Domino Island

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘The police are hardly likely to look for you here,’ he said casually, and took a file from a drawer. ‘Let me explain the importance of all this.’ He opened the file. ‘The men who attacked you – Sergeant Taylor and Constables Whitley, Villegas and Robertson – dropped out of sight. When Commissioner Barstow countermanded my orders and took them from here, those four officers neither reported to their posts in Hogtown nor did they go to their homes. What do you make of that?’

  ‘I’d say Barstow is covering something up.’

  Hanna nodded. ‘I’ve had the forensic laboratory working around the clock. I took it on myself to have the homes of all four men raided and their civilian clothing impounded for examination. On the clothing of Taylor and Villegas we found blood specks of the same blood group as Ogilvie. On one of Robertson’s boots we found a thread caught up in a projecting nail. The thread is of the same material as Ogilvie’s trousers and is not of a type usually found in Campanilla. Nothing was found to implicate Whitley in Ogilvie’s murder, but we’re still looking.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘That’s a damn fine bit of work.’

  ‘Normal police procedure,’ said Hanna impassively. He put his hands on the desk and leaned forward. ‘Mr Kemp, I must emphasise that as far as you are concerned, the position has changed. There is a lot going on in the uniformed branch of the police force that I don’t like and I am afraid for your safety, and for that of Miss Tomsson. The fact is that a man cannot be convicted on a blood group specimen and Mr Ogilvie’s blood grouping was not uncommon. So we’re not going to be able to charge them with that – yet. But you and Miss Tomsson can give evidence against Taylor and his men on the matter of the direct assault on you. And that is why you must stay out of sight until I clear up this matter.’

  ‘I see your point. I don’t like your police thugs, either.’

  I was curious to know why I’d been brought to police headquarters, but not Leotta. Surely if I was to be kept safe, then she should be too?

  ‘Because she’s probably better off where she is for the moment. Nobody knows she’s there, apart from you, me and Mr Negrini. As I said, Mr Kemp, I want you both beyond the reach of the police.’

  ‘Then why bring me here? Why didn’t you go to Negrini’s?’

  ‘I was coming to that,’ said Hanna. ‘There is something else I must tell you. In the early hours of this morning I arrested Commissioner Barstow.’

  For a moment I didn’t register what he had said. Then I felt my hair stand on end. ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘I arrested the Commissioner,’ he said with a grim smile. ‘My superior officer.’

  Now I understood his tautness. ‘Do you expect to get away with that?’

  He squared up the file in front of him. ‘Four police officers cannot just disappear on Campanilla. Not when I’m looking for them. I began to wonder whether Barstow would be such a damned fool as to put them in his own home. As soon as the positive results came from forensic I had his house watched. They were there. Barstow went home last night as usual and I had the house raided at four this morning and arrested the lot of them.’

  ‘What’s the charge on Barstow, for God’s sake?’

  ‘Conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. He’s in a cell now. The Prime Minister should be finding out any time, if he hasn’t already. I’m expecting a loud scream.’

  ‘They’ll cut your throat,’ I said. ‘Conyers won’t stand for it.’

  ‘It doesn’t make any difference,’ said Hanna. ‘I was finished anyway. The things I’ve been doing in the Salton case won’t help my promotion. If I had just stood by, Barstow would be asking for my resignation within a fortnight.’ He took a newspaper from his drawer and tossed it on to the desk. ‘Have you seen this?’

  I looked at the headline. ‘I’ve seen it.’ I bent my head to peer at the heavily underlined words on the page: complete overhaul of the police force.

  I looked at Hanna. ‘You’re taking a hell of a chance. What if the CLP doesn’t win the election?’

  ‘Then Conyers won’t have to cut my throat,’ he said. ‘I’ll have done it myself. But either way, he’ll have a lot of trouble explaining away Barstow.’

  I said thoughtfully, ‘You ought to write a book. How to make enemies and influence people. Who knows about this so far?’

  ‘Not many.’

  ‘Conyers might try to hush it up,’ I said. ‘What you need is a press conference.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not a public relations cop. But it will get out.’ The telephone rang and he picked it up. He listened, then said, ‘Stall him for five minutes, then let him in.’ He smiled at me as he replaced the telephone. ‘And this is why I needed to be here, rather than making house calls at the casino. The Honourable Leon A. Shillabeer, our esteemed Attorney-General. I’ll bet the steam is coming out of his ears.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be here.’

