“Neither have you, Robbins.”
Sandy’s face lit up. “You believe that? Man, I thank you.” At that moment, Diamond shouted, “Addie! Brooks! Del! Over here—we need to talk. Keep your guns trained on the prisoners.”
The three guards backed away toward Diamond and Ledbetter. When they were out of earshot, Reynolds whispered urgently, “Listen, you two. I’m not a stamp collector. Well, only an amateur. I’m Chief Superintendent Tibbett’s sergeant from Scotland Yard.”
“I don’t see that helps any,” said Candy.
“Tibbett’s sure to come with the search party. I sent him a note before I took off after Candy, and he’ll have made sense of it by now. The only reason we haven’t been found yet is that he’s holding off deliberately.”
“Looks like he’s held off too long,” Sandy remarked. “If the police had gotten here yesterday—”
“You’d have gone straight back to prison, with a double murder charge, or even triple, just as Diamond said. Now, I’ll tell you what I think they’re planning over there and what we must do…”
The atmosphere in the encampment after the departure of Jackson Ledbetter was, to say the least, oppressive. Guards and prisoners formed two uneasy groups. Diamond scowled and fingered her gun. Addison had been sent to the tower as a lookout. Brooks and Delaware sat on the ground, elbows on knees and heads down, saying nothing and looking at nobody.
Suddenly, there was a crashing in the undergrowth, and Addison burst into the clearing. “They’re coming! They’re on the trail to the tower! Listen, you can hear them!”
Diamond, Brooks, and Delaware sprang into action. The prisoners were hustled behind the tents, accompanied by Brooks and Delaware. Diamond and her brother went to the edge of the clearing and stood listening intently. Sure enough, before long came the sound of voices, of men moving through the forest. Diamond lifted her head, like an animal scenting prey. Then she said, “Now!”
There was a deafening explosion of sound as Diamond and Addison sent a barrage of shots into the forest in the direction of the searchers. Then a brief silence, punctuated by shouts from the hunters. Diamond turned her head briefly and nodded to Brooks and Delaware, before loosing another volley of shots at the unseen targets.
At once, the machetes flashed from the belts of the two black men, and Candy screamed in terror—but this time the wickedly curved knives were not to be used for murder. Instead, the prisoners’ bonds were quickly and neatly cut, as more shots rang out.
In the moment of silence that followed, Reynolds took a deep breath and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Don’t fire! Tibbett, don’t fire! For God’s sake, don’t fire!”
The answer was another vicious burst of gunfire from Diamond and Addison, and a blow from a rifle butt that sent Reynolds sprawling to the ground with blood trickling from his mouth. Sandy took up the cry. “Don’t fire! Don’t fire!”
Henry’s voice, magnified by a megaphone, came out of the dark forest. “I can hear you, Reynolds. Diamond, we are advancing on the encampment now. We will not fire a single shot. You will be solely responsible for any casualties. Do you understand me?”
Brooks and Delaware stood with rifles trained on the three prisoners, immobile and questioning. Diamond turned and shook her head negatively. Then she called, “What are your terms, Tibbett?”
“Release your prisoners. Send them out to us now. When they have reached us unharmed, we will move in. And when I say prisoners, I include Sandy Robbins. They will walk slowly. We will not fire.”
There was a moment of dead silence. Then Diamond laughed. “Your terms are accepted.” She turned to the prisoners. “Go on. Get out.”
Sandy and Candy looked at Reynolds as he struggled to his feet. He said, “Follow me. Don’t hurry. Don’t look back.”
Slowly, the three walked across the clearing and into the woods. Once in their shelter, Candy broke into a run, but Sandy restrained her. Reynolds said, out of his shattered mouth, “That’s right. Slowly. A bargain has been struck. We must keep our side of it.”
So it was that several minutes passed before Henry was shaking Reynolds’s hand and fixing him up with disinfectant for his bleeding jaw, and Candy was weeping with relief in Emmy’s arms, and Tom Bradley was clapping Sandy Robbins on the back and laughing aloud and shouting congratulations. Then Sandy was surrounded by the policemen of St. Matthew’s, his erstwhile jailers, who swept him up in a great explosion of joy and relief, while Owen Montague looked on with a tolerant smile. Needless to say, when the search party arrived at the encampment, it was deserted.
The police at once began collecting the boxes of arms and ammunition. Henry took Emmy’s arm and said, “Let’s go up to the tower. There may be something to see.”
From the platform of the tower, there was a clear view down to Jellyfish Bay. A white motorboat, looking like a toy, was anchored just off the beach, and a man was sitting in it.
“Mr. Jackson Ledbetter,” said Henry. “I wonder what Diamond will tell him. Presumably that the plan succeeded, that she and Addison provoked the police into firing and then dispatched the prisoners with police rifles. Shot by the police while trying to escape—quite an ingenious idea, considering the fix that Mr. Ledbetter was in. I must consider recommending Sergeant Reynolds for promotion.”
“How could you possibly have known what was going to happen?” Emmy asked.
