The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Murphy had asked Mrs. Tutwiler to go with us but she declined, claiming that she had some knitting to do.

  We arrived right at 8. After parking nearby, we'd walked quickly through the pouring rain and made our way about a block down to the massive theater's entrance. Seeing the movie's name on the marquee, Carter and I both groaned. The feature was Three Coins in the Fountain, a film we'd seen already. I didn't say anything and neither did Carter. I figured he was more interested in being out of the house, as much as anything. That was definitely how I felt.

  Once we were seated by the usher, the newsreel started. It was a Movietone, but the Australian version. It opened with two birds sitting on a limb that sounded as if they were laughing.

  The first story was about the lifeguard drills at the beach that we'd heard about. The second story had to do with the latest election. And, then, much to my surprise and embarrassment, the third story was about our adventures in Hong Kong.

  Carter grabbed my hand and squeezed it as the announcer intoned, "Hong Kong Governor, Sir Alexander Grantham, concludes lengthy meeting with Chinese consul at Government House over the border incident of early morning Saturday, the 19th of February." The image was of a Chinese man shaking hands with Sir Alexander. They were obviously posing for the camera. And it was right on the steps in front of the building we'd visited and where we'd been asked to leave Hong Kong. I heard Captain O'Reilly groan as Murphy laughed.

  The announcer continued, "Dr. Mai O'Reilly, famous doctor tending to refugees fleeing Red China for Hong Kong, was brought over the border and has now set up work in local hospital and among the shantytowns on the north side of the British Crown Colony." The screen flashed a photo of Mai, Captain O'Reilly's half-sister, and her son, Jerry. They were standing in the middle of a garden. The four of us laughed. Jerry was obviously mugging for the photographer.

  "Nick Williams, or Notorious Nick, as he's known in San Francisco, is reputed to have masterminded the scheme that led to the death of two Chinese camp guards and the explosion of a petroleum tank." Carter patted my hand as the usual photo of the two of us briefly flashed on the screen. It was one that had been taken in May of '53 in the lobby of The Mark Hopkins Hotel.

  I heard Murphy whisper, "Now who are those two handsome gents?"

  Someone in front of us said, "Quiet, please."

  . . .

  Once the feature was over, we filed out of the theater and made our way into the lobby. It was raining, although not as much as when we'd walked in.

  "Where to next?" asked Carter.

  No one said anything for a long moment. I didn't want to go home. I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes after 10, which meant that all the bars were closed. I sighed, thinking about how a rainy night was always the perfect time to go to The Black Cat back home.

  I was about to suggest we find whatever the local equivalent of a late-night diner might be when a couple of men walked up. The first had dark hair, brown eyes, stood about six feet even, and was grinning. I pegged him at 40 or so.

  He looked at me and said, "Funny thing to run into the man we've just seen in the newsreel." He had the same kind of accent as Mrs. Tutwiler. He extended his hand to me. "I'm Charles Kingsolver. Hope I'm not intruding."

  I shook his hand and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Kingsolver."

  "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Williams. May I introduce a friend of mine? He's been wanting to meet you for some time." Turning to his friend, he said, "This is Mr. Henry Harkaway."

  His friend was somewhere past 60. He had thinning white hair, pale blue eyes, and stood erect at about 5'10" or so. He sported an old-fashioned white mustache. He offered his hand with a smile. "Mr. Williams. This is a pleasure, indeed."

  His accent was more British than Australian and he spoke precisely. I immediately got the sense that he'd once been a lawyer, but his skin was deeply tanned. I figured he'd been retired for a while.

  When our hands met, I felt a mild shock run through my body. Very much to my surprise, I was instantly drawn to the man.

  He held my hand for a long moment and looked deeply into my eyes. We stood there until I became uncomfortable and began to blush. As soon as he noticed that, he blinked, released my hand and asked, "And who are your handsome friends?"

  I went around and introduced everyone. Once all the niceties were done, Mr. Kingsolver asked, "Care to join us for a bite of supper? There's a spot nearby that's open late where we can find something to nibble on."

  I looked around the group and everyone else nodded. Carter asked, "Where is it?"

