1970 - There's a Hippie on the Highway

by James Hadley Chase

  ‘Well, okay, if you’re sure.’

  He spent a few minutes helping her put on her aqualung and then put on his own, then the belts with the nylon cord. There was seven feet of cord, and as they stood side by side, poised to dive into the lagoon, the cord made a loop of slack between them.

  He signaled and they both dived.

  Concealed against the rock face, his fat back against the wall, Fernando Cortez watched them dive, then he started down the path that led to the rock platform.

  Harry swam slowly, not exerting himself, constantly looking to see that Nina was keeping close to him. He was relieved to see she swam well. She pointed and he changed direction, then he saw a big opening in the rock face, well below the surface. She came close, touched his arm and pointed again.

  Harry became aware that the current was getting stronger. He headed towards the opening, lengthening his stroke as the current began to force him against the side of the rock wall. Nina kept close to him. There was no drag on the cord between them.

  With a few more powerful strokes he was in the tunnel. He felt the water turning colder. The current was running hard against him and he looked back to see how Nina was getting on. He could see she was struggling now and swimming hard and only just keeping up with him. The moment he slackened his stroke, he lost ground and was swept back abreast of her. He decided he had to exert his strongest effort if they were to get through the tunnel before he became exhausted.

  He put on pressure and shot off, the cord tightening, dragging at him as Nina tried unsuccessfully to keep up with him. He kept on, towing her, cutting through the current, feeling his heart, under the strain, begin to hammer.

  Minutes dragged by and his pace became slower. Without Nina acting as a brake, he knew he would have reached the end of the tunnel by now, and he began to wonder if they would make it. The drag on the rope increased, telling him that Nina had reached the end of her strength. He could see nothing. He was swimming in complete darkness. He now had only two alternatives: to keep going or to turn and let the current sweep them back into the lagoon. He wasn’t going back, he told himself and he made a racing effort, drawing on the reserve all great athletes keep for an emergency like this.

  After a grinding, heart hammering two hundred yard fight, he suddenly felt the current slacken and he knew they were through the tunnel. He surfaced into a soft blue light and he pulled out his mouthpiece and lifted his goggles.

  He floated on his back, panting, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal, seeing Nina bob to the surface a yard or so from him.

  ‘I thought you weren’t going to make it,’ she said breathlessly as she lifted her mask.

  Harry shook the water out of his eyes.

  ‘Nor did I.’

  He looked around the grotto with its phosphorescent walls and water. Over to his right, he was startled to see a forty foot launch, painted white, its cockpit red. Clearly painted on her prow was her name: Gloria II Vero Beach.

  ‘Did you know this launch was in here?’ he asked, turning to Nina.

  ‘Know?’ She shook her head, splashing water into his face as her wet hair made a swinging flail. ‘Of course not! It’s not from Paradise City. It must be a smuggler’s boat that got trapped in here by the tide.’

  ‘You think that’s what it is?’

  ‘It’s from Vero Beach.’

  Harry undid the knot on his belt, releasing the cord that held them together, then he swam fast to the launch. He swam around it, seeing the portholes of the cabin were smashed, seeing neat rows of bullet holes, like stitching, along the gunnel.

  Nina joined him.

  ‘She’s been in a fight,’ she said. ‘Let’s get aboard.’

  Harry swam around the stern, found a hanging rope and hauled himself onto the deck. He helped Nina to come aboard. What looked like stains of dark red paint marked the deck and when they reached the cockpit, the dark stains were everywhere.

  ‘That’s blood,’ Harry said. ‘Looks as if the crew was wiped out. I’ll look in the cabin. You’d better stay here.’

  ‘I want to see.’

  He turned and regarded her.

  ‘You’re not squeamish, are you, Nina?’

  Her eyes narrowed.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I said you’re not squeamish are you?’

  She shrugged impatiently.

  ‘Blood doesn’t frighten me if that’s what you mean.’ She began to climb out of the cockpit but he caught hold of her arm and pulled her back.

  ‘Wait a minute, Nina. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘We can talk in the sun . . . later. I want to see what’s in the cabin.’

  ‘Don’t you know? Tell me something, Nina, were you watching when Solo and Cortez held Baldy Riccard’s foot in a fire?’

