Paradise Island

by Peter Guttridge

  ‘Somebody was murdered,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t either. And I’m not that interested in finding out. Did you kill somebody?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Well, I’m pretty sure that I didn’t. So can’t we just leave it?’

  Ruth did leave it, at least until the second carafe of wine.

  ‘How come there was broken glass in the bathroom?’

  ‘I knocked the bottle over – which reminds me I still haven’t paid you for that. Why do you ask?’

  Ruth didn’t know why. She just had this odd feeling.

  ‘There was blood on the bathroom floor,’ she said.

  ‘There would be. You cut your foot. How is it, by the way?’

  ‘It’s fine. Before I cut my foot. I could see smears of blood where it had been wiped up but not quite properly.’

  Barbara had tomato sauce at the edges of her mouth. Her tongue darted out to scoop it up. There was something reptilian about the gesture.

  ‘Cut my own foot,’ Barbara said, smiling.

  ‘You never mentioned it,’ Ruth said.

  Barbara picked up her fork again and stared at Ruth over the rim of her wine glass.

  ‘Hang on – what’s going on here? You think in the middle of my bath, in the middle of the night, I murdered someone. What? By severing their jugular with the broken limoncello bottle. Pray tell, who did I kill?’

  Ruth was stumbling towards something though she didn’t know what.

  ‘The bloke who showed us the house.’

  Barbara gave a theatrical double take.

  ‘And how would that come about exactly?’

  Ruth thought for a moment. Remembering the looks he was giving them both.

  ‘Didn’t you think he had an ulterior motive offering us that apartment?’ Ruth said.

  ‘Maybe,’ Barbara replied quickly.

  ‘What if he came back?’

  ‘Came back?’ Barbara said, taking a glug of her wine.

  Ruth was seeing it now.

  ‘He had his own key to the apartment – we didn’t bother about putting the bolts on the doors. He came in whilst you were in the bath. Tried it on…’

  ‘And what? I did a Modesty Blaise? Killed him with the limoncello bottle. Dragged his body out of the bathroom and disposed of it some place?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  Barbara laughed almost jeeringly.

  ‘Dream on, sister. I fell asleep in the bath. When I woke up I grabbed for the bottle and missed. Bottle broke. I cut myself in the course of cleaning it up. No other person coming in for sex – I wish – nobody else in our little apartment.’

  Ruth nodded.

  ‘Just a newspaper report of someone killed in a village pretty much like that one where two blonde hitchhikers had spent the night.’

  Barbara burst out laughing.

  ‘Yes – that’s funny, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hilarious.’

  Barbara put down her glass.

  ‘Ruth – what is going on with you? You really think I killed somebody? Jesus, sweetheart.’

  Ruth looked at Barbara’s open face. Could she really believe that of her?

  The weird thing is – maybe the British thing – was that they never talked about it after that. Ever. She’d seen a film classic years later. The Third Man. These guys up in the big wheel in Vienna, talking about death. And down below all these people who look like insects. Are you going to care if one of them stops existing? Did she care if that man she only remembered as a big moustache and a slightly dodgy demeanour didn’t exist any more?

  No, she didn’t care. But maybe she’d looked at Barbara in a different way after that.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wilson sat by Natasha’s front window watching Barbara’s house. He was wondering what the hit man, Mr Smith, was up to and where. He was wondering about Earwaker. He’d phoned the studio and there was some kind of fault on the line. He didn’t have anyone spare to send round there just at the moment.

  The back door creaked. It was hardly anything but he was listening for it.

  ‘I’m in the front, Johnny,’ he called. ‘No need to do a Mickey Rooney.’

  Finch came into the room followed by a medic. A competent guy. Tall and big-boned. Lester Somebody.

  ‘A Mickey Rooney?’ Finch said, scoping the room on instinct.

  ‘Movie term for a certain camera movement – a short creep.’

  Lester examined Wilson’s arm, Finch giving the Sheriff a questioning look.

  ‘The bullet just took a lump out of me.’

  ‘You get a shot off?’ Finch said.

  ‘Didn’t try.’

