Angel of Darkness

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘You got it, ma’am. You with us for lunch?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Table for two?’ He looked disapproving. He had clearly formed a dislike for Mark Hamilton. On the other hand, it might have been that he just didn’t like to have someone else getting too close to his favourite customer.

  She smiled. ‘I imagine so, Charles. He’s very persistent. Take care of these for me, will you?’ She gave him the two bags. ‘I’ll be on the terrace.’

  Where, predictably, Hamilton already was, looking distinctly unhappy.

  ‘Good morning, Mark,’ she said brightly. ‘Sleep well?’ They had spent the evening dinner-dancing in the hotel, as she had thought it best to keep his nerves under control, although she had had to be very firm to keep him out of her bed.

  Now he thrust the newspaper at her. ‘Have you seen this?’

  Anna scanned the headline – MURDERED MAN FOUND ON LOVE BEACH – and the news item below:

  The body of William Bonpart was yesterday afternoon found by tourists on Love Beach, the well-known beauty spot fourteen miles west of Nassau. He had been beaten about the body, and died as a result of a blow, probably a karate chop, to the neck. The body was only partially clothed. Mr Bonpart, who has a criminal record and was known to have a violent temper, was last seen alive on Tuesday night, drinking with two acquaintances. These men, one of whom has a recently broken arm, are now helping the police with their inquiries. A police spokesman has confirmed that they are not looking for any other suspects.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘that would appear to be that.’

  ‘You think so? Don’t you realize that when they’re faced with a possible death sentence they will tell the police exactly what happened?’

  ‘And as I said, the police will laugh them to scorn. Even if they decide to believe them, they have nothing to go on. The men never got close enough to you to give a description, and in the dark my wet hair would have appeared dark, so all they have to say is that I have long hair and big tits. That is not unique. They can’t even prove that we actually exist.’

  ‘And when these characters are hanged, for a crime they didn’t commit?’

  ‘Think a moment. That second character certainly intended to cut me up, and his pal would undoubtedly have helped him. Anyway, I doubt they’ll be hanged. To convict them of murder, the police would have to determine which one of them struck the fatal blow, and when the chips are down they will certainly get around to accusing each other. They would also have to be found guilty of malice aforethought, which it obviously was not. They’ll go down for manslaughter.’

  ‘But they’ll go down. For God knows how many years . . .’

  ‘In my opinion, they deserve to. And think of this. If I had just lain on my back with my legs apart and let them get on with it, even supposing they hadn’t cut my throat afterwards, they’d have gone down for even longer.’

  ‘You are impossible.’

  ‘Have you just noticed? I think it’s time for a drink before lunch.’

  He was brooding silently on the situation while they sipped their piña coladas when Anna looked up in delight at the large black man wearing a battered yachting cap who appeared in the doorway. ‘Tommy! All well?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Boat’s at the dock.’

  ‘Great. Mark, this is Tommy Rawlings, my right-hand man. Tommy, this is Mark Hamilton.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Hamilton.’

  Hamilton looked scandalized, but he shook hands.

  ‘You going to lunch with us?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Well, Miss Anna, I got some things to do. I going be at the boat whenever you’re ready.’

  ‘Poor Tommy,’ Anna said, as Tommy disappeared. ‘He just cannot get it through his head that this is the twentieth century, still feels that it would be improper for him to lunch with the nobs in a place like this.’

  ‘But you’d allow him to do that?’

  ‘Well, of course. He’s my friend.’

  *

  Hamilton digested this as they ate. At last he said, ‘And you’re off back to your cay?’

  ‘Soon as I’ve eaten.’

  ‘I wish you’d let me come with you. Just for a day or so.’

  ‘Now, Mark, don’t start that again. I’ve told you that it would not be a wise thing to do. Anyway, I’ll see you again in six days, remember?’

  ‘When you’ll be off to . . . You never did tell me where you’re going.’

