Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 1 16 страница

were being asked. Slowly the voices faded into the distance.

Mrs. Rooke-Challenger nodded grimly to herself. The skirmish was over. The

enemy was in full retreat. She returned to her cottage with the satisfaction of a job well

done. Now perhaps she could get some sleep. Slamming the door behind her she

glanced at the clock. Good grief, it was after eleven thirty! And she had a big day

coming; the Spooner fools would be leaving for Victoria in the morning and she wanted

to catch them off guard, just at the moment when they were making good their escape

and were therefore at their most vulnerable.

She would take Colonel and Wilberforce to swell the numbers. Wilberforce….

She allowed her thoughts to dwell fondly on the young fellow as she poured herself a

nightcap and sat back in her deep armchair. Wilberforce was a great help in her investigations,

a real chip off the old block. He had his mother’s genes, and thank the Lord

he seemed to have inherited few of his father’s pathetic characteristics….

She awakened with a start. Almost one o’clock and freezing cold! She shuffled

off to her bedroom, threw her dressing gown onto a chair and climbed into bed.

The sheets were cold and her feet were like ice. She should have filled a hot water bottle,

but it was hardly worth it now. Hardly worth it…. She began to doze.

Pop-pop-pop-pop.

What the hell was that? She sat up. It was a damned outboard motor, right

outside her window! Some people had no consideration whatever. Why in God’s

name did they have to be cruising around the inlet at this ungodly hour? With a croak of

despair she swung her feet out of bed, slid them into her slippers and retrieved her

dressing gown from the chair. In darkness, she felt her way to the window and hauled

the drapes open.

A pallid moonlight now silvered the waters of the inlet. About ten yards offshore

a black shape slid past, auxiliary motor idling. It was a sailboat; she could tell by

the lines of it. It carried no running lights. The helmsman was clearly up to no good.

Probably involved in smuggling, either making for a rendezvous or, more likely, picking

up a consignment of drugs suspended underwater from a marker buoy.

She should call the police. But that meant notifying the incompetent Devoran

and spending the rest of the night answering his inane questions. There was a better

way. She felt her way to a cupboard beside the window and took out a small digital

camcorder. She’d bought it a week ago for the purpose of recording and reporting exFoul

Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 14

amples of irresponsible seamanship on the inlet, but hadn’t expected to use it until the

tourist season.

But now, it was the perfect weapon. She pressed the button for night use and

peered into the viewfinder.

There was something familiar about the lines of that sailboat…. It had turned

and was drifting directly toward her window. A flashlight shone out suddenly, sweeping

across the water and steadying on an area toward the head of the inlet.

She could just make out something floating there. It was soon obscured by the

boat drawing alongside. The flashlight was extinguished, but she could just make out a

dark figure in the sailboat cockpit, leaning over, probably hauling the loot aboard. And

the Law nowhere to be seen. It should surely be obvious to the meanest intelligence

that most crimes take place at night….

A few minutes later, overcome by tiredness, Mrs. Rooke-Challenger returned

the camcorder to its cupboard and stumbled back into bed. Maybe she’d report the

matter in the morning.

Or maybe she’d store it for future reference….

WEEK 2: MONDAY SMALL HOURS: A BUMP IN THE NIGHT

Royboy was a light sleeper too, and there was a northerly breeze blowing down the

inlet that Monday night. He didn’t mind the slop of water against the hull, but what

could drive him crazy was the tapping and rattling of loose ropes and wires against the

mast, amplified by the shape of the deck which seemed to act as a sounding board. On

that Monday night, one noise in particular was getting to him. It was a halyard; they

were secured by bungee cords holding them away from the mast. One had escaped the

bungee and was tapping away like a woodpecker.

Shit.

He couldn’t sleep with that racket. “Rasha?”

No reply. He nudged her. She lay determinedly asleep. In despair, he crawled

out of the vee berth. He never wore pajamas. Should he get dressed? No; it was late

enough for the marina to be deserted; probably two o’clock or so. Shivering, he made

his way on deck, buck naked. The wind flayed his skin like razor blades.

He found the offending halyard. The elastic cord had perished and snapped.