  Mr. Harkaway smiled. "Only a couple of streets down. If you don't think you'll melt, we can make a dash for it and walk."

  . . .

  The place was a Chinese restaurant that reminded me of The Far East Cafe on Grant Street at home. One side of the place had a line of booths while free-standing tables were lined along the other. Mr. Harkaway was well-known there and we were escorted to the back and into a small private dining room with a large round table. Once we'd settled in and ordered beer for Carter, Captain O'Reilly, and John Murphy and hot tea for the rest of us, I looked over at Mr. Harkaway and asked, "Are you from Sydney?"

  He nodded. "Born and raised a Sydneysider. I attended university at Cambridge, in England. Returned here in '06 and took a position in a stuffy old office near the railway station as a junior solicitor."

  Mr. Kingsolver leaned in and explained, "That's a lawyer."

  I smiled and nodded.

  Carter asked, "How long have you been retired?"

  Mr. Harkaway replied, "I only worked for five years in that godforsaken firm. My mother had been sick for many years and finally gave up the ghost in 1911. I came into a few pounds, so I bought a yacht, taught myself to sail and navigate by the stars, and began to spend most of my life at sea. That's what I've done ever since. I come back to Australia for the last part of summer and then sail off to never-never-land when the first nip of autumn shows itself in March or April."

  Captain O'Reilly and John Murphy began to ask questions about Harkaway's yacht. In the middle of their nautical conversation, we ordered our supper. Carter was able to get chop suey. I had steamed dumplings and soup. Captain O'Reilly and Murphy passed on the food. Mr. Kingsolver ordered a lobster and asparagus dish similar to what Mike liked while Mr. Harkaway ordered a large bowl of a soup I'd never heard of nor seen before.

  Once we were tucked in and eating, Mr. Harkaway turned the conversation away from sailing and began to ask us about our little adventure in Hong Kong. He seemed to know all sorts of details that I was pretty sure hadn't been in the papers, including the fact that Murphy had torched the sampan. Finally, I asked, "Who do you know in Hong Kong?"

  He swallowed a spoonful of his soup. "Mr. Hu."

  Murphy, Captain O'Reilly, and I all nodded. Hu had been our local contact who'd helped us with several parts of our plan.

  Murphy said something in Cantonese. Mr. Harkaway shook his head. "Sadly, I speak no language but English. I've no head for languages. But, Mr. Hu is quite skilled in English. We've exchanged a number of letters over the years. I first met him in 1937." He looked at Captain O'Reilly significantly. They exchanged glances in a way that made me think that Harkaway had somehow been involved in the same gun-running that Captain O'Reilly and Murphy had been doing at that time.

  I said, "I didn't realize Hu spoke English."

  Harkaway winked at me. "When it suits his purpose. Like most everything he does."

  Turning to Carter, Mr. Harkaway asked, "And how are you coping with being married to this man and coming into such sudden wealth?"

  I nearly spit out the soup I was sipping when he said that. Carter laughed and said, "Well, sir, those are two very different questions, Mr. Harkaway."

  "Please, call me Henry."

  Carter nodded. "Thank you, Henry. And please call me Carter."

  Harkaway nodded. "Which question will you answer first?"

  Carter laughed again. "Nick's first lover
is a former policeman by the name of Mike Robertson. When I met Mike, he pulled me aside one day and told me all about how to cope with Nick." Glancing over at me affectionately, he said, "Mike's rule is to let Nick be Nick. I've adopted that rule and it seems to work pretty well."

  Harkaway smiled. "I should imagine it would. It does no good to try to force anything or anyone to go against the innate nature that all things and all people have."

  No one replied for a long moment. I thought about that and wondered if I did that with Carter. Did I let him be himself? Before I could think about it for too long, Mr. Harkaway asked me, "And how was it when your man was off fighting fires?"

  That made Carter blush, for some reason. I sat back in my chair and blinked. No one had ever asked me about that before, not even Mike or my old friend Mack. It was just a given. It was part of the territory of loving Carter. I felt like Harkaway had looked right inside of me and pulled something to the surface that was probably easy for him to notice but that I'd never thought would ever see the light of day.

