Domino Island

by Desmond Bagley

  I could see David Salton’s secret leaking out even as we talked. ‘I bet Prime Minister Conyers finds your files fascinating,’ I said.

  Hanna looked hurt. ‘Conyers doesn’t know. This is state security, not party political stuff. If anyone wants to see the files he has to get past me.’

  I regarded him thoughtfully. This was the age-old problem with police work, when loyalties become divided, motives strained and the best of good intentions lead directly to hell. Still, if you had to have a watchdog, Hanna might be a good one and relatively incorruptible.

  ‘So what about Leotta Tomsson?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing much – nothing political, anyway. Why did you see her?’

  ‘Joe Hawke seemed to think it was a good idea.’

  ‘Did he indeed? And what happened?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said blankly. ‘I just confirmed her relationship with Salton, that’s all.’

  ‘The eternal triangle,’ mused Hanna, looking down into his glass. ‘Salton, Mrs Salton and Leotta Tomsson.’

  ‘I asked Miss Tomsson if Jill Salton knew about her. She said she didn’t think so.’

  ‘And yet there was a quarrel between Salton and his wife. Interesting.’

  ‘Not that interesting, otherwise you’d have followed it up before now.’

  He drained his glass and set it down. ‘I can’t sit around drinking with you all hours of the day, Mr Kemp. I have work to do.’

  ‘I’ll try not to drag you away from it again.’ The telephone rang. ‘Stick around for a minute: I put in a call to London and this may be it. The boss might want to talk to the authorities. I suppose you qualify?’

  Hanna closed his eyes tiredly as I picked up the telephone. ‘I suppose I do,’ he said despondently.

  After a lot of snapping, crackling and popping, Costello came on the line. He sounded irritable because I’d called his home. Because of the time differential, the London office was closed and I’d called him direct. ‘For God’s sake!’ he said. ‘I’m in the middle of a dinner party. I have a house full of people here.’

  ‘Pity you couldn’t have invited Ogilvie,’ I said.

  ‘What? Oh yes. I was sorry to hear about the assault. Look, Mrs Ogilvie is coming over on the next plane to look after him. We had a conference and the chairman thought it was the thing to do. He’s flying out himself and bringing her with him.’

  ‘You’d better stop him,’ I said. ‘It’s too late. Ogilvie died this morning.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Costello. ‘I didn’t get that. There’s a crackle on the line.’

  I repeated what I had said and there was a silence. At last Costello said in a disbelieving voice, ‘Dead?’

  ‘He was very badly beaten up. Didn’t Jolly tell you?’

  ‘He told me Ogilvie had been attacked but he appeared to overlook the severity.’

  I said, ‘I have Detective Superintendent Hanna with me. He’s investigating the case. Do you want to talk to him?’

  ‘Put him on,’ said Costello, and I handed the telephone to Hanna and then went to pour myself another drink. I didn’t pay much attention to what Hanna was saying. It would be the usual soothing syrup for administration on these occasions. I got some water from the bathroom and then went back and lay on the bed. Hanna handed me the telephone and I put it to my ear and made a noise. ‘This is a heIl of a mess,’ said Costello. ‘Hanna says you’ve been wounded.’

  ‘I’ll live.’ I took a sip of peaty malt whisky. ‘I’ll be sending you a report on Salton Estates. I don’t think you have much to worry about but I’m recommending we have a seat on the board. That’s it in a nutshell, but I’ll dress it up in the report.’

  ‘What are you going to do now?’

  I yawned. ‘Go to bed.’

  ‘Don’t be funny,’ snarled Costello. ‘I have to get on to the chairman to stop him taking Mrs Ogilvie to Campanilla. What do I tell him about you?’

  ‘You can tell him I’m helping the police with their inquiries,’ I said, and put down the telephone.

  Hanna looked down at me. ‘You don’t take much from anyone, do you?’

  ‘I’m no pushover,’ I agreed.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re ready to go to the scene of the crime?’

  ‘You heard the doctor. He advocated complete rest until tomorrow.’