“Fuck you all!” he shouted at the neighborhood, unfairly. He climbed back into

the cockpit and began to paw about in the dark locker for another cord. By now the

shivering was becoming quite violent and hypothermia was surely setting in. Finally he

felt the rubberiness of a spare cord. He stumbled onto the cabin roof again and secured

the halyard. Then he descended to the cabin and climbed back into bed, cuddling up

against Rasha and trying to extract some warmth from her.

“For Chrissake, Royboy, you’re like ice!”

Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 14

“Yeah, well, if you’d been on deck starkers in this wind, you’d be like ice too.”

“I’d have put some goddamned clothes on. You wouldn’t catch me parading

around the deck naked. What was the problem?”

“Halyard.”

“How about the bumping?”

“Bumping? What bumping?” He listened. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

It was a definite thump, every few seconds. It wasn’t loud but it was persistent.

It seemed to be at the waterline, just the other side of the hull from where they lay.

Inches away. It would drive him mad, listening to that all night.

“It’s a goddamned dinghy broken adrift, bumping up against us!” he guessed.

“Why can’t people make things secure in this marina? We all knew there was a blow

coming.”

“Maybe it’ll drift off.”

“No, it’s on my side. It’s lodged between us and the dock.”

“So, whaddya gonna do about it?”

“Me?”

“Well, I’m not doing anything about it. It doesn’t bother me. I’m going to

sleep. For Chrissake, it’s after two. Goodnight, love.”

Bump… bump… bump….

With a grunt of resignation Royboy crept out of bed and pulled on his clothes.

This could be a big job. He’d have to lie on the dock and grab the goddamned dinghy,

get hold of the painter and tow it to an empty finger, or climb in and paddle it somewhere.

He might well drown in the attempt. Then Rasha would be sorry. Or would

she? She was very adaptable, Rasha was. She’d probably shack up with that cop who

was asking questions the other day. She seemed to fancy him. She liked her men thin

and weedy and non-violent-looking.

He climbed down to the dock in bare feet and padded to the forward end of

the boat. There was no dinghy there; just a dark shapeless thing moving sluggishly with

the waves.

He didn’t like the look of it. He wasn’t going to touch it until he could identify it

more clearly. He climbed back aboard and brought a flashlight. Then he knelt on the

dock and directed a beam into the water.

Oh, Jesus!

It was a stiff. He could see the shape of the head darkly underwater, bumping

gently against the hull. It wore some kind of padded jacket, probably full of air and

keeping the poor bastard afloat. The legs and arms trailed down out of sight.

He retched.

“What the hell are you doing out there?” came a muffled cry from inside the

boat.

He climbed aboard and spoke quietly. “It’s a body out there.”

“A what?”

“A dead body, floating up by the bow.”

Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 14

“A dead body?”

“Yeah. Oh, Jesus, what are we going to do, Rasha?”

“Call the cops?”

“Fuck, no! After that guy was round the other day asking all those questions?

They already think we did for Li Slade.”

“OK, what, then?

He gulped. “We’re gonna have to deal with it. Shift it. Get it away from here.

Shove it out and let the wind and the tide take it out to sea!”

“Seems like the wind’s dropping already. And the tide’s still coming in. It

doesn’t turn till morning.”

“Jesus, yeah. We gotta get it away from the marina. They’re bound to think

it’s us. We’re the only liveaboards.”

“Why the hell did this have to happen to us?” By now Rasha had got out of

bed. They clung to each other in mutual despondency.

After a moment’s tortuous thought Royboy said, “If we tow it to where the inlet

joins the river and cast it adrift there, the current’ll take it out to sea. It surely won’t

come back. And when the tide turns it’ll be gone. It could go anywhere. It’ll probably

sink. It might never be found.”

“We haven’t started the engine for weeks. Will it work?”

“Course it’ll work! I serviced it less than a month ago!”

“Take it easy. How are we going to attach the body?”

“Somebody’s gonna have to get a line around it.”

“Not me, Royboy.”

“I can’t do it. I’ve already thrown up once.”

“Then you’ll be OK. You got nothing left to throw up.”

