I’m trying to tell you. Henry’s already done that.”

  “Done what?”

  “He…we broke into your office, and Henry’s taken Mark One and gone after Katie-Lou.”

  Bob looked at her for a long moment, and Emmy was afraid that there might be an e
xplosion. Then he said, “Has he, then? Does he know how to manage her?”

  “He’s done a lot of boating,” Emmy said. “More sail than power, but he knows what he’s doing, and we’re in radio touch.”

  “You are?”

  “On your radio,” Emmy explained.

  “Thank you very much,” said Bob. “Perhaps you’d like to help yourself to my jeep and the petty cash while you’re about it?”

  “Bob, I—”

  This time there was an explosion, but it was in the form of a bellow of laughter. “It’s all right, my dear. Only joking. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me the whole story behind this, would you?”

  Emmy said, “I’d love to and I will. But you may not believe me.”

  “Try me,” said Bob.

  “O.K. Well, it’s like this… ”

  At the end of Emmy’s recital, Bob scratched his head and said, “I can believe it. Thousands wouldn’t, but I know these parts. A lot of youngsters here are getting…well, restless, like. The islands are too small for them, and they want a bit of excitement. Then there’s the drug bit—smoking and snorting and all. You can’t really blame the kids. They read about it and hear about it and it seems glamorous and the thing to do. But it didn’t happen here on its own. Someone’s behind it—someone with a lot of money.”

  “Organized crime,” said Emmy.

  “Well that wouldn’t make sense if it was just to get the youngsters here hooked on pot,” said Bob. “It’s been puzzling a lot of us, and your story makes sense of what’s going on.”

  “Of course,” Emmy said, “the big boys don’t appear down here. Too conspicuous. Their local representatives are the Montgomerys—”

  “What?” Bob was scandalized. “The Colonel? Everybody knows him—”

  “Exactly,” Emmy said. “I’m reasonably sure he was never a Colonel and I doubt if he’s even British. His wife certainly isn’t. They’ve built up a very pretty façade, and their boat can act as mother-ship on these smuggling operations without attracting attention. On the island, the chief contact is—”