“I didn’t, of course. I just had to make the best guesses I could. The first thing was to get Ledbetter down here, by Lucy’s phone call. I’m glad now that you refused to do it yourself, impersonating Teresa. It was much better coming from Lucy, whom he knows. He never questioned it when she passed on as gossip from Teresa that Huberman’s luggage had been found and fingerprinted. Of course, Ledbetter was the tall, bearded man at the airport—Officer Stanton even found the false beard stashed in a second locker. He’d traveled as Huberman, on Huberman’s boarding pass—that’s why the airline swore that Huberman was on the plane. And then, of course, Lucy was able to elaborate on Diamond’s activities, which the press has been playing down on the governor’s orders. Ledbetter never intended things to get out of hand. He had to come down and—Ah, I think something is happening down there.”
As he spoke, four running figures broke out of the trees and onto the beach. In a moment, they were in the boat, the anchor was up, and the small white hull was cutting a curved swathe of wash through the deep blue water, headed for Tampica.
“What will happen now?” Emmy asked.
“I don’t know. There are several possibilities. Ledbetter may take them to Tampica, but it would be a big risk for him. To dispose of them would also be a risk—but if I were Diamond, I think I’d prefer to be in the hands of the police than where she is now. Of course, she may not know for certain that it was Ledbetter who killed Olsen and Huberman. Her part in the operation was merely to keep trouble simmering on the island in order to scotch the cotton-growing plan. Pity for Ledbetter that she got overenthusiastic at the same time that the CPF was about to be investigated for bribery. As I said the other day, Diamond was never intended to be more than a diversion.”
“And Teresa?”
“She was the channel of communication. She passed orders and money from Ledbetter to Diamond—who knew him only as the mysterious Mr. Owen. Ledbetter also undoubtedly told her that Huberman was going into hiding at the club to avoid an embarrassing investigation—which is why Teresa arranged for his cottage not to be cleaned. I’m sure she didn’t know about the murders. She thought Sandy was guilty. She just never connected the two operations.”
The boat was out of sight by now. Henry looked down at the shimmering sea, glinting with jewel colors. He said, “Oh, well. One thing is certain. Ledbetter will come back to the club, where I shall have the dubious pleasure of arresting him for murder. There’s going to be quite an international furor, I’m afraid.”
But Henry was wrong. Mr. Jackson Ledbetter did not return to the Golf Club that evening, and it was no
t until late the following day that he was found. He was in his boat, the Pelican, which was picked up by some fishermen drifting off St. Mark’s island; and his skull had been split from behind by a machete, very neatly, like a coconut.
EPILOGUE
IT WAS A relaxed, informal gathering at the Anchorage Inn. Sandy Robbins was back in his usual place behind the bar, his face one huge, perpetual grin. He was being assisted in his work by his fiancée, Candy Stevenson, who had moved to the Anchorage and was being employed by John and Margaret. Sandy’s grandmother, a conservative matriarch, was alleged to be dubious about a mixed marriage, but no opposition was foreseen from any other quarter.
Across the bay, the lights of Priest Town glittered, and from a nearby bar the music of a steel band throbbed through the warm night air. Business at the Golf Club was still not brisk, but the Island Eagle had brought several members over that day, following the lifting of the curfew and the closing of the murder cases. The skipper who had helped Addison Drake in the abduction of Candy had slipped quietly home to Tampica, and his absence was hardly noticed. Very conspicuous, however, was the surprise resignation of Major Chatsworth. He and Mrs. Chatsworth had already left the island for England, and the committee was busy trying to find a replacement. They had offered the job to John Colville, but he had turned it down, saying that he was happy in his own pub.
At the largest table in the bar, the Tibbetts, the Colvilles, Derek Reynolds, Sir Geoffrey Patterson, Owen Montague, and Tom Bradley made up a lively, talkative party. Everybody seemed to be asking Henry questions, and nobody was giving him time to answer them.
At last, Henry said, “Look, I can’t lay this thing out for you precisely, because it’s too complicated, and in any case… well, I was playing hunches. I’ll try to put it as simply is I can. I started from the premise that Sandy was innocent. Why? Several reasons, not least the faith that John and Margaret had in him; the fact that he had never been connected with the revolutionary movement; and, most important, the fact that he handles a machete better than anybody on the island. It’s lucky for Sandy that he has an alibi for Ledbetter’s murder, because that’s the way he would have done it. Clean. One stroke. Like splitting a coconut.
“That being so, I had to consider who had actually killed Olsen, and the answer kept coming back to Ledbetter or somebody he’d hired. The cotton interests and the kickback scandals all led in that direction—to Huberman or Ledbetter. But Sandy himself gave Huberman his alibi, and Ledbetter seemed to be right out of it. He was on St. Boniface when Olsen was killed, and he was in New York at the time of Huberman’s murder.
