“Sure,” I agreed, “we thought the corpse was Herb Nelson. But he didn’t know we thought this until the next morning when he saw the headlines. So, after the murder, he went to his friend, Sam Aces, and pleaded for help and Sam hid Herb aboard Hell’s Light.
“And then Seaman Carruthers was created when they realized a mistake had been made.”
“Right. Being an old-time actor, Herb knew plenty about make-up and he developed a most convincing character. When the Catalina voyage began, he probably told Sam he’d keep a watchful eye on Swanson. From there he embarked on a warped, neurotic plan—to murder Sam Aces and have Swanson swing for the crime.”
“But, Honey, that doesn’t make sense. Sam was his friend.”
“Mark, we’re talking about a man who’d hit the very bottom—narcotics, murder. The needle was his only friend.”
“All right, where’d he go from there?”
“He stole my gun out of Sam’s stateroom and was planning to shoot Aces through the bathroom window, but somebody caught him off-guard.”
“Who?”
“My guess is Ann Claypool. Herb was probably in the corridor checking the angle of the shot when she came along. He left the gun in the window and ran thinking she’d seen everything. But it’s my hunch Ann wasn’t in the least suspicious.”
“You think he killed her because he was afraid she’d seen him with the gun?”
“Yes.”
“But, Honey, how do you explain Caine’s thumbprints on her neck?”
“Sam Aces verified the fact that Ann Claypool told Rod to meet Swanson at his island cabin. I believe Rod’s story. But it was probably Nelson we heard running outside on deck that night. Rod went to Ann’s cabin. Meanwhile, Herb came back to my window. I caught him, so he pre tended to be bringing me the breakaway knife he’d used earlier on Meeler.”
“But, why the devil did he murder Joe Meeler?”
“Because Meeler must have been on deck when Danny Marble arrived with the Clementine. Nelson saw what Meeler saw—Danny tying up the cruiser and swimming away. He knew, also, that if the police tracked down Marble they’d find Aces. And he couldn’t trust that the trail wouldn’t lead to him. Somehow he got Meeler into the bar. He’d probably planned to show Joe that break away and then, when nobody was looking, give him the real thing he’d taken from the kitchen. But we made it easy for him.”
“What do you mean?” Mark demanded.
“Remember, we arrived back here with Chief Clements and everyone came out on deck? That’s when Herb plunged the real knife into Meeler. Then he wiped off his own prints, put Joe’s hands on the weapon and escaped through a trapdoor behind the bar.”
Mark wiped his big hands across his eyes. “Okay, I’ll buy it. What about Claypool?”
“After he left my cabin he went back to Ann’s door. He probably heard the windup of the fight between her and Rod and sensed the opportunity. He waited until she’d undressed and climbed into her bath. Then, he slipped in, struggled with her and finally pushed her under the water.”
“That explains the coroner’s verdict,” Mark said. “Where do we go from there?”
“It’s pretty obvious Nelson planted the arsenic in Decker’s suitcase. Why he did it we’ll probably never know. Evidently he was the one who picked up Decker’s luggage that morning and carried it down to the float. When you discovered the poison he must have been afraid Max, under severe questioning, might recall who had the best opportunity to make the plant. So, after Max’s disappearance, Herb found out where he was and sent that phony note about Swanson wanting to see him at the chimes tower at four.”
“So, he maneuvered Swanson to the tower using the same excuse and left Aces alone at the house.”
“Right. He also sent a note to Rod Caine claiming my life was in danger, hoping to lure him into Avalon.
“Smart,” Mark said, rapping his knuckles on the rail. “But, look, this is four o’clock in the afternoon. How could he hope to pull this thing off in broad daylight?”
“The storm, Lieutenant, remember? It was raining so hard you could hardly see your hand in front of your face.”
“Okay,” Mark said. “He hung Decker, then took Swan son to the edge of the cliff and shot him. Then what?”
“He returned to the house where he’d left Aces and put a bullet in Sam’s back.”
“Then it’s true,” Mark murmured. “Aces never really knew who shot him.”
I said, “He didn’t know what had happened until we told him Decker and Swanson were dead and he saw Herb come into the room. Then he realized the truth, but it was too late.”
“What do you figure he did after he left Aces in the house in Avalon?”
“He must have been badly in need of a fix. He went to the Villa looking for Danny Marble, saw Danny and his girlfriend coming out of my cabin and figured he’d find some caps inside.
“And while he was rummaging around,” Mark continued, “you came back and he clipped you with the butt of his gun.”
“That’s the way I see it. From there he headed for Hell’s Light where he guessed Sam had a big supply of heroin stashed away. He finally tried the storeroom, tore into several cases and found some caps.”
“I’m with you now,” Mark said. “Then Lori, also needing a pop, came wandering on the scene.”
“Right. I don’t know how he managed it, but he got her into a boat and over to Caine’s island cabin where they apparently had a small blasting party which wound up with Lori dead.”
Mark took out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one. “It all adds up, Honey,” he said, staring blankly at the distant island.
“Does it, Mark? Does it add up?” I leaned over the railing and watched the sea push up against the polished white hull of the yacht. “Eight people are dead and for what?”
“Don’t ask me,” Mark said faintly. “I told you this was a rotten business. It squeezes your guts right down to nothing.”
“Yeah,” I said, taking a deep breath.
I walked toward the bow. The wind was cool. It whistled strangely in my ears. It sounded like laughter. Wild, unreasoning laughter that wouldn’t stop.
I began to run.
Suddenly I remembered that laughter. It was the laughter of a little girl with blonde curls sitting in a dark motion-picture theater. The laughter of a little girl for a great comedian, for a man who’d always made people happy, a man everyone had loved. A man who’d been such a genuine humorist that at the peak of his career he’d predicted that, come what may, he’d have the last laugh.
I ran to the bow of the yacht and I threw my hands over my ears, but I could still hear it. Only now it wasn’t my laughter any more, it was Herb Nelson’s. His wild, maniacal laughter. And I suddenly knew his prediction had come true.
Herb Nelson had had the last laugh. Even if it killed him.
This Girl for Hire Page 16