Десмонд Бэгли - Bahama Crisis

‘No,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘You did what you had to, as all men do. The pity is that I didn’t see it. Looking back, I know there’s a lot I didn’t see. Myself, for one thing. My God, you married an empty-headed ninny.’

That was a statement it would be politic not to answer. I said, ‘You had your problems.’

‘And piled them on your back. I swear to God, Tom, that things will be different. I’ll make an effort to change if you will. We’ve both, in our own ways, been damned fools.’

I managed a smile. The likelihood that we would have a future together was minimal. ‘It’s a bargain,’ I said.

She held out her hand and drew me down to her. ‘So seal it.’ I put my hands on her and discovered that, indeed, she wore nothing beneath the shift. She said softly, ‘It won’t hurt him.’

So we made love, and it was not just having sex. There is quite a difference.

Robinson gave us about three hours together. It was difficult to judge time because neither of us had a watch and all I could do was to estimate the hour by the angle of the sun. I think we had three hours before there was a rattle at the door and the Texan came in, gun first.

He stepped sideways, as before, and Robinson came in with another man who could have been the Texan’s brother and possibly was. He was armed with a pistol. Robinson surveyed us and said benignly, ‘So nice to see young people getting together again. I hope you have acquainted your husband with the issue at hand, Mrs Mangan.’

‘She doesn’t know what the hell you want,’ I said. ‘And neither do I. This is bloody ridiculous.’

‘Well, we’ll talk about that later,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I must part you lovebirds. Come along, Mrs Mangan.’

Debbie looked appealingly at me, but I shook my head gently. ‘You’d better go.’ I could see the man’s finger tightening on the trigger of the shotgun.

And so she was taken from me and escorted from the room by the man with the pistol. ‘We won’t starve you,’ said Robinson. ‘That should be an earnest of my good intentions — should you doubt them.’

He stood aside and a woman came in with a tray which she exchanged for the breakfast tray. She was a worn woman with sagging breasts and hands gnarled and twisted with rheumatics. I pointed to the pitcher and basin on the other side of the room. ‘What about some fresh water?’

‘I see no reason why not. What about it, Leroy?’

The Texan said, ‘Belle, git th’ water.’

She took the pitcher and basin outside, and I had a couple more names, for what they were worth. Robinson looked at the tray from which steam rose gently. ‘Not the best of cuisine, I’m afraid, but edible... edible. And it’s very much a case of fingers being made before forks. I think you’ll need the water.’

I said, ‘What about coming to the point?’

He wagged a finger at me. ‘Later... I said later. There is something which I must think over rather carefully. There’s really plenty of time, my dear chap.’

Belle came back, put the basin on the table and stood the pitcher in it. When she left Robinson said, ‘ Bon appetit ,’ and backed out, followed by Leroy.

The meal was fish or, rather, wet cotton wadding mixed with spiky bones. I ate with my fingers and the flesh tasted of mud. When I had eaten rather less than my fill, but could stomach no more, I walked over to the water pitcher and was about to pour water into the basin to wash my slimy hands when I stopped and looked at it thoughtfully. I did not pour the water but dabbled my hands in the pitcher, then wiped them dry on my jeans.

The pitcher held more than two gallons. That, plus the weight of the pitcher itself, would be about twenty-five pounds. I was beginning to get ideas. I went back to the bed, spread butter on a thick slice of bread, and munched while looking at the pitcher, hoping it would tell me what to do. The first faint tendrils of an idea began to burgeon.

Robinson came back about two hours later with his usual bodyguard, and Leroy took his position just to the left of the door. Robinson closed the door and leaned on it. ‘I’m sorry to learn of your marital troubles, Mr Mangan,’ he said suavely. ‘But from what I heard I gather you are on your way to solving them.’ He smiled at my startled expression. ‘Oh, yes, I listened to your conversation with your wife with great interest.’

I cursed silently. Ramon Rodriguez had shown me what could be done with bugs, and I might have known that Robinson would have the place wired. ‘So you’re a voyeur, too,’ I said acidly.

He sniggered. ‘I even recorded your love-play. Though not my main interest it was very entertaining. If set to music it could hit the top twenty.’

‘You bastard!’

‘Now, now,’ he said chidingly. ‘That’s not the way to speak when you’re at the wrong end of a gun. Let us come to more serious matters — the case of Jack Kayles. I noted when listening to the tape that you showed interest when your wife mentioned his name. My interest is in how you tracked him down. I would dearly like to know the answer to that.’

I said nothing but just looked at him, and he clicked his tongue. ‘I advise you to be cooperative,’ he said. ‘In your own interest — and that of your wife.’

‘I’ll answer that if you tell me why he killed my family.’

Robinson regarded me thoughtfully. ‘No harm in that, I suppose. He killed your family because he is a stupid man; how stupid I am only now beginning to find out. In fact, it is essential that I now find the measure of his stupidity, and that is why you are here.’

He took a pace forward and stood with his hands in his pockets. ‘Kayles was supposed to sail from the Bahamas to Miami in his own boat. There was a deadline, but Kayles was having problems — something technical to do with boats.’ Robinson waved the technicality aside. ‘At any rate he found he could not meet the deadline. When he heard that a skipper needed a crewman to help take a boat to Miami the next day he jumped at the chance. Do you follow me?’

‘So far.’

‘Now, Kayles was carrying something with him, something important.’ Robinson waved his hand airily. ‘There is no necessity for you to know what it was. As I say, he is stupid and he let your skipper find it, so Kayles killed him with the knife he invariably carries. His intention was to conveniently lose that poor black man overboard but, unfortunately, the killing was seen by your little girl and then...’ He sighed and shrugged. ‘...then one thing led to another. Now, Mr Mangan, I don’t mind telling you that I was very angry about this — very angry, indeed. It was a grievous setback to my plans. Disposing of your boat was a great problem, to begin with.’

‘You son of a bitch,’ I said bitterly. ‘You’re talking about my wife, my daughter and my friend.’ I stuck my finger out at him. ‘And you’ve no need to be coy about what Kayles was carrying. It was a consignment of cocaine.’

Robinson stared at me. ‘Dear me! You do jump to conclusions. Now, I wonder...’ He broke off and looked up at the roof, deep in thought. After a while his gaze returned to me. ‘Well, we can take that up later, can’t we? I’ve answered your question, Mangan. Now answer mine. How did you trace the idiot?’

I saw no reason not to answer, but I was becoming increasingly chilled. If Robinson saw no reason not to gossip about three murders then it meant that he thought he was talking to a dead man, or a man as good as dead. I said, ‘I had a photograph of him,’ and explained how it had come about.

‘Ah!’ said Robinson. ‘So it was the little girl’s camera. That really worried Kayles. He was pretty sure she had taken his photograph, but he couldn’t find the camera on your boat. Of course, it was a big boat and he couldn’t search every nook and cranny, but it still worried him. So he solved his problem — as he thought — by sinking your boat, camera and all. But it wasn’t there, was it? You had it. I suppose you gave the photograph to the police.’