Ruth watched Barbara and David muttering to each other on the other sofa. She was stirring now. Some fundamental part of her knew that if she did not, her life was over. She must face the world and she must start now. She watched them and it was so obvious she was astounded she hadn’t seen it before. Not after the rape – she’d been deep within herself, burrowed down in the safe place she’d found – but before.
Earlier Barbara had whispered to her:
‘You know David was going to leave you for me?’
Ruth had looked at her confused.
‘What?’
‘David was dumping you until you got attacked.’
‘Why are you saying this to me?’
‘Well, if we’re all going to die and I’d hate to die on a lie.’
Now, Ruth was thinking about the Apennines.
Barbara had finally told Ruth what had happened only a couple of weeks before the home invasion that changed Ruth’s life. Barbara had come down for a very odd and strained weekend. On this particular afternoon, David made himself scarce and Barbara sat swigging gin and tonic whilst Ruth drank mint tea from the garden.
‘You want to know what happened in the Appenines?’ Barbara said out of nowhere. ‘Well, I’ll fucking tell you. That creep with the Zapata moustache? He left the door on the latch when he left. Slid back in whilst I was in the bath. He wasn’t planning seduction at that time in the morning. He was planning rape. Or worse.’ She looked away. ‘That’s what I tell myself.’
‘What happened?’
‘I’m lying in the bath enjoying your limoncello and suddenly he’s standing in the doorway staring at my tits. He puts his finger to his lips to shush me and moves into the room. He doesn’t speak and his eyes haven’t left my tits. I mean I know they’re not bad but they’re not that great.
‘And suddenly he’s kneeling down next to the bath and grabbing at them. I’ve got my glass in my right hand and as an instinct I whack him in the side of the head. The glass shatters. He falls away, grabbing at his head, then growls and comes back at me with his fists. I’m trying to get out of the bath but that’s not so easy. As I’m scrabbling at the sides of the bath he punches me. Punches like a girl though. I get the bottle and I hit him over the head with it. Bottle doesn’t break but he falls down.
‘I get out of the bath. He’s still lying there. His head is bleeding. I dry myself off, looking down at him. He doesn’t move. I kick him and nearly break my big toe. He doesn’t budge. After five minutes or so – I’ve finished the last of the limoncello from the bottle by now – I feel for his pulse on his wrist and his neck. Can’t feel a thing but that means nothing – I’m studyng English, for God’s sake, not medicine.
‘Anyway, I get his legs and drag him out of the bathroom, face down. He slides pretty easily. I’m going to leave him outside the front door but he’s not moving at all. So then I panic. I creep into the bedroom but you’re out of it. I go back to him. He’s still lying there in the living room. I open the French windows and walk out onto the terrace. The moon is high. Where the terrace ends the land falls away. I go back in, grab his legs again and drag him out to the terrace.’
After a couple of minutes silence all Ruth could think to ask was:
‘What did you do with the bottle of limoncello?’
‘Who is this?’ The hoarse voice on the end of the phone was suspicious.
‘It’s Frank. Frank Bartram.’
‘How’s it hanging, Frank?’
‘It’s not hanging at all, Joey. Somebody has stolen my fucking pictures and the only way I can see that happening is if you told somebody where they were.’
The phone line hummed for a long moment.
‘Frank – I didn’t tell anybody.’ The voice was low and dangerous.
‘There is no other way.’ Bartram’s voice a bleat.
‘Somebody on your island? Julian Earwax or whatever the fuck he’s called?’
‘These thieves came in from off the island,’ Bartram said. ‘And they killed Julian Earwax to get my paintings and I want to know how they knew about this.’
‘Frank – all kind of ways. Loose lips, you know.’
‘It was you.’
Joey’s voice got colder.
‘You want to be careful who you falsely accuse.’
‘I’m accusing you. And if I don’t get my pictures back it’s you who will pay.’