  ‘All right, tomorrow after breakfast.’ He picked up his straw hat and walked to the door. ‘Have a good rest. If you move outside this room I’ll know about it.’ The door closed behind him.

  I lay there, drinking whisky and trying to think, but found that my brains had seized up. The faces of all the people I had interviewed wheeled in front of my eyes as if in a kaleidoscope, and little bits of conversation reverberated in my skull as though it were an empty cavern. After a while I decided it was an empty cavern. I ordered a light meal from room service, undressed wearily and went to bed.

  II

  Hanna sat next to me in the car and looked at me in disgust. ‘So you had to break the law and park illegally,’ he said, and pointed to the right. ‘You parked in front of this alley and now, I suppose, you expect us to find the bullet.’

  I grinned at him cheerfully. ‘So that’s it. I got shot for illegal parking.’ I was feeling pretty chipper: twelve hours’ sleep and a hearty breakfast had made a lot of difference. The pain at the back of my neck had dulled into a generalised ache and I only winced when I moved my head sharply.

  Hanna tapped the side window of the car. ‘Why didn’t this get broken?’ He was looking better, too. The lines of strain about his eyes had smoothed out.

  ‘The car had been out in the sun. I opened both windows to get some air circulating.’

  He nodded and opened the door. ‘All right, let’s have a look.’

  In the alley we were joined by two of Hanna’s men and he told them what to look for. I didn’t think they’d find anything and even if they did it wouldn’t be enough to matter. It struck me that Hanna was merely going through the motions of police procedure.

  Fifteen minutes later, one of Hanna’s boys gave a shout and we went to see what he had found. It was a streak of bright metal about six inches long on the side of a brick wall. Hanna stooped to look at it. ‘A soft-nosed bullet – that would have made quite a hole in you.’

  ‘Murderers aren’t bound by the Geneva Convention.’ I peered at the smear of the bullet, about three and a half feet from the ground. ‘You’re not going to get much from that – you certainly won’t match it to a gun.’

  Hanna squatted on his heels. ‘No, but forensics will still have to try. We can weigh the lead, for instance, and that will tell us a lot about the gun it wasn’t fired from.’ He turned his head and stared down the alley at my car. ‘I’d say it was fired from another car. It’s at just the right height.’

  ‘Great!’ I said. ‘So we have a murderer on wheels.’

  Hanna stood up. ‘It all helps,’ he said mildly. ‘And what makes you think he’s a murderer? You’re not dead – yet.’

  ‘Ogilvie is.’

  ‘There’s no evidence that the two attacks are related. Is your car in the exact position it was yesterday?’ When I nodded he said, ‘I’d be obliged if you’d leave it there for a couple of hours. Our forensic people will want to measure sight lines.’

  ‘That’s all right as long as I don’t get a parking ticket. How will measuring sight lines help?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But in police work you go by the book, and the book says we measure sight lines. Police procedure goes by its own book, not by the lucky guesses of detective story writers. I haven’t read a detective story yet where the evidence would stand up in court.’ He pointed to my car. ‘I may have to testify and the defending counsel will say, “Superintendent Hanna, did you measure the sight lines?” and if I hadn’t, he’d say, “Why not?” and there’d be a big question left in the minds of the jury, irrespective of whether sight lines came into the evidence at all.’

  ‘So you measure s
ight lines,’ I said.

  ‘We do a lot of unnecessary work just to protect ourselves. There are too many people ready to think ill of the police.’

  We walked down the alley towards the street. Hanna said, ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘That’s up to you,’ I said. ‘My work is finished. Do you still want me around for questioning?’

  We arrived in the street and paused on the pavement. A motorcycle pulled up behind my car and a uniformed policeman climbed off it. Hanna glanced at him and turned to face me. ‘How do you feel about staying?’ he asked. ‘It might be dangerous – someone has already taken a shot at you.’ He held up his hand as I opened my mouth to answer. ‘I don’t mind telling you that there is pressure on me to get you off Campanilla. If it came to the crunch, I couldn’t stop you leaving if you wanted to.’

  ‘Do you want me to stay?’

  He smiled faintly. ‘Things happen when you’re around, Mr Kemp. It would certainly strengthen my hand if you stayed.’

