There was a prickly moment of stand-off before Jill relaxed and permitted herself a small smile. ‘I think you need the bathroom before the kitchen,’ she said. ‘Let’s go inside and sort you out.’
They went into the house and Negrini nodded after them. ‘We’ll be lucky if they don’t barbecue each other. What say we build us a couple of drinks?’
It sounded a damned good idea so I went with him into the house. He did things with rum, sugar and fresh lime juice. It proved to be a most soothing concoction and I was just beginning to appreciate it when John appeared. ‘Could I speak to you for a moment, sir?’ He seemed worried about something.
‘What is it?’ John cast a side glance at Negrini, so I added, ‘That’s all right. Say what you want.’
‘It’s the servants, sir. They’ve all left.’
‘So?’
‘There were three telephone calls. Mrs Salton’s maid – her father was ill. The housekeeper said she had to collect a parcel. And the cook …’
‘I know about the cook,’ I said. ‘What’s worrying you, John?’
He looked troubled. ‘I’m not sure, sir. But the telephone is dead. I haven’t been able to put through a call to the outside.’
‘How can it be dead when you’ve been receiving calls?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. And now there’s just been a call for me to tell me that Jake wants to see me at his home immediately.’
‘From anyone you know?’
‘A stranger, sir.’ His seamed face was puzzled. ‘And I know Jake is in San Martin today.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Negrini.
I felt a prickling unease and I had the overpowering feeling that something had escaped me. Abruptly I stood up. ‘Let’s check the telephone.’
We went into the hall and I picked up the handset. Not a cheep came through and the line seemed dead. I turned to John. ‘How does this work? Is it a direct line?’
‘No, sir. The estate exchange is on the mainland.’
Negrini said, ‘Have you told Mrs Salton about this?’
‘No,’ said John. ‘Not yet.’
Suddenly the sound of a jet engine winding up came keening across the water from the mainland and something exploded in my head. I grabbed Negrini’s arm.
‘Gerry, what did you tell me about Salton’s plane leaving Benning Airport the day he disappeared?’
‘It took off for New York,’ he said.
‘What time?’
‘Eight in the evening.’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ I said. ‘I was muzzy when you told me and it slipped by. The plane left here at eleven in the morning.’
‘So?’
‘So what the hell was the crew doing during those nine hours?’
Negrini frowned. ‘Is it important?’
‘And what was Mrs Haslam doing taking out the dinghy at four the next morning?’
‘Who the hell is Mrs Haslam?’
‘The pilot’s wife.’ I stared at the silent telephone. ‘Calls coming in, none going out. People being drawn off this island. I have a feeling we’re being isolated.’
‘We are?’ queried Negrini. ‘But nobody knows we’re here.’
‘All right then, Jill Salton’s being isolated.’ I bit my lip. ‘I don’t like this.’
Negrini said softly, ‘That little guy who lives in your head?’
‘Yes.’ The jet engine howled again. ‘And what are they doing over there on the airstrip? Jill isn’t going anywhere in the plane, and they can’t be testing it all the time.’ I shook my head irritably. ‘I wonder if there are any weapons in the house.’
‘Sure,’ said Negrini. His hand dipped inside his jacket and emerged full of automatic pistol. ‘It’s a habit,’ he said, a little apologetically. He put the gun away. ‘But we’re not isolated.’
‘The bloody telephone’s not working.’
‘The hell with that,’ said Negrini. ‘There’s a radio telephone in the boat. We can call anyone we want.’
‘Then I want to call Hanna.’
We left the hall, leaving John staring after us, and went back to the quay where the boat was moored. Another boat had just pulled in behind and Mrs Haslam was stepping ashore. She came towards us and the first thing I noticed was a gun held negligently at her side.
Behind her Philips, the engineer, was climbing aboard Negrini’s boat.
She said casually, ‘Hi, Mr Kemp.’
Philips went into the cabin and there came a crunching sound. ‘What the hell!’ said Negrini, and stepped forward.