  ‘No, I didn’t, did I?’ Anna finished her wine. ‘Now I must rush.’

  ‘You mean you’re not having coffee?’

  ‘No. It’s a three-hour journey and I want to be home by dark. It’s been fun. So, I’ll see you next week.’

  ‘For the last time?’

  ‘Well, you never know your luck. Lunch is on me.’

  He didn’t demur, watched her hurry to the desk, pay her bill, pick up her valise and shoulder bag, and depart for the entrance. I make my own luck, he thought.

  Presumably he could keep her here for a spell, by going to the police and telling them the real story of what had happened on Love Beach. But when it came to his word against that of an obviously well-known and popular resident, would they believe him any more than the two would-be rapists? Anyway, to do that would be to get himself involved, and he did not think the boss would like that.

  However, he had not exhausted all possibilities. He had deduced that Charles – who was clearly in awe of, if not actually in love with, the beautiful and glamorous Mrs Bartley (it could only have been Charles who had inspired that pre-emptive strike of hers at lunch the day before yesterday, which he had so easily deflected by turning on the charm) was going to be of no help when it came to any more information.

  So he left the table and strolled on to the terrace, just in time to see Anna’s door being closed by the taxi driver before she went off. Still moving nonchalantly, he sauntered down the steps and approached the next taxi in the rank. ‘Good afternoon.’

  ‘Sir!’ The driver hastily got out and opened the door for him.

  Hamilton fingered a £10 note. ‘That lady who just left. Would you happen to know who she is?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. That be Mrs Bartley.’

  ‘Ah. Of course. I thought I knew her name. You wouldn’t happen to know where she was going?’

  The driver eyed the note. ‘I heard she say Rawson Square.’

  ‘Rawson Square. That’s at the docks, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He slipped the note into the man’s hand, turned away, and then turned back, at the same time taking another note from his wallet. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know why she’s gone to the dock?’

  The driver eyed the new note in turn. ‘Well, sir, I did see she boatman, Tommy Rawlings, here a little while back. So she must be going to get on she boat.’

  ‘She has a boat?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. A big job. Lovely boat.’

  ‘How interesting. You wouldn’t happen to know the name of this boat?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. Everyone does know the name of Mistress Bartley’s boat. Fair Girl.’

  ‘Fair Girl. That’s an odd name for a boat, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, sir, people does call their boats by all kinds of name. But Mrs Bartley, well, she must be name it after her cay. Fair Cay.’

  ‘That is the name of her home? Fair Cay?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Do you know where that might be?’

  ‘Well, borse, I knowing it is in that chain of islands up towards Eleuthera.’

  Fair Girl, Fair Cay . . . Fehrbach. Anna’s maiden name! Well, well, thought Hamilton, she may be a genius, but at heart she’s a simple soul, desperate to retain some link with her past. ‘How big would this island be?’

  ‘It ain’t small. Maybe a mile long. It thin, mind. Four hundred yards across.’

  ‘And she lives there alone?’

  ‘Well, no, borse. She got Tommy and he wife, and Elias Bain
and he nephews. They’s the gardeners. Mind you, they all does go home to Eleuthera on the weekends.’

  ‘You mean she’s alone at weekends?’

  ‘No, no, borse. She got she mummy and she daddy.’

  ‘She lives with her parents?’

  ‘Well, yes, borse.’ He sounded surprised that anyone shouldn’t live with their parents. ‘And now she got she husband as well.’

  ‘Who I gather is not always there. That’s very few people for an island a mile long. Does she have a lot of visitors?’

  ‘No, borse. Nobody don’t go to Fair Cay unless Mrs Bartley tell them to come.’

  ‘Good heavens! Is she that bad-tempered?’

  ‘I don’t think she bad-tempered, borse. Is the dogs.’

  ‘She has dogs?’

  ‘Oh, yes, borse. Big things. And they that fierce.’

  ‘What are they? Alsatians? Rottweilers?’

