One Dangerous Lady

by Jane Stanton Hitchcock

  Russell adored sailing. He spent hours at the very front of the yacht, gripping the rail, whipped by the wind, gazing ahead at the open sea. He was so resolute and motionless that he reminded me of a wooden figurehead affixed to the prow of an old-fashioned ship, designed to protect it from bad luck. The journey seemed to do him a world of good. He gained strength every day and with physical strength came mental strength, as well. His mind was gradually opening to the possibility that he had been royally deceived.

  Little by little, Russell recalled some of the events leading up to his disappearance. It was an excruciating process for him. Memories seemed to come at him like punches out of the blue. I observed him wince with pain when a certain thought crossed his mind. One by one, he recalled the pieces of a macabre jigsaw puzzle and as they fell into place, a fragmented picture of that ghastly night began to emerge.

  Russell said he remembered feeling “strange” at the bridal dinner—“Like I’d been drugged,” he told me. He described how, after everyone left, Carla came to his room to play “the game.” Though he wouldn’t tell me specifically what the game was, I inferred from all he said about it that it was sexual in nature, that it involved other people, and that it was potentially dangerous.

  “I told her I was too tired, but she insisted,” he went on. “That was part of the game, you see—playing it when you didn’t want to, playing it any time someone else wanted to.”

  Russell described how Carla had led him through the secret passage to her stateroom. Once there, she “dressed for the game,” whatever that meant—Russell refused to go into detail. But he did talk about something which he called “the silk,” which was apparently the name for the silken ropes they used as props. He described how Carla tied him up in a chair. He remembered her joking that he was “a captive audience.”

  “Everything was moving in slow motion,” he said. “She was laughing and caressing me. Then Jasper came into the room and I knew we were going to begin. I told them I wasn’t feeling well enough to play and I didn’t want to risk it. But the two of them just laughed and said it was always more fun that way.”

  Russell then fell silent, absently raising his hand to his throat and rubbing it obsessively, as if it held the key to all his fears.

  “I remember Jasper got behind me and put the silk around my neck, like usual,” he went on after a few moments. “I told him it was too early. I wasn’t ready and I wasn’t feeling well. But he just laughed and tightened the silk . . . oh God!” he suddenly cried.

  “What?”

  He looked at me with terrified eyes. “I . . . I forget . . .” he said.

  “Try to remember, Russell, try,” I urged him.

  Whatever had happened was obviously so painful that it was beyond recollection. Like June’s hit-and-run, he had no memory of the traumatic event itself.

  “I remember waking up in the dark and feeling very cold,” he went on dispassionately. “I was on my side, lying on something very hard, like cement. Every time I took a breath, something stuck to my nostrils and blocked the air . . . I tried to raise my hands, but then I realized they were tied. I felt like I was going to suffocate. I put my head down close to my chest so I could breathe and then I remember trying to work my hands free . . . I worked them free . . . and then . . . then I was in the dark . . .” He paused.

  “Was this all part of your game?”

  He shook his head. “No . . . no . . . that wasn’t the game.”

  “What happened then?”

  His expression grew more intense. He seemed to be reliving the experience almost as if he were hypnotized.

  “And then—?” I prodded him gently.

  He was like a man poised on the edge of a precipice who cannot bring himself to jump. After a time, he deflated, shook his head and said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t remember.”

  We both drew a collective breath. I gave him time to compose himself.

  “Russell, what’s the very next thing you remember after being in the dark?”

  He thought for a moment. “I saw her.”

  “Who?”

  “The Lady C. I didn’t understand where I was, why I wasn’t aboard her. I had a crate of bananas in my hand and there was the smell of garbage. I thought, ‘Why am I here and not on the yacht?’ I had to get aboard the yacht. They all laughed when I told them I had to get on the yacht.”

  “Who laughed?”

  “The men on the boat.”

  “The trader boat. But you don’t remember how you got on the trader boat, or what you did before you got there?”

  He shut his eyes tight as if trying to squeeze the memory out of his brain.

  “No . . . I think . . . I remember someone putting something cool on my head . . . I must have had a fever . . . I was so hot . . . oh, I don’t know,” he said, giving up and shaking his head in exasperation. “I just don’t know. I do know that I arrived broken in this world, Jo. And nothing’s been able to fix me so far,” he said softly. “The pity of it is that I can function quite well up to a certain point. Then some circuit just disconnects . . .” He paused, lost in thought. “I know this has happened several times before, and that the precipitating incident is always something physically traumatic.”

  “And what do you think the precipitating incident was?”

  Russell was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “Maybe they played the game for real this time.”

  I had a vision of Carla on the day she arrived on our beach with her accomplice, the egregious Captain Jenks. Had I been gullible in interpreting her distress as profound concern for Russell? Could it really have been profound panic at the thought that he had escaped? Or did she even know he was missing at that point? She may have thought he was dead, having stowed him in that little room, biding her time until it was safe to dispose of his body. Perhaps she and Jenks had put the scull out in the water that morning to make it look like Russell had taken it out and then either run away or drowned.