“Oh, Jesus….” A guy couldn’t argue with Rasha.

Ten minutes later the engine puttered into life and the Serendipity slipped from

the dock, towing the body slowly on a long line.

“Who d’you suppose it is, Royboy?”

“Dunno. It’s too dark to see. And I didn’t want to turn it over. It’s a man,

though. I could see his long pants.”

“Women wear pants too.” She seemed disposed to argue every point.

“Well, I still say it’s a man.”

And five minutes later the engine coughed twice and petered out.

MONDAY MORNING: THE SPOONERITES DEPART

Mrs. Rooke-Challenger called a brisk greeting. “Good morning, Brenda!”

Bill hung back as she toddled up to the car. What was the old girl up to now?

She’d spotted three members of the James Spooner Appreciation Society putting their

bags into the trunk of a car outside Mrs. Vinge’s apartment, and off she’d scuttled like a

ferret. In a minute there would be a ruckus. Gran and those people were sworn eneFoul

Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 14

mies. Bill turned away, pretending to admire the work of a roofer plying his ancient

trade on a house nearby.

“Mrs. Rooke-Challenger, is it?” the woman replied coldly. Bill recognized her

as the blowzy Mrs. Moore.

“Of course it is, my dear. Once seen, never forgotten. I just wanted to say I

bear you no ill-will.”

“Ill-will?”

“For blackballing me at your trumpery meeting,” the old lady snapped, temporarily

losing control. “It’s all water under the bridge, my dear,” she continued, recovering

well. “I like to think I’m man enough not to become vindictive as a result of life’s

little inequities.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“So…. You’re off back home now? To… Victoria, is it? A delightful city. I

well remember a weekend my late husband and I spent at the Empress Hotel there, oh,

so many years ago. Happy days. Happy days.”

“Was there something you wanted, Mrs. Rooke-Challenger?”

“I’d like a chance to make amends, my dear. I feel we got off on the wrong

foot on Friday night. When will you next be in Noss Cove?”

Bill felt safe enough to turn slowly round. No riot had broken out. The women

were all engrossed in one another the way a group of women tend to be, chattering like

starlings. They wouldn’t notice him lurking. The trunk was loaded, the lid closed, the

other two women standing by open passenger doors. Mrs. Moore was driving, but

Gran had placed herself strategically against the driver’s door so she couldn’t get in.

“I doubt if we shall be back for a couple of weeks or so,” Mrs. Moore said

impatiently.

“How often do you come to this part of the world, my dear?”

“Oh, we meet here about once a month. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we must be

on our way.”

The old lady held her ground. “Would that be once every calendar month, or

once every four weeks?”

“Really, Mrs. Rooke-Challenger! If you must know, it’s once every four

weeks, give or take.”

“So how do you account for this being the second weekend in succession, answer

me that!”

“I don’t have to answer you. It’s none of your goddamned business, and I

don’t see much point in you applying to join us again, if that’s what you’re after. The

result of the ballot was fairly conclusive, I’d say.”

“Fairly conclusive!” The old girl was losing her cool again. “You all voted

against me, you bastards, every man jack of you! I’ll have you know I’ve notified the

police.”

“It’s hardly a police matter, Mrs. Rooke-Challenger!” Mrs. Moore moved

forward purposefully, taking hold of the old girl’s arm.

“Unhand me, you blackguard!”

Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 14

It was what Bill had dreaded. Violence had erupted. Gran was hanging onto

the door handle while Mrs. Moore, showing a wealth of thigh, strove to pull her away.

What should he do? He could hardly rush to Gran’s aid. YOUTH INVOLVED IN

NOSS COVE FRACAS: We must protect women from hooligans like you, says

judge.

On the other hand, he could hardly stand by. The middle road was called for.

He strolled up to the combatants with measured steps, the way Dad would have done.

“Having a little problem here, Mesdames?” he asked calmly. The Old Man would have

been proud of his approach.

“This woman attacked me!”

“Disgraceful! Let this old lady go, Madam. I’m a witness to this assault,” Bill

told Mrs. Moore severely. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“You’re just a child!” Her temper snapped. “You’ve got no right to talk to me

like that!”

