“Good-bye, Paulina,” he said. “I’m sorry it had to end this way.”
He really was sorry about it, and he hoped they would not be persecuted because of him. But there was nothing he could do about it, except maybe stay there and wait for the police to pick him up on a murder rap; and that was too much of a sacrifice to expect of any man.
Leonora was waiting for him outside. They went round to the back garden and she threw the machete away. Fletcher was feeling pretty heavily loaded with the suitcase, the holdall and the camera case slung over his shoulder.
“My God,” Leonora said; “did you have to bring all that lot?”
“They’re my things. I need them.”
“Okay,” she said, “okay, so you need them. Maybe we should have brought a truck.”
He could tell that she was on edge, though she was doing her best to conceal her nervousness. When they came to the fence they both had reason to be nervous. King was not there.
They climbed over the fence and Leonora called his name softly: “Matthew! Where are you?”
There was no answer.
“We’d better make for the boat,” she said. “Maybe he decided to go on ahead.”
Fletcher could see no reason why King should do that, but there was no point in discussing the matter, and it would have been futile to hunt for him in the darkness. He glanced back at the bungalow. There was still plenty of light shining from it, but Joby was not following them. Fletcher had not expected him to.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
He took the lead again, since he was more familiar with the way, and he had not gone more than twenty yards when he tripped over some obstacle lying in his path. He stumbled forward and nearly fell, dropping the bags. The obstacle was the body of a man.
The girl had come up close behind him and he could detect that edginess in her voice again.
“What is it, John? What’s happened?”
Fletcher had turned. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but I think we may have found Matthew.”
“Oh God, no!” she said.
Fletcher pulled the small torch from his pocket and switched it on. The body revealed in the beam of the torch was that of a man lying face downward; but it was certainly not King. This man was wearing uniform.
“A cop!” Leonora said. “So where’s Matthew?”
He answered for himself, appearing like a shadow out of the darkness. “I’m here. Switch the light off, John. You want to bring everybody running?”
Fletcher switched off the torch and put it back in his pocket. “What’s been going on?”
“The cop came snooping round. I had to deal with him. I’ve been looking for any pals he might have had. There’s a car down the road. One man in it. Asleep.”
“Did you kill this one?” Fletcher asked.
“Don’t think so. Just put him to sleep too. We better be moving.”
“You don’t think he may wake up and follow us?”
“When he wakes,” King said, “he’ll be in no state to follow anybody for quite a while. I used a rock.”
“Maybe you used it a bit too hard.”
“Maybe I did,” King said. But it didn’t seem to be bothering him. He picked up the holdall. “I’ll carry this.”
Fletcher was not sorry to be relieved of it; the suitcase was load enough. He led the way up the slope of the low ridge and down the other side, and a few minutes later they had passed through the belt of palm-trees and were on the beach.
“You took your time,” Lawrence said. “Began to think I’d have to come looking for you.”
“We had some trouble,” Leonora said.
“Uh-huh! There’s always trouble.” Lawrence sounded unperturbed. “You get what you went for?”
“Yes,” Fletcher said.
“That’s okay, then. Everything’s fine.”
Fletcher was not sure he would have agreed. He was still worried about Joby and Paulina and the kids. He hoped the police would not harass them, but there was no telling about that. Perhaps they should have given Joby a bump on the head to prove that he had tried; but it would have taken more than that to convince the police, and they were going to be pretty angry when they found the man King had smacked with a rock; especially if the man was dead. They would not like that at all.
As the boat headed northward on the return trip he sat and pondered gloomily on the situation. He had really got himself into something now; and he could see no way out of it; no way at all.
“You’re very silent,” Leonora said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Plenty of things,” he said; “but most especially that I’m in the devil’s own mess and it looks like staying that way.”
“All life’s a mess. We just have to make the best of it.”
“And what’s the best of this? You’d better tell me, because I’m damned if I can work it out for myself.”
She leaned towards him in the darkness, and he felt the soft pressure of her lips.
“That?” he asked.
“It could be,” she said. “It just could be.”
It was still dark when they slipped the boat into its place between the other boats and made the rope fast to the post on the board-walk. The car was where they had left it and there was not a soul about at that hour in the morning. Leonora had the keys, but she handed them to King.
“You can drive, Matthew. I’m tired.”
He took the keys without a word and unlocked the car. Fletcher stowed his luggage in the boot and heard Lawrence ask Leonora whether she would like to ride in the front. She said no; he could; she would rather sit in the back. She climbed in, and Fletcher got in on the other side. And then King started the engine and they were on their way.
A little while later she had snuggled up close to him and he had his arm round her. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and it was not much longer before she was asleep. It was nice having her there like that; it was snug and warm and cosy, and he liked it that way. When he came to think about it, it seemed to be just about the nicest part of the whole damned business.
TEN:
THE RIGHT PRICE
“You’d all better get some sleep now,” Denning said. “You’ve had a busy night and I imagine you’re tired.”
He had already been up and dressed when they arrived back at the house, and they had had breakfast together. Over breakfast they had given a report on the success of the operation. Denning had listened with interest, putting in a question now and then. On the whole he seemed to be very well satisfied with the way things had gone, merely remarking that the incident involving the policeman was unfortunate, but something that could not be helped.
“It was only to be expected that they would keep a watch on the place. But no matter; you have the camera now, and there is nothing to prevent you taking a new set of photographs.”
“When?” Fletcher asked.
Denning thought about it for a moment; then said: “Tomorrow.”
“Why not today?” King said. “Why not this afternoon?”
Denning shook his head. “No. I think it will be better to leave it until tomorrow.”
“That will be Saturday.”
“It doesn’t matter. What difference does it make what day of the week it is?”
King shrugged. “No difference, I guess. Okay, so it’s tomorrow.”
“I have to go into Jamestown this morning,” Denning said. “We can talk over the final arrangements when I get back. Is that all right?”
Nobody raised any objections. Fletcher reflected that he was probably the only one who had any; and he objected to the entire scheme. But he had become resigned to it; all he wanted now was to get it over and done with.
“What about the aqualung?”
“I’ll pick one up in Jamestown,” Denning said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
It was nice to know there was something he didn’t have to worry about. There were plenty of things that were worrying the life out of him.