Frankie fell down on his face, among smashed cups and plates. He stayed down, but one fist came up in a slashing arc. There was a jagged shard of tumbler in it. Koski kicked at the black hair. The Filipino jerked his head back. The toe of the shoe clipped him under the jaw, hard. He went over on his side, still jabbing ineffectually with the sliver of glass.
Koski stood up, shifted his weight stamped on Frankie’s wrist. “Cut it out now. Or I’ll part your hair down to the bone.” He pried the weapon out of the numb fingers, threw it behind him. Then he wound his fingers in the back of the Filipino’s collar, yanked him erect. “What makes with the berserk business?”
The steward showed his upper teeth. “You have no right to that photograph!”
“No? Maybe you have a. better one?”
The Filipino brought his knee up viciously, caught Koski in the groin. The pain doubled him up, but as he bent over, his left hand shot out, got a grip on Frankie’s throat. The steward squirmed, bowed his head, sank his teeth into the detective’s thumb. Koski smashed a hard right just back of the boy’s ear; his knees sagged; it took only a push to send him to the floor in a heap.
The Lieutenant straightened up, grimacing. He wiped a little blood from his thumb. “Have to take an anti-rabies shot for this.”
“He did act like a mad dog, didn’t he?” Barbara’s eyes were bright with excitement. “But Frankie simply misunderstood, Lieutenant.”
“You think so?” He prodded the Filipino with his foot. “You want another helping?”
Frankie lay still, wrapping a handkerchief around his hand where the glass had cut him.
“Get up.” Koski wound his fingers in the black hair, brought the steward to his feet, moaning. “If I didn’t have more urgent business on hand, I’d take you back downtown with me and run you through the wringer. If you start anything again, I’ll do it.”
“Oh, but Lieutenant.” Barbara pouted. “He didn’t really attack you. He thought you were trying to take something that belonged to me. You didn’t see what it was, did you, Frankie?”
The steward looked sullenly at the floor. “No, ma’am.”
“You can’t blame him for defending his employer’s interest, can you?” She waggled her fingers at the mess on the carpet. “Just see what you’ve done to my cabin.”
Koski released the steward, shoved him toward the door. “Better get that hand fixed up. You can come back and clean this up later.” He picked up the trampled snapshot.
Barbara held out a hand. “You hurt yourself, Frankie. Let me see.”
The Filipino put the hand with the stained handkerchief behind him. “It’s just a little cut, ma’am. I’m sorry I ruined your tray. I’ll make some more sandwiches. Excuse me, please.” He stalked away.
“I had no idea,” Barbara propped herself up on one elbow, “he would tear into you like that. But there’s no sense apologizing for loyalty, is there?”
“Not so far as I’m concerned.” Koski wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “But if he gets sudden spells of misunderstanding,—”
“You think he might have done away with Ansel?” She seemed to be debating the matter with herself. “Oh, Frankie was too scared of Gjersten. No,” she retrieved the chart of the zodiac which had slid to the floor, “all the signs seem to point... in another direction—”
“Here we go again. By any chance, do these celestial signboards say where your husband has gone?”
“I don’t need any planetary progression to know where Merrell will be.”
“Give.”
“With Ellen.”
“Keep pouring.”
“Ellen Wyatt. The sculptress. She has a studio on South Street somewhere. Merrill’s supposed to be posing. For a life-size figure. That’ll be his bedtime story.”
Koski grunted. “How you and your husband handle your private affairs is nothing in my life. I’m after a killer who might not stop with one murder. Take a tip from me. Don’t depend on the constellations to keep you out of trouble.”
He retrieved the boot, went out, up the companionway. She followed him to the deckhouse.
“If I could help you by working out Ansel’s horoscope...?”
“You can use voodoo, if it’ll dig up any real dope. But don’t expect me to go into a trance over any of your starfish.”
She disappeared below deck.
Cardiff was backed up against the chart-case. An empty glass and a bottle of Demerara rum, nearly empty, were within easy reach. “Get what you wanted, Lieutenant?”
“Nothing but a runaround. Except from that Filipino cookie. He blew his top. I had to muss him up a little.”
“Was that it? He came up here to get me to stick some adhesive on his hand. I thought I heard a fracas.”
“You haven’t heard the last of it. Quote you odds on that. When you go on patrol again?”
“Tomorrow night. We have the twelve-to-eight. Stratford Light to Penfield Reef. Why?”
“Because I want you people where I can get my hands on you. Nobody on this tub has a clean bill of health as yet. We might have to make a few bloodtests before we get through. I want all of you here. When I get back. All of you. Understand?” He went aft, hauled in the Vigilant’s bow-line, cast her off, jumped aboard.
Mulcahey was nursing an aluminum pot over a canned-alcohol flame. “A poor substitute for what you prob’ly been guzzling up on the palatial pleasure-craft. Would you turn up your nose at mere caffein, after bein’ offered the best the house affords?”
“Had all the stimulation I can stand, Irish. Kick her over.”
“Speaking of stimulation,” the Sergeant blew the flame out, “if that damsel you were interviewin’ was a sample of the upper crust, I could go for a moderate morsel of such.”
“You wouldn’t care for it. Too hot for your taste.”
“You underestimate me, Steven. I would not even require the customary book of verse. No, nor a jug of anything; — not with her beside me, now.”
“Mrs. Ovett has plenty of the old McGoo. More than she knows how to handle.”
“She got a rise out of you. Ha!” Mulcahey thumbed the starter-button.
“She’d get a rise out of a mummy. But she’s strictly a ga-ga. Kept double-talking me about foretelling this hatchet-work from the constellations. Wanted me to wait while she doped out who did it, — from a chart of the celestial cycles.”
“Hell, plenty of right people believe in astronomy. I got a cousin over in Hackensack who cleans up on the parimutuels by consulting one of them birthday books. He looks up every nag’s birthday before he will lay a buck on the line.”
“I must get him to pick me a winner for the Derby sometime. But that isn’t all that’s whacky with the Ovett babe. She’s a witch.”
“Now, now.” Mulcahey poured coffee into a thick mug. “Is that a thing to say on short acquaintance!”
“I should have sent you on board to make inquiries.”
“Foo.” The Sergeant blew on the coffee. “When better dames are made, Mulcahey will make them.”
“You’d have little or no trouble with this one.”
“Man-goofey?”
“Way I read it, she’s been steaming up to every male on the Seavett. Except the Cap, maybe. He’s over the age limit.”
The Sergeant peered at him across the top of the mug. “And her married to Ovett?”
“Young Merrell Ovett. He’s the guy absence didn’t make her fonder of. Just got back to the yacht last night after two months away. Stayed a few minutes, took it on the lam again.”