  Whilst the medic opened his bag, Finch peered through the window.

  ‘This hit and run idea of yours doesn’t make sense, Sheriff – with all due respect.’

  Wilson glanced at Lester. What the hell was his last name?

  ‘Well, I’m grateful for your respect, Johnny, and I’m inclined to agree with you. So I’m assuming they are here for some other purpose and rolling over Josie was an accident.’

  Finch glanced at the medic, who was holding a small glass capsule with clear liquid in it, then back at Wilson.

  ‘Some other purpose?’ Finch said.

  ‘I’m assuming.’

  ‘Do you want a shot of this before I clean you up, Sheriff?’ the medic said, tilting the capsule. ‘It works quick but it’ll dull you.’

  ‘Johnny here would be the first to tell you I’m dull enough, Lester. I’ll take the pain.’

  ‘Your call but it’s going to hurt like a bitch. The notch that bullet took out of you is too big to stitch up, especially in the field. Just going to clean it and put a patch on you.’

  Wilson nodded, his eyes still on Finch.

  ‘What are you thinking, Johnny?’

  ‘I’m thinking I need to get in there,’ Finch said.

  ‘Guns blazing?’

  ‘Of course not. Check it out.’

  ‘Natasha is in there. She is checking it out.’

  Finch glanced at the medic who was upending a different bottle of clear liquid on a cotton swab. Finch leaned in to Wilson:

  ‘No offence to your favourite deputy but if this were relocating an orphaned egret or clamping down on a wild turkey rampage she would be my first choice. Numero uno. But this isn’t her line of expertise, Sheriff. Plucky as she is. You know that.’

  Wilson grunted as Lester began cleaning the wound.

  ‘And this is yours? Hostage negotiator now, are you? Undercover cop? Subtle diplomatist? Any or all of the above apply?’

  Finch flushed.

  ‘I have my own areas of expertise, Sheriff.’ he said.

  ‘I’m still waiting for proof of that,’ Wilson said, sucking in air between his teeth. ‘And forgive me if I can’t see exactly how your particular skill set is going to be of use in Barbara’s house.’

  Finch looked down at his polished shoes and over at the medic, who was unrolling a bandage.

  ‘You almost done here, Lester?’ Finch said.

  ‘As you can see,’ Lester said. ‘Until the shooting starts again, of course. Which from the sounds of it is going to be pretty soon.’

  ‘You think I’m proposing going about this the wrong way?’ Finch said to him. Lester nodded as he wrapped the bandage over the dressing on Wilson’s arm.

  ‘Since you’re asking. Sheriff Wilson here seems to know what he’s doing.’

  ‘You don’t think I know what I’m doing?’

  ‘I’ve never seen any evidence of it.’

  Finch stepped back.

  ‘Well, I guess I know where we stand, Lester. I haven’t always been on this island you know.’

  ‘You’re not an islander?’ Lester said, without looking at him. ‘You don’t think maybe we knew that? But as I understand it your previous experience was as a dog-walker or some such in San Francisco. How’s t
hat qualify you?’

  ‘Stepping a little outside your remit aren’t you, doc?’ Finch said hotly. ‘Not sure putting on a bandage qualifies you for advising on advanced hostage negotiating. And for your information I was a cop in Santa Cruz.’

  Lester secured the bandage with a safety pin and turned to Finch. They were of a height.

  ‘Looking after a mall, the way I heard it.’

  Wilson’s voice was low and casual.

  ‘How are you planning on crashing the party, Johnny?’

  Johnny looked across at him.

  ‘Walk in through the back yard off the beach toting booze and a handgun.’

  Wilson shook his head.

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Well then I’m thinking we should call in the SWAT from Savannah-Chatham.’

  Wilson touched the bandage, shifted his arm gingerly, nodded his thanks to Lester.

  ‘We’re not calling the SWAT,’ he said. ‘Not yet, anyway.’

  Finch looked at him and looked across at the medic.

  ‘And that would be how come, Sheriff?’

