Десмонд Бэгли - Bahama Crisis

Perigord’s lips quirked into a smile. ‘Like you, I have friends in Texas. It made... how shall I put it?... empty reading. For example, there was the mysterious Mr Robinson, your kidnapper, floating about the case with no visible means of support — never found. And there was the body of Kayles which, again, has never been found.’

‘It wouldn’t be too hard to make a body vanish in Big Thicket,’ I said. ‘You could toss it into any swamp.’

‘True, but Captain Booth is moderately unhappy. You see, he only has your word for it that there was a third body or even a Robinson. He couldn’t ask Leroy Ainslee because he was inconsiderately killed by a train.’

I said, ‘My wife never saw Kayles, but she did see Robinson. You must have read her evidence.’ I took a glossy colour photograph from my desk drawer. ‘Meet Mr Robinson.’

Perigord took it from my fingers and examined it critically. ‘You did better with Kayles,’ he said. ‘That was a photograph. This is a photograph of a painting.’ He dropped it on to the desk. ‘Not what one would call hard evidence for the existence of Robinson.’

‘Are you saying you don’t believe me — or Debbie?’ I demanded.

‘No — but I’m dissatisfied. Like Captain Booth I’m moderately unhappy.’ He then said what Frank Cunningham had said before Billy hit him, but in a way that robbed it of offence. ‘You seem to have problems with your wives, Mr Mangan. I was very sorry when the first Mrs Mangan died because I had a regard for her, and I was equally sorry when I heard what had happened to your present wife. I ask myself if these events are related in any way, and if your problems are going to continue. Too much has happened around you in the last year or so.’ He leaned forward. ‘Now let us talk about Robinson.’

So we talked about Robinson for a long time. At last I said, ‘I’ve been racking my brains to think of what Kayles overheard between me and Sam Ford, and I can’t ask Sam.’ I told him about that, and added pointedly, ‘And I don’t think that was an accident, either.’

Perigord looked grave. ‘I’ll ring Commissioner Deane in Nassau, and we’ll have that incident investigated.’

‘And put a guard on Sam,’ I said.

He nodded and picked up the picture of Robinson. ‘How accurate is this?’

‘I really don’t know,’ I said candidly. ‘But it’s the best Cassie Cunningham and I could do. She said it’s difficult for a painter to depict an image in someone else’s mind’s eye.’

‘Very well put.’ Perigord picked up his hat. ‘Now, there is just one last matter. You came back from Texas without a passport. Well, that’s all right because we know the reason. But you came back with six Americans, two of whom are in your home though not, I suspect, as house guests; three are billeted in the Royal Palm Hotel, and the sixth is sitting in your outer office at this moment. We checked their passports very carefully and what did we find on further enquiry? All six are members of the security section of the Cunningham Corporation. Mr Mangan, if you have fears for your own safety or the safety of your wife you should come to me, and not import a private army.’

‘My wife is dear to me.’

‘I understand that.’ He stood up. ‘But I would like to see Mr Walker now.’

I eyed Perigord with respect; he even had the identification down pat. I called in Walker and introduced them. Perigord said, ‘Mr Walker, we encourage Americans to come to our island; you are our bread and butter. But we don’t like firearms. Are you armed, sir?’

Walker said, ‘Uh...’ He glanced at me.

‘Tell him,’ I said.

‘Well... er... yes, I am.’

Perigord held out his hand without saying a word and Walker took a pistol from a holster clipped to his belt and handed it over. Perigord put it into his pocket where it made an unsightly bulge and spoiled the line of his uniform. He picked up his swagger stick. ‘You and your friends may stay, Mr Walker, even though I have the power to deport you. But all your firearms must be delivered to my office before midday today.’ He raised the swagger stick in a semi salute. ‘Good day, Mr Mangan. I’ll let you know of any developments.’

As the door closed Walker said, ‘A swagger stick, yet! Is he for real?’

‘He had you tagged the moment you got off the JetStar. He knows who you are and what you do. I wouldn’t underestimate Perigord.’

‘What do we do about the guns?’

‘You do exactly as he says. What have you got? A pistol each?’

‘Yeah. And a couple of Armalite rifles.’

‘My God! Let Perigord have the lot. You’ll get them back when you leave.’ I had the impression that Walker and his friends would feel stripped naked.

While not neglecting Debbie I buckled down to getting the Theta Corporation back into shape. Not that there was much wrong — I had a good staff — but when the boss takes an enforced vacation things tend to loosen and the system becomes sloppy. So I did the necessary tightening here and there to tune the organization.

One of the things I did was to transfer Jack Fletcher to the Sea Gardens Hotel on New Providence. The manager there had broken his leg and was out of action, and Philips, the under manager, was a new boy, so I thought it wise to send Fletcher. The point is that I went with him to introduce him to the staff. It was to be a quick trip because I did not want to spend time away from Debbie. Although Cora and Addy had brought over a crowd of kids and were company for Debbie I wanted to get back quickly.

Bobby Bowen flew us to Nassau and Steve Walker came along, too. During this period he was never more than ten feet away from me at any moment, and there would be only one door between us, if that. If Jack Fletcher noticed that Walker stuck closer to me than my shadow he made no comment.

After the round of introductions were over we sat in the manager’s office to tidy up a few last details. There were minor differences in running the two hotels and I wanted to be sure that Fletcher knew of them. The manager’s office at the Sea Gardens is immediately behind the reception desk in the lobby and one wall is of glass — glass with a difference.

From the customer’s point of view when standing in the lobby the wall behind the reception desk is fitted with a big mirror. Mirrors are important in hotel design because they give a sense of space, spurious though it may be. But this mirror is of trick, one-way glass so that the manager, sitting at his desk, can see what is happening in the lobby while being unobserved himself.

So it was that, while chatting with Fletcher, I happened to look out idly at the reception desk and beyond. There was the usual scene, a combination of idleness and bustle. Small groups of tourists stood about chatting, and bellhops were bringing in the baggage of a newly arrived tour group. Philips said they had just come from Italy. Everything was normal. At the cashier’s desk there was a short queue of departing visitors doing what the whole business was about — they were paying.

There was something about the third man in the queue that interested me. I thought I knew him but could not recollect ever having met him. He was tall with greying hair and had a neatly trimmed moustache and a short beard. I stood up, went closer to the window, and stared at him. He did what many do — he looked at his reflection in the mirror and straightened his tie. For a moment he stared directly into my eyes; his own were green flecked with yellow, and I had looked into those eyes before when lying helpless in the lobby of the Cunningham Building.

I swung around. ‘Jack, see that man with the beard? I want him held up — delayed until I can find out who he is.’

Fletcher looked surprised. ‘How?’