“No cannon or atom bombs,” D. D. hiccupped. “About that drink…. I’ve earned it, pal.”
She weaved to a small deck table and picked up a glass and bottle.
Lessard edged forward a couple of steps. “Rivers, you’re not a totally unreasonable man.” “Meaning?”
“I’ve never met a man yet who didn’t have his price.” “Maybe you’ve always been in the wrong company.” “Surely there must be a way we can come to terms.” “There is,” I said. “You do have a price, then?” “In this instance—yes.” “Good. Name it.” “A murderer,” I said.
Chapter Twenty
“That’s great, Ed,” D. D. said over the rim of her glass. “Real great. The killing’s to be in Cuba … in the future.”
Lessard opened and closed his hands and looked as if he wished his daughter’s neck were between them. “Shut up, D. D.!”
“She hasn’t told me anything I don’t already know,” I said. “Maybe the murder hasn’t taken place yet—but a pair of others have already, here in Tampa. Bucks Jordan and a dwarf named Gaspar the Great. I wish I’d never heard of either of them. I wish you people had never crossed my path. But we don’t always get our wishes, do we?”
“You think one of us killed the both of them?” Maria asked.
“Isn’t she a dumb cow, Ed?” D. D. giggled. “Why else would you be out here?”
“Do you know which one of us?” Maria persisted.
“Yes,” I said.
“How much more do you know?” D. D. inquired. As her father started to speak, she shushed him with a gesture. “No, papa darling. I want to hear. I want to know how a man like Rivers operates.”
“I know most all of it,” I said. “A few of the minor details are obvious assumptions from the larger facts.
“Emily Carton’s life was wrecked by her husband’s death. Things that had been important in the past became meaningless, money, social position, even personal grooming.
“I’m sure that Kincaid, learning of Carton’s execution and knowing the widow’s temperament, sought her out and showed her the possibility for revenge—at a price.
“She took a new grip on life, a warped and evil grip. Her money was again useful—for an unholy purchase. She would put up whatever amount was necessary, a half million dollars, if it would bring death to the man in Cuba responsible for the execution of her husband.
“The next scene takes place between a couple of Caribbean vagabonds. Kincaid and you, Lessard. I don’t imagine you were strangers to each other.”
“Real pals,” D. D. said. “They once ran some cocaine out of Brazil.”
Lessard seemed not to hear her this time.
“Kincaid has got himself a guy to do his dirty work, Henry Smith. But Henry doesn’t exactly qualify for an assassination. Lessard knows a man who does, a man who barely missed a firing squad after a Latin American revolt.”
“Sounds like you’re talking about me,” Scanlon said.
“No kidding! How much did they promise you, Scanlon? Ten thousand? Fifteen, maybe?”
“You’re telling the tale,” Scanlon said.
“Simple enough, too. Emily Carton had Cuban contacts. They helped her flee the island. They’d assist with this. The Sprite would put into a cove at night. You’d go ashore, Scanlon, and meet the Cuban contacts. They’d help you in and out. In to kill the man Emily Carton was after, out when the job was finished.
“Everything was going beautifully—and then the double-cross. The money disappeared, a cool half-million dollars Emily Carton had put up to finance the expedition.”
“Bucks Jordan,” D. D. said, “took the money, darling.”
“That’s what you think.”
“He took it and passed it on to someone else,” D. D. said with alcoholic persistence.
“That’s the way it was supposed to appear.”
“Really? I’ll bet he passed it on to you, after all. You convinced Kincaid and Smith he hadn’t, but I’ll bet you were being terribly clever.”
“D. D.,” Lessard said heavily, “will you shut!”
“Certainly I won’t, father. I believe Ed is a rich man and has come out to finish us all off for his own safety.”
“My safety doesn’t lie in finishing you off,” I said, “but in nailing down a murderer.
“You’ve thought Bucks Jordan passed the money to someone else who killed him because he could identify that person. Perfectly logical, on the face of it. Bucks was killed at the first opportune moment to make you think exactly that, to make it appear absolutely certain that he had stolen the money and become the victim of a double-cross.