  She stiffened. For a brief moment he saw a flash of vicious anger come into her eyes, but it was instantly gone.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘You know,’ Harry said quietly. ‘Under torture, Baldy told Solo this launch was trapped in here, didn’t he?’

  ‘It’s not your business, is it, Harry?’ Her voice was harsh and cold.

  ‘It wouldn’t have been my business if you hadn’t involved me,’ Harry said. He sat on the bench seat, took from his trunks a plastic case containing his cigarettes and lighter. He offered her a cigarette.

  She hesitated, then shrugging, took a cigarette and accepted a light. She leaned against the steering wheel, the cigarette between her lips while she regarded him.

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it, Nina?’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘When Randy telephoned Solo, telling him he had run into me who was an expert swimmer and we were heading to Paradise City by highway 1, he did some quick thinking, didn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Nina said, her eyes like chips of ice.

  ‘Yes, you do.’ Harry took a long drag at his cigarette. ‘Solo and you set me up for your patsy, didn’t you? It was you, wearing the anti-dazzle goggles, the white scarf, with the story you were taking a caravan to Miami, who planted Baldy’s body on Randy and me. Your outfit is still in the locker of Solo’s boat. You should have got rid of it. That was careless of you. You gave yourself to me because it was the easiest way you could think of to get me to pilot you into this grotto. That’s it, isn’t it?’

  ‘I loved your lovemaking, Harry.’ She moved her body suggestively. ‘Don’t be so suspicious. Suppose we make love now?’

  He flicked his cigarette into the water, got out of the cockpit and walked along the deck to the cabin. After a moment’s hesitation, she trailed along after him.

  He pushed open the splintered door of the cabin and peered into the semi-darkness. It took him some moments for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom, then he saw on one of the berths four wooden boxes: each a foot by a foot and a half in size. He went down the few steps into the cabin and examined the boxes. They were secured by cord. As he unclipped his knife from his belt, Nina said hastily, ‘Don’t open them, Harry. The way they are packed now they’re watertight. We can swim them out.’

  ‘So you knew the boxes were here?’

  She arched her shoulders as if she were trying to contain her impatience.

  ‘Yes, I knew.’

  ‘Baldy told you?’

  Her hands turned to fists.

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘What’s in them?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘How much.’

  ‘I don’t know . . . a lot.’ She lifted her full breasts and rearranged her bra. ‘Don’t worry, Harry. Solo is going to share it all with you.’

  ‘Is he? That’s nice.’

  Harry lifted one of the boxes. It was heavy.

  ‘These won’t float.’

  She pointed to a locker.

  ‘There are life jackets in there. We can tie one to each box and then we can swim them out. The current is with us on our way out.’ />
  Harry smiled. ‘You really have thought this operation out, haven’t you, Nina?’

  ‘So, all right, I’ve thought it out!’ She was again trying to conceal her impatience. ‘Let’s get going, Harry.’

  ‘Not yet. There’s a question I want to ask.’ He moved forward so he was close to her. ‘Who is the passenger with us in the locked cabin, Nina? Solo or Cortez?’

  * * *

  Solo was in his office when Joe came in, his big eyes rolling.

  ‘Boss, the cops are here.’

  This came as no surprise to Solo. It surprised him they hadn’t come sooner. Instead of spending his Sunday morning in bed as he usually did, he got up early and had been awaiting their arrival for the past hour.

  He wasn’t worried. He was sure Lepski didn’t know who had knocked him cold. Solo had crept up on him like a ghost, and he knew Lepski had been far too occupied with Cortez to have the slightest suspicion. All the same he knew there would be an inquiry and awkward questions asked about Cortez.

  ‘Show them in, Joe,’ he said, getting to his feet.

  As Beigler and Lepski came into the office, Joe moved around them and hurried away. Solo smiled expansively. ‘Come right in, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Ah, Mr. Lepski! How are you this morning? Very sorry about last night. I got my man to see you home . . . very sorry.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Lepski said, moving into the office. Beigler remained by the door. He had agreed that Lepski should handle the interview. ‘And you’re going to be a lot more sorry, Solo.’

