Koski’s lips made a soundless O. “Where’s young Ovett?”
“We don’t see much of Merrill.”
“Not around last night?”
“Well... he was... and he wasn’t.” The Captain appeared to be rummaging in the drawer for something he couldn’t find. “We hadn’t seen him or heard from him — at least I hadn’t — for a couple of months. Then yesterday he showed up out of a clear sky while we were lying there at Rodd’s Dock.”
“What time?”
“About high tide. Say five. He just walked on board without saying where he’d been or what he’d been doing.” Cardiff closed the drawer, cleared his throat “Kind of surprised... everybody.”
“Somebody caught with his pants down?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
“Was there a fight?”
“Oh, no.” Cardiff fidgeted. “No rough stuff.”
“Did Hurlihan clear out?”
“Not right away.” The Captain looked over his shoulder, made sure there was no one on the deck outside. “Missus Ovett sent Frankie up to the bridge to tell me we’d run around to the East River and drop the super off at the club float, foot of Wall Street. So I sent Frankie over to Rodd’s machine shop to locate Ansel. He was trying to get hold of a template — so we could straighten out the propeller ourselves. Few minutes after they came back, I took the tub across the river. We could only make about quarter-speed; the fog was thicker than a steam-bath and running on one propeller makes her vibrate so I thought she’d shake her guts out.”
“Gjersten didn’t mix in this family argument?”
“Not that I heard. He went right down to the engine-room. If you’re thinking he tipped Merrill off to any dirt about Missus Ovett—”
Koski made a brusque gesture with the flat of his hand. “I’m thinking there must have been plenty of rough stuff, no matter what you heard, or didn’t hear. What else would you call cutting off a man’s head? And arms? And legs? Stuffing his body in a suitcase...?”
Cardiff cleared his throat again, ceremoniously. “Now I suppose I ought to say I’m sorry for Ansel. But I never did like the surly son of a sea-cook. Still, that decapitation business — that’s enough to turn your stomach.”
“It was. Whether it was Gjersten or not. There’s damn little to go on in the way of identification. How tall would you say he was?”
“Little under six feet. Well built. Weighed maybe a hundred and seventy-five pounds, I’d guess.”
“Ever see him stripped?”
Cardiff rubbed a forefinger under his nostrils. “In his undershirt. Only thing I remember is that whacky-looking tattoo mark.”
“Yair...?”
“A propeller. Four-bladed propeller, it was supposed to be, only it looked more like a purple four-leaf clover. Frankie kidded him about it once; Ansel got sore and near broke the Filipino’s arm before I cut in.”
“What was on his arm doesn’t help. Recall any marks on his body?”
The Captain shook his head. “There’d have been plenty of marks on him if he got into a fight with Merrill, though.”
“Tough?”
“Boss’s son has a temper like a fulminate cap; runs in the family, sort of. The Old Man blows his valve if anybody looks crosseyed at him. And I’ve seen Merrill make a pretzel out of a pipe-stanchion when he got in a rage at her.” Cardiff jerked his thumb toward the deck again.
“Well, hell. You’d have heard it if he and Ansel mixed it below deck, hey?”
“Hard to say.” The Captain was thoughtful. “Those old motors make more noise than a bombing plane. Even when they’re idling, they’re nothing to lull you to sleep. I didn’t even hear Merrill when he came up on deck and jumped to the float.”
“You see him?”
“I saw him sprawling on the float after he took a flying leap for himself.”
“Where was Ansel?”
“Well, he’s supposed to handle the for-rad line when we dock, but he hadn’t shown since he first went down below, so I figured maybe he was in the John or something. So I ran the bow-line out myself, because I could tell Mister Hurlihan was in a swivet to get on shore.” Cardiff hiccoughed gently. “He hopped off onto the float and beat it up the gangplank to the pier. I gave her right rudder and a touch of reverse to swing out — went up to cast off. Frankie was at the stern-line; I heard him yell. When I looked back, there was Merrill doing a broad jump clear across to the float.”
“He have a suitcase with him?”
“Jumping across five feet of water? Didn’t have anything except what he could carry in the pockets of his blue serge.”
Koski thumbed brown flakes into the bowl of the corncob. “Where was his wife?”
“Below. In her cabin, she says.”
“Didn’t you think it was queer for young Ovett to shove off like that, without saying so-long to anybody?”
“How’d I know he hadn’t been talking to Missus Ovett?” The Captain puffed out his cheeks, exhaled like a balloon deflating. “I thought likely he was hotfooting after Mister Hurlihan. That was no skin off my stern.”
“You see Ansel after you left the Wall Street float?”
“No. Matter of fact, now I come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing him at all, after we left Rodd’s. But I didn’t pay any attention to that; he’s been such an unreliable scut.”
The radio burped, beeped, exploded intoraucous voice:
“...Cutter Algonquin calling Coast Guard Fire Island...”
“...go ahead, Algonquin...”
“...bringing in twenty-two survivors torpedoed merchant vessel. Expect to disembark Freeport about three A.M. Will need four ambulances. Hospital accommodations for fifteen. That is all.”
“...Message received, Algonquin...”
The set fell silent. Koski switched it off, grimly. “You say Merrill Ovett knew how to operate one of these sets?”
“I didn’t say so. But if you ask me, I’d say he does.”
Koski gripped his arm. “Listen, don’t play twenty questions with me. I’m after a killer. I’m after a man who may have been responsible for those fifteen people being rushed to a hospital — and for those who won’t need any medical attention because they weren’t picked up. You tell me what you know. Without my having to drag it out of you. And start now.”
IV
“I’ve told you all I know.” Beads of moisture crystaled on the Captain’s eyebrows. “I... I’m sure of that.”
“I can’t wait around while you cross-question yourself. Show me young Ovett’s cabin.”
Cardiff led him down the companion-way, opened a stateroom door at the foot of the steps. “He wasn’t on board a great deal... so he used this guest cabin.”
Koski grunted. There wasn’t much to indicate the owner’s habits. Military brushes on the bureau; a copy of Hosmer’s Navigation; some old copies of Yachting. On the wall a water color: the Tarpon Springs sponge fleet at anchor. In the hanging locker, a couple of suits, some crew-neck sweaters, a long-visored fishing cap, a pair of knee-high rubber boots. Automatically, Koski picked them up. One was heavier than the other. There was a red tin can about sixteen inches high in it. The tin was labeled:
He opened the can. In it were only three of the wooden sticks with the redpaper ends.
“You use flares much, on this yacht?”