“You wanted to see me, Colonel,” I said.
A humid breeze drifted in from the open window behind him; a ceiling fan whirred lazily.
He didn’t look at me. “Yes. Thank you for coming. Mr. Heller, I’ve been asked by Attorney General Hallinan to…clarify your role in the de Marigny matter.”
“Clarify my role…what the hell does that mean?”
“It’s just,” he said with patience he was having to reach for, “that Mr. Hallinan wants you to understand what it is you’re to do, here.”
I laughed. “Frankly, Colonel, I don’t give a goddamn what Hallinan wants me to understand. It isn’t up to him to define my role in this case-he’s the prosecution. I work for the defense. Remember?”
Now he looked at me; his eyes said nothing. “Mr. Heller, I’ve been asked to inform you that you are absolutely forbidden to investigate anyone other than Count de Marigny.”
I winced, shook my head. “I’m missing this. What are you talking about?”
He sighed; started tapping a pencil on the desk. “It is the prosecution’s attitude that, since one man is already charged with this crime, it would be…improper to look elsewhere for a culprit, until or unless the person so charged is acquitted.”
I felt like I’d been hit with a pie, but not a particularly tasty one. “You’re saying I’m not to go out and try to find out who really did kill Sir Harry Oakes.”
He shrugged. “That’s Mr. Hallinan’s view. You sent a request to our office yesterday…”
“Right. I figure, what with the war on, you must have official records of every person traveling to and from Nassau, with dates of arrival and departure. I’d like a look at those records.”
“That request is denied.”
I sat at the edge of the chair; did my best not to shout. “Why in hell not?”
“It doesn’t pertain to the investigation.”
“In my view it does!”
“Your view, Mr. Heller, counts for little here.”
I almost hurled a curse at him, but then I thought better of it: his expression seemed an odd combination of disgust and sympathy.
Instead, I settled back in my chair. “You don’t like this any better than I do…do you, Colonel?”
He didn’t reply; just studied the pencil he was tapping.
“Where are Frick and Frack, anyway?”
He knew who I meant. “Captain Melchen is in the field. Captain Barker has flown to New York to consult with a fingerprint expert.”
“I thought Barker was supposed to be a fingerprint expert himself.”
He shrugged again, with his eyebrows this time.
“Of course you’re aware,” I said, “what an insult this is to you. Sure, your department’s small…maybe it was a reasonable idea to bring in somebody to work with you, or even handle the case for you. But hell-why not Scotland Yard? You’re a British colony. Or if it’s a problem bringing somebody over in wartime, then the FBI. But a couple clowns from Miami? How can you put up with it, Lindop?”
I pushed back my chair and stood, shaking my head.
“Mr. Heller,” he said, looking up at me like a sorrowful hound, “there’s a limit on what I can do.”
“Well, here’s something you can do. I think either a blowtorch or a flamethrower of some kind was used in the killing. A flamethrower could be hard to trace…it might be a souvenir from the last war. But a blowtorch ought to be rare on an island like this-except in one place: where wartime building’s going on. These airfields under construction, for example. If I can’t get permission to check into that myself, you should.”
He was thinking that over. “All right. I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Thanks.”
I was halfway out the door when he called, gently, “Mr. Heller…before you go…stop in and say hello to Captain Sears.”
“Captain Sears?”
“Two doors down the hall. He’s superintendent in charge of traffic. I understand he may have seen something…interesting…the night of the murder.”
I grinned. “Are you giving me a tip, Colonel?”
“Well, let me put it this way…you may mention my name in this regard to Captain Sears himself-but no one else.”
“Got ya,” I said. “You’re okay, Colonel.”
“‘Okay’ is something I’ve always dreamed of being,” he said dryly, and gestured toward the door. I was being dismissed.
Sears was in his office-which was almost identical to Lindop’s, except for a few additional wall maps, some of which had pins in them and were sectioned off into patrol areas-and saw me at once.
“Close the door,” he said, and I did.
A squarely built Britisher with small, slate-gray eyes under bold black strokes of eyebrow, Sears stood behind his desk and offered his hand for me to shake, and I did that, too. He sat, motioning for me to do the same.
His hair was dark, combed smoothly back; his mouth was a determined line. His khaki uniform looked flawless. His forceful, confident manner made you want to take his orders without question.
“You’re Nathan Heller,” he said, “the detective.”
“You’re Captain Sears,” I said, “who saw something interesting the night of the murder.”
I was almost surprised when he smiled; it was a closed-mouth smile, not rupturing the thin line of his mouth, but it was definitely a smile.
“I am,” he said, “and indeed I did. What I would like you to do, Mr. Heller, is convey to Mr. Higgs that I am ready and willing to testify for the defense.”
“Why are you?”
“Because I saw something that is of the utmost importance to the defense, and it is, after all, my duty to see justice done; and because I am dismayed by the clumsy investigative technique of the Americans in charge…no offense to you, sir.”
“Hey, those guys make it clear why American cops are called dicks.”
Now he laughed, just a little, but it proved he had teeth.
“You have a refreshing lack of pretension, Mr. Heller,” he said stiffly.
“Glad you appreciate it. What did you see?”
“Frankly, I would prefer to speak to Mr. Higgs.”
“Well, that’s fine-but I’m his investigator. We’re going to have to talk, you and I, sooner or later, and sooner is right now.”
He nodded, eyes bright under the black slashes of eyebrow. “Your point is well taken.” He leaned back in his chair. The wind was rustling the silk-cotton tree in the square in the open window behind him. “When I left the station that night, a few minutes before midnight, it was raining lightly…a heavy squall had just passed.”
He had driven down Bay Street and had just turned onto George Street when he saw a station wagon coming from Marlborough Street onto George.
“Harold Christie was sitting in the front seat.”
“You’re shitting me!”
“I assure you I’m not. As our car passed, we were right under a bright streetlight-the new type they have on Bay Street now.”
“Christie wasn’t driving?”
“No. Another person was.”
“You didn’t recognize the driver?”
“No. For all I saw, could have been colored or white, man or woman. But I did see Christie quite clearly-our cars were going only fifteen miles an hour or so.”
“Christie has a station wagon,” I said. “In fact, he claims he had it with him that night at Westbourne. Could it have been his?”
“Possibly. But, frankly, Mr. Heller, I couldn’t make a positive identification, and I didn’t see the license number. There was no reason to note it.”
“But you’re sure it was Christie?”
He smiled mildly. “I’ve known Harold since grade school. I’ve known him nearly all his life and mine.” He was quietly forceful, enunciating each word clearly: “It was Harold Christie, all right, shortly after midnight, in downtown Nassau.”
“And what direction was he headed?”
Sears shrugged. “He might well have been on his way to Westbourne.”
“I’m a little shaky, yet, on my Nassau geography…. When he came up from Marlborough Street, could he have been on his way from the wharf?”
He nodded. “He might well have picked up someone at Prince George’s Wharf, had any boat been foolish enough to be out in that weather.”