  Solo lost some of his smile.

  ‘Now, Mr. Lepski, you know it wasn’t my fault. You know, honestly, you had just a little drop . . .’

  ‘Shut up!’ Lepski snarled. ‘Sit down!’

  Seeing the ferocious expression in Lepski’s eyes, Solo, now a little uneasy, sat down.

  ‘Where’s Harry Mitchell?’ Lepski demanded.

  Solo blinked. This he wasn’t expecting.

  ‘Mitchell? Maybe in his cabin . . . maybe swimming . . . I don’t know. It’s his day off.’

  ‘I heard it Mitchell is with your daughter on Sheldon Island,’ Lepski said.

  Solo shifted and his eyes turned misty.

  ‘No. I don’t know who told you that, Mr. Lepski, but Nina only goes to Sheldon on her own. Because she likes to be on her own on the island from time to time, I let her have my boat.’

  ‘Are you telling me Mitchell isn’t right now with her on the island?’

  ‘Of course he isn’t!’

  ‘But your daughter is?’

  ‘Yes . . . she took the boat.’

  ‘What makes you so sure Mitchell isn’t with her, Solo?’

  ‘I saw her leave. She was alone! She wouldn’t take Mitchell or any man out there on her own. She’s a good girl!’

  Lepski grinned evilly.

  ‘Are you sure about that, Solo?’

  Blood rushed into Solo’s face.

  ‘You watch your mouth, Mr. Lepski! I won’t hear a word against my daughter! Against me . . . okay, but against her . . . no!’

  ‘Fine. Take it easy, Solo. So we don’t have to get worried, huh?’

  ‘What you mean? Get worried . . . about what, hey?’

  ‘We were getting worried about your daughter, Solo,’ Lepski said. ‘We got a tip she had gone out to Sheldon with Mitchell and it sounded like a good tip, but as you know he isn’t on the island, then we don’t have to worry, do we? We needn’t have come rushing out here with four of our boys. We could have stayed home.’

  Solo clenched his big fists.

  ‘I don’t understand . . . worried about what?’

  Lepski turned to Beigler.

  ‘Think we should tell him, Sarg?’

  Beigler shrugged indifferently.

  ‘I don’t see why,’ he said. ‘If Mitchell isn’t out there with his kid, I don’t see what business it is of his, do you?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Lepski nodded. ‘Not his business.’

  ‘What is all this, hey? What is it?’ Solo demanded, banging his fists on his desk.

  ‘But, of course, if he is lying and Mitchell is out there, then it could be rough on the girl,’ Lepski said, ignoring Solo.

  ‘He’s too smart to lie to us,’ Beigler said, staring at Solo. ‘Aren’t you, Solo?’

  Solo took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweating face.

  ‘I don’t understand, Sergeant. I – I . . .’

  ‘We’re wasting time,’ Lepski snapped. Where’s Mitchell’s cabin?’

  ‘What do you want him for?’ Solo asked.

  ‘What do you know about him, Solo?’

  ‘Me? Nothing . . . he’s a fine swimmer . . . a nice guy . . . I . . .’

  ‘How do you know he’s a nice guy?’

  Solo licked his dry lips.

  ‘He - he acts nice . . . what is it?’

  ‘You didn’t make any inquiries about him before you hired him?’

  Solo stiffened.

  ‘No. Inquiries? What inquiries?’

  ‘You mean you hired him as a lifeguard without checking on him?’ Lepski said, his face expressing amazement. ‘A lifeguard teaches swimming, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Sure . . . why not? Is there something wrong in teaching swimming?’

  ‘Mitchell gave swimming lessons, huh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Young girls, huh? Handling them in the sea, huh?’

  ‘He gave them swimming lessons.’ Solo’s voice was husky now.

  ‘If a guy’s right, then it’s okay, but if he isn’t right, it’s dangerous, isn’t it?’ Lepski said. ‘A kinky guy gets his hands where they shouldn’t go, Solo. I don’t have to tell you that. Girls can’t complain. It could be an accident, but the hands are there, aren’t they?’

  ‘But Harry isn’t like that!’

  ‘Isn’t he? How do you know? You didn’t make inquiries?’