  In any case, I felt it was time for Russell to see what was in the little room. I got Captain Rankin and we both took him there. Russell remained expressionless as he stared down at the plastic cooler and its contents. He walked away in silence, went straight back into his room, asked us to leave, and closed the door behind us.

  In the end, I knew that it would be simply Russell’s word against Carla’s, and she had all the money. In my experience, people always believe the money. One could embroider it on a needlepoint pillow. On the other hand, Carla couldn’t really afford to have Russell remember what had happened to him that night on the off chance that some people would believe him. She hadn’t worked alone. She’d had an accomplice. And who knows what an enterprising detective might find out about Jasper Jenks? A man as evil as Jenks doesn’t just materialize out of the blue. The Jenkses of the world have histories. I believed the threat of this was enough to lure her down to the boat where I was prepared to take matters into my own hands, if necessary.

  I called Carla on the satellite phone.

  “Ah, cara Jo . . . how nice to hear from you!” Carla said. “Where are you? You got my message?”

  “Yes, I got your message, Carla. Loud and clear. I’m on the yacht.”

  “And how are you enjoying your trip? Have you come across anything interesting on your travels?”

  Her taunting voice irked me no end. “In fact, I have, Carla,” I said. “Prepare yourself for a shock . . .”

  “I am always prepared for everything,” she said with confidence.

  “Russell is alive.”

  Apparently she wasn’t prepared for that. Several seconds of silence ensued.

  “Is he all right?” she said at last.

  “Well, that depends on how you look at it,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” Her voice was icy cold.

  “Let me put it this way: He’s alive, but not well.
”

  “Is he ill?” she asked, rather hopefully, I thought.

  “Not physically. He’s just . . . confused.”

  “Confused? How?”

  “Oh, he’s rambling on about things.”

  “What things?” For the first time, there was a note of urgency in her voice.

  “I don’t want to go into it on the phone. But he’s obviously had a very difficult time.”

  “I want to talk to him,” she said.

  “I’m afraid you can’t. He’s resting.”

  “Wake him up. I want to talk to him.”

  “You can talk to him later.”

  “I want to talk to him now!”

  “I’m sorry, Carla, but I can’t disturb him. I’m calling because I thought you might like to come down here and see him before the press gets hold of the story.”

  “Where are you?”

  “St. Maarten. The Dutch side.”

  “Well, of course I am coming! He’s my husband. I must take him home immediately. I must talk to him.”

  “There’ll be plenty of time to talk to him when you get down here,” I said. “I think you’ll be quite interested in what he has to say.”

  The implied threat shut her up. She said she would fly down the next day. I called Rankin and had him give her all the pertinent details.

  My plan was simple. Carla would sail back to the States with us. I’d have plenty of time to deal with her at sea.

  Chapter 42

  The next afternoon, Captain Rankin and I went to pick up Carla at the St. Maarten airport. Since she was arriving in a Gulfstream V, Rankin had gotten us permission to meet her on the runway in order to collect her luggage. Rankin and I were sitting in the Jeep when the sleek white plane landed at four o’clock and taxied into the unloading area. The door opened and Carla emerged, wearing a black linen suit, a large-brimmed black straw hat, and a solemn expression beneath a pair of sunglasses.

  She was not alone. Also emerging from the plane, directly behind her, was a tall, handsome younger man with blond hair and a muscular build. At first I thought he was the pilot. But he wasn’t in uniform and, besides, there was something vaguely familiar about him. Rankin bridled when he saw him.

  “Jesus, that’s Jenks,” Rankin whispered to me.

  Jasper Jenks, Rankin’s nemesis and the man I suspected of being a stone-cold killer, was the very last person I expected or wanted to see.

  “Did you know he was coming?” Rankin asked me.

  “I most certainly did not.”

  Why did it surprise me that Carla had brought him when I knew her to be a woman who twisted all events to her advantage?

  Before Jenks descended the steps, he stood for a moment on the platform, sniffing the air like a wild animal sniffing for game.

  “Well, if she thinks they’re taking Mr. Cole with them, she’s got another think coming,” I said to Rankin.

  As Rankin and I got out of the car, Carla rushed forward to greet us. Gone was the cool demeanor of the phone conversation. This was hardly surprising. She had an audience now.

  “Cara Jo!” she cried, flinging her arms around me. “I am a wreck! An absolute wreck! I did not sleep at all last night, worrying about my darling Russell. Where is he? I cannot wait to see him! Tell me, has he spoken of anything? Does he remember anything?”

  “Not much,” I said.

  Carla tried not to show her relief, but no one is that good an actress.

  “How terrible!” she said, unconvincingly. “And Captain Rankin, how lovely to see you again.”

  Carla shook hands with Rankin. “Mrs. Cole,” he said coolly.

  “And you know Captain Jenks, of course,” she said.

  The two men gave each other perfunctory nods.

  “Jo, do you remember Captain Jenks?” Carla said. “He was with me the morning Russell disappeared. He searched Betty’s property.”

  “Yes, of course, hello,” I said, mustering a cordial smile and shaking his hand, despite my deep disgust. I still couldn’t be sure if Jenks was the footman who had accused me of taking Carla’s earring that night. Rankin was right. Jenks was chameleon-like, ever-changing, a man with no core.