‘That’s what I mean, Frank. You’re not in the paddling pool anymore. You’re with the grown-ups at the deep end. Making accusation like that can have consequences if you’re not wearing your water wings. Serious consequences.’
‘Fuck you – this goes south and I’m holding you liable.’
Joey was ice now.
‘You’re doing what? You speak to me like this is and you sign your own death warrant. You even think of trying anything with me and your classy Central Park West life is over. Now, I’m willing to take into account you’re upset and I’m sorry to hear about your pictures but there’s nothing I can do about that. You want them back, you get them back.’
Bartram’s voice was low and intense.
‘Oh, I’m going to get them back. You didn’t do your due diligence when you made the deal with me to fence the paintings. You have no idea who I’m connected to. And you should know – you really should. My advice if this thing does go south? Run and hide, Joey. Run and hide.’
The line went dead.
Lester nodded as Wilson came in through the back door of Natasha’s house. Wilson had left the Scene of Crime people at Julian’s.
‘Phoebe okay?’ Wilson said, heading for the chair by the front window.
‘Shook up but fine. She’s being looked after by friends.’
Wilson nodded.
‘Hal?’
‘Still round the back.’
‘Johnny?’
Lester shrugged.
‘Haven’t seen him in a while.’
Wilson shook his head and picked up the phone.
‘Hope he isn’t planning to go all Junior G-man on us. Nadine? It’s Sheriff Wilson.’
‘Sheriff. How are things developing?’
‘Slowly, though Phoebe is out.’
‘Does she know about Julian?’
‘She knows. Listen, Nadine. I know that Natasha is the font of all local knowledge but, given her unavailability, do you happen to know anything about Frank Bartram?’
‘Is Phoebe doing okay?’
‘About as well as you can hope,’ Wilson said.
‘Poor sweet,’ Nadine said. ‘Where is she?’
‘With friends. Now what about Bartram?’
‘Well…I heard he’s getting divorced.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘I only know a little, by chance. But Sheriff, shouldn’t you be focussing on –’
‘Chance is good. Give me what you’ve got.’
‘His wife caught him with another woman when she turned up here on the island unexpectedly.’
‘Who was the other woman?’
‘That I wouldn’t know. Maybe brought her with him, maybe someone local – you know there are a lot of fun-loving women here.’
Wilson ignored the stress she laid on ‘you know’. Nadine had a sardonic attitude towards his love life.
‘Okay. Thanks.’
‘How is Natasha?’
‘I can only assume she’s okay.’
‘You’ll get her out safely?’
‘That’s my intention,’ Wilson said. ‘What about Julian?’
‘You mean him and Evangeline?’
‘No. Anything else – about his art?’
‘I’m no expert –’
‘No, I mean, no whisper of him doing a little business on the side?’
‘You’ve lost me, Sheriff. What kind of business?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Don’t know anything about that.’ Nadine cleared her throat. ‘Sheriff, I’ve not been able to raise Deputy Finch for a while.’
&n
bsp; ‘Nor have I, Nadine. Nor have I.’
In recent years Parker had become an urban creature unused to creeping around in undergrowth. In the days he’d spent on the island he’d assumed there was nothing lethal to attack him but he was pissed at the thought of getting bitten so much. He’d thought of everything for this job but bug-spray.
He crept out of Tom Haddon’s back door and skirted the live oak the cop had been sheltering under. He could see him now, hunkered down behind the white van. Parker had left the rifle and a handgun in his car. He was carrying his other handgun – a Sig Sauer - and his knife.
Ever since he’d heard about the Monets he’d been fired up with the possibilities of the situation he’d stumbled onto. He couldn’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t make a life-changing side-profit. Kill Hanson and relieve these robbers of their loot.
He had the knife in his hand now as he stepped carefully through the bushes. He was conscious that despite his care the cop would know he was coming. True enough.
‘That you, Sheriff?’ the man said, a few yards ahead and to Parker’s left. Parker grunted and headed for the voice. He could see Hal’s silhouette against the van.