  Solo got to his feet. He looked like a bull with the pics in.

  ‘What are you telling me?’

  Lepski took out his wallet, produced the Telex and dropped it on the desk.

  ‘Washington says Sergeant Harry Mitchell, 3rd Paratroop Regiment, 1st Company was killed in action on April 2nd 1967. Read it for yourself. That’s official: straight from Washington where they don’t make mistakes!’

  Beigler coughed and hid a grin by lighting a cigarette.

  With a shaking hand, Solo picked up the flimsy, read the message, then stared at Lepski.

  ‘How do you know your lifeguard is Mitchell?’

  Solo flinched.

  ‘If he isn’t Mitchell . . . who is he?’

  ‘Now, Solo, you’re beginning to act intelligent.’ Lepski paused to light a cigarette while he stared at Solo with his hard, cop eyes. ‘Yeah . . . that’s a good question. Who is he? Maybe if you had made inquiries about him you wouldn’t be asking that question now. Have you ever heard of Dave Donahue?’

  Solo shook his head. His face was bewildered.

  ‘You haven’t huh? You don’t read the newspapers? You’ve heard of the Boston Strangler?’

  Solo gulped.

  ‘Yes . . . but . . .’

  ‘Well, Donahue is like him: a sex killer. He escaped from the Sherwin Institute for the Criminally Insane three weeks ago. It had a full coverage in the press, but then you’re too busy running this joint to read newspapers, aren’t you, Solo? The newspapers published a description. Donahue is a big man, blond, pale blue eyes, a badly set broken nose, around thirty years of age. One time he was a pro fighter. He was also a swimmer: won a bronze medal for diving.’

  Solo’s legs collapsed under him. He groped for his chair and sank into it.

  ‘That’s Mitchell!’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Washington says Mitchell’s dead. That’s Dave Donahue, a dangerous, cunning sex maniac. He’s already killed three young girls. He’s as nutty as a fruit cake and when he gets a girl to himself he really gives her the treatment. When he’s through with her, he cuts her up.’
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  With sweat streaming off his face, Solo lumbered to his feet.

  He started across the office to the door. Both Lepski and Beigler tried to stop him, but it was like trying to stop a charging bull. He swept them aside and rushed out into the open where four of Beigler’s biggest and toughest patrolmen were waiting.

  They got him back into the office again but only after clubbing him half silly. They slammed him down in his chair and drew back, panting.

  Lepski winked at Beigler, then took up his stand in front of Solo who was holding his head in his hands, moaning to himself.

  ‘What’s the fuss about, Solo?’ Lepski demanded. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

  Solo lifted his head and stared blearily at the four cops, then wrung his hands.

  ‘Let me go to my little girl, Mr. Lepski,’ he pleaded. ‘She’s with Mitchell . . . I was stupid to lie to you. Let me go to her.’

  ‘How are you getting to Sheldon, Solo . . . you swimming?’

  ‘I’ll get a boat . . . I’ll . . .’ Solo stopped, realising it would take some time to get a boat big enough to reach Sheldon.

  ‘We’ve got a boat, Solo,’ Lepski said. ‘You want a ride?’

  Solo got unsteadily to his feet. His head felt as if it could burst at any second.

  ‘What are we waiting for? That sonofabitch could have killed her by now! What are we waiting for?’

  ‘You don’t get a ride until you sing, Solo,’ Lepski said, and smiled his evil smile. ‘I mean that. I want the whole Baldy story. I want to know why Mitchell is on Sheldon with Nina. I want to know where Cortez is and how he figures in this setup.’

  Solo glared at him.

  ‘I don’t know anything about Baldy! I told you!’

  ‘That’s too bad.’ Beigler turned to Lepski. ‘How about some coffee? This is a restaurant isn’t it?’

  ‘Good idea.’ Lepski turned to one of the cops. ‘Get some coffee organised. We could be here all the morning.’

  ‘We’re wasting time!’ Solo shouted frantically. ‘He could be killing her!’

  ‘Well, if he does, you have only yourself to blame,’ Lepski said. ‘You don’t leave here until you sing, Solo, so make up your goddamn mind!’

  Solo writhed with impotent rage.