The best way to approach the problem, I decided, was as if I were one of Amthor Associates' engineers embarking on a construction project. The building of a wall, a perfect wall, from scratch. First there were the basics to be worked out, then blueprints to be drawn. That much was pure mathematics. Then the materials had to be gathered, the foundation laid, and finally the wall itself could be erected. The actual construction required skill, determination, courage, total commitment. No, not courage. Fortitude. I had plenty of that. I was nothing if not tenacious.
Simplicity was the keynote. The more elaborate you tried to make a wall, the greater the chance for a flaw that would cause it to collapse. After deliberation, I decided the first of the concepts I considered was the best. Annalise had disppeared once suddenly and without a trace, she had to disappear again the same way.
I shaped the plan and drew the blueprints off of that. Her death had to be bloodless—I couldn't bear a repeat of the kind of clean-up I'd had to do after Cotler—and it had to be tempered with a quality of mercy. I didn't want her to suffer. Cold equation, start to finish. So I couldn't do the obvious thing of taking her out to sea in Windrunner and throwing her overboard. Death by drowning was cruel; letting the sharks have her alive was barbarous. Besides, if anyone knew or suspected she'd gone out with me and then didn't return, there would be an investigation. I didn't dare report an accidental death for the same reason. I discarded several other methods before I settled on one that was bloodless, humane, and relatively easy to accomplish.
But there was a sticking point, the same one I'd had with Cotler: disposal of the remains. I liked the irony of putting her where I'd put him, but I couldn't do it that way. Too risky. I'd been fortunate to get away with a cemetery burial once; trying it twice was a fool's gambit. The safest choice? Burial at sea. That could be done easily enough, but how to manage it without risk? If she disappeared on the same day I happened to go out alone on Windrunner, somebody might conceivably put two and two together. Whatever I did, it had to be free of the remotest possibility of an investigation.
At first I rejected the only workable answer. It meant involving a third party, and that third party would have to be Bone. He wouldn't know it—he'd be an unwitting accomplice, an innocent witness—but I didn't like the idea of using him that way. There was the y factor, too; you increase the possibility of hidden dangers when you bring an outsider into an equation like this. I toyed with other solutions. None fit the fundamental plan nearly as well. So then I considered other methods of building the wall, using different types of bricks and mortar. None was as basic, as easy to work with, as certain to guarantee solidity.
Like it or not, using Bone was the only way to do it as it needed to be done.
Preparations.
The first thing I did was to see Bone and have a talk with him. I said he'd been right about Annalise, I'd been having problems with her just as he'd predicted and I felt like six kinds of fool for taking her back. It was typical of him that he didn't give me any I-told-you-so's. All he said was, "You got no exclusive on being a fool, mon."
I laid the groundwork for her disappearance by saying that she'd been acting secretive of late and I thought it was because she'd been having an affair and might be thinking about leaving me again. I said I needed a few days at sea, on Windrunner in case she had any notions of leaving while I was gone and taking more of my possessions with her, but that I didn't want to go out alone. It took some coaxing, but he finally agreed to accompany me. I'd already called the Weather Center and the forecast was good for the next several days. We set a sail date for Monday morning, three days hence.
On Friday Annalise asked to use the Mini. Beach trip, she said. I said no, I had a lot of errands to run. Well, would I drop her off downtown? I said, "Why? You have a rendezvous with the man you're screwing?" That set off a fresh rush of indignant denials. She wasn't screwing anybody, she said, why couldn't I stop making these ridiculous accusations? But if she did have an affair, who could blame her since I couldn't do anything for her anymore. Underneath her pique was the emotion I'd intended to stir up: anxiety. She didn't want to push me too hard or too far; she still needed me to pay for her ride. So she lapsed into a pout and the old "Why are you so mean to me?" bit. I dropped the subject. I had what I wanted. If whoever she'd been sleeping with was still on the island, she'd stay clear of him for the next couple of days.
To get her away from the marina, I gave her enough money for the Water Island ferry and a day at Honeymoon Beach. When she was gone, I drove over to Red Hook and picked up a new mizzen at a sailmaker's shop. On the way back, I made two more stops in Charlotte Amalie. The first was a marine hardware store, where I bought two small hasps and padlocks, two extra padlocks, two lengths of anchor chain, and several lead sinkers. The second stop was an air-conditioning and refrigeration dealer, where I bought several packs of Freon refrigerant.
On Windrunner, I stored the Freon packs in the big ice chest in the galley, under ice to keep them frozen. Then I installed one hasp-and-padlock on the door to the aft sail locker, emptied the locker of the spare sails stored there, and put the lengths of anchor chain and the extra padlocks inside. I stowed the old spare mizzen and the lead sinkers under the berth in the main cabin. The new mizzen and the other spare sheets went into the forward sail locker, the second hasp-and-padlock onto that door. Annalise wouldn't notice the new locks. I knew Bone would; if he asked me about them I'd say somebody had been seen prowling around the yawl and it had prompted me to take security measures.