Parker didn’t kill just for the fun of it. He didn’t get off on it. He wasn’t that kind of guy. He regarded himself as always dispassionate. If he could avoid killing, he would. But he did have a down on cops. And if he had to make a judgement about whether a cop needed to die that predisposition would usually make the scales tip down on the side of ‘Yes, kill the fucker’.
‘Sheriff?’ the man said as Parker closed the last yard and thrust the knife up and under his diaphragm.
There was a moment’s twitching as his life left him then the man slumped. Parker lowered him to the ground.
He peered round the white van. Someone was crawling across the yard of the hostage house towards him.
When Phoebe was running out of the house Innocent watched Tom Haddon do either a foolish or a brave thing - she couldn’t decide which it was.
Having already insulted the Neanderthals with his crack about them giving head to fellow prisoners he now stepped over and blocked their view of Phoebe exiting into the yard.
Brave or foolish the result was the same. Donny looked at Haddon and grimaced. Then he shot him in the belly.
‘No!’ Innocent shouted as Haddon doubled over and collapsed sideways.
Donny stepped round the breakfast bar into the main room.
‘I don’t give a flying fuck whether any of you live or die so if you want to keep on giving lip go ahead.’ He looked down at Haddon. ‘And you’ll get what this guy got.’
Jimmy also moved from behind the bar. He said: ‘We’re doing things differently from now on.’
He pointed at Gus and David.
‘First off, you two throw this trash out in the yard.’
‘What?’ Barbara said.
‘Was I talking to you?’ Jimmy said, taking a step towards her.
Innocent admired the fact Barbara didn’t flinch.
‘He needs a doctor,’ Innocent said. ‘As does your man Chris.’
‘He needs to stop bleeding on the carpet,’ Jimmy said, kicking Haddon in the side. ‘Which is why your friends are going to dump him out in the yard.’
Innocent didn’t quite understand what was going on but thought that outside there was a chance Haddon would get help from Wilson, if he could get to him.
‘I’ll help,’ she said to Gus.
The three of them half carried, half dragged Haddon to the open window. He was clutching his stomach and he groaned with every step they took but he made it. They lowered him to the dirt in the yard, aware that Jimmy was standing in the doorway pointing his gun at Haddon.
‘Good luck, Tom,’ Innocent whispered as she left him there.
Chapter Seventeen
Parker watched the man crawl out of the yard and cross in front of the white van. He watched him slowly get to his feet, clutching his stomach, and in a half-crouch stagger towards the back door of Tom Haddon’s house. He recognised that it was Tom Haddon and that he’d been gut shot.
Convinced Haddon was really Luke Hanson he smiled and thought of that saying about the mountain coming to Mohammed – or was it the other way round? He followed Haddon into the house.
The screen door into the kitchen creaked when Parker opened it.
‘Who’s that?’ Haddon said, his voice a whispered shout. ‘I’ve got a gun.’
Parker didn’t doubt it. Parker had found the gun when he searched the house but had left it right where it was. He walked into the kitchen. Haddon was on the far side of the table, bent over, one hand over the wound in his stomach, his gun hand braced against the table top, the gun pointed at the door.
‘How are you doing?’ Parker said. He had this down: the modulated tone of voice, the let’s-not-panic here. It worked every time. Almost every time.
Haddon reacted like a pro. He fired and again and again. Each time the hammer hitting an empty chamber. Parker had left the gun but taken the bullets from it. Now Parker knew that he’d found Luke Hanson.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Hanson said. Parker shot him in the bicep of his gun arm. Hanson bellowed and twisted, leaving his useless gun on the table. He slumped against the wall. Parker walked over and squatted down beside him. He gave him a little slap.
‘You have to learn self-control, Mr Hanson. You have to eat the pain. I could have killed you but I didn’t because I was told to make you suffer and by the look of it your other wound will do that job nicely.’
‘Who the fuck is Hanson?’ Through gritted teeth. ‘My name is Haddon.’
