Right now the barrister was at my side, champagne glass in hand, his boyish face broken by a half-smile. “I guess there’s no stopping that client of ours.”
“Actually,” I said, “my real client is Nancy Oakes de Marigny—but there’s no stopping her, either.”
Higgs chuckled. Then he turned somber. “I talked to Ernest just before we left. He’s checking into that matter.”
“I told you what I thought I heard.”
He shook his head dismissively. “It’s preposterous. The jury has no such authority.”
“It was just a recommendation, Higgs. Christ, I’m not even sure I heard him right.”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
“Mr. Heller!”
It was Nancy.
I went to her, smiled, raised my champagne glass to her; she smiled at me sweetly, with those lush red lips that any man would kill for, even if de Marigny hadn’t.
“You’re a fabulous private eye,” she said.
“That’s what my business card says.”
“Oh, you. Listen…I know this isn’t the appropriate time, but we simply have to talk.”
“Well…all right.”
I walked over to a corner where we found two comfortable if modern-looking chairs beneath a glowering Inca mask.
“I owe you some money,” she said.
“Never mind that right now.”
“You more than used up the retainer Daddy gave you.”
“Not by much. Mostly I have a few expenses, but hell—you put me up at Shangri La. How often does a hired hand get housing like this?”
She touched my arm; her large brown eyes were luminous. They reminded me of Marjorie’s. “This isn’t over.”
“It isn’t?”
“You know it isn’t. My father’s killer is still at large. Until whoever killed Daddy is brought to justice, there will still be people who think Freddie did it.”
I shrugged. “He’s innocent. The jury thinks so, even Len’s lie detector thinks so. And you and I know so.”
Her eyes were getting wet. “Yes. But that’s not enough. The murderer or murderers should be found. Don’t you think?”
“That’s how I generally prefer it, when I work a murder case.”
“And Mr. Heller—Nate—my mother is still convinced Fred is guilty.”
“I thought you two had reconciled.”
“We’re trying. But until she’s convinced of Freddie’s innocence, it will never be the same between us. Now that Daddy’s gone, I need the rest of my family. A lie detector test isn’t enough to sway her. Find out who did it.”
I sighed. “I’ve been away from home a long time, Nancy.”
Her strong chin was trembling. “You and I both know that so very much of the evidence you uncovered didn’t find its way into court. Now the authorities are without a suspect.”
I thought about how handcuffed I’d been in my inquiries; I remembered Lindop telling me, reluctantly, that it would be “improper to look elsewhere for a culprit, until or unless the person so charged is acquitted.” Well, Freddie was free, wasn’t he?
“What do you want me to do?”
She smiled firmly; gripped my forearm. “Stay on awhile. Gather more evidence if you like, but at the very least, present the rest of your evidence to the Nassau police. Tell them how Daddy actually died by gunshot, how the bug sprayer was the blowtorch, how Harold Christie is connected to Meyer Lansky, how Lansky’s bodyguards fit the description of the men at Lyford Cay—”
“Whoa! Nancy. You don’t have to tell me. I know all that, and more.”
“Will you do it?”
I sighed again. “I’ll give it a week. Same rate?”
She looked down. “Well…I’m afraid that might not be possible. I know it seems absurd for Sir Harry Oakes’ daughter to cry poor mouth, but at this point, my funds are limited….”
“Fifty a day and expenses.”
Her expression melted into a smile; she kissed me on the lips. It was just a friendly little kiss, but I tell you, she would have been easy to fall for.
Her husband walked over and joined us. We stood and he was smiling, but it looked a little strained.
“Fred! I’m so thrilled. Mr. Heller has agreed to stay on.”
His lips smiled, but his forehead frowned. “Stay on?”
“Yes—he’s going to keep investigating Daddy’s death.”
De Marigny looked mystified. “Why?”
“Well…because somebody has to!”
“My sweet, you’re probably right that the Nassau police won’t investigate,” he said, one eyebrow arched casually. “My guess is that they view the case closed.”
“That’s exactly why we have to pursue it!”
He seemed almost drowsy. “Your father’s murder has twenty or thirty angles—could have been blackmail, for instance, or bad business dealings. It’s the sort of case that could take forever and still never be solved.”
“But we have to try…”
“I owe a debt of thanks to Mr. Heller,” he said, almost as if I wasn’t there, “but he is expensive. I don’t know if we can afford him.”
“He’s lowered his rate,” she said, almost pleadingly.
“Well, my dear…it’s up to you, I suppose.”
“Freddie,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Don’t you care who killed the old boy? Don’t you have a theory yourself, after all we’ve been through?”
“I have no idea who did it,” he said blandly. “It might have been Harold Christie or some crazed native or God knows who. All I know is, it wasn’t me. Anyway, you must remember, Heller—I wasn’t tried for the murder of Sir Harry Oakes.”
“Oh?”
He slipped his arm around her shoulder; it was a gesture at once affectionate and condescending. She looked at him with wide, hurt eyes.
“I was tried for marrying Sir Harry’s daughter,” he said.
He kissed her forehead. “If you’ll excuse me, darling…I should mingle with our friends….”
