Desmond Bagley - Domino Island

‘Just like that? Without packing a suitcase?’

‘It wasn’t necessary,’ she said. ‘He maintains a wardrobe in the apartment in New York.’

‘What was he wearing when he left?’

She considered. ‘A polo shirt, shorts and sandals.’

It was winter in the northern hemisphere. While the heat was borderline unbearable in the Caribbean, the snow could be drifting up to three feet thick in the streets of New York. This was straining my credulity a bit too far. I said, ‘He went to New York in midwinter in a polo shirt, shorts and sandals. Is that what you’re telling me, Mrs Salton?’

She smiled slightly. ‘There was nothing odd about it, Mr Kemp. In flying long distances one can never be sure of ground conditions at the destination. Lightweight and heavy-weight business suits were always carried in the aircraft, together with shirts and other accessories.’

Millionaires are different from other people.

I accepted that and said, ‘But he didn’t go to New York, did he?’

‘I didn’t know that at the time. Look, it was a matter of dignity for me: I was waiting for him to call. But after two days I caved in and telephoned the apartment in New York. There was no answer so I telephoned the offices of his New York holding company. He hadn’t been there.’

‘So you contacted the police.’

She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t worried then – not in that way. I think I was more annoyed than anything else. There I was, all set to apologise, and I couldn’t find him. Next day the plane came back.’

‘That would be the third day?’

‘Yes. That’s when Haslam told me David hadn’t been on the flight to the States. They talked together on the plane but David got off again before it took off.’

‘Why did the plane go to the States, Mrs Salton?’

‘It was due back at the manufacturer for a routine service.’

‘I see. So what did you do?’

‘I was very worried. David had just walked out of the house and if he hadn’t gone to the States, then where was he? He certainly couldn’t lose himself on Campanilla – he was too well known. I didn’t know what to do. In the end I telephoned the police.’

Stern broke in. ‘She also telephoned me.’

‘Before or after contacting the police?’

Mrs Salton’s lips compressed slightly and Stern said evenly, ‘She wanted my advice. I told her to get in touch with the police immediately.’

‘I telephoned Commissioner Barstow,’ she said.

Another millionaire touch: if you want something, go right to the top. I said, ‘He sent someone to find out what was happening?’

‘He came himself.’

Of course. Let a millionaire vanish and the chief cop would arrive in a sprint. ‘What was his reaction?’

Stern said, ‘What you’d expect. His first thought was that David had been kidnapped. He alerted all his men and they began to investigate.’

‘There was a lot of talk that went on and on that evening. Some of Barstow’s plain-clothes men even attached a tape recorder to the telephone in case any kidnappers got in touch.’ There was a note of weariness in Mrs Salton’s voice – perhaps an echo of the weariness of that night. ‘I had a headache and went to my room to rest and I was looking across the water towards the mainland when I suddenly thought of the boat. It’s kept in a boathouse over there.’

I nodded. ‘I’ve seen the boathouse.’

‘I told Barstow and he had the boathouse checked. The boat wasn’t there.’ She paused, then said, ‘It was exactly midnight.’

‘So your husband’s body was discovered as a result of a sea search?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘A fisherman out of Hogtown discovered the boat early next morning and towed it into San Martin.’

I thought about it for a while. Stern fidgeted in the silence but Mrs Salton was as composed as ever. It all seemed to hang together and explained why there had been no hue and cry as soon as Salton went missing. Perhaps it hung together too well, but suspicion is an occupational disease in my trade. I said, ‘What do you think really happened, Mrs Salton?’

‘Substantially what was said at the inquest. I think that David was very angry when he left here, and to cool down he took the boat out. I think he had a heart attack and died at sea.’

‘What was your quarrel about?’

Stern jerked himself erect. Mrs Salton said, ‘It was about a personal matter which I don’t care to go into.’

Stern subsided, but not much. I said carefully, ‘So your husband was very angry – angry enough that you weren’t surprised he’d flown to the States, apparently in a fit of pique?’

She looked down at the back of her hands. ‘He was very upset,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Upset enough to take his own life?’

‘Don’t answer that,’ said Stern sharply. He glared at me and said frostily, ‘That’s a most improper question.’

‘Under the circumstances I think not.’

‘I’ll answer it,’ said Mrs Salton. ‘My husband would never commit suicide, Mr Kemp. He was not that kind of man.’

‘The idea of David Salton committing suicide is laughable to anyone who knew him,’ said Stern.

‘I had to ask the question,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry if it distressed you in any way.’

‘I understand, Mr Kemp,’ she said. ‘You must do your job.’ The way she said it made me wish I had a different job.

‘Strictly speaking, it’s not my affair,’ I said, and Stern stared at me in surprise. ‘A Mr Ogilvie is dealing with the matter of the claim. I’ll see him and pass on the information you’ve given me so that you won’t have to go through all this again. I expect he’ll be coming to see you quite soon but if you wish he can deal through Mr Stern.’

‘He certainly must deal through me,’ said Stern. ‘But what are you here for?’

‘Oh, I’m here on an entirely different matter,’ I said blandly. ‘I’m representing Mr Costello, the company’s investment analyst. Not unnaturally, he is interested in the future of Salton Estates Ltd.’

‘What has Western and Continental got to do with Salton Estates?’ asked Mrs Salton.

‘They invested money in the firm,’ I said. ‘Over three million pounds.’

‘Eight million dollars,’ said Stern. ‘Mr Salton tended to think in dollars. He lived over there a long time.’

I watched the frown mar Mrs Salton’s lovely face. ‘Didn’t you know about your husband’s business affairs?’

‘Some,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t think he’d borrow that much. It was a loan? He always said he’d never give away a piece of the action.’

I suppressed a smile at the uncharacteristic slang in the well-modulated English tone. ‘Yes, it was a long-term loan at two per cent over bank rate. He’s been paying the interest regularly – that comes to £288,000 a year. He was due to begin paying off the principal in a couple of years’ time.’

‘I didn’t know,’ she said.

‘It was just an ordinary business deal,’ said Stern.

I shrugged. ‘Mr Salton may have been a very good businessman but he appears to have played a lone hand. Now that he’s … no longer around, Mr Costello is wondering if Salton Estates will continue to be run along the lines laid down by Mr Salton.’ I smiled in what I hoped looked like sympathy. ‘It’s not that we’re very worried but we’d just like to make sure.’

‘And how are you going to make sure?’ asked Stern. He seemed unaccountably hostile.

‘I’d like to run my eye over the books – check the cash flow, the reserves, things like that.’

‘Are you empowered to do that?’

I leaned back in my chair. ‘If you think I’m not then I suggest you telephone Lord Hosmer immediately.’