Donald Hamilton - Murderers Row

I stuck my elbow into the kid crowding against me. "Get over by the porthole, Teddy. Tell me if you can see anything. Brief me."

"But-"

"Snap into it. I'll look after him." I'd look after him, all right.

She moved away reluctantly. I was aware of her leaning forward to wipe at the glass-and there was my chance. The little death pill was in my hand. I hated to part with it, I might need it myself pretty soon, but it was the best way. All I had to do was slip it into his mouth and make him swallow. She'd never know. He'd simply have died in his drugged sleep, as far as she was concerned.

Her voice hit me like a sonic boom. "We've turned back north; we've got the island off the starboard. We're close-hauled, beating out of Mendenhall Bay. We'll have to tack as soon as we're clear of the island to make open water. I hope that woman's got her bearings straight. We can't have much room to play around in here, in a boat this size."

My voice still came from far away. "Why would Mrs. Rosten come clear in here, in the first place, instead of picking them up on the seaward side of the island, where we had plenty of room and couldn't be seen from shore?"

"Don't be silly, she had to get in the lee to bring them aboard. They'd never have been able to get a rubber boat out to us seaward, not against this wind. There must be a mile of breakers on that side tonight." Teddy leaned forward. "We're still holding on; we've got a ways to go yet before we can come about and clear the island on the port tack…"

I looked at the man on the bunk. Stop stalling, you spineless jerk! I told myself. I leaned forward and made a show of drawing back the eyelid to look at the eye, like a TV doctor. I picked up the wrist to check the pulse. I dropped the wrist and leaned forward again to put my hand to his mouth. Teddy spoke behind me.

"What are you doing, Matt? What are you giving him?" I didn't even jump. I guess I'd known it wouldn't work out right. Maybe I hadn't even wanted it to work out right. But it was all of a pattern, I thought grimly: the woman who'd died when she wasn't supposed to and the man who was alive five minutes after he should have been dead. I should, of course, have done it the instant they threw him into my arms, as I'd planned, and to hell with who saw what. I might even have got away with it, then.

I turned my head slowly. "Benzedrine," I said. "To bring him around."

She was frowning at me. I don't put much stock in feminine intuition; she'd have been a real dope if she hadn't sensed something, after the fumble-witted stalling I'd done.

"Let me see it," she said in an odd little voice, and I showed it to her on the palm of my hand. She asked, "How do you happen to have-"

"Hell, we always carry bennies to keep us awake on a tough job."

"But are you sure that's the right thing to give him?"

Her voice had an absent sound, as if she wasn't really interested in the question she was asking. She was still frowning, not at the pill, but at me. Her blue eyes were narrow and wondering. She knew that something was wrong, terribly wrong, but the idea that had come into her mind was too far-out to put into words… She did it without a hint of warning. She just grabbed the pill out of my hand and started bringing it to her mouth; and I swung without thinking, slapping it away before it reached her lips. I guess I'd have done the same thing even if I'd had time to think.

The pill rolled away across the teak floor, and then came back towards us as the Freya heeled over. It reminded me, somehow, of one of the pearls from Jean's broken necklace. I got up and picked it up. I went into the john, dropped it into the toilet, and pumped it out of sight. When I came back, she was still standing stiffly by the bed.

"No!" she said breathlessly. "Stay away! Don't come near him!"

She was staring at me as if she had never seen me before. Perhaps she hadn't. "You-were going to kill him!" she whispered.

I laughed. "You've got murder on the brain, small stuff. I told you, it was a benny."

"Then why didn't you let me swallow it?"

"You're crazy enough without being hopped up on benzedrine. Now cut out the melodramatics, Teddy, and-"

"That's why you wanted us to wait until he came aboard, so you could kill him. So he couldn't tell anybody – and I thought you were being so brave and generous!" I said, "For the love of Pete, cut it out! Don't throw a wingding on me now."

She said fiercely, "You'll have to kill me, too! You know that, don't you? If anything happens to him, anything at all, you'll have to kill me, too!"

I looked at her grimly, wondering what I'd done to be punished by having to deal with this unpredictable little bundle of cowardice and courage, of nonsense and sense.

I said wearily, "It will be a pleasure to assassinate you, Peewee, as soon as we're out of this. Just call on me any time. But right now, will you get to that damn window and tell me-"

"Porthole," she said mechanically. They'll never let you call any part of a ship by the wrong name, even if the bucket's sinking under you.

"All right, porthole!" I said. "Now snap out of it. Nobody's going to touch your old man. At least I'm not. So get over there-"

The Freya changed course sharply. I heard the thunder of flapping canvas overhead as she came to an even keel. Teddy glanced at me warily and darted to the porthole.

"We're coming about!" she said. She sounded shocked. "I don't understand! Mrs. Rosten can't possibly hope to lay a course out past the island yet, with the wind in this quarter. She'll put us aground on-what's that?"

A vibration went through the schooner's hull. For a moment, I thought we'd struck bottom; and I saw the same thought in Teddy's eyes. We stared at each other dumbly, forgetting everything else. The vibration settled down to a strong, steady rumble that shook the lights and made the door rattle. I drew a long breath.

"She's just started up the mill, that's all," I said.

"We're still swinging!" Teddy said, bewildered. "She's bearing off before the wind, back into Mendenhall Bay." Her small face lighted up. She whirled to grab me by the arm. "Matt, we're saved! There must be somebody out there, heading her off, to make her turn back like that. She's started the auxiliary because it doesn't matter who hears her now, don't you see? But she's trapped inside the island. They're bound to catch her!"

We leaned forward together, peering out. There was nothing to be seen except darkness and water-black, foam-flecked water, hissing past. We were traveling faster than we'd gone all day.

"She's really pouring the oil to that diesel," I said. "Just how far can she run in this direction before piling up?" Teddy didn't answer. I glanced at her, and saw that her elation had faded as suddenly as it had come. Her face was quite white. "What's the matter, kid?" I asked.

Teddy licked her lips. "She's going to try the channel. She-she'll kill us all!"

"Channel?" I said. "What channel?" Then I remembered that Robin herself had said something about a tidal channel between the island and the mainland. She'd also mentioned a mile of shoals, I recalled.

Teddy said dully, "It's very simple. She's just going to take ten feet of draft through an eight-foot channel at fourteen knots, that's all. Listen! They're running up the foresail again. They had it down for a while."

"Translate," I said. "Never mind the damn sail. What's this about eight feet and ten feet?"

"Well, the channel's supposed to be eight feet at mean low water. If the tide is high, she may have ten or even twelve, but even so-"

"So she could make it?"

"No, you don't understand!" she protested. "It's a narrow channel; it isn't dredged; it isn't buoyed; it just goes where the tide goes. It changes with every storm. It says eight feet on the chart, but that doesn't mean anything. There could be a sandbar clear across it tomorrow- or tonight!"