We watched him as he made a trio of the Marquis and his teenage cutie and the three were laughing and drinking within seconds.
“Please stay on,” Nancy said with quiet, desperate urgency. “I can get the money.”
I took one of her hands in two of mine and pressed. “I already said I would.”
She hugged me.
Higgs was coming back into the room; I hadn’t seen him go. But his face was white and grave.
“Excuse me!” he said, working his voice up above the laughter and chatter. “I have some unfortunate news to share with you….”
A hush settled and we all gathered around the somber lawyer.
“In the excitement, no one…with the exception of our keen-eyed and sharp-eared investigator, Mr. Heller…heard the foreman of the jury’s full statement. I have inquired as to the contents of that statement. It seems that after announcing the not-guilty verdict, the foreman read the jury’s recommendation that Alfred de Marigny and Georges de Visdelou be deported from the Bahamas forthwith.”
Gasps of horror filled the room, and de Marigny, frowning, coldly indignant, said, “They have no jurisdiction to do so!”
“You’re right,” Higgs said, “and we can fight this. Unfortunately…”
“Unfortunately?” de Marigny asked.
“Ernest Callender did some asking around—and, while we must consider that tension runs high right now, the word is that this recommendation is one that the Governor is likely to act upon.”
The Duke of Windsor would have his way after all.
“Apparently,” Higgs said hollowly, “they intend to act upon violations of yours regarding the rationing of petrol.”
De Visdelou looked like he might weep; de Marigny stared at the floor, a glazed smile on the sensuous lips, while Nancy hugged his arm supportively.
A funereal pall fell across the little party, and people began to drift away, stopping to express both their congratulations
and condolences to the de Marignys.
Before she and Freddie left, Nancy said to me, painfully earnest, “I may have to leave this island—but you’re going to stay! Right?”
“Right,” I said.
An hour later, I was sitting on the couch in my cottage, feet on the coffee table, when I heard the key being worked in the lock of my side door; my shapely landlord, wearing high heels, panties and a nasty little smile, was bringing yet another bottle of champagne around.
“Nightcap?” she asked. She had two glasses in one hand.
“Sure.” I hadn’t really had much.
Di was a little giggly, but not really drunk. She sat in my lap and put her tongue halfway down my throat and nibbled my ear and nuzzled my neck.
“I travel,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“I travel. Even get to Chicago, from time to time. I’ll come see you….”
“That would be nice. But I understand full well that we’re just…a summer romance.”
“Oh, we’re more than that, Heller.”
“Good. Marry me, then. Bring your money.”
“You are so bad. You know I’m not exactly the house wife type. You’ll need another kind of girl to have your babies and clean your house and load your revolvers.”
“I use an automatic.”
“Whatever. But from time to time, now and then, I’ll show up on your doorstep, and, married or single, you’ll have a wonderful time with me….”
“That would also be nice.”
Her giddiness disappeared and she looked on the verge of tears. “How I hate to see you go….”
“I’m not going.”
“Not going?”
“I can leave if you want. But I was hoping you’d let me stay on awhile.”
She grinned. “I’ll cancel my flight. How long can you stay? We both deserve a vacation, after the hell of these last weeks! We’ll dine elegantly, we’ll lounge on the beach sinfully, and we’ll fuck like bloody heathens.”
“Actually, I’m still working.”
I filled her in on what Nancy had requested I do.
“That’s a wonderful idea. But you won’t get much cooperation out of Hallinan.”
“I doubt I will—but I have a shitload of evidence he doesn’t know about.”
“Some of your best qualities are hidden away,” she said, as she undid my zipper.
Outside the glass doors, palms were swaying; a storm was coming, but not now: now it was just warm wind, and a blonde goddess sitting in my lap, with me buried in her, hands on her slim ass, the globes of her breasts brushing my face like fruit wanting to be picked, our moans, our cries, lost in the caw of exotic birds and the music of the impending tropical squall.
I saw Leonard Keeler and Di off at the seaplane dock late the next morning. Both were taking the noon flight to Miami to make their connections, Len to Chicago, Di to Mexico City. An almost cold wind whipped us; the sky was a dingy overcast gray that nearly blended with the choppy ocean, the Pan Am clipper bobbing on the water like an oversize buoy. That storm, which had been threatening to arrive since late last night, still hadn’t shown.
I told Len that we couldn’t have won without him and promised to buy him a meal at the Berghoff when I got back.
“When should that be?” he asked.
“A week or so,” I said. Even if I kept working this case, I needed to get back for a few weeks, at least, and tend to A-1 business.
He waved and smiled as he entered the houseboat-like shed to check his bag and board the plane, while I stayed behind on the springy wharf, talking to Di, who wore a mannish tan slacks outfit with a military cut and matching turban, trouser legs flapping like flags in the breeze. Her sunglasses were black and her lipstick crimson. She managed to look both glamorous and businesslike.
‘“I can’t believe you were able to get Hallinan to receive you,” she said.
“Neither can I. But he seemed almost eager to meet with me.”
“Where? At Government House?”
“No—Major Pemberton’s office. It’s just a preliminary meeting. Still, if I can convince them to cooperate, then Nancy isn’t wasting her money on me.” I touched her cheek. “You’re not sure exactly when you’ll be back?”
