Майкл Коннелли - The Best American Mystery Stories 2018

“What’s the mutiny on the Bounty got to do with breadfruit?” I asked, vaguely remembering the plot of the movie of the same name.

“Well, if Bligh’s vessel wasn’t mutinied, maybe the breadfruit plants he went to fetch in Tahiti would have gotten to these islands sooner,” Arjoon said. “And maybe the fruit would have been accepted more readily in Western society. It’s a marvelous story. So good they’ve made three movie versions of it.”

“Yeah, didn’t they make one with Marlon Brando? And he ended up with one of those Tahitian girls?” I asked.

He sipped his beer and laughed into it. “That he did, Mr. Buonfiglio. It’s funny how the local girls seem attracted to the white westerner.” He looked at me. How much more did he know about me? I wondered. “Anyway, that was one version. Before that it was Clark Gable playing Fletcher Christian and the great Charles Laughton as Captain Bligh. The most recent, called The Bounty, starred Mel Gibson and Anthony Hopkins as Bligh. Can you imagine three movies where breadfruit is a central plot device?”

“I thought it was the mutiny,” I said, not knowing really what I was talking about but trying to make conversation about this nonsensical subject.

“That’s a matter of opinion, Mr. Buonfiglio. I like to think that it was the breadfruit that propelled the action. There would be no voyage, no mutiny if it weren’t for the task of returning to the West Indies with breadfruit plants. And to show his resilience, after being tossed from his vessel by his crew and then navigating himself to safety, Bligh was promoted to captain and sent back to Tahiti once more for breadfruit plants.”

“He didn’t get mutinied again, did he?” I asked, suddenly actually curious.

“No.” Arjoon smiled. “He was successful in bringing back a few hundred plants to St. Vincent and then Jamaica. And now look. As you said. The trees are everywhere.”

I nodded. “They are. And?”

“And a man who can harvest the fruit and export it to other countries to meet the growing demand overseas can make himself a lucrative business.”

“Is that what you do, Mr. Arjoon?” I leaned back against the bar, my arms folded across my chest, now looking him in the eye. I wanted him now to know that we were communicating without the bullshit he was spewing. That I knew that he was playing with me.

“Something like that,” he said. He went into the pocket of his flowery shirt and pulled out a business card. “We can discuss my business further if you like, at your convenience. That is my mobile number. I will be staying at LuJean’s Guest House for the evening.”

“LuJean’s?”

“Yes, I hear she makes a delicious breakfast for her guests. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Breadfruit pudding?” Even I knew about her famous breakfast.

He laughed loudly, his smile again showing off those sorry teeth. “Oh yes… it has quite the reputation, doesn’t it?”

With that he slid his bony frame off the barstool and made his way to the front entrance. I thought he might turn around and smile again at me, but he didn’t.

I waited a few moments behind the bar to make sure he wouldn’t come back in and then I made my way to the door. Tubby was right behind me. Both of us saw the black Lexus SUV pull out of the small parking lot and head down West Road toward Garrison.

“Someone in that car waiting,” Tubby told me as we stood at the doorway. “It was running all the time that man in here.”

“I know,” I said.

Tubby saw the concern on my face.

“What’s going on? What that man say to you?”

“I’m really not sure.” I paced a bit, moving from the front entrance again to the bar and back, peering into the dark quiet of West Road.

Toon and Griffin stopped their discussion to look at me. Neither said anything. They were waiting for my next move. I was waiting for my next move. I had suspicions, but that was all. And even if my suspicions were real, this was all new to me. I was a bar owner. I knew cops back in New York. They came to my bars. I talked to them. But I wasn’t a cop. And those cops were not on this island. Something was pushing me forward here. I knew I had to act, but I didn’t know how, or really what to do or why. In New York, even if I had suspicions of something not right, I wouldn’t have done a thing. Here, though, it was different. Here I felt a responsibility I never felt before.

“Where does Grainey live?” I asked Tubby, a sick feeling rising up in my belly.

“Grainey? The man was here earlier,” Tubby said, surprised by my question.

I grabbed the keys to my jeep. “Where does he live? Is he near the turnaround past the Blue Tyre Shop?”

Tubby sensed my urgency. He shook his head. “No, not that far down de road. Grainey, he live two house from the LeGrande Miracle Church. The house with the green door. Why you want to find Grainey?”

I didn’t answer. I was out the door and into my jeep. I could see Tubby, along with Toon and Griffin, standing in the doorway, watching. Wondering.

I was wondering too. I had no idea what I was doing. But I had an idea what I would find. And I didn’t think it would be good.

I saw the flashing lights in the darkness of a St. Pierre night from almost a mile away. All I had to do was follow them and I knew I would find Adolphus Grainey too. I had a feeling of dread that reminded me of what I anticipated that June morning back in New York. When I felt the ground shake under my feet.

They had just gotten him into the ambulance when I pulled up. A police car was next to the ambulance, and Superintendent Keith McWilliams was there talking to another policeman I recognized as Albert Haines. They stopped their conversation when they saw me arrive.

“What happened to Grainey? Did someone do something to him?” McWilliams, who was very tall, thick in the chest, dark-skinned with bloodshot eyes, said nothing for a moment.

“Why would you say that, Mr. Len?” he said to me in his deep, sleepy voice.

“The ambulance. This is his house, isn’t it?” I gestured.

“Yes, but why do you ask if someone did something to him?” I realized my error and was impressed that McWilliams, who, working as a policeman in St. Pierre for so long and not having to do much detective work, quickly picked up on my blunder.

I shrugged. “Why would the police be here if not,” I muttered, hoping to cover up my carelessness.

He nodded slowly, still examining me. “It seems so, Mr. Len. He got beat up pretty bad. You don’t know anything about this, do you?”

“Me? No… I was driving down to Garrison and saw the lights. Grainey is a friend. He stops into the Sporting Place almost every day.”

McWilliams nodded. He was looking again for any hesitation or doubt. He was looking for the truth. And the truth was, I didn’t know what was going on. All I had were hunches.

“Today?” McWilliams asked, keeping his unwavering eye on me.

“He was in today,” I responded, with a nod.

“Did he say anything to you about someone after him? Was there anything different about today that you noticed?”

Yes, there were two breadfruits on my bar, which appeared out of nowhere. And I gave them to him. A few hours later a man appeared, inquiring about a breadfruit business. A man not from St. Pierre who had bad skin, bad teeth, a tattoo on his neck, and wore his hair in a male hair bun. That’s what I probably should have told Superintendent McWilliams, but I didn’t. What I muttered instead was a barely comprehensible “No… nothing.”

“Poor Mr. Grainey… he de kindest man.” All of us turned to see Netty Langford, covered in an old robe, thick glasses that were slightly crooked, and a net over her thin gray hair. She had been right behind us, listening to our conversation. “And de man stop by my house just a couple of hours ago.”