Parker leaned in closer.
‘Shut up – right now.’
Hanson gave a kind of groaning laugh.
‘Or what? You’ll shoot me?’
He groaned again.
‘What’s going on next door?’ Parker said.
‘Don’t you know? I thought you were one of them.’
‘I’m not.’
Hanson frowned.
‘Then why’d you shoot me?’
‘Just tell me what’s going on.’
‘Hostage situation. Hit and run driver holed up there.’
‘There’s more than one Bad Boy next door.’
Hanson nodded.
‘Four. Three men and a woman.’
‘How’d they choose that house?’
Hanson tried to get a breath.
‘Randomly, I think.’
Hanson took his hand away from his stomach. He stared at the blood on it and at his blood-sodden shirt. Turned his head to look at the blood coming from his bicep.
‘Oh Jesus,’ he said. He looked up at Parker. ‘Why would you shoot this Hanson guy?’
‘Enough of that shit. Lewis and Santiago are very pissed off with you.’
‘Never heard of them.’ Hanson grimaced as he thought for a moment. ‘Are you the guy whose been going around town asking about a couple of people?’
‘Asking about you, Luke Hanson. Gary Barker and Todd Clearing are names you went by, as you well know.’
‘I need a doctor.’
‘I think you’re missing the point.’
‘I’m not this Luke Hanson. You’ve got the wrong man.’
‘Sure you are.’
‘Where’s your proof?’ Hanson gave a small sob of pain.
‘I don’t have time to debate with you,’ Parker said. ‘My gunshot may draw the attention of your Sheriff. And it’s only a matter of time before a SWAT team arrives on the island.’
‘I doubt that. We handle our own problems around here.’
In the circumstances Parker found Hanson’s bravado absurd but almost touching. He thought for a moment.
‘You’re right. But there must be another reason your Sheriff hasn’t called it in.’
‘Maybe he has.’
Parker shook his head.
‘Nah. They would be here by now. Tell me about your Sheriff.’
Haddon
clamped his mouth shut. Parker leaned in.
‘Don’t take the Fifth on me, Hanson. You think you’re hurting now…’
‘He was a cop in New York, took the job out here for quality of life.’
‘Married?’
Haddon shook his head.
‘Kind of a lonely place for a single man,’ Parker said.
Haddon got some of his bravado back.
‘Prettiest girls in the South right here.’
Parker smiled. He could pretend nice.
‘You got a girl?’
‘I date, sure,’ Haddon said. ‘Nothing steady.’
‘You date anyone in the house?’
‘What is this? 20 Questions?’ Haddon coughed and groaned, pretty much simultaneously. ‘Well, what’s my prize when I get them all correct?’
Parker dropped his voice.
‘I let you die quick.’
Haddon grimaced when he looked at his bloody hand again.
‘All the same to you I’d rather not die at all. You got the wrong man. What am I supposed to have done to those two guys you mentioned?’
‘Dropped a dime on them. You testified against them in court then you went into WITSEC.’
‘What’s WITSEC?’
‘Leave it alone, Hanson. Witness Protection Programme, as you well know.’
‘What year am I supposed to have done this terrible thing?’
‘You did this terrible thing in 1970,’ Parker said, glancing out of the window. ‘In New York.’
‘Is this to do with that butchering of that drug dealer and his family?’
Parker looked at him sharply. Nodded.
‘Wasn’t me. I’ve never been to New York. I’ve avoided big cities all my life.’
‘Sure,’ Parker said.
‘I can prove it.’
‘I know you’ve got documentation from the government, identity stuff.’
‘Something else.’
‘What?’
Hanson pointed with his chin.
‘See that bookshelf? There’s a yoga book there. Iyengar. Look in there.’
Parker glanced over.
‘You’ve got the wrong man,’ Hanson said. ‘And I need a doctor.’
‘Keep your hand pressed down. It slows the bleeding.’
Paradise Island Page 19
