“It’s my nature, Raymond. I can’t help it.”
“I suppose not. Makes things rather awkward, though.”
“I think I see what you mean.”
“You see the position you put me in?”
“Oh, I’ve seen that right along.”
“But you came along anyway?”
“I wanted to hear it all from you. I wanted to understand whether it was just about the money.”
“Of course, the money was a big part of it. But not all. He shouldn’t have treated me like that. I was his friend. He was peeved with me. That’s his word, not mine. And he cut me off as casually as though he were deadheading roses. I couldn’t stand that. I wouldn’t put up with it.”
“But the scheme wasn’t foolproof. From the beginning there were flaws. Other people knew and had to be hit.”
“You make me sound like a common gangster!”
“Oh, there’s nothing common about you, Raymond. You’re memorable. You’re a keeper. You won’t slip into obscurity again. I can promise you that.”
“So many loose ends that had to be taken care of. The ones I foresaw and the ones I didn’t. Foley, now. I always knew that he wouldn’t go the distance, but I couldn’t tell exactly where along the line I’d have to deal with him. He followed me to Vanessa’s that night. Thought he’d spoil things for me and implicate Vanessa. It was muddled thinking, you see. He didn’t have the head for it. Neither did Rankin. He only wanted the glory of the association with the great man. He’d always let me look after the practical things.”
“And you did very well. The police up north never suspected; the ones down here are still confused. Killing Renata at Vanessa’s was a master-stroke. It muddied so many waters at once.”
“A lot of that was luck. And timing. I didn’t know about Renata’s going to Vanessa’s until the day before I had to act.”
“But you had the rest planned?”
“Not really. As soon as Vanessa’s house came into it, I remembered Ed Patel’s gun over his fireplace. It was a lucky stroke. Like the wonderful things that come to you when you’re summing up a case and staring into the faces of a jury. Only the one last detail to put in place now.”
“Me, you mean?”
“Naturally. As they say in the movies, ‘You know too much.’”
“So you planned this little trip in the Sir Edward Coke.” Devlin was sitting upright now. He looked like an insect about to strike, except that he was carrying too much weight to be any insect I could think of.
“I’m sorry about this, Mr. Cooperman. But you see the necessity.” By his moving from “Ben” to “Mr. Cooperman,” I could feel that he was getting ready to make his move. It’s easier to kill someone with whom you are on rather formal terms.
“You may have forgotten a thing or two, Raymond.”
“Such as?”
“I’m not a complete fool. Do you think I’d have accepted your kind invitation without taking out insurance?” I could hear the wind whistling around the mast as Devlin weighed what I’d said.
“You can’t bluff your way out of this. All the cards are face up. There are no more surprises on the table.” He was sneering slightly. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“What if Ed Patel comes home from the hospital? That would be another complication.”
“Ed Patel isn’t getting out of there except to go to the funeral home across the street. Even he knows that.” The boat was heeling over again, the sails were bellied out. The sheets were squeaking in their cleats.
“Are you sure he hasn’t contacted anyone? Friends, visitors?”
“Who’ll believe him? He’s wandering in his mind. When he’s not going on about Lawrence of Arabia, he’s telling you who owned which cottage on the lake at the turn of the last century. He’s a colossal bore. He can’t spoil things. Only you can.”
“The police know I’m here.”
“More bluff. But not good enough to save you.” Here, Devlin swung the tiller hard over, ducking his head down as he went. I ducked as well, just as the boom slammed over hard, parting my hair as it went. But Devlin had a second part to his plan. He was up on his feet now, and I could see that there was a gun in his right hand. It looked like a toy. It was the circumstances that told me it was real. He made a start for me, silhouetted against the light, as I cowered in the cockpit. He added the support of his left hand to his right as he took aim. I closed my eyes just as the boom crashed back to where it had been. The boat had refused to come about. Devlin was struck full in the chest and knocked off balance. He went over the side without my being able to either see him properly or get to him. The gun went off as he fell, and I heard the zing of the bullet as it hit the aluminum mast. By the time I got to his side of the boat, there wasn’t even a ripple showing where he’d gone down. Then, I saw his head come up and saw his yellow slicker as he thrashed around.
I was surprised how quickly the yacht was moving away from him. He was becoming smaller, vanishing under the swell. I looked for a life preserver and tossed it overboard. I tried to turn the boat to get back to the place where he’d disappeared. But, as I said, I’m no skipper. I’ve felt helpless before, but this was a new issue, nothing like any earlier experience. I attempted to come about, but by the time I managed it, I was half a mile from where I’d last seen Devlin. I tried again, got closer, but could see nothing.
Then I remembered the motor. I turned the key and pushed the button; it caught the first time. I tried the throttle, moving it back and then forward to get the hang of it, and then sped back where he’d last been seen. I passed the empty life preserver, made another turn and came around again. I wanted to criss-cross my path as well as I could, but the sails had their own plans. At last I had to admit that we were totally out of control. The boom had come loose and was under water on the side away from the wind. I tried to straighten it, but by the time I’d got the sheet firmly caught in the cleat, I couldn’t tell where I was. I’d lost sight of the life preserver and, with it, all chance of finding Devlin. That’s when I gave up the search. By now I was sailing a piece of the lake that had not witnessed any of this. Innocent water. That’s when I turned my mind to getting Sir Edward back to the Island.
TWENTY-FIVE
I arrived back at the ROYC main dock, towed by a police launch that had been alerted by the duty commodore of the club. My erratic thrashing around, my many attempts to sail directly against the wind, finally attracted attention. If ever a fine boat hung its head, Sir Edward did. The police corporal at the controls of the launch that towed me back to the club had never heard of Sykes or Boyd. Later, Jack Sykes told me that they had had a helicopter circling above the Sir Edward Coke all the time. I never heard it. It’s one of those stories you’d like to believe.
They never found Devlin’s body. He was gone. Maybe he got to the life preserver and made it to the American side of the lake. Maybe he is now searching titles in a Rochester registry office. In a pig’s eye. He was gone in another way: gone not meaning simply not here. And I couldn’t make myself feel good about it.
Someone rescued my street clothes from the cabin of the yacht. I remember glimpses of ROYC members fussing over me as though I were Robinson Crusoe thrown up on Centre Island. A woman with blue hair gave me half a sandwich. A shot of rye was administered; I never found out who paid for it. I recall trying to explain that I was unharmed, that it was the other guy who could use some help. But by now it was dark and far too late to launch a search-and-rescue operation. So all of this unsolicited energy for good deeds centred on me. I fell asleep on the ferry, and the taxi left me at the New Beijing Inn without my being fully aware of the fact. The rest of the night was divided equally between unruffled sleep and nightmares of a nautical nature that I don’t want to go into right now.