  I said, ‘I told you yesterday I’m no pushover. People have been pushing me, wanting me to leave, and that alone makes me inclined to stay. And then there’s Ogilvie. I’d like to get to the bottom of that.’

  The policeman from the motorcycle came over and gave Hanna an envelope. Hanna said, ‘I’ll let you know if there’s an answer,’ then turned back to me. ‘All right, but stay out of dark corners and let me know where you are at every minute of the day. And let’s have no secrets, shall we? Cases like this aren’t solved by inspired amateurs.’

  He ripped open the flap of the envelope and took out a memo sheet. He read the few lines of typescript and then folded the sheet precisely. Glancing at me he hesitated before saying, ‘Mrs Salton is back at El Cerco.’

  ‘Is she, by God?’ I could do with seeing her again. ‘I’m afraid I’ll need my car.’

  ‘No,’ said Hanna. ‘Remember the sight lines.’ He frowned and I noticed that the lines of strain were beginning to re-appear. Apparently he was juggling with a decision. ‘As far as I’m concerned, Mrs Salton is one of the most delicate areas of this investigation. I have to walk very soft-footed at El Cerco.’ He chewed his lower lip. ‘That’s why I’m going to let you go out there. You can ask questions which I can’t.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘I want to know about the quarrel the Saltons had. Maybe you can surprise it out of her.’

  ‘I can try.’ I wasn’t too keen on the idea of doing Hanna’s dirty work for him, but my own curiosity was raging in my brain.

  He dug his hand in his pocket and produced a car key. ‘Take my car. We’re still going by the book.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, and turned away.

  ‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘When you’re at El Cerco, remember that pressure I mentioned.’

  For a straightforward copper who did things by the book, he could be bloody enigmatic.

  As I pulled Hanna’s car away from the kerb, I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw him talking to the policeman, who had remounted his motorcycle. The policeman followed me all the way to the northern tip of the island at a tactful distance of two hundred yards.

  At El Cerco the gates were closed and the same two men on duty. The one on the outside came forward and stooped to look at me. ‘Mr Kemp to see Mrs Salton,’ I said.

  He straightened and took a sheet of paper from his breast pocket. After scanning it, he said. ‘You’re not on the list.’

  ‘Have you a telephone? I’d like to speak to Mrs Salton.’

  He gave me a long unsmiling look. ‘Wait here.’ He walked back to the gate and spoke to the man inside. I turned my head and looked back along the road. The policeman on the motorcycle had stopped two hundred yards back and was waiting quietly.

  Presently the gates opened and the guard waved me through. As I stepped on the accelerator I checked the mirror. The policeman made no move but waited unobtrusively. It seemed as though I had a guard of my own.

  Down at the quay, Raymond was waiting in the launch with the engine already turning over. There was one thing you had to say about El Cerco: the place ran with machinelike efficiency. I dropped into the boat, and said, ‘Thanks, Raymond,’ and we shot off across the lagoon.

  John was waiting on the island. ‘Mrs Salton is engaged at the moment. She asks you to wait a few minutes.’

  ‘All right,’ I said.

  ‘This way, sir.’

  I followed him through that quiet and beautiful house to one of the indoor patios, where I found my principal employer just finishing what could have been breakfast. Lord Hosmer looked very tired – flights across time zones hit older people very hard. He looked up as I arrived. ‘Didn’t expect to see you so soon. I left a message at your hotel only an hour ago.’

  I hadn’t expected to see him at all. Costello had given me the impression that Hosmer would call off his trip. ‘I didn’t get your message,’ I said. ‘I was coming here anyway.’

  He looked up at me, sharpness in his faded blue eyes. ‘Why?’

  I recalled that he was Jill Salton’s uncle. ‘Just to say goodbye to Mrs Salton.’

  ‘You’ve finished your work here?’

  ‘Yes. I just have to write a report for Costello.’

  ‘Good. Then there’s nothing to keep you here.’ He flicked his hand at a chair. ‘Sit down, Kemp. Bad business, this – about Ogilvie, I mean.’

  ‘How did Mrs Ogilvie take it?’