  Finally, I sputtered and said, "It was lonely."

  Mr. Harkaway nodded and had another sip of his soup. I looked up at Carter. His eyes were wet.

  Captain O'Reilly cleared his throat. "You sail across the Pacific in your ship?"

  Harkaway shook his head. "Not so much these days. Now I have a seaplane. Much more efficient. Two hops and I'm home."

  Murphy asked, "Home? As in Sydney?"

  The older man shook his head but didn't reply.

  Mr. Kingsolver leaned in. "Henry's got a little secret that I'm sure he won't mind me sharing. He gets rather shy about it."

  We all looked at Harkaway. He calmly swirled his spoon in his soup and didn't reply.

  Kingsolver said, "Well, many years ago, Henry came across an uncharted island. He'd been on his way to Tahiti when a typhoon had crossed his path. He turned and that's when he found the island. Idyllic harbor. Like a lover's arms embracing you. He rode out the storm and, upon exploration, found a fresh-water source. What was once a mound of sand is now a garden of paradise. He even carried some granite over and built himself a house. It's just one room but it's in the middle of a palm forest that he planted himself. Has about a hundred chickens. Bananas, oaks even. It's quite a spot. You must see it some day."

  Harkaway looked up, looked at me directly in the eye, and said, "Yes, you must."

  . . .

  As we stood out on the street, Mr. Harkaway shook my hand one more time. "It's been a true pleasure to meet you, Mr. Williams."

  I smiled. "The feeling is mutual. And, please call me Nick."

  He smiled in return and softly said, "Nick. And you must call me Henry. May I kiss you?"

  I nodded. He leaned in and kissed me gently on the cheek. He then walked over to Carter. "May I kiss you?"

  My husband smiled and leaned over. Henry kissed him gently. He stepped back and looked us both over. "I want you to come with me to my island."

  I nodded. "Of course."

  He looked at me directly. "Soon. Sooner than the start of autumn, I think."

  I shrugged as Carter said, "We'd enjoy that, Henry."

  The older man smiled. "Yes, you will."

  . . .

  Once we were on our way home, with the windshield wipers squeaking back and forth in the pouring rain, John Murphy said, "Nice old man."

  Captain O'Reilly said, "I hope I'm that spry when I'm in my 70s."

  Murphy said, "70s? You think so?"

  "You heard 'im yourself, John Murphy. He came back from Cambridge in 1906. That puts him born in 1884 or 1885, maybe."

  "Fine, you old coot. He's 70, maybe 71, then. Don't make him older than he is."

  "Old coot? I'll show you old coot." With that, O'Reilly pulled Murphy into his arms and they began to make out like two teenagers at the drive-in movie.

  I turned back forward in my seat and watched the wipers as they tried to make it possible to see. Carter was crawling along even though there was very little traffic. "Can you see?" I asked.

  "Not really. And I think there's a lot of water on the road. I can't remember the last time I've driven in weather like this."

  "And on the wrong side of the road," I added.

  Carter laughed. "I hardly notice it."

  . . .

  As we turned right onto George Street, I was pretty sure I saw someone running along the south side of the street, on our right. From the back seat, I heard Murphy say, "Who's out in this weather?"

  We pulled into the driveway. I saw that all the lights were on in the house. I looked at my watch. It was half past 11. I could feel a knot forming in my stomach.

  We piled out of the car and made a dash up the stairs. I was the first to the top and saw that the front door was open. Murphy pushed past Carter and me and called out, "Peg? Peg, darlin'? Are ya here?"

  Getting no reply, we all split up without saying anything. I walked into the sunroom. Nothing was out of place, as far as I could tell. Walking back into the living room, I saw that there were two of the sofa pillows in the middle of the floor which struck me as odd.

  As I was walking through the dining room, John Murphy burst out of the kitchen. "It's Peg!" He turned back and I followed him. We walked in. Captain O'Reilly was on his knees, leaning over Mrs. Tutwiler. She was on her back. Lifeless eyes were staring at the ceiling. Her legs were at odd angles to each other. There was blood pooled on the floor underneath her head. About five feet from her body was a small cast-iron skillet lying upside-down on the floor

  O'Reilly was fidgeting with something. I said, "Don't touch anything, Dan."