  ‘That would be because I am the Law Enforcement Officer on this island. And what happens on the island stays on the island. We both have friends in that house and I don’t want them killed in some shoot-out between two sets of off-islanders.’

  Lester nodded agreement.

  ‘That may be but that’s also damned crazy,’ Finch said. ‘We deal with drunks and people riding their bicycles too fast. Maybe folk playing their music a little loud.’

  ‘What about last year?’

  ‘Last year was a one-off,’ Finch said.

  ‘And you’re the guy who wants a job on the mainland? You think the SWAT are going to give you a look-in without experience?’ Wilson leaned back. ‘We do this our way and you’re a hero.’

  Finch looked at his boss then at his boots then back at Wilson.

  ‘You’re saying you’re doing this for me? My career development? With all due respect, sir: B-S.’

  Wilson gave him a hard look and a small smile.

  ‘We sort it,’ he said, ‘and it’s a first class ticket for you to Atlanta or Charlotteville or wherever you want to go.’

  Finch frowned then glanced at the medic.

  ‘Miami. I want to be a cop in Miami.’

  The medic snorted.

  ‘Then you’re even crazier than I thought,’ Wilson said. ‘But okay. So you’re in?’

  ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘Damned if I know.’

  ‘Sheriff Wilson…’

  ‘It’s evolving.’

  Finch started walking out of the room. He called back:

  ‘You’ll let me know when we’re walking erect?’

  Natasha Innocent mind was swirling. She’d heard mention of a woman being injured. Josie was supposed to be at the party but hadn’t shown by the time the intruders burst in. Might she be the injured woman?

  She looked at their captors. Donny was back by the stereo. He pulled Blondie’s album out of the few he’d left on the kitchen counter.

  ‘She’s a hot bitch, I tell you,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘She was here, that mouth would be working overtime.’

  Karen raised her eyes at Chris. He looked grim as he kept his own eye on the yard and the beach beyond. Innocent knew what they were both thinking. What a fuck-up. Karen sensed her watching and looked her way. Innocent gave a little smile. Karen didn’t smile back but seemed to ponder her before looking away.

  Heart of Glass boomed out of the big Bose speakers. Catchy but very loud.

  ‘Turn that down,’ Chris called to Donny. Donny cupped a hand to his ear and shrugged.

  ‘Donny,’ Jimmy said.

  Donny turned it down a fraction.

  Phoebe stood.

  ‘I need to go to the bathroom.’

  Chris raised his eyes.

  ‘Take her,’ he said to Karen.

  The two women left the room.

  ‘Like art do you?’ Haddon shouted across to Chris. The yoga teacher had some colour back in his face now.

  Chris scarcely reacted but the two other men jerked round to look at him then at each other. The others on the sofa frowned. Chris flicked a glance at Karen as she came back into the room with Phoebe, whose hair hung in wet strands either side of her face.

  Innocent thought Chris was the most dangerous but he was also the most controlled. She stood and took a step towards him. The skinny man lifted his chin and his gun at her.

  ‘Have you had an accident with a woman?’ she said.

  ‘What’s happening in there?’ Wilson said to Lester.

  ‘Sounds like the party is in full swing.’

  ‘That’s what worries me,’ Wilson said. He went to the phone.

  The music boomed down the phone when it was picked up.

  ‘Yes?’ Karen’s voice, struggling to be heard.

  ‘We got noise nuisance legislation in force on this island,’ Wilson shouted back.

  ‘Say again?’ Karen said.

  ‘Turn the goddamn music down!’ Wilson said.

  The music continued on the line for another thirty seconds or so then Karen’s voice was in his ear, surprisingly intimate.

  ‘That better, hombre?’

  ‘Much. What’s going on?’

  ‘Same old, same old,’ Karen said. ‘How’s your arm?’

  ‘Hurts. Look, have you reached any decisions yet?’

  ‘Still waiting on that bus.’

  ‘It’s not coming. You need to get your head clear on that.’

  ‘Then you’d better start digging graves, Sheriff.’

  ‘You kill your hostages and then what?’

  ‘You’re willing to play chicken with other people’s lives? That’s awfully brave of you.’