  He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. ‘Not well. We had some trouble in persuading her not to come. What arrangements are being made about the … er … the body?’

  ‘It will be released after the inquest, say, in two or three days. I suggest it should be flown to England, not shipped. There’s no point in dragging things out for Mrs Ogilvie.’

  He nodded. ‘Very wise. Before you leave, you’d better see a local undertaker. You can do that this afternoon, I suppose. And you can leave tomorrow.’

  Hosmer seemed to be taking a lot for granted. I said, ‘I may not be able to leave that soon. The police want me to stay. They think I can help them.’

  ‘Would that be Superintendent Hanna?’

  ‘Yes.’ Hosmer seemed to be clued up about the local force.

  He flapped his napkin. ‘Forget about him,’ he said tersely. ‘I’ll handle that end at a higher level.’

  I studied the old man thoughtfully. ‘Don’t you think it would be better if I stayed? If the police think I might be some help in finding out who killed Ogilvie, then I think I should stay. Apart from anything else, it’s good public relations.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn about public relations. You’re needed back in London.’

  I remembered Hanna’s parting words. When you’re at El Cerco, remember that pressure I mentioned. He must have known that Lord Hosmer was here and guessed what his line was likely to be.

  I pushed a little. ‘Why am I needed back in London?’

  ‘I don’t know. Something Jolly’s in a flap about.’

  I shrugged. ‘Jolly’s panics don’t usually amount to much. The last time he got his knickers in a twist, it was about someone stealing from the petty cash in the Edinburgh office.’

  ‘I should think you’d be glad to leave,’ said Hosmer irascibly. ‘Costello tells me you’ve been wounded yourself.’ He surveyed me. ‘It doesn’t show.’

  ‘Just a scratch,’ I said modestly.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. I suggest you go back to London by the first flight tomorrow.’

  The crunch had come. I either had to go meekly back to London or lay my contract on the line. It was a fine contract and I enjoyed my job. I was bloody good at it too, but I didn’t deceive myself into thinking I could walk away with no consequence. I might have been the best intelligence consultant outside Whitehall, but Hosmer had enough pull in the insurance world to blackball me from London to Hong Kong – both ways around the world. A lot of my kind of work depends on trust and once Hosmer dropped the acid I’d be history.
He wouldn’t even have to tell the truth: a vague hint would be enough.

  I said, ‘You know, I don’t think I have finished here. I’m still not satisfied with the manner of Salton’s death.’

  He looked at me from under shaggy brows and, for the first time, I noticed he had boar’s eyes. A dangerous man to cross. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ he demanded. ‘You were satisfied enough to tell Jolly to draw a cheque.’

  ‘Some new evidence came in after I talked to Jolly.’

  ‘What evidence?’

  ‘A man called Roker came to see me.’

  I waited for Hosmer to say something. He obliged. ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘An American,’ I said. ‘He came from the Caribbean Banking Corporation – which, he informed me, is one-third owned by Western and Continental. Is that true?’

  ‘Near enough,’ said Hosmer. ‘We have a thirty per cent stake.’

  ‘He wanted me to quit. He tried to blackmail me first and when that failed he tried a bribe. Then he said he’d get me deported. I advised against it. I think he took my advice.’

  ‘You advised against it,’ said Hosmer heavily. ‘What form did your advice take?’

  ‘I said I’d blow the story to the British press, who would be delighted to climb in. I think he took the point.’ I hoped Hosmer also took the point.

  He looked at me for a long time in silence. I once thought that I wouldn’t give a bent penny for Hanna’s career prospects. Right then, I wouldn’t have given even that much for my own. Hosmer wasn’t a pleasant sight. He was thinking hard, figuring out all the angles and testing one chance against another. I knew damned well that Roker, or whoever was behind him, had telephoned London to tell Hosmer to bring his dog to heel. And Hosmer had come running.

  He put his hand to his breast pocket and took out a cigar case. Extracting a long cigar, he clipped the end with a gold cutter and then lit it carefully. When he had it going to his satisfaction, he blew a steady plume of smoke. ‘You’re playing a dangerous game, Kemp,’ he said.