“Wait till you hear me on the witness stand.”

“Once and for all, Mrs. Rooke-Challenger, are you going to let me get in my

car?”

Gran released her grip on the door handle, much to Bill’s relief. “You will be

hearing from my lawyer.” She took his arm. “Perhaps you will assist me to the Globe,

young man,” she quavered. “I feel the need for a small brandy. My heart is not what it

was.”

The door slammed and the three members of the James Spooner Appreciation

Society started their journey. Mrs. Rooke-Challenger and Bill watched them go. “Well

done, young Wilberforce. We have the information we wanted and the enemy is in full

flight. Next, the Globe.”

“What information did we get?”

“Their monthly meetings coincide with the attempts to murder Lionel Slade, as I

suspected.”

“Actually they don’t quite, Gran. The first two are a week out.”

“A mere detail. So, to the Globe!”

Once inside the pub Mrs. Rooke-Challenger seized the register and began to

work her way through the entries. “Um…. Um…. Ha! As I thought. That appalling

Moore woman spent last weekend here. I knew that apartment wasn’t big enough for

all four of them. And the previous weekend. And….” She flipped the pages, “One

month before that. And…. Aha! She was here the previous month too! What do you

make of that, Wilberforce?”

“It confirms what Mrs. Moore told you, doesn’t it?” He was beginning to regret

not going to school today. The fracas around the car had sapped his confidence.

Much as he respected Gran’s investigative capabilities, it did seem she was becoming

unduly obsessed with Mrs. Vinge’s hangers-on. She’d already established that they

had alibis; they were all together in the apartment playing cards on the Saturday nights.

Wait a moment…. A sudden thought occurred. “Mrs. Moore doesn’t have an

alibi for the murder weekend,” he said. “She was staying here at the pub, alone. Once

Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 14

they’d finished playing cards, she left them all and slept at the Globe, ostensibly. She

could have done the job easily. Mrs. Vinge has a boat, so she must have a key to the

marina. Mrs. Moore could have borrowed it.”

“Exactly my thoughts, young Wilberforce. You catch on quickly.”

“But she has no more motive than any average citizen, Gran.” His elation subsided.

“We have suspects with motives. Why add a suspect without a motive?” A suspicion

occurred. “It’s not because her buddy Mrs. Vinge won’t hang Pulled Down in

her exhibition, is it?”

“Perish the thought!”

But Bill found himself in a mood of disenchantment. The words of Dad came

back; they had to keep open minds. And nobody could ever accuse Gran of keeping

an open mind.

MONDAY MORNING: IN VANCOUVER

Constable Marsha Dobbin enjoyed the trip to Vancouver. The sea was calm and the

ferry ride smooth. The weather was fine and traffic on the freeway was light. She always

found freeways more relaxing than the winding Island roads with their blind corners

and sudden encounters with farm vehicles. True, the traffic became much more

dense as she approached Vancouver, but for once there were no road works in progress.

She left the freeway soon after the river tunnel and worked her way through the

suburbs, made herself known at the local Station and arrived at her destination ravenously

hungry.

She ate lunch at a Chinese restaurant in the suburb’s main street, belatedly realizing

that Chinese food was not the most sociable aroma to carry into a stranger’s

house. After buying a roll of breath candy at a nearby store, she set out to locate the

Sturgess residence.

It proved to be one of a row of small older houses in a road separated from a

railway line by a wide strip of undeveloped land. She could see children playing on the

banks of a stream, and sat for a moment watching. It was all quite pleasant; the houses

probably dating from the thirties, well-maintained, the kids enjoying themselves. All a

bit the lower side of middle-income, she decided. Like herself on police pay.

All those kids…. How long before people would be saying: Marsha Dobbin?

What a pity, she’s missed the boat. Loves kids too: such a shame. But what fellow

would go for a woman like that, eh? Good God, it’d be like sleeping with a

giraffe.

A middle-aged woman answered the door; tall, black, and carrying that indefinable

shy dignity that many such people do when living in a white neighborhood.

“Can I help you?”

“Mrs. Sturgess? I rang earlier. Constable Marsha Dobbin.”