  He stood up. ‘It’s all right. I’d like a witness. Discreetly, of course.’ He opened a door in the wall behind his desk. ‘This way.’

  I followed him into a small room where he twitched away a curtain from a window. I looked through the window into his office. ‘One-way glass,’ he said. ‘There’s a mirror on the other side. Everyone assumes I’m vain. Sit here and keep quiet. Don’t turn on the light or he might see it.’

  He went back into his office and I sat down. Looking through the one-way glass was not as good as looking through an ordinary clear sheet but it was not far short of it. I wondered what other tricks Hanna had and found out immediately: before picking up the telephone he opened a drawer and switched on a tape recorder.

  Shillabeer came in fast. He was a jowly man of middle height whom I remembered seeing at Conyers’s party. Even before he was through the doorway he was talking. ‘What the devil is going on, Hanna?’

  ‘About what?’ said Hanna.

  ‘Is it true you’ve arrested Commissioner Barstow?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Hanna. ‘Yes, it’s true, Mr Shillabeer.’

  That brought the Attorney-General up short. He had come to a halt because he could go no further and now he sat in the chair I had just vacated.

  ‘Are you out of your mind? What’s the charge?’

  ‘Conspiracy to pervert the course of justice,’ said Hanna. ‘He was hiding four suspected murderers in his house.’

  Shillabeer gobbled. ‘But … but …’ He started again. ‘What suspected murderers?’

  ‘Their names are Taylor, Whitley, Villegas and Robertson. I arrested them myself on another charge of assault but they were freed by Barstow.’

  ‘And who are they suspected of murdering?’

  ‘An Englishman called Ogilvie.’

  Shillabeer opened his mouth and closed it again. He appeared suddenly evasive. ‘Do you have evidence for this?’

  ‘Enough to charge them. So I have.’ Hanna was really sticking his neck out and I hoped Shillabeer hadn’t brought a chopper.

  ‘And because of this you arrested Commissioner Barstow. This is unheard of, Hanna. You realise this should have gone through my office first. I’ll tell you who you can arrest and who you can’t arrest.’

  Hanna shook his head tolerantly. ‘Conspiracy Act, 1965,’ he quoted. ‘The consent of the Attorney-General is necessary for proceedings, but this shall not prevent an arrest.’ He thought for a moment, then added, ‘Not that it makes any difference here.’

  ‘I certainly won’t consent to any proceedings,’ said Shillabeer savagely. He stopped and looked at Hanna uncertainly. ‘What do you mean, it makes no difference here?’

  Hanna put his head back and looked at the ceiling. ‘Conspiracy Act, 1965; Section 4. In the event of a High Court warrant made out by the Chief Justice, proceedings shall be taken automatically.’ He lowered his head. ‘You’ll have to talk to Chief Justice Micklethwaite.’

  Shillabeer was taken aback. ‘Micklethwaite made out a High Court warrant for the arrest of Barstow?’ he whispered.

  ‘I was ve
ry worried last night,’ said Hanna matter-of-factly. ‘If I had to catch Barstow I had to catch him in the act, as it were – I had to catch him in the presence of the four men and in his own home. I tried to reach you but you were not available, Mr Shillabeer. I telephoned several times from about eight o’clock onwards.’

  Shillabeer’s eyes narrowed. ‘I was away from home.’

  ‘At about ten o’clock I happened to look out of this window and saw Chief Justice Micklethwaite going into his club – the Albemarle, just across the road – do you know it? I was unhappy about arresting Commissioner Barstow on my own account so I popped over there and asked Micklethwaite’s advice. I told him I was worried Commissioner Barstow might try to get the men out of his house overnight so he suggested that he make out a court warrant for Barstow’s arrest. I don’t mind telling you, Mr Shillabeer, I was much relieved.’

  I nearly laughed aloud. Hanna sounded about as relieved as a shark that has just bitten off a swimmer’s leg. He said, ‘Fortunately, no time was wasted as the Court House is next door to the Albemarle.’

  Shillabeer licked his lips; his face had gone grey. ‘You damned fool, Hanna,’ he said. He stood up suddenly, knocking the chair over. ‘You’ll hear more of this.’ He went out even more quickly than he had come in.

