The Mark of Cain

by William J. Coughlin

  The next two rooms were empty, but they could hear soft talking coming through the wall from the room next in line. Cain and Soldier listened intently to the murmurs, detecting the singsong inflection of the local native speech.

  Cain followed Soldier into the hall. The big man twisted the doorknob carefully and then kicked the door open. Cain popped past him into the room, his pistol muzzle held forward so that the people in the room could see it in the beam of the flashlight. The four occupants stared, their mouths open in surprise.

  “Holy …” A man lying on a cot, clad only in his shorts, started to speak, but the muzzle swung his way and he closed his mouth. Three women sat on the floor, one in her slip, the other two clad in panties and bra. Sweat caused their dark skin to glisten in the reflection of the flashlight beam. Several empty rum bottles lay on the floor, and one of the women had a half-empty rum bottle cradled between her legs.

  “Do not speak or cry out,” Cain warned, his voice flat and menacing. The wide eyes all seemed to be focused on the muzzle of his gun. “You—on the cot—keep your voice low when you answer my questions.”

  The man nodded violently, his body tense with fear.

  “Who are you people?” Cain asked.

  “Household.” The man’s voice trembled, and the word came out slightly slurred. “We are the household staff.” He nodded toward the three women. “They are maids and I’m the cook.”

  “Who else is up here?”

  “Hiro,” he said quickly. “Only Hiro. He is the Japanese gardener. He has the last room.” He gestured with his finger. “That’s the only people up here.”

  “That’s five,” Cain said. “There are six rooms up here. Who has the other room?”

  “Thomas. That’s his room. He is the chauffeur, but he ain t been around for a few days. I don t know where he is at, mister.”

  “What did he look like?”

  The man seemed surprised at the question. “Oh, he’s a black man, same as us, but he don’t come from the islands. He comes from the States. New York, I think. He never fooled around with us much. We’re island people.”

  “I asked you what he looked like?”

  “Oh, he was a tall man, about thirty. Very wide shoulders.” He glanced over at one of the women seated on the floor. “I can’t think of anything special about him.”

  Cain recalled that they had shot a tall black man when they had rescued Soldier from the casino. It probably accounted for the missing chauffeur, but he decided to keep that information to himself. These people were frightened enough already.

  “You say you are island people. Do you mean this island?”

  “No, sir. I’m from Jamaica. So are these ladies.” He paused, wetting his dry lips with his tongue. “Mister, I don’t know who you are and I don’t much care, but we are just working people here. We don’t have no part in what goes on in that house. We don’t want to know what goes on there. We just cook and clean, that’s all.”

  Outside the wind’s sound was rising toward the screaming fury that Cain remembered from Ring Key.

  “Tell me, my friend,” Cain continued, “what’s going on in that house that you want me to know you had no part in?”

  The man’s hands waved nervously, as if he were trying to brush away smoke. He shook his head violently. “Mister, we just takes care of the upstairs, that’s all. We do the household work, serve at their parties, and that’s all. I never even been downstairs in that house. I never bother with the men who live down there. I don’t know what they do, and I don’t want to know.” He shuddered.

  “How long have you worked here?”

  The man blinked. “Three months. They hired us three months ago. Same with the Japanese fella.”

  “Was that when Van Pelt moved in here?”

  “No, sir, he’s been here awhile—a year or so, I understand.”

  “What happened to the other people, the staff people before you?”

  He looked away from the glare of the flashlight. “They tell us that those other people started stealing. They were fired. We came in here with very definite instructions about honesty.” He paused. “We are honest people anyway.”

  “Those people who were fired, what happened to them?”

  “They were taken back to their islands,” he said. “I guess.”

  Cain wondered to himself if the other staff might have wandered down into the forbidden “below” area. He doubted they ever saw their home islands again.

  “Who is in the house now?” Cain asked.

  The man thought for a moment before answering. “Well, there’s Mr. Van Pelt and that Italian princess who has been staying with him for the last week or so. And then there are the men—the ones that live below—there’s four or maybe five of them. I’m not sure.”

  “Do these men—the ones you say live below—work at the casino?”

  The man nodded. “They are tough men, real bad fellows, I think. They all carry guns. They frighten us.”

  One of the women looked over at him. “You better tell him about the sounds we hear, mon.” Like the man her voice reflected her island accent and the amount of rum she had consumed.

  “What sounds?” Cain asked.

  The man sighed, frowning his displeasure at the woman. “It is the imagination,” he said, “nothing more.”

  “I’d like to hear more about this imagination.” Cain’s voice was deadly.

  The man was really frightened now. His face jerked as he spoke. “Listen, mister, I don’t want any part of this.”

  “You’ve got it, whether you want it or not,” Cain said. “Talk.”

  He shook his head. “The women,” he said, nodding toward his companions, “sometimes think they hear sobbing coming from down below.”

  “You heard it too,” the woman protested.

  “Yes,” he mumbled. “I heard it too.”

  “And the screams,” the woman prompted, encouraged by the drift of the conversation to reveal something she had chained up inside herself.

