Marcia Talley - Dark Passage

8622. 8622. 8622. I didn’t want to forget that number, either.

‘Whose room is it, do you know?’

‘Not a clue, and Security wouldn’t say.’

‘What did the room look like, Connor? Julie remembered a kind of living room.’

Connor shrugged. ‘You could say so, I guess. It was a double made up as a single, so there was more room for the sofa and stuff.’

So, there it was.

I’ve got your room number now, you sonofabitch! And it won’t be long before I have your name, too.

‘Wanna know how they found her?’ Connor asked.

I must have looked puzzled because he said, ‘The steward had a laundry basket, one of those things on wheels. When I came back with the security guy, like almost right away, the laundry basket was gone.’ He shrugged, blushing modestly. ‘I kinda put two and two together.’

I reached out for Connor’s arm, held on and squeezed. ‘Thank you, Connor. We owe you big time. But, why didn’t you tell us this before?’

Connor rolled his eyes. ‘I called Julie’s room, but when her mom answered, I kinda freaked. Julie’s mom? She hates me, man. She’d think I did it, or was helping the perv out or something. Look, I admit I bought Julie those drinks at the pool the other day, and that was really dumb, I’m sorry. But I’d never really do anything to hurt her.’

That explanation made sense to me. Georgina would have shot first and asked questions afterwards.

‘I made a statement to that head security guy, what’s his name, Martin. He said the F.B.I. might want to ask me some questions, and I’m cool with that, too.’

I thanked Connor with a hug. It didn’t matter whether Julie could identify the creep or not. We had an eyewitness to her attack. I couldn’t wait to find David and tell him the good news.

But first, I walked as quickly as I could up to deck eight. I stood in front of Room 8622, willed the door to open and the pervert to show his face. In spite of Julie’s confusion, my money was still on Jack Westfall. He certainly had the means and opportunity and, according to Kira, he’d handled the straw that went into Julie’s Virginia Colada.

I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Nobody answered.

Connor had been in the Internet room on the same deck, so I visited there next. I snatched a sheet of paper out of the printer, borrowed a pencil from a young Turk checking the status of his stock portfolio on the Internet, folded the paper into quarters and scribbled ‘Jack Westfall’ on it.

Halfway back to cabin 8622, I ran into a steward. Not Leon, thank goodness, who I hoped was cooling his heels, confined to his cabin for the duration of the voyage.

‘Carlos,’ I said, after a glance at his name tag. ‘I promised to get this information to Mr Jack Westfall, but I can’t remember whether he’s in 8622 or 8624.’

Carlos from Mexico City smiled helpfully. ‘Mr and Mrs Westfall are in 8592. But I’ll be happy to deliver the note for you, if you like.’ He held out his hand.

‘Oh, would you? How kind.’ I handed Carlos the note, along with a five-dollar bill. I followed along, slightly behind, as he headed down the hallway. ‘I can’t imagine how I got so confused about the room number. I was sure Jack said 8622 or 8624. Are you sure he’s in 8592?’

‘Yes, ma’am. This section, it’s mostly for staff. Mr LeRoy Carney, he is in 8622.’

‘The photographer?’ I asked, my heart pounding.

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Carlos paused, turned, grinned.

‘8624, now, that’s Miss Pia and Miss Lorelei,’ Carlos was saying when I tuned back in.

‘Ah,’ I said as we neared the Westfall’s cabin. ‘The magician’s assistants. I saw them in Channing’s sword basket act the other night, and they were terrific.’

‘He pulled a silver dollar out of my ear one time. Let me keep it, too. Very nice guy.’

‘You’ve never seen his show?’

Carlos’s shoulders drooped. ‘I have to work,’ he said simply.

I thanked Carlos profusely, feeling sad that because of his punishing schedule, his only exposure to Channing’s amazing talents had been a bit of prestidigitation in the corridor. I also tried to hide my annoyance with Officer Ben Martin, who had obviously been keeping information from us. It wasn’t as if we were disinterested bystanders. We actually had a need to know.

But it was all good, I thought, as I strolled along the deck toward the bow. Buck Carney was going nowhere, I thought with perverted pleasure, except to a federal prison where he’d meet new, close friends. Big, ugly, hairy friends , I thought, quoting Bette Midler in Ruthless People . Not that he’d ever see what they looked like, because he’d be facing the other way.

Just thinking about it made me grin.

‘As the cabinet is turned, or seen from the extreme sides, some spectators will find they are looking at themselves in the mirror.’

Jim Steinmeyer, Hiding the Elephant , Da Capo,

2004, p. 81

Before I ran into Connor, it had been my intention to arrive at the theater first, snag four seats in a row near the front of the stage, and be well into my second mojito by the time my sisters showed up.

Not surprisingly, they had gotten there first.

I was boiling over with excitement at the news I was carrying, but I managed not to erupt until the server had disappeared with our drinks order. ‘So, you see,’ I said after the server had gone, and come back, and I’d finally reached the end of my chronicle, ‘if it hadn’t been for Connor…’ I let the sentence die. Everyone sitting round me could fill in the blank.

Julie blushed and smiled a secret smile. She reminded me of the Mona Lisa, or maybe the Cheshire Cat. ‘So I was right after all,’ she said. ‘I just knew it!’

‘I’ll have to apologize to the young man,’ Georgina said. ‘I’m just so very, very grateful. If only I had known.’

‘You can pin a medal on him later, Georgina,’ Ruth whispered.

I’d skipped the part about Connor confessing to buying Julie booze; an executive decision, and one I do not regret, I thought, as I melted into the upholstered seat and began to enjoy my drink.

‘May I join you?’

I turned, straw still caught between my lips, as David slid into the empty seat on my right.

‘We missed you at dinner,’ I told him.

‘Unavoidably detained,’ he said, pointing to his forehead.

‘What happened?’ I asked, squinting at his face as the house lights began to dim. A square white bandage decorated the area just above his left eyebrow.

‘Two stitches,’ he explained. ‘I’ll live.’

‘You didn’t answer my question, David.’

David flagged down a passing server and ordered a club soda with lime. ‘When I came out of the bar, I had a run-in with Jack Westfall. He accused me of ruining his life. Blamed me for Security asking permission to search his room.’

‘And?’

‘He refused, of course.’

‘About the run-in, I mean. The bandage. Explain.’

‘I’d had a bit to drink, words were exchanged, and I took a swing at him. He swung back and I forgot to duck. Bastard. I’d like to nail his ass.’

‘I’m afraid we were wrong about Jack Westfall, David.’ In the few minutes remaining before the show began, I briefed David on the occupant of cabin 8622, what Connor saw and what I had subsequently learned about Mr Leroy ‘Buck’ Carney.

‘God damn,’ he said. ‘Have you told Pia?’

‘No time, but I will, after the show.’

Suddenly the house lights dimmed and the intro music began, something slow and tinkling like sands through an hourglass.