‘Take it easy, buster,’ warned Mrs Haslam, but Negrini ignored her. He made as if to lunge past her, to get to his boat, and she lifted the pistol and shot him twice.
The first bullet stopped him in his tracks. The second flung him backwards and sideways into some low bushes. Although he thrashed around a bit while he was down, he was dead before he hit the ground and the convulsive movements were merely automatic nervous reactions. When he finally lay still, I saw two red blotches on his white shirt, about two inches apart and directly over his heart.
TEN
I
The gun was pointing at me and it was rock steady. My mouth was as dry as a bone and I stayed very still. More destructive noises came from the boat and then Philips came up into the cockpit. ‘They won’t be sending any messages from here.’
Bette Haslam never took her eyes off me. ‘Round up the two women and that old servant,’ she said. ‘I want them all in the same place.’
From behind me, Jill Salton called, ‘What’s going on out there?’ She didn’t seem too alarmed.
Philips came up the quay and walked past me. He didn’t look at me and I might not have been there. He said in a genial voice, ‘Nothing to worry about, Mrs Salton. I’d like you to gather everybody together in the same place.’
‘Why?’ There was a pause. ‘What’s that in your hand?’
‘It’s only a gun, Mrs Salton. Nothing to worry about if you behave nicely.’
Bette Haslam said, ‘Okay, Mr Kemp, turn around and follow my friend there.’
I turned around obediently and walked back towards the house. Jill was looking in glazed astonishment at Philips, who said, ‘Just step backwards into that room, Mrs Salton.’ Jill’s eyes flickered towards me and beyond to Mrs Haslam.
I nodded, and said harshly, ‘Do it, Jill. They’ve killed Gerry.’
She caught her breath and stepped away and I walked towards her slowly, very conscious of the gun at my back. Bette Haslam said, ‘Get the other two, and make it fast. This room will do. I can see the other side of the lagoon from here.’
Philips vanished from the periphery of my vision and I walked slowly until the Haslam woman said, ‘Stop! Sit there, both of you.’ I turned my head cautiously and saw her indicating a settee positioned against the wall. I went and sat down. My legs felt like rubber.
Jill sat next to me. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Shut up!’ said Mrs Haslam flatly. She raised her voice for Philips to hear. ‘Hurry it up, Les. You don’t have much time.’ She was wearing a shirt, brief shorts and a linen jacket with big patch pockets; a very different creature from the last time I’d seen her. Beyond her, through the window, I saw the body of Negrini lying supine among the flowering bushes, then there was his boat and the waters of the lagoon and, in the far distance, the mainland. I saw it all but I did not perceive it. My mind was a blank.
Philips came back, herding Leotta and John at gunpoint. John’s face was expressionless but Leotta looked flaming mad: her lips were drawn back and her teeth glinted in a snarl of rage, and her eyes darted from side to side but held on to Bette Haslam in a wide stare as soon as she saw her.
Bette indicated the settee. ‘You sit there, bitch. And you, grandad, sit on that chair and be real quiet.’
Leotta sat down on the other side of Jill and then leaned forward to look at me. I shook my head slightly, not taking my eyes off Bette Haslam.
Philips checke
d his watch. ‘I’ll be going,’ he said. ‘I won’t be able to come and take you off myself. It’ll either be Steve or Terry.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘And if you hear me popping off, don’t worry. I’ll just be doing some target practice to impress the folks.’ She looked at me and said ironically, ‘Not that Mr Kemp needs impressing. He’s had a demonstration.’
‘All right,’ said Philips. ‘You’ll be picked up at nightfall.’ He left and, through the window, I saw him walk along the quay and then disappear as he dropped into his boat. There came the putter of a small outboard engine and the boat came into sight and went off towards the mainland.
Bette Haslam stood there, holding the gun in one hand and with the other in a jacket pocket. ‘Well now,’ she said. ‘You’re all comfortable, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t be. Grandad, there’s a nice chair over behind you there. Bring it over here, but do it slow.’
John got up and did as he was instructed. She waved him back to his seat and inspected the chair he had brought. ‘Nice enough chair, but a mite too low. If I sat in that I might not be able to get up in a hurry.’