“After Kincaid and Smith decided I hadn’t received the money, the search continued for an unknown person, someone known only to Bucks. Still logical.
“Your efforts to find this shadowy stranger, this unknown, have failed because there has never been any such person. Bucks failed to get the money. He never had his hands on it.
“Sure, he came after it with a midget named Tina La Flor. He slid her through the porthole of your cabin, Alex. She got out with a package. She thought she had the money. The only thing she had was a ringer.
“Someone else had already gained entry to the cabin in the same manner, using a dwarf named Gaspar the Great. Later, this person had to kill Gaspar when the dwarf saw the pressure building, showed signs of breaking, and became a danger.”
The silence of the sea came over us for a short moment.
Maria Scanlon said almost gently, “A double murderer …”
“Yes,” I said, “and we know, don’t we, Maria?”
“I—” Her hand raised to her throat. Involuntarily, she moved closer to Scanlon. She looked at him and swayed. He caught her arms above the elbows, his face dark with revulsion, distaste for her.
“I … don’t feel very well,” she faltered.
“I’m sure you don’t,” I said, “knowing how you feel about him. But he’s never wanted you, Maria, only what he could get from you. Now he doesn’t need that. He can throw your remaining wealth, your jewels, back in your face. He’s got plenty, a cool half-million dollars. Of course, it cost him about twenty-four hundred. He had to make up a dummy package to keep the theft from being known. The ringer that Bucks and Tina took from Lessard’s cabin—after Scanlon and Gaspar had lifted the real package and left the dummy.”
Lessard took a step toward the larger man. “Scanlon—you!”
“Don’t pay any attention to Rivers,” Scanlon said. “Can’t you see he’s lying to save his own skin?”
“Get a load of laughing boy,” I said. “I’m guilty—so I come out here, stick my neck out, tell a lie I can’t back up.”
“Let’s hear you do some backing,” Lessard said, his voice a quivering cork against the eruption inside of him.
“Okay,” I said. “It shapes up simply enough. Scanlon cares for nothing or nobody. He recognizes no ties in any bargain. He got to thinking about that money and the risk he was going to take for a small piece of it.
“He wanted the money, all of it, and none of the risk of a Cuban killing. But how? If the money simply disappeared from your cabin, Lessard, the rest of you would immediately recognize an inside job. He’d never get away from you. He knew he was dealing with people who’d hound him to the ends of the earth to get that money back.
“There seemed one safe and certain way for him to do it. He must definitely make it appear that an outsider had stolen the money. Then the outsider must die, apparently killed by a second, unknown outsider. You’d run yourselves ragged. He’d string it along until the delay and pressure gave him an excuse to back out of the whole Cuban deal. He’d take his leave of you, give Maria the boot, hie himself to climates unknown, and live like a king the rest of his life.”
“There’s several of us,” Scanlon said, gripping Maria’s arms tightly. “Are we going to stand here and listen …"
“We are,” Lessard said. “What led you to this belief, Rivers?”
“First, it was Scanlon who tipped Bucks about the existence of the money. They were together in a bar and Scanlon was supposedly loose-tongued from liquor. If I had the whole of that conversation, I’d probably find that Scanlon hinted how the theft might be pulled. The midget population of Tampa is sizable, and Bucks knew a lot of them in his carny days. The market for midgets isn’t what it used to be. A lot of them are down on their luck and Bucks had a strong lure to corrupt one of the little people.
“Scanlon’s big mistake was in his too-ready identification of Bucks the night Bucks and Tina stole the dummy package. They were in a light plywood boat, some distance away on the water. You, Lessard, saw them too indistinctly to make a sure identification. Even after Scanlon called Bucks by name, you said, ‘Jordan, is that you?'