  He jumped up as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I didn't touch anything. I was just stroking her cheek." I looked at his face. Tears were flowing down his cheeks. "I can't believe she's dead."

  I nodded. "John, call the police."

  "How do I do that?" He was having as hard a time as O'Reilly.

  I said, "Never mind. Take Dan in the living room." I had a thought. "No, don't. Take him into your bedroom. The two of you wait there until Carter or I come get you. Understand?"

  Murphy nodded mutely. He took O'Reilly's arm and the two of them quietly walked out through the kitchen door. A moment later, Carter came in.

  He stood next to me, put his hand on my neck, and didn't say anything for a moment. Finally, he asked, "What do you think?"

  I walked around the body. "Look." I pointed to the blood on the floor. "It's already getting thick." I looked around the room. "And considering how humid it is and the fact that all the windows are open, I figure she's been dead for at least twenty or thirty minutes, maybe longer."

  "So, it wasn't that kid?"

  "What kid?" I asked.

  "Bobby Stanhope. The one who came over last night."

  "Is that who was running down the street?"

  He nodded.

  "No. He doesn't strike me as the type to hang around a dead body."

  I leaned down and looked at the pan. I could see a couple of small pieces of skin and something shiny that was likely blood. I shook my head and stood. I then walked over to the telephone and picked it up. I dialed zero and waited for something to happen.

  Chapter 9

  2 George Road

  Friday, February 25, 1955

  Just past midnight

  Two police officers and a man in a dark brown suit walked through the front door, which we'd left open. They were all three in trench coats, which were dripping wet. Carter and I had been sitting at the dining table. We both stood as they walked in.

  The two officers removed their trench coats and hung them on the rack. They then took off their hats and did the same with those. The man in the suit took off his trench coat and shook it out under the awning and then hung it up.

  The older police officer looked up at me and asked, "Mr. Williams?"

  I nodded.

  He continued, "We spoke on the phone. I'm Chief Inspector William Hargrove from the Bondi Station." Poin
ting to the other officer, he said, "This is Sergeant Thomas Dooley." He pointed to the man in the suit. "This is our police surgeon, Dr. Roger Vinson. Now then, where is the body?"

  I pointed to the kitchen door. "In there."

  The police surgeon walked through, followed by the sergeant. Chief Inspector Hargrove, who stood all of 5'6", at the most, looked us up and down. "So, I've seen a memo from the Prime Minister's office in Canberra about the two of you." He grinned briefly and then asked, "What happened?"

  I said, "The four of us—"

  "Four?" he asked. He was all business.

  I nodded. "The two of us and two of my employees, Captain Daniel O'Reilly and his first mate John Murphy—"

  "And where are they?"

  "They're both in the guest bedroom."

  "Why's that?"

  "They'd become friendly with Mrs. Tutwiler and it hit them hard to find her like that."

  "I see. So, the four of you..." He rolled his hand to indicate I should continue.

  I nodded. "The four of us went to the Hoyts' Regent in Sydney to see a movie. After the movie was over, we went to a Chinese restaurant nearby. Then we drove back here. We pulled up at about half past 11. All the lights were on when we arrived and the front door was open. We walked in and called out her name and got no reply. We split up. Murphy and O'Reilly found her body in the kitchen."

  "Anyone touch anything?"

  "No, Chief Inspector. I told them to go wait in the bedroom. I looked around for a moment. Then I called you."

  "How long would you say you were here before you phoned the station?"

  "No more than five minutes."

  He nodded. "You said you are renting this house in the short term from this Mrs. Tutwiler?"

  "Yes."

  "But she lives here?"

  "Yes."

  He paused for a moment. "Why can't I find a Mrs. Tutwiler at this address?"

  "Because I think her legal name is Margaret Jenkins."

  He nodded. "How'd you know that?"

  "She sent us to a tailor yesterday. He told us about how she'd been married to Mr. Jenkins and that he died in Singapore."