“You did a lousy job, kid,” said Johnny. “A sloppy, lousy job. You left me cold without an alibi. You killed two people, so they’ll look twice as hard. And you left a souvenir behind.”
“The cutlass?” The kid sat up, supporting himself with his hands. “Nobody saw that, Quill. I stuck it in my pants leg when we went through customs.”
“You figure the guy from the Zinia wouldn’t report it missing? You think they wouldn’t remember that you were in both places?”
Albert’s eyes widened in terror. “Jesus, you gotta cover for me, chief. You know if they get me, they’ll get you—!”
Johnny slapped him. His rage had faded, but the kid was getting too loud. “They won’t trace the cutlass to you, kid. Get up and clean up. We’ve got to get out of here before somebody finds the bodies.”
The kid had just finished mopping the deck when three loud knocks sounded on the cabin door.
“Who is it?” asked Johnny.
The answer rolled into the tiny cabin. “Police.”
Johnny caught his breath and whispered to Albert. “Anybody see you swim to the hotel?”
The kid’s face was the color of an oyster. “I don’t think—”
“You sure as hell don’t. Go to the wheel and be ready to move out.”
The pounding at the door was repeated. Johnny said peevishly: “I’m getting my pants on. What’s the trouble?”
“There’s been a murder, sir. I have to ask some questions.”
Johnny swore to himself and jerked on his trousers. How had the bodies been found so soon?
He slid the steel file into his pocket as he walked to the door. The cop had sounded polite. A cop isn’t polite to someone he’s about to arrest for murder, Johnny thought — but you couldn’t trust a cop.
He opened the door. The corporal stood bareheaded, his jacket unbuttoned. He stepped inside with a faint, apologetic smile.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he said in precise, unaccented English. “Someone killed our hotelkeeper, Mr. McLenno, and his... ummm, maid of all work, a woman named Lena.”
“Good Lord!” Johnny hoped he sounded shocked.
The corporal lowered himself to the edge of the bench. “The cutlass is a frightfully vicious thing, isn’t it?”
“I imagine so. Was that the weapon?” This cop is sharp, thought Johnny. I must remember to know only what he tells me about the killing.
The corporal nodded. He unzipped a plastic case and drew out a pad and pencil. “May I see your passports, please?”
Johnny took the green folder from his suitcase and gave it to him.
“I’ll also need your boatman’s.”
Albert came forward with his passport, keeping the battered side of his face turned away. The corporal made notes in his pad as he thumbed through the folders. Johnny thought he looked more like an insurance man filling out a questionnaire than a cop.
“Mr. Quill,” said the corporal as he handed back the passports. “Have either you or your boatman been ashore this evening?”
Johnny’s nerves tightened. “Albert hasn’t. I went for a swim and walked on the beach.”
The corporal made a note and regarded his pad thoughtfully. “I suppose I should ask now if you saw any suspicious individuals, but I’ve learned that all we islanders look suspicious to a stranger.” he smiled. “May I ask what time you took your walk?”
“Eight-thirty... until about ten.”
“You must have gone a good distance.”
“No, I... met a girl on the beach. I spent the time with her.” He paused, and the corporal waited with an expression of polite interest. “She said her name was Millicent.”
“Millicent Henry.” The corporal nodded. “Yes. You would naturally meet Millicent.” He made a note in the pad. “I’ll have to ask you not to leave the island.”
Johnny took a slow, deep breath, amazed that he was being trusted. He hoped Millicent had been too preoccupied to doubt his word about the time.
He watched the corporal zip up his plastic case and rise to his feet.
“Have you any leads?” asked Johnny.
The corporal frowned. “One theory so far. That it was a professional killer from the states.”
The words hit Johnny like a fist in the stomach. He wanted a wall to lean against.
“The theory,” added the corporal, “came from Mr. McLennon’s widow. She’s the one who found the bodies.”
Something pinged in Johnny’s mind. McLennon’s widow... that meant Norma McLain, his wife. The woman Johnny had left in Trinidad. How did she get here so soon?
With an effort, he brought his thoughts under control. “Do you think she’s right?”
“I can’t say. The woman was on the verge of hysteria — with good reason, certainly. She rode the Goose — that’s our seaplane — from Trinidad to Kingstown. Then had a devil of a time getting out here. Turned back twice by heavy sea, finally persuaded a fisherman to make the trip. Then, finding her husband decapitated...” He shrugged. “Now she says they’re after her.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Something to do with a letter her husband left for her. We found it under his mattress.”
Johnny caught his breath. He wanted to kick himself for not searching the place. Now he’d have to deal with Norma McLain whether he wanted to or not.
He watched the corporal open the door. “Where is the woman now?”
“With Mrs. Gantry.” The corporal turned, frowning. “Why do you ask?”
Johnny wondered if he seemed too interested in the woman. It couldn’t be helped. “I might be able to help her.”
The corporal looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Yes. It might soothe her to see a countryman, at that. Mrs. Gantry lives in the yellow house at the edge of the savanna.”
After he left, Johnny started pulling on his shirt.
“You gonna take care of her now?” asked Albert.
“On the island? Don’t be an idiot. I might as well do it in the police station.” He sat down and jerked on his shoes. “I’m going after the letter. If I get that, maybe I can scare her into keeping quiet.”
“That won’t satisfy Cantino.”
Johnny’s jaw set. “To hell with Cantino.” He rose and walked toward Albert. “And you, why didn’t you tell me about that seaplane?”
Albert blinked up at him. “I didn’t know, man, I—”
“Don’t lie, kid. You knew she was coming. You thought she’d be with her husband, and you’d get a chance to kill them both. Right?”
Albert looked down, his face set in sullen defiance. Johnny felt an overpowering urge to wrap his hands around the kid’s throat and see the bright, dancing eyes film over. But there were more urgent things to do.
“Listen, kid,” he said softly. He lifted Albert to his toes by the front of his shirt. “I plan to bring the woman back here. If you lay a finger on her, I’ll kill you.”
The yellow house was the kind of toy mansion they like to build in the Indies. Johnny crossed an ornate, pillared gallery in one step and stooped to go through double doors which had looked majestic from a distance.
Mrs. Gantry was a huge, light brown woman with a bald spot on her crown. Carrying a kerosene lamp, she led him down a tiny corridor and knocked on a door. When no answer came, she turned to Johnny and whispered; “The poor thing’s terrified. Hiding someplace, I should imagine.”
She pushed open the door. The tiny room had space for little more than the massive four-poster bed and a wooden washstand. The bed was rumpled, but empty.
Mrs. Gantry set the lamp on the washstand. “You wait. She’ll come out directly.”
Alone, Johnny browsed around, too nervous to sit. The bedsheet was still warm, smelling faintly of violets. On a rung of the washstand hung a bra, slip and panties, still damp from washing. Beneath it lay a flowered skirt and a cotton blouse, both stiff with dried salt brine. She’d had a rough trip.