Marcia Talley - Dark Passage

Julie lowered her fork. ‘I don’t know, Aunt Hannah. It still seems all fuzzy, like a really bad dream.’

Georgina reached out and seized her daughter’s hand. ‘I don’t know, either, Hannah. I’m not so sure I want to put Julie through another ordeal. Hasn’t she suffered enough?’

Ruth stared at Georgina as if she’d just sprouted horns. ‘If Julie can positively identify the man, we can put the bastard away. You want him wandering the streets, Georgina? Preying on other unsuspecting young victims?’

‘Well, no. But…’

‘It’s OK, Mom.’ Julie turned to me. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

After lunch, we returned to our staterooms. At my instruction, Julie changed out of her shorts and tank top into a conservative pair of jeans and a ‘C is for Cure’ pink ribbon T-shirt borrowed from her mother. With her hair tucked into a ball cap, and a pair of dark glasses, I didn’t think Westfall would recognize her unless he got a close look, and I didn’t intend for that to happen.

When we arrived at the art gallery around a quarter after two, the close-out sale was in full swing. Nicole’s assistant sat in a chair behind the desk, writing up sales slips and wearing out his smile. Nicole herself was loudly explaining the investment value of a Thomas Kinkade signed and numbered limited-edition print and hand-embellished canvas called ‘Gingerbread Cottage’ to a woman leaning on a walker. I’d seen similar prints in a gallery in Annapolis for around two hundred and fifty dollars, so I hoped this woman wouldn’t shell out the five hundred dollars Nicole was asking for it.

Of Nicole’s husband, there was no sign.

‘Spooky,’ Ruth declared, indicating the Kinkade. ‘If you were Hansel and Gretel, would you go into that cottage? There’s a hellish glow behind every window. Something diabolical is going on in there, you just know it.’

We wandered on. Ruth kept us entertained by making up imaginary captions for the paintings as we browsed. ‘Randy later regretted mating his Rottweiler with an ostrich,’ she observed. Or, ‘And they said radiation from the H-bomb wouldn’t affect us at all,’ helping to keep the mood light, even though we knew it could be deadly serious the moment Jack Westfall decided to make an appearance.

‘What’s the orange dot mean?’ Julie asked as we pretended to admire one of the many renderings of seascapes in the Eastaugh Collection.

‘I think it means it’s already been sold,’ Georgina said. ‘Honest to God, can you believe some of this crap?’ We’d reached ‘Wild Girls,’ the painting of the woman with her horse, and I noticed with amusement that it carried an orange dot and would be going to a good home. Ruth contemplated it for a moment, then said, ‘Although she put on a brave face, Miranda was not happy with her mail order dentures.’

It was too perfect. I had to laugh.

‘Oh, that’s so cute!’ Julie pointed to a painting of a cat dressed as a ballerina. She flounced over, leaned closer, moved her sunglasses to her forehead and squinted at the price tag. ‘It’s two hundred dollars! No way!’

‘Way,’ I said.

Julie favored me with a grin. ‘If I had a hundred dollars…’ In mid-sentence, she froze. With one quick motion she flipped the sunglasses down over her eyes, did an about-face and sidled up to her mother. ‘That’s him ,’ she croaked. ‘Don’t look now, but oh my God, I think that’s the guy!’

Georgina tucked her chin down, kept her voice low. ‘I need to get Julie out of here.’

‘Mom, mom, I can’t breathe!’

‘Hannah!’ Georgina whispered urgently.

‘Just wait until we can confirm exactly who Julie’s looking at,’ I whispered back. I swung around slowly, casually.

Jack Westfall had made a poor wardrobe choice that morning. Had he shown up at the gallery in a tux, or even a bathing suit, it’s possible Julie wouldn’t have recognized him. But there he stood, schmoozing with a potential buyer, wearing a black polo shirt with a little squiggle on the pocket. Not an alligator, nor a polo pony; not a penguin, nor Pegasus. Not a brand name owned by millions. Oh, no. It was an image I’d seen before – on posters, on signs, in the catalog, on bid sheets. Westfall wore a company shirt, with an Eastaugh Galleries logo.

And if I had anything to say about it, his goose was about to be cooked.

‘Take Julie out the back way, through the photo gallery,’ I ordered. ‘You won’t run into him there.’

For once, Georgina didn’t give me her famous well-aren’t-you-the-bossy-boots glare. She wrapped her arm around Julie’s shoulder and the two of them strolled off into the photo gallery. Not until I’d lost sight of Georgina’s red and white shirt disappearing into the crowds that were mobbing the boutiques just beyond, taking advantage of the half-price sales, did I dare to turn around and look at Westfall again.

‘Ruth, I think I need to kill him.’

‘I will not stop you, Hannah.’

Jack Westfall moved with ease among the passengers, smiling at one here, shaking another hand there. My sister and I watched as he paused to point out a gouache of an owl camouflaged in a tree to a well-coifed blonde, resting his hand lightly on her back as he did so.

‘We are looking at a man who raped at least one girl, kidnapped another, and almost certainly murdered David Warren’s daughter. That’s what a murderer looks like, Ruth, should you ever need to paint a picture of one.’

‘What are we going to do?’ she whispered as Westfall and the blonde moved on to the next painting.

I reached into my pocket for my iPhone. ‘Stand over there, next to that horrible owl thing.’

Ruth looked puzzled, but did as I asked.

‘Now smile!’ I instructed.

Ruth posed in front of the painting, her best ‘say cheese’ face obediently in place.

‘Turn around, dammit,’ I muttered under my breath. After fewer than ten seconds, my wish was granted. Jack Westfall turned, abandoned the blonde, and smiled at someone new just behind me. I moved the iPhone subtly to the right, gave it time to refocus and snapped the bastard’s picture. ‘Got it, Ruth!’ I waved gaily.

Ruth hastily rejoined me. ‘What next, Hannah?’

‘We’re going to tell Officer Martin, that’s step number one. Now that Julie’s identified Westfall as her attacker, hopefully they’ll take him into custody.’

‘Well,’ Ruth said. ‘At least Westfall’s not going anywhere.’

‘True, but I’d feel better if he didn’t have the run of the ship. If he knew that Julie recognized him…’ I shivered at the thought. ‘Come with me to the security office?’

‘Of course,’ my sister said, and linked her arm with mine as we walked out of the gallery.

We stood like statues in the lobby, waiting for the elevator that would take us to the security office on deck eight. When the elevator doors opened and Officer Ben Martin stepped out, I nearly fell over. He didn’t see us, but veered to the right, striding purposefully toward the piano bar.

‘Officer Martin!’ I called.

Martin performed a neat, military about face. ‘Mrs Ives. How’s your niece this afternoon?’

‘She’s out and about,’ I told him. ‘In fact, that’s what we were coming to talk to you about.’ I touched Ruth on the shoulder. ‘You remember my sister, Ruth.’

Martin stood at parade rest, his hands clasped behind his back. He bobbed his head. ‘I do. Sorry it was under less than ideal circumstances.’

Pleasantries over, I got right to the point. ‘My sisters and I wanted to take advantage of the fifty-percent-off sales, and we just happened to wander into the art gallery. Julie was looking at a painting when Jack Westfall came into the gallery. Do you know Westfall?’