In the main cabin I plundered a dozen tablets from Annalise's extra supply of Valium. She wouldn't miss them. She had a half-full bottle in her purse; I'd checked on that the night before while she was in the head. I emptied out an aspirin tin, put the dozen Valium inside and the tin into my pocket.
After lunch, I ran Windrunner over to the fuel dock and topped off the gas and water tanks. I knew the Puerto Rican who manned the pumps fairly well. I pulled a long face when I came in and grumbled enough to get him to ask what was the matter. "Problems with my wife," I said. "I think she's fixing to run out on me again." He was sympathetic.
Maybe I ought to show her who was boss, he said. "Slap her around?" I said. "HeU, no. I've never laid a hand on her and I never will."
That finished the preparations. Now I was ready to build the wall.
Saturday morning, I let Annalise have the Mini to go shopping. She was back in time for lunch, and she stayed on board Windrunner all afternoon, sunning herself and sipping rum punches on the foredeck, while I made pre-sailing checks and went over the charts. I hadn't told her I was going out, of course, and she didn't know enough about boats to understand what I was doing.
That night she tried to kindle some sexual interest in me. Her hands felt like sea slugs on my bare skin. I said, "Leave me alone, will you? I'm too tired," and rolled away from her.
Sunday, her last day, she slept late and moped around when she finally got up. She suggested we go to Harry's Dockside Cafe for lunch; I said I didn't feel like it, why didn't she just go by herself. I gave her some money—twice as much as she needed to buy a meal. As I expected, she spent the extra on liquor; she was tight when she came back, and she didn't seem to care whether I noticed or not. I didn't say anything to her about it. She stayed in the cabin for a time—more liquor, Valium, or both—and passed the rest of the afternoon sleeping in the shade on the foredeck.
I thought I might be a little apprehensive as construction time grew near, but I wasn't. My resolve was too strong, the hate as cold as the Freon packs in the chest below. That's not to say I was looking forward to finishing the wall. No one in his right mind looks forward to a job like that.
Annalise woke up about five thirty. She said she could use a drink; she was bleary-eyed from a combination of the ones she'd had at lunch and the afternoon heat. I said I was hungry, we'd eat first and then have drinks. Supper was day-old French bread, some ripe Camembert, and papaya. While she was setting the table,
I poured two large glasses from a bottle of red wine. With my back to her, I slipped two tablets from the tin of Valium and stirred them into her glass. She emptied half the wine before she even looked at her food. Neither of us ate much.
When her glass was empty, she asked for a rum punch. I built it strong, stirred in two more Valium tablets with the pineapple juice and Grenadine. She said when I handed it to her, "Let's go topside. It's like an oven down here."
"It's not that bad. There's the fan and a breeze through the porthole."
"Why can't we go up on deck?"
"I feel like sitting here tonight."
"Dammit, Richard, sometimes I think you're trying to torture me. Haven't I done enough penance for my sins?"
"I have no intention of torturing you," I said. "On the contrary. I'm making it as easy for you as I can."
"Then why can't we go up on deck? This damn heat is making me woozy."
"Drink your drink. You'll be all right."
She drank it. And the refill I gave her, that one more slowly. I made the third with three full jiggers of rum and three Valium tablets.
"Whoo, that's strong," she said when she tasted it. "Trying to get me drunk, fella? Take advantage of me?"
"Yes," I said.
"Well. Well, well, well. I better slow down, then, don't want to pass out."
"We have plenty of time." I raised my glass. "Cheers."
"Up your poop chute," she said, and giggled.
She was sweating heavily by the time she finished half that drink. Her eyes had an unfocused glaze. She pushed the glass away.
"Had enough," she said. "Too much. Rum and wine . . . shouldn't mix."
I pushed it back. "Go on, drink up."
"Why?"
"Drink it, Annalise. Can't let good liquor go to waste."
She drank it, gagging on the last swallow. "No more, no more." She sat staring blankly at the empty glass. Then, slurring the words, "Jesus, I feel shitty."
I didn't say anything.
"Can't keep my eyes open. So hot in here . . ."
I didn't say anything.
"Think I'm gonna be sick . . ."
She started to get up, lurched a little and would have fallen if I hadn't cought her. I eased her down onto the double berth. She struggled in my grasp, tried to stand up again.
"No, the bathroom . . ."
"Stay right here."
" . . . spinning . . ."
"Close your eyes. Lie still."
I held her down until she stopped struggling, then turned her onto her side and knelt beside the bunk. Her eyes were slits, the lids drooping. Her breathing was already fast and ragged. Sweat plastered strands of her hair against the mottled skin of her forehead. I remember thinking that it was astonishing I could ever have loved this creature. I didn't even hate her very much in that moment. It was like looking into the face of no one I'd ever seen before.
"Annalise, listen to me."
". . .so tired . . ."
"Don't go to sleep yet. Listen. I know about Fred Cotler."
". . . What?"
"I know about Fred Cotler. I know you told him about me; I know you were part of the blackmail."