  ‘They bigger than that. And twice as fierce. I am hearing that only a week gone some people, tourists they was, tried to land on that beach she got, and them dogs near eat them alive. All shook up they was, when they got back here.’

  ‘That’s very interesting.’ Hamilton handed over the second note. ‘You’ve been a great help. Have a drink on me.’

  ‘Yes, sir, borse. I going to do that.’

  ‘Oh, there’s one last thing.’

  ‘Borse?’

  ‘This boat, have you any idea how fast it can travel?’

  ‘Well, borse, that boat . . . it cruising around twelve knots.’

  Anna had said it was a three-hour journey back to her home. What a fool he had been these past three months, in not simply approaching a taxi driver from the start. Taxi drivers knew everything, and in a place like the Bahamas they know even more than that. But of course, up to a couple of days ago he hadn’t known the name she was currently masquerading under. Hamilton returned to his room and made one of his long-distance calls. ‘I have what you want.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The lady lives on a private island, called Fair Cay. It is situated about thirty-five miles north-east of Nassau, and is one of a chain of islands leading up to the large island of Eleuthera.’

  ‘Very good, Hamilton. It took time, but you got there in the end, eh? You may come home now.’

  ‘I think I should stay here and brief your people when they arrive. I have managed to obtain a great deal of information on the cay, and some of it could be very important.’

  ‘Look, just leave it to us, now.’

  ‘As you wish, sir. There is just one thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How soon will your people be in position?’

  ‘In a week or so. They will have to travel separately to avoid arousing suspicion, and then the target must be very carefully reconnoitred. There can be no mistakes this time. We have waited too long. But this is no concern of yours. In fact, you must be out of there before they arrive. We do not want any connection between you and what is going to happen.’

  ‘A week may be too long.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The lady is leaving again in six days’ time.’

  ‘To go where?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘For how long is she going?’

  ‘I don’t know that either. But I understand that it may be a little while.’

  ‘Find out.’

  ‘Ah . . . I can’t possibly do that until she returns to Nassau, in six days’ time.’

  ‘Find out before she leaves. It is her destination that matters.’

  The phone went dead.

  LEAVING PARADISE

  Anna wrapped her hair in a bandanna to go up to the flying bridge and take the helm. As always when on Fair Girl, she felt a great glow of utterly relaxed satisfaction.

  Before coming to the Bahamas her acquaintance with the sea and boats had been limited, confined to the ocean-going variety, and she had enjoyed none of the experiences. She had crossed the Atlantic twice in 1941, working for the SD; and even though Himmler had guaranteed that all U-boat skippers would be warned which ship she was travelling on and that it was to be inviolate, had still expected momentarily to be torpedoed. Then in 1944, when travelling by Finnish ferry out of Stockholm en route back to Germany, again after carrying out a mission for the SD, she had been torpedoed, and found it a most uncomfortable experience; it had been December. She had resolved then that she would never go to sea again.

  But when, after considering several places, she had – with Joe Andrews’ encouragement (he liked to keep his people close at hand) – finally opted for one of the seven hundred islands that make up the Bahamas, she realized that her attitude would have to change.

  ‘What you have to have,’ said Jimmy Flynn, the CIA agent who was ‘minding’ her until she got settled, ‘is your own boat.’

  ‘I know absolutely nothing about boats,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I’ll teach you,’ he volunteered.

  And he did so. He even selected the boat for her to buy, this forty-two-foot Chris-Craft, with two powerful diesel engines, six sleeping berths in three comfortable cabins, a spacious saloon-cum-galley, two steering positions, and every possible aid to navigation and communication.

  She had fallen in love with it at first sight, and her love had grown as she learned to handle it in any and all conditions. Now she was as proud of her skills at helming and navigation as she was of the lethal powers instilled in her by her erstwhile masters, which had been capitalized on so often and cold-bloodedly by her more recent employers – but now for the last time. Then it would be the boat and the cay for the rest of her life. And Hamilton? As she had quickly realized, the information provided by the CIA was provocative, but not necessarily damning.

