“There’s several of us,” Scanlon said, gripping Maria’s arms tightly. “Are we going to stand here and listen...”
“We are,” Lessard said. “What led you to this belief, Rivers?”
“First, it was Scanlon who tipped Bucks about the existence of the money. They were together in a bar and Scanlon was supposedly loose-tongued from liquor. If I had the whole of that conversation, I’d probably find that Scanlon hinted how the theft might be pulled. The midget population of Tampa is sizable, and Bucks knew a lot of them in his carny days. The market for midgets isn’t what it used to be. A lot of them are down on their luck and Bucks had a strong lure to corrupt one of the little people.
“Scanlon’s big mistake was in his too-ready identification of Bucks the night Bucks and Tina stole the dummy package. They were in a light plywood boat, some distance away on the water. You, Lessard, saw them too indistinctly to make a sure identification. Even after Scanlon called Bucks by name, you said, ‘Jordan, is that you?’
“Scanlon knew who was out there because he’d intended for Bucks to be there. He’d been waiting and listening, one night, two nights, maybe more, for Bucks to steal the dummy. “With the fact clearly established in your minds that Bucks had stolen the fortune, Scanlon waited for a chance to get rid of Bucks and set you off on a red-herring chase after an unknown person. Scanlon’s chance came after Bucks and I had a fight in Tina’s cottage. Scanlon simply walked in and clobbered Bucks Jordan’s brains with his own blackjack.
“The killing of Gaspar served a double purpose for Scanlon. It got rid of a danger. It saved whatever money Scanlon had promised the dwarf.
“Talking with Gaspar in Gaspar’s room, Scanlon saw growing fear in the little man. If Gaspar cracked, he realized, he’d have more than the police to worry about. You’d tumble to the fact that two little people were connected with the theft of the half-million. Scanlon knew that you then might reason that Bucks had been a fall guy, for a schemer in your own ranks.”
Lessard said in a choked whisper, “Now what, Rivers?”
“Now I want proof,” I said. “Kincaid is locked in the Scanlon cottage. He values his neck. So do you, Lessard. The only way out for you is to help me get the proof I need on Scanlon.”
Scanlon threw her straight at me, the wife he’d vowed to love, honor and cherish. Not caring how many bullets she took, so long as it gave him a break, a chance.
I tried to dodge Maria. My wet feet slipped on the deck.
Scanlon kicked at me. I pitched back, trying to raise the gun. I didn’t want to kill him. That job was for the State of Florida. But I had to slow him down.
I fired from a slumped position. A sudden movement by him caused the slug to catch him in the body, lower and further in than I’d intended.
He grabbed his stomach, pitching to one side under the impact. He accepted the change of direction the bullet had given him. He went over the side, hitting the water in a crazily pinwheeling dive.
Maria Scanlon’s hands were tearing at me. “He’s ill!” she shrieked. “Can’t you understand him? He needs help — not pecking from all the other chicks in the brood!”
I back-handed her hard to get her away from me. I looked at the dark water, trying to spot Scanlon’s lighter shadow.
I heard D. D. say, “Well, how do you like it now, father dear? I say to hell with it. To hell with everything!”
Lessard was close beside me, peering over the rail, paying no attention to his daughter.
He was mumbling under his breath, “I’ll get him. I’ll make him tell where the money is... I’ll get him... The rat... the dirty, double-crossing...”
Maria put an exclamation mark on his words by slamming him across the side of the head with a heavy crockery pitcher the Lessards used as a cocktail mixer.
Lessard slumped, out cold. I raised my arm, warded off
Maria’s next blow. I grabbed the pitcher and jerked it out of her hand.
She tried to strike me with her fists, and I shoved her hard across the deck. She was brought up against the side of the cabin.
I heard Scanlon swimming then, and I saw the pale blur of him making for shore.
I hit the water in a belly-busting resemblance to a dive.
I heard Maria give a cry and come crashing in the water behind me.
Later, I discovered that she’d never learned to swim well. All her life, she’d been too painfully aware of what she looked like in a bathing suit to have much to do with the water... later — when she failed to reach shore alive.
Right then, I was putting everything I had into trying to catch Scanlon. Like a sheep dog, I swim long but not fast.
Then I realized I was gradually overtaking him.
I neared him, Reached for him.
I grabbed him, by the ankle.
He kicked at me feebly and threw a few weak punches at me when I swarmed him and we went under.
He slipped free of me for a moment. Then with salt water boiling in my nose and ears, I touched him.
He had a final surge of strength in him. It carried him a few yards ahead.
As I broke the surface, I saw him looking back at me. I struck out after him again.
When I reached him this time, I knew I had him. The bullet he’d taken had drained the strength from him. The water around him caught starlight and the glow of the Sprite’s deck lamp, and the reflection held a hint of red.
“Scanlon,” I gasped, blowing water out of my nose, “you’re dying.”
“No,” he said, “I won’t die. I can’t die. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Because of the money?”
“I’ll live... to spend the money...”
“No,” I said, “tell me where the money is. I want proof, Scanlon. I have to have proof.”
“You... go... to the devil, Rivers... If it hadn’t been for you...” Salty water gagged him. He tried to rear up. He fell forward, the water closing over him.
I was blind with hatred for him for a second. Then I knew I couldn’t leave him to the prowling barracuda and blood-scenting sharks.
I grasped his collar, half-turned on my back, and got his head wedged against my chest out of the water.
The bay and I fought for the possession of Scanlon. I managed to thresh the remaining yards until there was bottom under my feet.
I dragged him on shore. Then I fell on hands and knees beside him.
The pounding lessened in my head and I looked at him. A faint groan came from him. He was still alive.
I straddled him to pump some of the water out of him. My fingers came in contact with his waist. They went rigid, so rigid they hurt. He’d taken no chances. He was wearing it on him, around his waist in a flat money belt.
Proof.
Half-million dollars worth of beautiful proof...
The leathery bait-camp proprietor was standing on his screened front porch when I staggered to the cottage.
“What’s going on out there?” he asked. “I thought I heard a shot.”
“You did. The guy who took it may make the grade if we get an ambulance quick enough. I used his shirt for a compress to slow the bleeding. Now I need your phone.”
“Phone?” he said blankly.
“For police business.”
“Police? Oh, sure.” He jerked the door open and gestured toward the phone. It was on a wicker table in the screened porch area where the proprietor did most of his living.
I picked up the phone and got an ambulance started out for Scanlon. Then I called Lieutenant Steve Ivey at his home number. I identified myself and said, “Get this, Steve, and get it quick. Call the Coast Guard and pin down the schooner Sprite. She’s here legally, but as part of a plan to put her to illegal use. She’s Peruvian registry and the CG will know where she’s anchored. Then shoot a squad car to her residence and pick up Mrs. Emily Braddock Carton on suspicion of conspiracy. Next...”