I had to say it three more times before the meaning penetrated the drug and alcohol haze. Her body twitched; her head came up. She said in a clear, vicious whisper, "You son of a bitch!" and then she sagged back and her eyes closed and she was still.
I poured a triple shot of Arundel and went topside. For a long time I sat on the foredeck and watched the harbor lights and listened to the seabirds and the night music. Two hours, three, four—I had no sense of time. When I went down to the cabin again to check on her, I thought she might have stopped breathing. I couldn't find a pulse, but I still wasn't sure. I took the pillow out from under her head, lowered it over her face. And then I was sure.
The difficult part of the wall was finished.
"Good-bye, Annalise," I said.
You keep asking how I felt. How do you think I felt? Relieved?
Happy? Sick? Sad? Remorseful?
None of the above.
I felt nothing.
I'd done what I had to do, and it had burned me out and left me empty inside.
I sat on deck again until long after midnight. The marina was quiet by then, everybody asleep on the nearby boats, the scattered nightlights the only breaks in the moonless dark. I stirred myself and went down the companionway again.
I'd draped a sheet over the mound on the berth, so I wouldn't have to look at her anymore. I double-checked the curtains over the portholes to make sure they were tight-drawn. Then I packed all of Annalise's belongings into the one suitcase and the cosmetic bag. Every single item, every last trace. When I was done, I added the heavy lead sinkers to both bags, locked them, took them to the forward sail locker, and padlocked them inside.
Before I dragged the mizzen out from under the bunk and spread it open on the deck, I put on a pair of gloves. The dead weight was much easier to handle than Coder's had been; I left the sheet in place as I lifted her down onto the Dacron. I brought the ice chest from the galley, took out half of the Freon packs, laid them down alongside her, and rolled her onto them. The others I arranged on top, then wrapped the sail around her and the refrigerants. Half a roll of duct tape sealed the bundle as airtight as I could make it.
I keyed open the aft sail locker. There was nothing in it now except for the lengths of anchor chain and the extra padlocks. The bundle was heavy, but I hoisted it over my shoulder without too much struggle and carried it to the locker and wedged it inside, in a position that would make getting it out again fairly easy. The entire business took less than five minutes.
I remade the bunk, sprawled out on it, and fell into an exhalisted sleep.
Bone was there at eight A.M., prompt as always on sail days. I was in the cockpit, going over charts and slugging coffee. In the mirror in the head earlier, my face had looked puffy, the eyes red-veined and heavily bagged. He noticed the haggard appearance right away.
"You look beat up, Cap'n," he said.
"Didn't sleep much," I said. "Annalise packed up and left yesterday. Sooner than I expected."
He nodded. "Better it happen quick."
"Yeah. I'm relieved she's gone. Reason I didn't sleep much is that I'm still kicking myself for letting her come back in the first place."
We headed out north-by-northwest, on a starboard tack through the Windward Passage. Brisk trades at about twelve knots, light cloud cover—another fine day for sailing. It was cool out there with the trades blowing strong; the Freon packs probably hadn't been necessary. Bone had little to say once we were under way. He was like that sometimes, taciturn, self-contained. His silence was all right with me. I didn't feel much like talking, either.
The course I'd set took us up past Sandy Cay, off Jost Van Dyke Island, then along the Tortola coast on a broad reach past Guana Island. Familiar territory. And tonight we'd be well away from land, in waters where we weren't likely to encounter many other vessels.
Bone went below to fix the noon meal, came back up again a couple of minutes later. "No beer, Cap'n," he said. "Ice chest's empty."
"Damn, I thought we had some. I guess I forgot to check. We can put in somewhere and load up—"
"No need. Plenty of rum, enough ice in the fridge."
The wind died in the late afternoon and we were down to about two knots, riding close-hauled, as the sun began to sink. I lashed the wheel and went below to pour us a couple of Arundels in preparation for the sunset. It was spectacular that night, the clouds a puffy mix of cirrocumulus and altocumulus, the colors vivid bronze and burnt orange, smoky grays and deep purples. The long day's sail and the sunset had leached the tiredness and most of the tension out of me. Once I was finished with the night's chore, I felt sure the emptiness would be gone—that I'd feel a measure of peace again.
My turn in the galley, and I dawdled over the meal so it would be close to eight o'clock before it was ready. We ate on deck, st
ill without exchanging more than a few words. When we were done, I took the plates and empty glasses down to the galley. The coffee pot was on; Bone liked a mug of sugared coffee laced with rum after his evening meal. I poured another Arundel on ice for myself, fixed his coffee—a generous dollop of rum, plenty of sugar, and two of the remaining Valium tablets. I debated making it three, because Bone was a light sleeper, but I was afraid of doing him some harm. Two ought to be enough.
Six-hour watches in clear weather like this. It was my boat, so I had first option; I told him I'd take the nine-to-three watch. He was still quiet, but he hadn't tasted anything wrong with his drink: he'd drained the mug. He was yawning and rubbing his eyes by nine o'clock. I pointed out the time, said he'd better get himself some sleep. He nodded and took himself below.
The Crimes of Jordan Wise Page 20