  The important thing was that his behaviour the night before last ruled out any chance that he could be a Russian agent. Apart from his obvious fear at the appearance of those three men, and consternation at the way she had dealt with them, anyone hired to assassinate her would hardly have passed up the golden opportunity presented of being alone with her when she was naked and unarmed. Anyway, she found it hard to believe that the Soviet secret police, the MGB, would still be hunting her after eleven years of expensive failure. And now she had everything she wanted – most importantly the right to defend herself and her cay with all the considerable powers at her disposal. She wondered if Hamilton would still be there next Wednesday? But that was not very important. If he was still hanging around when she returned from this mission . . .

  *

  Meanwhile, she was home again, if only briefly. For her, home began the moment she set foot on her boat. And now that she had threaded her way through the harbour shipping and was out of the narrow reef-strewn eastern entrance, she could look forward to seeing the cay rising over the horizon at any moment.

  She adjusted the throttles to the cruising speed of twelve knots. The sea was calm, as it usually was in the lee of the islands, unless there was a hurricane in the vicinity; and, as she was now several miles west of the chain that curved all the way from New Providence to Eleuthera, she engaged the autopilot and relaxed, while Tommy came up the ladder to sit on the bench beside her. ‘So what’s been happening these past couple of weeks?’ she asked.

  Tommy had been with her for six years. Within a couple of months of buying the cay, she had taken him and his wife on as general factotum and housekeeper respectively, built them a house, and paid them above the average Bahamian wage. This had earned their total loyalty, enhanced when soon afterwards she had turned up with Fair Girl and placed Tommy in charge of the boat when she was not on board it herself. He had been a fisherman in his youth (he was still only in his mid-forties) and not only knew boats and engines but, more important, the Bahamian waters, which for all their natural beauty contained innumerable dangers for the unwary. This knowledge he had passed on to her over the years.

  What the pair of them thought of her, and said about her, in the privacy of their h
ouse on the cay, or to their friends when, as they did every weekend, they returned to their home in Eleuthera, she had no idea. She knew they had to have opinions of their own. That she might be extremely wealthy was not in the least unusual amongst foreign residents in the Bahamas. But Desirée had to be aware that in her study her employer kept an arsenal of weapons – from pistols, through a Remington riot gun and two tommy-guns, to a bazooka – and that she practised regularly with all of them, save the bazooka, on the underground range she had created beneath the house. Most of them had been donated by the CIA to help her defend the cay against the Russian-employed Mafia – and they had all been used, although none of her staff had been on the island when the assault had taken place.

  Certainly their almost awed respect for her had never wavered. Now Tommy replied, ‘Nothing much, save for them tourists last week.’

  ‘What tourists?’ Anna was immediately alert.

  ‘People from Nassau, I guess. They had a chartered boat, and they found their way through the north reef, mostly by luck, I reckon, and tried to land on the beach.’

  ‘Couldn’t they see the KEEP OFF sign?’

  ‘Well, they must have done, ma’am. It’s a big enough sign. But you know what these tourists are like. They see a nice empty-looking beach and don’t pay no attention to signs.’

  ‘And you had to see them off?’

  ‘Well, no, ma’am. I didn’t even know they was there; I was working on the boat at the dock. But the dogs were loose.’

  ‘Oh, my God! What happened?’

  ‘Well, I think them people made it in time. When I heard the barking, I left the dock and run across the island. By the time I reached the beach, they were back in their boat. Man, they was scared. Two fellows and two girls. They shout at me, a whole lot of swear words. So I tell them to watch the sign and clear off.’

  ‘And the dogs?’

  ‘They rushing up and down in the shallows, all excited, with they teeth bared and thing. Man, if I didn’t know them, and they didn’t know me, I’d have been scared white.’

  Anna squeezed his hand. ‘But you do know them, and they do know you.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. But ma’am, they ever bite somebody?’