“Scanlon knew who was out there because he’d intended for Bucks to be there. He’d been waiting and listening, one night, two nights, maybe more, for Bucks to steal the dummy. “With the fact clearly established in your minds that Bucks had stolen the fortune, Scanlon waited for a chance to get rid of Bucks and set you off on a red-herring chase after an unknown person. Scanlon’s chance came after Bucks and I had a fight in Tina’s cottage. Scanlon simply walked in and clobbered Bucks Jordan’s brains with his own blackjack.
“The killing of Gaspar served a double purpose for Scanlon. It got rid of a danger. It saved whatever money Scanlon had promised the dwarf.
“Talking with Gaspar in Gaspar’s room, Scanlon saw growing fear in the little man. If Gaspar cracked, he realized, he’d have more than the police to worry about. You’d tumble to the fact that two little people were connected with the theft of the half-million. Scanlon knew that you then might reason that Bucks had been a fall guy, for a schemer in your own ranks.”
Lessard said in a choked whisper, “Now what, Rivers?”
“Now I want proof,” I said. “Kincaid is locked in the Scanlon cottage. He values his neck. So do you, Lessard. The only way out for you is to help me get the proof I need on Scanlon.”
Scanlon threw her straight at me, the wife he’d vowed to love, honor and cherish. Not caring how many bullets she took, so long as it gave him a break, a chance.
I tried to dodge Maria. My wet feet slipped on the deck.
Scanlon kicked at me. I pitched back, trying to raise the gun. I didn’t want to kill him. That job was for the State of Florida. But I had to slow him down.
I fired from a slumped position. A sudden movement by him caused the slug to catch him in the body, lower and further in than I’d intended.
He grabbed his stomach, pitching to one side under the impact. He accepted the change of direction the bullet had given him. He went over the side, hitting the water in a crazily pinwheeling dive.
Maria Scanlon’s hands were tearing at me. “He’s ill!” she shrieked. “Can’t you understand him? He needs help—not pecking from all the other chicks in the brood!”
I back-handed her hard to get her away from me. I looked at the dark water, trying to spot Scanlon’s lighter shadow.
I heard D. D. say, “Well, how do you like it now, father dear? I say to hell with it. To hell with everything!”
Lessard was close beside me, peering over the rail, paying no attention to his daughter.
He was mumbling under his breath, “I’ll get him. I’ll make him tell where the money is … I’ll get him…. The rat … the dirty, double-crossing….”
Maria put an exclamation mark on his words by slamming him across the side of the head with a heavy crockery pitcher the Lessards used as a cocktail mixer.
Lessard slumped, out cold. I raised my arm, warded off
Maria’s next blow. I grabbed the pitcher and jerked it out of her hand.
She tried to strike me with her fists, and I shoved her hard across the deck. She was brought up against the side of the cabin.
I heard Scanlon swimming then, and I saw the pale blur of him making for shore.
I hit the water in a belly-busting resemblance to a dive.
I heard Maria give a cry and come crashing in the water behind me.
Later, I discovered that she’d never learned to swim well. All her life, she’d been too painfully aware of what she looked like in a bathing suit to have much to do with the water … later—when she failed to reach shore alive.
Right then, I was putting everything I had into trying to catch Scanlon. Like a sheep dog, I swim long but not fast.
Then I realized I was gradually overtaking him.
I neared him, Reached for him.
I grabbed him, by the ankle.
He kicked at me feebly and threw a few weak punches at me when I swarmed him and we went under.
He slipped free of me for a moment. Then with salt water boiling in my nose and ears, I touched him.
He had a final surge of strength in him. It carried him a few yards ahead.
As I broke the surface, I saw him looking back at me. I struck out after him again.
When I reached him this time, I knew I had him. The bullet he’d taken had drained the strength from him. The water around him caught starlight and the glow of the Sprite’s deck lamp, and the reflection held a hint of red.
“Scanlon,” I gasped, blowing water out of my nose, “you’re dying.”
“No,” he said, “I won’t die. I can’t die. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Because of the money?”
“I’ll live … to spend the money….”
“No,” I said, “tell me where the money is. I want proof, Scanlon. I have to have proof.”