“It was an instructive experience—going to New York for the night and being back here for breakfast. It made me realize that Ledbetter could have done it in reverse. In fact, of course, he arranged to meet Huberman not in Washington or New York, but on St. Boniface—a secret meeting prior to both of them returning to the States. Huberman was easily persuaded into a change of plan—that the best and most secure place to talk was, after all, the Golf Club, and Ledbetter could take them there in his boat, the Pelican. It was really very easy.
“But—how far can you stretch coincidence? Addison Drake happened to have given in his notice the previous evening, happened to be on duty that night, happened to leave on the first launch in the morning, happened not to have logged the arrival of the Pelican. All that had to be arranged—but by whom? Well, of course, by the person to whom Ledbetter spoke after he had spoken to Huberman—Teresa Chatsworth, who, incidentally, gave herself away by mentioning to me that Jackson Ledbetter was going to issue a rebuttal of the Mawson column on Monday. She couldn’t have known that unless she had spoken either to Ledbetter or to one of Mawson’s men.
“As for Olsen’s murder—that was necessary because of the Justice Department inquiries, and to pin it on a native of St. Matthew’s was just what suited Ledbetter. Olsen had a reputation as a practical joker, and I’ve no doubt Ledbetter suggested the idea of hiring Sandy to make a fool out of Huberman. Then he took the launch to St. Boniface, saying he was going shopping, and came back in his own boat. Sandy wouldn’t have seen him lurking off Mango Tree Bay, because he was swimming underwater. Once the little farce had been played out, Ledbetter had only to come ashore and attack Olsen from behind.”
Henry paused. Then he said, “I’m morally certain that I’m telling it as it happened, but I’m glad I don’t have to prove it in a court of law. As Tom remarked, Ledbetter and his federation are powerful people. I think I’d have got him for Huberman’s murder, but it might have been harder to clear Sandy in the Olsen case. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that Diamond would take care of the whole thing. Ledbetter cheated her, and that’s something Diamond would never forgive.”
Emmy said, “What are you going to do about Diamond, Henry? And her brother and the other two men?”
It was Sir Geoffrey Patterson who answered. He said, “Dear Mrs. Tibbett, we have talked long and hard over this matter. Diamond and her gang have disappeared. They are somewhere in the Caribbean, that is for sure, unless they are dead—we have no way of knowing. Only one thing is certain— none of them will ever set foot in the British Seaward Islands or Tampica again, because we have arrest warrants for murder out against three of them in the case of the police officer, and for kidnapping against all of them. Sooner than pursue the matter to its bitter conclusion, we have all decided that…” The governor beamed, and spread out his hands, embracing the lights of Priest Town, the steel band in the distance, the contented drinkers at the bar. “St. Matthew’s is back to normal,” he said. “That’s what we think is important.”
It was just then that Sandy Robbins strolled over to the table, leaving Candy behind the bar. He said to Reynolds, “Hey, Derek, man. Up there in the forest, you said something like you weren’t a real stamp collector, only an amateur. Right?”
“Right, Sandy,” said Reynolds.
“Well, you did me a mighty good turn, man. So I wondered if this would have any interest for you. My father gave it to me before he died—said it might be worth something, but maybe he was just crazy. Anyhow, man, it’s no use to me, so if you want it, it’s yours.”
And he handed Derek Reynolds a yellowing envelope, with a Tampican postmark franking an oblong, purple fourpenny stamp.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I hasten to point out that all characters, organizations, and islands (except Antigua and St. Thomas) in this book are pure fiction. I think everybody must be aware of the various corruption scandals that have recently erupted in Washington, D.C., but none of them has touched the cotton industry in any way. There is, of course, no such organization as the Cotton Producers’ Federation—and if there were, I am sure its members would be the most blameless of citizens.
As a matter of interest, there is indeed some talk of reviving the cultivation of Sea Island cotton in the British Caribbean islands, where it used to be raised extensively. If and when this scheme gets going, I am sure it will be with the good wishes and encouragement of the United States cotton industry.
I have to confess that the Anchorage Inn—but not its personnel—is based on an actual establishment. Those who know it will recognize it. Those who don’t…don’t expect me to identify it. It’s much too precious.
For more “Inspector Tibbett” and other “Vintage”
titles from Felony & Mayhem Press, including the
“Inspector Alleyn” series by Ngaio Marsh,
please visit our website:
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All the characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious.
THE COCONUT KILLINGS
A Felony & Mayhem mystery
PUBLISHING HISTORY
First UK print edition (Collins): 1977
First US print edition (Holt, Rinehart & Winston): 1977
Felony & Mayhem print and digital editions: 2019
Copyright © The Estate of Patricia Moyes 1977
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Moyes, Patricia, author.
Title: The coconut killings / Patricia Moyes.
Description: Felony & Mayhem edition. | New York : Felony & Mayhem Press, 2019. | Series: A Felony & Mayhem mystery
Identifiers: LCCN 2018058549| ISBN 9781631941801 (trade pbk.) | ISBN 9781631941917 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Murder--Investigation--Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PR6063.O9 C63 2019 | DDC 823/.914--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018058549
The Coconut Killings Page 20