“Of course. You’ve come to see Bert about that Noss Cove business.” There

was more than a trace of concern in the brown eyes. “He didn’t have anything to do

with it, you know.”

Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 14

“Can I come in?”

Mrs. Sturgess stepped aside. “Through there.”

Dobbin found herself in a room that was clearly not often used: the two-piece

suite was pristine, the drapes picked out the colors in the wallpaper, the china ornaments

were carefully arranged along the mantelpiece and the whole effect was of spotless

sterility. It felt slightly cold. This was the room that casual acquaintances and

strangers were brought into. It probably had its duplicate in all the houses along the

road. She sat at the end of the settee, feeling uncomfortable.

“Bert’s just popped out for a minute. I’ve got the coffee on. Would you like a

cup?”

“Thanks.”

Abruptly, as though the words burst out of her, Mrs. Sturgess asked, “How’s

Susi?”

“She’s fine.”

“How did she take it… the death, I mean?”

“Quite well, really.” Dobbin began to warm to the woman with her motherly

concern. “I think their relationship might have been… petering out. She’s said one or

two significant things since. Lionel Slade wasn’t the best person for her.”

The woman nodded too vigorously. “Yes. Yes. That’s what Bert thought. Although

Bert was perhaps a bit prejudiced. Susi was the apple of his eye, you see. It

broke his heart when she left us.”

“Why did she go?”

“Young people have to leave home sooner or later. I suppose I pushed her into

it. Bert couldn’t accept that. And Susi’s a bit of a dreamer. Always looking for something,

and not really knowing what it is. There was no real quarrel or anything like that.

It was just time for her to leave the nest. And everything was fine until she met that man

Slade. Then we stopped hearing from her. Or not so often, anyway. Next thing she

said she was sailing off with him. It seemed such a wild thing to do. No thought of getting

married first, or anything like that. I mean, what were we supposed to think? Two

of them all alone on a boat, in the middle of the Pacific?” She sighed. “Maybe I’ve led

a sheltered life.”

“The good thing is, she hasn’t come to any harm.”

“But what’s going on over there? Bert’s so quiet about it all. Where’s she

staying?”

“As a matter of fact she’s staying at a B&B in the village. A Miss Drost. Very

respectable.” Yes, that was the word Mrs. Sturgess would have wanted to hear.

They heard the front door open.

“That’ll be Bert. I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll pour the coffee.” She called out,

“We’re in the front room, Bert! The policewoman’s here.”

Albert Sturgess entered, looking cautious. “Hello.”

She’d glimpsed him a couple of times before but hadn’t realized how big the

man was. Over six foot, certainly, but it was the breadth of him that was so impressive.

Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 14

Hulking shoulders; in fact wide all the way down. He stood with legs apart and hands

on hips, an aggressive attitude, yet his eyes were worried.

“’Morning, Mr. Sturgess. Constable Dobbin.”

“Yeah. So what do you want?”

“Just a few questions about the death of Lionel Slade.”

He remained standing. “I know nothing about that. I could have told you that

before. You’ve wasted your journey.”

She felt a quick flash of anger and stood up to put herself on more equal terms.

“Listen, Mr. Sturgess. We think Slade was murdered. He was living with your daughter.

You didn’t like that. You’ve been seen at Duffy’s marina on several occasions.

You’ve been seen quarreling with Slade. Do you honestly think we wouldn’t be interested

in all that?”

He was silent for a moment, then smiled ruefully. “Sorry. So you really think I

killed him?”

“Did you?”

“No, somebody else got there first.” His massive frame shivered suddenly.

“Oh, Jesus, when I saw that boat all wrecked I thought Susi was in it as well. I tell you,

when I heard she wasn’t aboard, I cried like a baby. I felt ashamed. I had to get away

from there, fast. And now I’ll tell you something you probably don’t know. My daughter

thinks I stole Slade’s box of money. I expect you find that pretty interesting as

well.”

“Why would she think that?”

“She says I’m the only person she’d told about the money. But I’m goddamned

sure everybody knew. I mean, Slade had sold up and was sailing away. It

stands to reason he’d have money on the boat.”

