Max Collins - Carnal Hours

“Don’t be silly,” I said, but she was right. I wished I’d brought my nine-millimeter along, but it was still packed away in my suitcase. Without official permission to carry it here, I hadn’t been risking it-nor had I seen any reason to.

At least, not until I felt the skin on the back of my neck start to crawl, about two minutes ago….

We walked out on the spongy dock; walked clear out to the end. I glanced in the moored skiffs, thinking Arthur might be taking a nap in one-no room to stretch out in that shed-but Arthur wasn’t loafing on the job, at least not in one of the boats. We reached the end of the dock, and turned, simultaneously, and looked back toward land.

I think we both saw him at the same time; we each grabbed the other, and were lucky we didn’t tumble into the drink.

But we caught our balance, if not our breath.

Because we could see Arthur clearly, in the moonlight, in the kerosene glow: spread-eagled on his back, half in the water, half on the sand. Sort of like Marjorie and I had been, not so long ago.

Only we’d been alive.

We had to drive back to Marjorie’s cottage, to use the phone, and I tried to talk her into staying behind, but she insisted on coming along on the return trip.

We beat the police there, but stayed in the car, waiting, until the siren announced their arrival, loudly, pointlessly, the black police car throwing gravel as it ground to a stop. Arthur was dead, and unlikely to get either alive or, for that matter, any deader. What exactly was the rush?

Another two cars arrived shortly, but in the lead car were Lindop, Captains Melchen and Barker, and a uniformed driver.

I went over to Lindop, who wore a black-and-khaki cap in place of his daytime pith helmet; I filled him in, going out of my way to pay no attention to Barker and Melchen, who were standing around, rocking on their heels, like little kids who had to go wee-wee.

We walked over to where Arthur lay on his back, eyes wide and empty and staring up at the moon.

“I gave him a quick once-over,” I said. “I don’t see any marks, but his clothes are torn around the shoulders.”

“He’s a native,” Barker said. “His clothes are ratty. So what?”

I acknowledged him for the first time, saying, “I thought you were in New York.”

His upper lip curled. “I got back this afternoon. Is that all right with you, Heller?”

“I didn’t know I had a say in it. Next time check with me and I’ll let you know.”

Kneeling over the dead caretaker, standing half in the water, Lindop said, “He’s apparently drowned. Perhaps he fell off the dock, in the course of his duties.”

“Perhaps his clothes are torn because he was held under the water till his eyes popped out. Colonel, he was meeting me here to give me key defense evidence. I hardly think this is an accidental death.”

“What sort of evidence?” Melchen drawled. His eyes were like cuts behind his wire-frames; the sneer on his pudgy face indicated his opinion of any “evidence” I might come up with.

I told them that Arthur was to have given me the registration number, and name, of the suspicious boat he’d seen; that we were to have met here tonight, at eleven o’clock.

“So somebody tied up here the night of the murder,” Barker said. “So what? Nassau’s a big place. Boats come and go all the time.”

“In the middle of the worst fucking storm since Noah? Are you on dope or something?”

Barker’s face twisted and he raised a fist. “I don’t have to take your shit…”

“I don’t have to take yours, either, Barker. You guys aren’t cops here-you’re advisers. So think carefully before you start in with me.”

He laughed harshly at that; but his hand dropped and his fist turned into fingers.

“Why don’t you drop by headquarters tomorrow, Mr. Heller,” Lindop said blandly, “and we’ll take an official statement. In the meantime, you’re free to go. We’ll handle things here.”

Marjorie had drifted up behind me. “Nathan…excuse me. I wanted to say something.”

Barker and Melchen turned and looked at her wolfishly. They looked from her to me and back, and exchanged knowing glances.

Colonel Lindop said, “Please feel free to speak, Miss Bristol. We understand you were with Mr. Heller when he found the body.”

“I was. I didn’t mean to be eavesdroppin’…but I heard you say Arthur drowned. Well, Arthur, he was an experienced sponge fisherman. I don’t think it’s likely he’d drown in shallow water like this.”

“He might have hit his head, Miss Bristol,” Lindop said reasonably, “if he fell from the dock.”

“Does he have a bump on his head?” she asked.

“We haven’t turned it up yet, but the coroner will make an examination….”

“He was probably drunk,” Melchen said, and laughed.

“Is there any liquor on his breath?” she asked, standing right up to the squat detective.

Barker sighed dramatically, and said, “Colonel Lindop, we only came along because Heller told you this death related somehow to the Oakes case. It clearly doesn’t. Do we have to listen to both his cockeyed theories and this native girl’s?”

“Heller,” Melchen said, dragging it out into two molasses-soaked syllables, looking past her, “why don’t you gather your little nigger baby and go on home?”

I brushed past Lindop and looked right in the fat cop’s fat face. His smile was curdling by the time I said, “Apologize to the lady.”

“For what?”

“Apologize or I’ll feed you your fucking spleen.”

“You don’t scare me…”

“Then don’t apologize. Please don’t.”

He took a step back. In the moonlight his face looked flourwhite, but I had a hunch it would have looked white, anyway.

“Sorry, miss,” he said tightly, softly, without looking at her; without looking at anybody. “I was out of line.”

She nodded and walked back toward the car.

“Oops,” I said, and shoved Melchen.

His feet went out from under him and he landed, splat, in the water. Right next to Arthur.

“You son of a bitch!”

Barker took me by the shirt and said, “You think you’re so goddamn tough. War hero. Silver Star. Am I supposed to be impressed?”

I batted his hand away. “Say, Barker…where were you girls this evening?” I looked at Melchen, who was back on his feet, scowling as he brushed the soggy sand off his soggier suit. “You two got an alibi for Arthur’s murder?”

Both Barker and Melchen were looking at me with burning fury, their posture about to explode into an attack when Colonel Lindop stepped between us.

“Mr. Heller,” he said calmly, “before this gets further out of hand, perhaps you should go. We have a dead body to process.”

“Whatever you say, Colonel.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

He did. And as we walked, he said softly, “Mr. Heller, there is every likelihood that this death will be deemed accidental.”

“But…”

He stopped me with a raised hand. “But if you choose to investigate this man’s death-on the q.t., as they say-I want you to know that if you turn up any linkage between this and the de Marigny/Oakes case, I will be most interested.”

“Colonel-like I said before, you’re okay.”

“Mr. Heller, you won’t be ‘okay’ much longer if you continue to treat my American colleagues with such disrespect.”

“I’m just treating ’em the way they deserve.”

“I didn’t say they didn’t deserve it,” he said, smiled briefly, and saluted with a fingertip to his cap, turned and went.

I drove Marjorie back to her cottage in silence. I went in and sat with her, on the edge of her bed which she folded out from its little metal cabinet. I didn’t stay the night, and we certainly didn’t repeat our earlier carnal activities. I just held her in my arms and she shivered, though it wasn’t very cold at all.