  “I never heard the screams,” the man said, cringing away from Cain’s gun. “I never heard no screams.”

  “I did,” the woman said. “I heard them twice. They come from the same place as the crying, someplace down there.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the main house. “I don’t know who you people are,” she said thickly, “but something terrible is going on here, and these people”—she gestured at her companions—“are too scared to admit it. I heard a woman scream twice.”

  Cain nodded. “Where is this ‘below’ place you speak of?”

  “It’s like a basement or a cellar below the main house,” the man said. “I’ve never been down there—they don’t allow us down there—but it must be pretty big. I mean, they usually have a half-dozen men living down there, so it has to be good-sized. There is no windows, and the only way in or out of it is through a doorway in a small room off the dining room. It’s always locked. They go in and out by using a key.” He paused, his eyes trying to peer past the flashlight. “Are you the police?”

  “Who has a key?”

  “They all got a key,” the man said. “And that cellar is the safest place to be right now, but they won’t let us down there. They told us to come up here.” He listened to the wind. “They really don’t care if we are killed or not.”

  “Tie them up,” Cain said to Soldier.

  “Mister,” the man protested, “please don’t do that. We are good people, we won’t leave this room. There’s a hurricane out there and if this building gets blown down or something, we won’t have a chance if we are tied up.”

  “Tie them up,” Cain repeated. “I’m sorry, but we have no other choice. As soon as we have completed our business we will come back and let you go.”

  The man was about to protest again, but he looked into the muzzle of Cain’s weapon and changed his mind.

  Soldier quickly tore up a blanket, as easily as if it were no more than a piece of tissue paper. The eyes of the people
in the room grew wide with awe at his physical power. He twisted the blanket strips until they resembled ropes. He quickly bound up the hands and feet of the man and the three women. He tied the man to his bed and one of the women to a chest of drawers. Soldier carried the other two women into the next room and repeated the process. Separated, they would have no ability to work together to release themselves. The howling wind outside was loud enough to drown them out even if they decided to scream, so Soldier did not gag them.

  The Japanese gardener was stretched out on his bed in a drunken sleep. He stirred but did not waken as Soldier tied him up. When they were finished, they moved down to the door leading to the main house.

  SEVENTEEN

  Cain snapped off the flashlight and then opened the door. He peered inside. The area below was dark. However a faint yellow light streamed in from a doorway. It seemed to grow and drop in intensity, and there was the hint of a flickering in its projection against the walls. Cain guessed that the source of the light came from a kerosene lantern called, appropriately enough, a hurricane lamp. A staircase descended from the door into a large kitchen. It was deserted. Cain nodded and Soldier followed him down the staircase. They moved silently from habit although any noise would have been obliterated by the hurricane as it tore at the building. Just as they reached the bottom of the staircase, the light from the other room seemed to become much brighter.

  Cain crouched down behind a large table and pulled Soldier after him. A man came into the kitchen carrying a kerosene lamp in front of him. The flame flickered within the lamp’s curved glass chimney. The man was dressed in black formal trousers; black silk seams descended on both legs. His white dress shirt was open at the collar, and food stains had soiled the front of it. The butt of an automatic pistol stuck out from his waist. Although his body looked trim and hard, his face was fleshy. His eyes were small and mean looking. His nose had been broken several times in the past. He set the lamp on the table and stepped to the refrigerator. The interior light did not come on when he opened the door. He pulled out a small ring of salami and placed it on the table. The sausage’s pungent odor filled the kitchen. He opened the freezer compartment and took out a plastic bowl containing melting ice cubes. He dipped his large hand into the watery contents of the bowl and extracted a few small cubes. He dropped them into a large glass, stepped over to a cupboard, and pulled down a bottle of liquor. Soldier and Cain kept close to the table as he made the drink just above them.

  The man took the drink and turned to a counter bread box. He took out a loaf of bread and began to make a sandwich from the salami. Soldier rose like a ghost. The big man glided silently around the table, his rifle held up in the striking position, butt first. Cain stood up, his pistol trained on the man’s back, just in case.

  Soldier’s rifle snapped out like a catapult, smashing a blow at the base of the man’s skull. The sound was lost in the noise of the storm. The man slumped to the kitchen floor, his eyes fixed sightlessly on the kitchen ceiling. No doctor was needed to know the man was dead.

  Cain quickly searched through the man’s pockets. He carried very little: only a penknife, some loose change, and a key ring.

  Cain put the flashlight in his pocket and picked up the lamp. The hiss of the burning kerosene was lost in the noise outside. The full storm was hitting the island now and the house shook as wind gusts smashed against it. The air outside was filled with a high-pitched whistling sound.

  The lamp’s yellow light caused monstrous shadows to dance upon the walls as Soldier and Cain searched the upper rooms. The house was much larger than it appeared to be from outside, which was large enough. The interior was a progression of expensively decorated rooms. Each of the large bedrooms had its own sitting room and large bath. The main room seemed more suited as a reception room for a prince than the living room of a Caribbean villa. The furniture was of delicate French design, and gold leaf was abundant.