By now Dobbin had sat down again. Sturgess was shedding his air of menace

by the second. He sat opposite, looking suddenly tired. His wife came in with a tray of

coffee equipment, glancing at him anxiously. Nice-looking china, of course, and although

Dobbin would have preferred a cold Coke she didn’t like to say.

“And I wouldn’t have killed him, anyway,” Sturgess continued, when they were

settled back with their cups and his wife had gone. “I mean, it’s ridiculous. People

don’t do that kind of thing. And anyway she was cooling off on him. When I first found

them in Victoria he was the flavor of the month and she wouldn’t hear a word against

him. As I found out to my cost. We had a hell of a fight in Victoria.” He winced at the

memory of it. “But when I caught up with them again in Noss Cove things had changed

a bit. I could tell. So I’d stay in Peterville for a few days now and then, and I’d drop

by the marina to see how things were. She didn’t freeze me out quite the same. This

last couple of weeks we started meeting for coffee now and then, just like….” He

broke off and closed his eyes for a moment. “Just like a dad and his daughter should.”

“Did she say why she was cooling off on Slade?”

“Not really. She’s very loyal, is Susi. But I got the impression he’d left some

kind of trouble behind in Victoria. Funny little things worried her, and then there were

problems with the boat. Dangerous problems. You must have heard about them.”

Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 15

“We have.” Eric had said there was something a bit odd about Susi’s attitude

when she’d first heard about Slade’s death. Could she have been relieved that it was all

over, perhaps? “Did Susi tell you what trouble Slade had left behind in Victoria?”

“It sounded like money trouble to me. Maybe debts, but I don’t think so. Susi

would have forgiven him running up debts. And there were no bailiffs moving in. So I

began to wonder if it was drugs.”

“Drugs?”

“Boats and drugs, they often go together, so I’ve been hearing. You know,

smuggling and such. I’m sure Susi wouldn’t have anything to do with drugs, but suppose

Slade had been some kind of middleman, and the suppliers were after him.”

It sounded possible, but only just. Somehow it didn’t fit. “Perhaps Susi was

just getting cold feet about the voyage. Especially after the, uh, boat problems.”

“She’s not the kind to get cold feet.”

“Did you know Slade’s in the phone book as a financial adviser?”

“That covers a multitude. Probably skipping off with his clients’ money.”

They drank their coffee in silence. Dobbin was feeling discouraged.

Really, Sturgess didn’t seem the murdering type. “So when did you see her last?”

He sighed, a heave of his big frame. “After the explosion matters took a turn for

the worse. She practically attacked me in the street the last time she saw me, and began

calling me a thief. I tell you, I’m sick of hearing about that goddamn box. I guess

you know all about the box.”

“All right, forget the box.” She drew a deep breath. “Now tell me this. You

say Susi was losing interest in Slade. Is it at all possible that she could have had a final

dispute with him and in some way, indirectly maybe, been involved in his death?”

He took it better than she’d expected. “No. Not Susi. She could have killed

Slade in the course of a fight, maybe in self-defense. Anybody could. You or I could.

But this had to be a premeditated murder, from what I hear. It was set up beforehand.

Susi couldn’t have done that. Just not possible. She’s not the type.”

But that was what you’d expect a father to think.

Mrs. Sturgess poked her head around the door. “Everything all right here?”

“You can come in,” Dobbin said. “We’re more or less finished.” She was finding

the huge presence of Sturgess oppressive in the small room, although no longer

threatening. She wondered if she had the same effect on people.

Mrs. Sturgess poured herself a cup of coffee. “Bert’s in the clear, is he?” she

asked, obviously only half joking.

“What are you going to do about Susi now?” Dobbin asked.

She looked anxiously at her husband as he replied, “Nothing. She needs time

to cool off. She’ll see everything in a better light when you’ve caught the fellow who did

it and got your hands on that damned box. That’ll be the time for us to make our move,

try and make it up to Susi. Meanwhile I’m staying away.”

“Did you give her any money, Bert?”

Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 15

“She wouldn’t take it. So I said if I had the goddamned box, then it was her

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