Peter Robinson - Not Safe After Dark

‘What was it, some land in Florida turned out to be swamp?’

‘Something like that. Smith disappeared with the money and was never seen or heard of again. In all there must’ve been over two or three million bucks.’

I whistled. ‘What happened?’

‘The Mounties followed the paper trail for a while, then they lost it. Smith never surfaced again.’

Except as Schiller, I thought. He probably split his time between Florida and the Cayman Islands, travelling on a phony Canadian passport but not staying in Canada for long. Too risky. ‘Do we recognize any of the victims’ names?’ I asked Mike.

I could almost hear him grinning over the phone. ‘I thought you’d never ask. As a matter of fact we do: a Mr Edward Brennan.’

Karen was sitting at a stool at the bar sipping something colourful and cluttered through a candy-striped straw. She was wearing a green silk off-the-shoulder number, one I had seen in her closet, with her legs crossed. I caught an eyeful of slim, tanned thigh as I walked towards her. She smiled and said hello. Her shiny blonde hair fell over her shoulder on one side, and she had tucked the other side behind her ear, fixing it there with a pink flower that matched her lipstick. Nice touch.

I must admit I’d been relieved to find out it was Ed who had the connection with Smith, not Karen. It didn’t mean he was the killer, of course, but it sure gave him one hell of a motive. I still had a lot of questions for Karen, though, and I wasn’t sure how, or if, I could mix business and pleasure.

I ordered a bourbon on the rocks and we walked through to the table. It was a tacky-looking kind of restaurant, with nets hanging from the ceilings and old barrels converted into chairs, but the food was always superb.

Karen examined the menu, then she said, ‘I’d like to start with some oysters. How about you?’

‘Fine by me.’ Oysters! For an ice queen? Maybe Al French had an agenda of his own? So we ordered a dozen oysters and a bottle of Californian champagne, followed by swordfish steak for me and coquilles Saint-Jacques for Karen. She avoided my eyes as the waiter lit candles on the table.

We chatted about this and that. Karen seemed nervous, on edge, attention all over the place, so much so that she seemed skittish. But just when I thought I’d lost her, she’d look me in the eye and come back with the kind of remark that showed she was there all the time, maybe even a step or two ahead.

‘Did you know Bud, Ed or Ginny back home?’ I asked when the subject came around to last night’s wake.

She shook her head. ‘One rule about a world you escape to is that neither it nor any of its inhabitants can exist in the world you regularly live in.’ She fingered the napkin ring on the table as she spoke, shadows flitting in the depths of her eyes.

‘I can understand that,’ I said, thinking it sounded like something out of a computer-game manual. The oysters arrived and we helped ourselves. ‘I suppose it’s an escape for me too.’

‘Is it? In what way?’

‘I used to come down here with my wife.’

Karen frowned. ‘Then it’s not an escape you’re after,’ she said. ‘It’s catharsis .’

‘Maybe you’re right. If so, it hasn’t happened yet.’

She put her hand lightly on mine. ‘Give it time, Jack. Give it time.’

We finished the oysters, and the main courses arrived. I tried to find a way to steer the conversation back to Bud Schiller. As usual, I couldn’t find a subtle way, so halfway through my swordfish, during a temporary lull, I said, ‘Remember when you told me the three of you went to your room and Bud stayed out by the pool?’

She nodded. ‘And you thought he might be meeting someone?’

‘That’s right. Did any of the others leave your room at any time?’

‘Not until later.’ She blushed. ‘Ed must have passed out there. I found him on the couch in the morning.’

‘Did Ed ever mention knowing Bud from before?’

Karen looked down at her plate and speared a scallop. ‘No.’ Then she looked back at me and her eyes widened. ‘What are you suggesting? That Ed murdered Bud? You can’t be serious?’

‘I don’t know, Karen. I’m just curious, that’s all.’

‘But why? Why are you interested? Are you a cop?’

‘I’m a private investigator,’ I told her, ‘but I’m not licensed to operate down here.’ I shrugged. ‘It just seemed suspicious to me, that’s all.’

I paused for a moment, then I jumped right in and told her about Schiller’s true identity and the land scam, in which one Edward Brennan lost his life’s savings. When I finished, Karen was pale. She excused herself to visit the washroom.

When she came back, she looked a lot better. She didn’t wear much make-up, but she had given herself a fresh coat of the basics and looked good as new.

‘I’m sorry for overreacting,’ she said. ‘Honestly, I’d never really considered that Bud’s death could have been deliberate. I suppose I was too busy blaming myself. But Ed…?’

‘I can’t be sure,’ I said. ‘But it doesn’t look good. Are you certain he never left your condo?’

‘He went over to his own unit to pick up some Scotch. I’d run out. But he wasn’t gone for more than ten minutes.’

‘Ten minutes was enough.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Tell the authorities, I suppose.’

She nodded slowly. ‘That would be the right thing to do, of course. But poor Ed. I don’t like the thought of him spending the rest of his life in jail. Can’t you just… you know… let it go?’

‘However much of an asshole Bud Schiller was, he didn’t deserve to die like that.’

‘You’re right,’ she whispered. ‘I’d like to go home.’

As I followed Karen’s Honda back to Whispering Palms, I was beginning to think that I’d blown my chances of a pleasant end to the evening. But she invited me up for a nightcap.

Once we were inside, she busied herself preparing the drinks, flitting nervously between fridge and cocktail cabinet, chattering brightly away. Ever since we got back, I’d sensed a certain tension between us and I thought it was sexual. When she walked past me to open the sliding glass door to the lanai, I put my hand out and touched her shoulder. She turned, gave me a swift peck on the cheek and said she had to go to the bathroom.

I gazed out at the dark island beyond the lanai, the Christmas lights on the bridge, drink in hand, waiting for her. What did the peck on the cheek mean? Was it promise or consolation? You’re an old fool, Jack Erwin, I told myself. You should stick to your bourbon and blues.

Then I heard a door open behind me. Thinking it was Karen coming back, I turned around.

Ed Brennan stood there, a baseball bat in his hands.

Before I had time to react, the front door opened and Ginny Fraser walked in carrying a long kitchen knife.

Karen came out of the bathroom. She wasn’t carrying any weapon and she looked as if she had been crying. ‘Oh, Jack,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘What are you going to do?’ I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt. ‘Hit me on the head with the baseball bat then stab me and pretend it was an accident? Just to protect Ed here? Come on, Karen, he’s not worth it.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Karen said. ‘You think you know everything but you don’t. You don’t know anything.’

My breath caught in my throat. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Then a strange thing happened. I saw Karen flash a quick, sad glance at Ed, and he just seemed to deflate right before my eyes. His baseball bat dropped to the floor. ‘He’s right, Karen,’ he said. ‘We can’t do this. We’re not killers.’