  Hanna righted the chair and closed the office door, then came up to the one-way glass and straightened his tie in the mirror. ‘You can come out now, Mr Kemp,’ he said.

  I joined him in his office. ‘Is that right what you said about the court warrant? That proceedings will have to be taken?’

  He seemed much more relaxed. ‘I know my statutes,’ he said. ‘And Micklethwaite is no friend of Barstow. Our Chief Justice is as straight as a ramrod and he’s appointed for life, which means he isn’t afraid of politicians. I’d heard that he was worried about the activities of the police lately – the overreaction during the riots, for instance. Not that he’d said anything to me personally.’

  ‘But you knew he’d sign a court warrant,’ I said. ‘Did you really just see him by chance going into the club?’

  Hanna smiled. ‘No, of course not. I telephoned him earlier in the evening, filled him in on some of the broad facts, and arranged to meet him there at ten.’

  ‘And I suppose you just happened to know that Shillabeer would be away from home last night.’

  ‘Mr Roker was giving a party,’ said Hanna. ‘Mr and Mrs Shillabeer were among the guests. They got home at two this morning.’ He looked earnest. ‘I did call his home several times last night, giving my name and saying that Mr Shillabeer must get in touch with me.’ He shrugged. ‘He rang here at two-thirty and my home soon after that. By that time, I was at Barstow’s place supervising the snatch.’

  ‘It’s copper-bottomed,’ I said. ‘But Conyers will never believe it.’

  ‘I don’t care if he does or not,’ said Hanna, sounding positively cheerful. ‘But it will stand up in court if I have to give evidence.’ He stopped smiling. ‘Now, about you. I’m not sure how long the casino will remain a safe haven. I’m having an eye kept on it and there’s been police activity there. I think you should move.’

  ‘Mrs Salton wants me to visit her at El Cerco.’

  He considered that. ‘That might be all right, but it doesn’t solve the problem of Miss Tomsson.’

  ‘She’s invited, too.’

  Hanna was astounded. ‘Invited?’

  ‘There won’t be another murder,’ I said dryly. ‘I’ll keep them apart.’

  He wagged his head in a baffled way. ‘It might work. Who would look for Miss Tomsson at El Cerco? The problem is getting you both there safely.’

  He switched on the intercom. ‘Has Mr Negrini come back yet?’

  ‘He’s here, sir.’

  ‘Send him in.’

  As we waited I said to Hanna, ‘What have you discovered about Mrs Haslam?’

  He gave me a frown and said, ‘It’s in the works.’

  Negrini came in and Hanna swung his chair. ‘Ah, Mr Negrini. How would you like another chauffeuring job?’

  ‘Maybe I should charge expenses.’ Negrini winked at me. ‘A Caddy costs a lot to run.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of a car,’ said Hanna. ‘You have a boat – that over-engined so-called fishing boat of yours.’

  ‘It’s a speedboat,’ said Negrini testily. ‘I don’t get much time to fish so I like to get in and out real quick. What about it?’

  ‘I was wondering if you would like to take Mr Kemp and Miss Tomsson to El Cerco.’

  Without waiting for an answer, Hanna opened a file on the desk in front of him. With his head bent he said, ‘And watch out for the harbour police.’

  III

  Negrini’s boat looked fast. Standing still in his boathouse it seemed to be doing twenty knots. He slapped its side affectionately. ‘Designed by Renato Levi and Italian-built. I have to support my old homeland. Jump aboard.’

  Leotta dropped lightly into the cockpit and I followed. Negrini said, ‘Better go into the cabin until we’re at sea. There are too many eyes in the harbour.’

  This was no boat for an extended cruise. The cabin, while being well fitted out, was small, with two bunks, a galley and a folding table. I suspected that a disproportionate amount of boat was taken up by engines. This guess was confirmed when Negrini started them up: the boat shook gently as they ticked over while he went through his cockpit drill. The low rumble spoke of raw power.

  ‘Okay, folks, off we go,’ he said, and the boat nosed gently out of the boathouse and into the harbour. I looked through a window and found that I seemed to be too close to the water. Negrini bent down so he could see me. ‘Bill.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hanna was right. There’s a police launch to starboard that seems to be taking an interest in us. It’s heading this way on an intercepting course.’