She perched herself on the arm of the chair and I took my eyes off her for the first time to risk a glance sideways. Jill was sitting with her back pushed as far as she could go to the rear of the settee, as though she could somehow get away from the gun in front of her. Her face was chalk white and the slight band of freckles across her face stood out like the liver spots on the hands of an old man. She was scared out of her wits.
Leotta was tense and leaning forward, her arms resting on her knees and her hands curled into claws. She gave the impression of a sprinter waiting for the starting gun for the hundred-metre dash. But nobody can run faster than a bullet, so I said in a low voice, ‘Take it easy, Leotta.’
‘What was that?’ Bette Haslam waved her gun. ‘If you want to talk, speak up. I don’t want any whispering. No secrets, you hear?’ Her own voice was as clear as a bell, with no trace of an alcoholic drawl.
I said, ‘What the hell is all this about?’
‘You don’t need to know. Now I want to show you folks something – particularly Miss Coiled Spring there, who looks like she could tear my eyes out. Who are you, anyway, sister?’
‘My name is Tomsson,’ said Leotta.
‘And a friend of my friend, the limey.’ Bette laughed. ‘Now, see here, Tomsson. I don’t have to impress Kemp because he’s as sure as hell impressed already, but you look a mite uptight so I reckon you need a demonstration.’ She waggled the pistol. ‘Grandad, come here.’
John got up again and walked towards her. She said, ‘See those glasses on the table? Straighten them up into a line.’
I looked at the table where Negrini had ‘built me a drink’. There were five glasses. John walked over and lined them up.
‘All right, grandad,’ said Bette. ‘Stand aside.’
The gun in her hand exploded in rapid fire and the glasses shattered into fragments. The explosions slammed into my ears and I counted them. One … two … three … four … Jill, beside me, was rigid and her eyes were tight closed.
Bette said conversationally, ‘I worked in a circus when I was a kid. Wasn’t much of a circus – we worked every whistle stop and hick town in the south-west – but I was the best thing in it. Annie Oakley the Second, they called me. I can shoot every pip out of a ten of spades in four seconds. With two guns, of course.’
The acrid stink of cordite drifted about the room. Six shots, I thought. Two into Negrini and four at the glasses.
‘One glass left,’ said Bette. ‘Pick it up, grandad. Hold it out on the palm of your hand.’ John hesitated as he bent, and she said, ‘Go ahead. I won’t hurt you.’
He picked up the glass and held it out at arm’s length on the palm of his hand. The pistol slammed again and suddenly he wasn’t holding a glass any more.
Seven.
John drew his arm in slowly and his fingers were trembling. He looked at his forefinger and then put it to his lips and sucked it. Bette laughed.
‘Did poor old grandad cut himself?’
John walked over to her, still sucking his finger. ‘I have a name,’ he said, without a tremor in his voice. ‘It’s John.’
‘My God!’ she said. ‘The old guy has more guts than the lot of you. Okay, Johnny boy, go back and sit down.’
I cleared my throat and said, ‘You shoot well. What’s the gun?’
‘Smith and Wesson nine-millimetre parabellum,’ she said concisely. ‘Not many women can handle this much gun.’ So she had a streak of vanity.
My lips tightened. That pistol held a magazine load of eight, so she had at least another up the spout. And she might have put one in the breech, which meant she would have two shots. The odds still weren’t good enough, not when she could use the weapon like that. She had already proved she would shoot to kill.
Suddenly, with a metallic click, she slipped the magazine from the pistol and inserted another that she pulled deftly from her jacket pocket, driving it home with the heel of her hand. ‘I saw you counting, Kemp,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m not that much of a goddamn fool, you know.’
Nine, I thought glumly.
Leotta no longer looked as though she was ready to leap into action. Her hands lay limply on her thighs and she had sunk deeper on to the settee instead of sitting on the edge. Jill still had her eyes closed and was muttering something to herself.
‘All right, Mrs Haslam,’ I said. ‘What’s your bloody game? You’ve proved you can use a gun. Now tell me what you’re using it for.’