“No, but it’ll be just a few days,” she said, shrugging. Then she said, “Oh!” and dug in her purse for something. “Here are the spare keys to the main house—I’ve given the servants the weekend off, with the exception of Daniel, who’ll be at your beck and call when you need the launch, to and from.”
“I’ll be lonely.”
The bruised lips smiled crookedly, but the sunglasses made her face inscrutable. “The birds will keep you company. The kitchen’s well stocked—just help yourself, and don’t worry about the mess.”
“Thank you. For everything. For last night especially….”
She lifted her chin, mock-snooty. “I did it all for Nancy.”
“All?”
“Almost all.”
She kissed me; a sudden gust made us clutch each other, or otherwise risk being dropped in the drink. It turned the little goodbye kiss into something desperate, even passionate, and when she pulled away she had an oddly off-kilter expression.
“You mussed your lipstick.”
“You mean you mussed my lipstick. I’ll fix it on the plane.” Her pretty smudgy mouth smiled, just a little. “Bye, Heller.”
And she trudged toward the shed to check her one suitcase, a well-strapped leather affair large enough to make me wonder what was in it. Something for Axel?
It wasn’t any of my business. I wasn’t about to repay Di’s hospitality by sitting in judgment on whatever she was doing for her blacklisted boss.
That afternoon, at the police station, I met with the long-faced Hallinan and the jug-eared Major Pemberton. We sat at a table in a small conference room, with the Attorney General at the head and Pemberton in impeccable khakis across from me. Both wore tiny mustaches and airs of British imperturbability.
“Mr. Heller,” Hallinan said with a smile as small as his mustache, “you may be wondering why I granted your request for a hearing so readily.”
I leaned back in my hardwood chair. “Frankly, yes. I didn’t figure I was very high up on your hit parade.”
Hallinan shrugged one shoulder. “You were doing your job, as was I, as was Major Pemberton.”
Pemberton nodded.
“With no offense meant to Major Pemberton,” I said, “I would have rather Colonel Lindop continued doing his job—his testimony would have been useful to us.”
“As it turned out,” Hallinan said, with the mildest facial twitch of irritation, “the defense didn’t require that testimony to win. However, let me say that I don’t consider the Crown to have ‘lost’—I am satisfied that we presented the case cogently and fairly.”
“Do you think Barker and Melchen’s techniques were ‘fair’?”
His face tightened; Pemberton glanced away.
“I was referring only to our practices—and, with the possible exception of Mr. Adderley’s ill-conceived strategy where the Marquis de Visdelou was concerned, I believe we were indeed fair. Now, when you call and suggest you can help us find the ‘real’ murderer, I must say to you, frankly, that so far as I am concerned, this case is completely closed. I believe Major Pemberton agrees.”
Again Pemberton nodded.
“We’re prepared to call it a day,” Hallinan said. “In our view, acquitted or not, the accused was the guilty party.”
“Then why did you agree to see me?”
“To give you a fair hearing. You may find this difficult to believe, but I admire the work you did regarding that fingerprint evidence.”
“You admire it?”
“I certainly do. Mr. Heller, the Governor may well have been right in his assessment that the Oakes case was too big for the local police to handle…with all due respect to Major Pemberton, our facilities are limited. But if I may confidentially say, the Duke
’s request for aid from the Miami city police was…unfortunate.”
“That’s an example of that British understatement I’ve been hearing so much about, right?”
Hallinan ignored my sarcasm and pressed on. “Weeks ago, I wrote to your federal CID—that is, your FBI—about my grave doubts concerning the fingerprinting procedures Barker and Melchen were following. In the FBI’s view, my doubts were well founded. Barker’s lifting of that print, his neglect to photograph it in situ, was the Achilles’ heel of our case. And you found it.”
“I did at that.”
“Therefore” Hallinan sighed “I feel you deserve a fair hearing.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. “I think you know that any statements, and evidence, that failed to point to the accused were ignored.”
“I don’t know that I entirely agree with that. But you indicated on the telephone that you had evidence the defense itself failed to introduce….”
I shrugged, “It would have been ruled irrelevant. But once you grasp the fact that de Marigny is innocent, these facts become not only relevant, but crucial.”
“De Marigny’s ‘innocence’ is a legal judgment; it does not rule out his literal guilt.” Hallinan’s expression was one of cold distaste. “I consider the Count, and his amoral companion de Visdelou, to be sorry, irredeemable, reprehensible examples of humanity. I am pleased to say that their deportation is a certainty…deportation, or prison. We have found four drums of petrol, bearing RAF marks, in their mutual possession.”
“De Marigny isn’t my favorite guy in the world, either. But that doesn’t make him Sir Harry’s murderer.”
“You would like to continue investigating the case.”
“Yes—but first I’d like the opportunity to present you with evidence and theories you haven’t been privy to. Would you like me to start right now?”
Hallinan waved a hand, gently dismissive. “No. What I would like is for you to put something in writing…nothing formal, not a statement. But a letter to me, which I can share with His Royal Highness on his return.”
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