  Satisfied that the upstairs was deserted, Cain and Soldier returned to the dining room and located the door leading to the area below. After using several keys from the dead man’s ring, Cain found the one that fit.

  Soldier waited as Cain looked in the doorway. A wide carpeted stairway curved down to the next level, ending in a small room at the bottom. An open archway led to the rest of the space below. Flickering lights showing through the archway revealed that hurricane lamps were being used to light the area below.

  Cain left their lamp on the dining room table and motioned to Soldier to follow him. He held the long-barreled pistol free and ready for use. They crept slowly down the staircase, their eyes fixed on the archway. The entire area below the house seemed to have been hewn out of limestone rock. The rock walls had been left in their natural state, resembling the imitation siding used in some posh New York basement clubs.

  Cain stopped and studied their surroundings for a minute. He reasoned that the hog-backed hill that made the outline of San Bonaparte so distinctive was really all rock. It made an excellent foundation for the villas, and he suspected that Van Pelt’s was the only place with the bottom tunneled out. Utility wires were encased in neat tubes affixed to the walls and painted to blend in with the natural surroundings. Down in the depths of the rock the awesome noise of the hurricane was reduced to a muted sigh.

  They reached the archway and looked out. They faced a long hallway, completely carpeted with ornate doors lining walls which extended to the top of the rock ceiling. Hurricane lamps had been extended from the electrical ceiling lights which no longer worked. The hallway ended in another stairway.

  The closed doors presented a problem. Cain and Soldier were too experienced to pass by the doors and expose themselves to a possible attack from the rear. Each room would have to be checked.

  They selected the first door on the right-hand side. Soldier opened the door, and Cain popped in, his pistol ready, but the room was deserted. From the light of the hallway lamps they could see the interior. It resembled a college dormitory room. Two large bunk beds occupied the rear wall. A small desk and chair were set against another wall, and two large standing closets were set up along a third. A quick search revealed a varied collection of men’s clothes, including several of the casino-type tuxedoes. Soldier remained by the partly opened door, watching the hallway, while Cain searched. The desk contained some dated “girlie” magazines from the States and nothing more.

  They employed the same routine through the remaining rooms. When they were in the last room, Soldier spoke: “Do you notice anything peculiar about this place, Cain?”

  “What do you mean, peculiar?”

  “Well, these rooms are obviously the home of Van Pelt’s thugs, but there are no toilet facilities. I can see where the wiring has been brought down from above, but I don’t see any pipes, not a sign of plumbing.”

  Cain thought for a moment. “I haven’t seen any pipes either, now that you mention it.”

  “Unless they have drilled down from above and built a bathroom at one of the lower levels—which I doubt—they will have to come through here if they have to relieve themselves. The only toilet facilities are up in the house.”

  “So?”

  The light from the hallway lamps flickered through the doorway and caught the outline of Soldier’s craggy features. “We can just wait and take them here, Cain. We can take them one at a time as they come through here. Nature will be working for us.”

  “We can try it, Soldier. We have to reduce the odds somehow.” He slid the machine gun from his shoulder. “I’ll take the first one.” He started to unbuckle his gun belt but changed his mind.

  “I’ll use this,” he said to Soldier, drawing the knife from the sheath on his belt. He did not like knives. They were not reliable weapons, sometimes failing to penetrate bone or sliding off into the wrong part of a target. But they were silent. His knife had been specially designed by Soldier, modeled after a weapon carried by some of the more lethal members of the French Foreign Legion. It was a solid length of metal,
blade and handle being all the same. The handle was encased in bound leather and a handguard had been fashioned to prevent the hand from sliding down into the razor-sharp sides of the working part of the blade. It was useless for any task other than killing. Cain hefted it in his hand and then took Soldier’s place by the door. He looked out on the empty hallway through the narrow crack.

  Cain planned his attack. Anyone coming up the stairway would pass by their door, unaware of the possibility of danger. Cain planned to slip silently out of the room, coming up quickly behind his victim. He knew the most efficient method—to slam one arm around the victim’s throat and then drive the knife into his chest at an angle to miss the sternum bone. If done properly, it would be silent. If not, Soldier still covered things from the doorway. Cain wiped the palm of his hand against his shirt. His palms always perspired when he knew he would have to use a knife.

  They waited in silence. From somewhere below the notes of a piano drifted up, mingled with the faraway sound of laughter. He sniffed the air, catching the hint of a faint but familiar odor. He recognized the smell—he had come in contact with it as a police officer in a hundred places, from teen-age parties to the haunts of the very rich. It was faint, but he knew it was marijuana.

  Somewhere below a party was going on. Cain was about to comment on it to Soldier when a man’s head appeared on the stairway as he came climbing up. He was big; his massive head was matched by an equally thick neck. He wore no shirt and his thick chest muscles were overgrown by thick black hair. As he came up the rest of the way, Cain realized the man was completely naked. His body glistened with a thin layer of perspiration. His legs were as thickly muscled as his torso. Cain felt a moment’s hesitation at the prospect of trying to strong-arm such an obviously powerful man. But he had no other choice as the man padded by the doorway.