“You … go … to the devil, Rivers…. If it hadn’t been for you …” Salty water gagged him. He tried to rear up. He fell forward, the water closing over him.
I was blind with hatred for him for a second. Then I knew I couldn’t leave him to the prowling barracuda and blood-scenting sharks.
I grasped his collar, half-turned on my back, and got his head wedged against my chest out of the water.
The bay and I fought for the possession of Scanlon. I managed to thresh the remaining yards until there was bottom under my feet.
I dragged him on shore. Then I fell on hands and knees beside him.
The pounding lessened in my head and I looked at him. A faint groan came from him. He was still alive.
I straddled him to pump some of the water out of him. My fingers came in contact with his waist. They went rigid, so rigid they hurt. He’d taken no chances. He was wearing it on him, around his waist in a flat money belt.
Proof.
Half-million dollars worth of beautiful proof….
The leathery bait-camp proprietor was standing on his screened front porch when I staggered to the cottage.
“What’s going on out there?” he asked. “I thought I heard a shot.”
“You did. The guy who took it may make the grade if we get an ambulance quick enough. I used his shirt for a compress to slow the bleeding. Now I need your phone.”
“Phone?” he said blankly.
“For police business.”
“Police? Oh, sure.” He jerked the door open and gestured toward the phone. It was on a wicker table in the screened porch area where the proprietor did most of his living.
I picked up the phone and got an ambulance started out for Scanlon. Then I called Lieutenant Steve Ivey at his home number. I identified myself and said, “Get this, Steve, and get it quick. Call the Coast Guard and pin down the schooner Sprite. She’s here legally, but as part of a plan to put her to illegal use. She’s Peruvian registry and the CG will know where she’s anchored. Then shoot a squad car to her residence and pick up Mrs. Emily Braddock Carton on suspicion of conspiracy. Next …”
“Emily Braddock Carton!” he shouted. “What’s going on?”
“You were right when you said I was into something up to my neck, Steve. Now—just trust me. Briefly. You won’t be sorry. I got a few people for you to put through the wringer, a couple murders you can clear off the record, a mess of bloody details you�
�ll want to mop up.”
The tone of my voice got to him. “Where are you, Ed?”
I gave him the location of the bait camp.
“I’ll be right out,” he said.
“Cordon off the area, and bring plenty of help.”
“I intend to—and you’d better have explanations ready.”
“I’m loaded with them,” I told him.
I hung up, and remembered my promise to Ed Price of the Journal. I tried his home, his favorite bar, his office. He was working late.
“If your back itches,” I said, “join Steve Ivey. He’s on his way to see me.”
“Thanks, Rivers. I’m on my way.”
I swung the wet, flat money belt, enjoying the slap of it against my leg. “It’s a long story,” I said. “It began with a beautiful little doll who stands three feet tall.” I thought about it for a moment; then I said, “Unhappily, she had an ache inside of her to be as big as she imagined the rest of us….”
The LONG and the short of it
I swung the wet, flat money belt, enjoying the slap of it against my leg. ? I had gone through a lot to get that belt. I had consorted with midgets and freaks. I had been lied to, framed, been offered the bribery of a beautiful but depraved normal-sized woman’s body, ? I had also been beaten senseless twice, another time left for dead, locked in the trunk of an abandoned car. ? And now I was home, free. ? “It’s a long story,” I said. I thought about it for a moment. “It began with a beautiful little doll who stands three feet tall. Unhappily she had an ache inside her almost as big as she imagined the rest of us to be.”
If you liked Start Screaming Murder check out:
The Girl’s Number Doesn’t Answer
CHAPTER 1
LET’S GET one thing straight at the start. He was a prince among men.
The guns are silent now. Their days of blood sacrifice are history. The world has moved on, and in great part it has forgotten.
The dead on the islands cannot remember. The living wanted to forget. The half-living will never forget. They are the gray shadows of that army that bought with its living flesh the luxury and freedom you take so much for granted.
Start Screaming Murder Page 14