  ‘I repeat: you kill your hostages and then what? You and your friends are still besieged in the house.’

  ‘Besieged – nice word. Makes me feel queen of the castle.’

  ‘You’re the queen of a sandcastle, ma’am – and the tides coming in. You have no way off the island. I repeat: no way. You’d be doing yourself a favour if you gave up now. It would go better for you.’

  ‘You’d let the charges slide?’

  ‘I didn’t say that but at the moment your main thing is being accessory to a hit and run. The woman’s alive. She’s holding on –’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  Wilson paused for a moment.

  ‘I believe you. I don’t know what we can do about this current situation but if it ends before it gets any worse maybe there’s leeway.’

  ‘Kidnapping is a federal offence. When do the feds arrive?’

  Wilson was silent for a moment.

  ‘I haven’t called them in yet,’ he admitted.

  Finch gave him a sharp look.

  ‘The SWAT, then? I doubt you have a team on the island.’

  ‘A few wannabes,’ Wilson said, returning Finch’s look. ‘We have two SWAT teams we can call on though.’

  It was Karen’s turn to be silent. Wilson could hear the music in the background. Then:

  ‘Sheriff – I do believe you’re breaking a law there. Why ever would you do that?’

  ‘We look after our own here,’ he said. ‘But if you don’t start shifting your position soon the FBI will invite itself in. The new director, William Webster, is riding high on capturing one of their Ten Most Wanted – killer called Ted Bundy.’

  ‘I heard it was a traffic cop pulled him over and the local cops who made the collar.’

  ‘When has the truth ever got in the way of the FBI blowing its own trumpet?’ Wilson said. ‘Anyways – guy is on a roll and would, I’m sure, be happy to roll over you.’

  ‘You’re a complicated character, I can tell that, Sheriff. But the decisions in here aren’t mine alone.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got your husband round your little finger.’

  ‘That’s as maybe but I wasn’t thinking of him.’

  Wilson
looked across at the house.

  ‘Oh, you mean Quick Draw McGraw.’

  ‘And the other Osmond.’

  ‘Say again?’

  ‘I promise we’ll keep the noise down, Sheriff. At least until we start shooting people.’

  Wilson looked at the phone, then at Lester. What was this woman up to? He didn’t think for one moment that she would shoot a hostage but the punk was capable of that and probably worse. Was she afraid of the punk so she was trying to help Wilson?

  The Other Osmond. So there were two guys with the names of the Osmonds. Natasha had mentioned someone called Jimmy. Wasn’t he an Osmond?

  ‘Finch,’ he shouted. Finch slouched in from the kitchen. Wilson looked at him and Lester.

  ‘Is Jimmy Osmond an Osmond?’

  Lester shrugged.

  ‘Outside my area of expertise, Sheriff.’

  ‘Run that by me again,’ Finch said.

  ‘What are the first names of The Osmonds?’

  ‘And I would know this why?’ Finch said.

  ‘You’re younger than me.’

  ‘Sheriff – this has to do with our situation how?’

  ‘Humour me, Johnny.’

  ‘Little Jimmy Osmond – sure, the chubby kid. Then there’s Marie and, I don’t know…Wayne? And Donny, the one the teenyboppers go crazy for.’

  ‘I think we can discount Marie,’ Wilson said. ‘Call dispatch. Ask them to request information on a couple of lowlifes called Donny and Jimmy. Donny being about six six and built like a brick outhouse with a punk head of hair – though I don’t know how long he’s had that.’

  ‘Last name Osmond?’

  ‘Somehow I doubt that.’

  ‘Prints?’

  Wilson thought for a moment. Laughed.

  ‘Some policeman I am. The white van. Where’s the white van?’

  ‘Abandoned somewhere.’

  ‘Somewhere near Barbara’s, otherwise why are they in that particular house? Natasha’s house was empty, for God’s sake, with a car in the drive. They could have holed up here – except you can’t conceal a vehicle because she has no drive leading round the back. I’m willing to bet you that white van is round the back of Barbara’s. And with luck it’s full of prints.’