  I glanced at Leotta. It seemed that Hanna had called this one wrong. ‘So what do we do?’

  Negrini laughed. ‘This,’ he said, and there was a bellowing roar from the engines and the whole boat seemed to lift bodily from the water. He yelled, ‘I’ve got forty-five knots out of this baby in smooth water. If that tub tries to match my speed, her engines will blow up.’

  The view from the window had changed. The water level was way down because the boat was now planing and the harbour was zipping past at a dizzying speed. I shut my eyes. This was a bit different from taking a sailing cruiser out of the Dart.

  ‘We’re leaving her standing,’ shouted Negrini. ‘In a couple of minutes we’ll be out of Pascua Channel and in the open sea. You’d better hang on to something and keep loose. Some of these trade wind rollers might break the dishes.’

  The designer had thoughtfully fitted grab handles so I grabbed and held on. Negrini was right. The boat pitched alarmingly and if I hadn’t been gripping tightly I’d have been thrown across the cabin and into Leotta’s lap – which wouldn’t have been a bad breakfall. I grinned at her and then noticed she was turning a delicate shade of dirty green, which clashed badly with the ice-blue of her trouser suit. ‘Hold on,’ I shouted. ‘This won’t last long.’ I hoped I was right.

  We pounded on for another fifteen minutes and then the note of the engines changed as Negrini slackened speed. His head appeared as he stooped to look into the cabin. ‘They’ve given up,’ he said. ‘They’re four miles back and turning around. I’ll keep on this heading for a while – going no place – and then we’ll swing around and head for El Cerco as soon as we’re out of radar range. Okay?’

  I nodded. ‘Leotta isn’t feeling too good.’

  ‘Another quarter-hour and you can both come up,’ he said.

  Now that the motion of the boat was easier, Leotta wasn’t getting any worse – though I wouldn’t say she was getting any better. In twenty minutes Negrini told us it was all right to go into the cockpit, and Leotta made a dash for it. When I got up there she was being violently sick over the side. Negrini grinned at me genially. ‘You want to s
hoot the cat, too?’

  ‘It’s not all that funny,’ I said. I had been seasick at times and I knew how she felt.

  ‘I guess not,’ said Negrini, ‘Sorry, Leotta.’

  She flopped back on the stern cushions. ‘I’m a lousy sailor.’ But her colour was better.

  I looked outboard and saw land to starboard about five miles away. We were leaving it at an angle. I said, ‘I didn’t expect you to go this way. I thought you’d go roundabout the other way.’

  ‘It’s not the easiest way to El Cerco,’ agreed Negrini. ‘But when you’ve had someone on your tail it’s the best. I don’t think those guys back there think we’re going to El Cerco.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘Maybe six hours. Make yourselves comfortable.’

  In spite of Negrini’s advice it was definitely not a comfortable journey. High-speed craft tend to be bouncy, which might be all right in the short run but not for six hours. Negrini held away from the land until it was lost in the heat haze and then he came around in a wide sweep to the north.

  He was right about the time. It was almost exactly six hours after leaving San Martin when we threaded our way through the pass in the coral reef and into the lagoon of El Cerco. We were tired because of the movement and hungry because there had been nothing to eat on the boat, and I was deeply thankful when we drifted to the quay on the central island and moored the boat in stillness.

  As we went ashore Jill Salton appeared. ‘Glad you could come,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t expect you by boat. I didn’t expect you at all, Gerry.’

  Negrini laughed. ‘I just came along for the ride. I hope your kitchen’s working because we’re all hungry.’

  Jill frowned. ‘The kitchen’s all right but there’s no staff. The cook went to the mainland – her son was in a motor accident.’ She smiled. ‘Never mind. I’ll get something ready.’

  I wished she wouldn’t: I’d already had a sample of her cooking.

  Leotta stepped forward and said, ‘I’ll help out.’

  Jill, cool and pristine in a crisp white dress, looked at Leotta, who was still recovering from the trip and not as soignée as I had seen her. She’d taken off her suit jacket and the halter-neck chemise underneath was looking decidedly creased. She and Jill were both taut and, like two strange animals, had unconsciously taken up almost identical offensive-defensive stances.