‘To scare you shitless,’ she said sweetly, and added with a touch of malice, ‘It seems to have worked on prissy Mrs Salton.’
This couldn’t be about politics, I thought. It had nothing to do with any struggle for power in Campanilla. This was something else entirely.
I began to count again. Haslam, his wife, Philips: that was three. Plus Steve and Terry – whoever they were – made five. If there was a Steve and a Terry there was the possibility of a Tom, a Dick and a Harry. Certainly five, possibly more, precise number unknown. Tackle it some other way.
‘It’s a pity you broke the glasses,’ I said. ‘I could use a drink.’
‘Well, why not?’ said Bette. ‘Johnny, are there any more glasses – in this room?’
‘In that cupboard,’ said John.
‘Go get them. And bring that bottle of rum.’
John did as he was told and put the bottle and the glasses on a coffee table, which he placed in front of the settee. Unobtrusively, I nudged the coffee table further away with my foot; I didn’t want to be hampered if I had to move quickly.
John also took some bottles of Coca-Cola from a concealed refrigerator and Bette said, ‘I’ll have a seltzer.’ She grinned at me. ‘You may be easy to fool, Kemp, but I’m not. If you’re thinking of getting me drunk, forget it.’
I poured rum into a glass and added Coke. ‘Leotta?’
‘Not for me.’
‘How about you, Jill?’
She opened her eyes. ‘I want to leave here,’ she said breathlessly, and started to get up.
I pushed her down smartly. ‘Get a grip. You won’t help by becoming hysterical.’ I poured neat rum into a glass and wrapped her hand around it. ‘Drink,’ I said.
Like a child she obeyed and choked as the neat spirit hit her gullet. She blinked rapidly and some of the glaze seemed to leave her eyes. ‘Just take it easy and sit quietly,’ I said.
‘Very touching,’ said Bette. She looked over at John. ‘Have a drink, Johnny boy. Your serving days are over and the booze is free.’
‘I don’t drink,’ said John stolidly.
‘Suit yourself.’ She settled back, leaning against the chair as though preparing herself for a long wait.
Nightfall, I thought. Philips said that she would be picked up at nightfall. I sipped the weak rum and Coke and wondered what would happen at nightfall. An hour and a half to wait.
II
&
nbsp; In circumstances like that, ten minutes can seem like ten hours and the silence eventually got on Bette Haslam’s nerves. She moved uncomfortably on the arm of the chair and said at last, ‘What’s the matter? Cat got your tongues?’
I looked at her over the rim of the glass. ‘All right. Why are you here on El Cerco, and not over there on the mainland with your husband?’
She scowled. ‘You’re a pain in the ass, aren’t you, Kemp? Have been ever since you arrived, and now here you are again. It was only supposed to be Mrs Salton out here, and we’d already cut her off from civilisation. Then we saw your flashy speedboat come in and we had to do something about it. So think of me as your babysitter.’
She fell into silence again so I tried another angle. ‘Why did you kill David Salton?’
I felt Jill jerk and dug my elbow into her ribs to quieten her. Bette said, ‘He was alive when I saw him last.’
‘Which wasn’t in the plane,’ I said. ‘It was in the dinghy.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘You were seen,’ I said. ‘You were seen taking out the dinghy at four o’clock on the morning of the tenth. The day after Salton disappeared.’
Her interest sharpened considerably. ‘Who saw me?’
‘Does it matter? Hanna knows about it. He’s having you investigated.’
‘What’s to investigate?’ Although she shrugged it off it seemed to trouble her. Her teeth worried her lower lip and she frowned. ‘He was alive,’ she said at last, but her tone was unconvincing.
‘But not for long,’ I said. ‘He died in the dinghy.’
‘How long has Hanna known?’ I was silent and the muzzle of the gun swung around and centred on me. ‘How long?’
‘The day before yesterday.’
‘That’s all right then,’ she said. ‘He’s too late. He won’t have time to check me out.’
‘What is there to check?’
Domino Island Page 22