  “A pleasure—playshah, Mrs. Slater—Slatah,” he said with the flat A’s of a pronounced Australian accent. “I’m flattered you remember me.”

  “Come on, Jasper, let’s go get the luggage,” Rankin said.

  “There is very little,” Carla said.

  “Well, come on along anyway,” Rankin said to Jenks.

  As Rankin and Jenks walked off together, I led Carla to the car.

  “Carla, dear, I’m afraid I can’t ask Captain Jenks to sail with us back to the States. It would be just too awkward with Captain Rankin. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Oh, but we are not sailing back. I have decided to take Russell home on the plane.”

  So that was her plan, was it? Now I understood why she had brought Jenks with her.

  “I thought we were going to sail back,” I said. “That would give Russell a chance to recover a bit. I don’t have to tell you what’s going to happen when the press finds out he’s alive.”

  Carla shook her head. “No, no, Jo, dear. Believe me, I have thought a lot about it. He must go to the hospital as soon as possible.”

  “You’re going to have him committed?”

  She pulled a long face. “I do hate that word—‘committed.’ But really, Jo, you know yourself, he cannot be allowed to do this again. He has come through it safely this time. But next time, he could kill himself, or be killed. Russell must now be in a safe place at all times with professional people looking after him.”

  We were like two archenemies having a decorous conversation before declaring war. However, I wasn’t going to argue with her, fearing I might tip her off as to what I’d planned.

  “You could be right,” I said. “It’s not a bad idea.”

  When Carla’s one suitcase and Jenks’s overnight satchel were loaded onto the Jeep, we were off, heading for the docks. Jenks sat up front with Rankin. Carla and I sat in the back. I subtly needed to let Rankin know what Carla was planning.

  “Mike,” I said, as he drove to the port, “Mrs. Cole is planning to take Mr. Cole back with her tonight on her plane.”

  Rankin was smart enough to understand he had to play it cool.

  “Uh-huh,” he said blandly.

  Carla wanted to know again exactly how Russell had been found. Rankin told her the story. All the while he was talking, I was thinking of ways to keep Russell on the boat and have Carla sail back with him. Jenks sat silently, staring out the window, a sullen expression on his face.

  We reached the port in a little under half an hour. The sun had retreated behind the clouds and Captain Rankin mentioned there might be a bout of bad weather coming. Getting onto the docks where the private boats were moored was not difficult. Captain Rankin inserted his plastic card “key” into a slit and held the gate open for us to pass. The Lady C was relatively far away from the main entrance, docked at the end of a concrete pier. The four of us walked in tense silence to the great white yacht, which was by far the largest boat on the dock. I caught Carla stealing a smug glance at Jenks as we boarded.

  Rankin trotted on ahead. I knew he was going to tip off Russell and Nancy to the fact that Jenks had come along and that Carla was planning to take Russell back on the plane with her, either that night or the next morning.

  “How strange it is being back on the boat,” Carla remarked, as we headed toward Russell’s stateroom. “And how sad The Lady looks without her paintings. . . . The new owner obviously has no taste,” she said, glancing with exaggerated disgust at the photographs that had replaced them.

  The door of Russell’s stateroom was open. Carla, Jenks, and I entered. Russell was propped up in his bed, staring into spa
ce. Rankin and Nancy were standing nearby. Nancy stepped forward to greet Carla and Jenks. Carla was less than cordial. Her attention was clearly elsewhere. She couldn’t take her eyes off Russell. She whispered, “Dio mio, he looks frightful.”

  “I warned you,” I whispered back.

  Carla walked over to the bed and sat down beside Russell. Her lips quivered dramatically and her eyes brimmed with forced tears as she took one of his limp hands in hers. She held it up to her cheek and said softly, “Russell . . . ? Russell, mi amore . . . ? It is Carla . . . your Carla . . . you are safe now, my darling . . . you are going to get all better now. . . .”

  Jenks walked up and knelt down beside Carla. He put a sympathetic hand on his old boss’s arm.

  “Mr. Cole, sir? It’s Jasper, sir . . .”

  Russell, acting like a prisoner in his own private world, continued staring straight ahead, pretending not to see or hear either of them. Jenks rubbed his hand up and down Russell’s arm as Carla held his hand and spoke softly to him, so I could barely hear. After several minutes, Carla rose to her feet and so did Jenks. She addressed Captain Rankin.

  “How soon can you get him ready?” she said.

  “Ready for what?” Rankin asked.

  “I am taking him home on the plane now.”

  “Mr. Cole is free to go whenever he wants,” Rankin shrugged.

  Carla stood at the foot of the bed and addressed Russell.

  “Russell, my darling, you must get ready now. I am going to take you back home with me where you will be safe,” she said sweetly. Then she turned to Jenks and in a harsher voice commanded, “Help him out of the bed, Jasper.”

  Rankin, Nancy, and I all glanced at each other as Jenks tried without success to get Russell out of bed. Impervious to all cajoling, Russell lurched away every time Jenks touched him. Finally, Carla asked Rankin to help.