Congealed? He must have been lying here for hours! He looked at his watch;
it was five minutes to twelve. He’d arrived at the cliff top at around eleven forty-five,
but the evidence of the congealed blood suggested that it was now Wednesday, in
which case he’d been lying here all night! Bill would have notified the Detachment by
now. They’d be searching for him at this very minute.... It was essential that he got
away from here. It would be altogether too embarrassing if they found him stuck on a
cliff ledge....
But there had to be something wrong here. He felt in poor shape, but surely
he’d have felt a hell of a lot worse if he’d been lying here all night. No, he could only
have been unconscious for around ten minutes, after all.
So, what should he do now? Of course, he could always radio in, notify the
duty officer of his location and try to bluff his way out of this ridiculous predicament. He
examined his radio. It was undamaged. All it would take was one call, and he would
be out of here. They would ask questions, sure, but he was i/c Operations, goddamn it,
and he was beholden to no police officer. No local police officer, anyway. And Lockhart
wouldn’t be interested.
But first, he should see if he could manage without help.
He reached up, jammed his fingers into a convenient crack in the rock and tried
to haul himself up. He scrabbled around with his feet, but couldn’t find any foothold.
He dropped back to the ledge, panting. It was no good. He was still a tad dizzy from
the blow to his head. Maybe he shouldn’t be exerting himself. Maybe he was suffering
from concussion and should be conserving what little strength he had left while he
waited for a boat to pass within hailing distance.
And meanwhile, he could while away the time usefully by considering the Noss
Cove crime wave.
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 18
As regards the death of Slade, well, frankly, he was sick of thinking about it.
The circumstances made no sense whatever. Slade was likely a crook; and yet his
name was not on record. He might have been killed by one of his dupes, if dupes they
were; but how? By a cabin full of propane ignited by a sparking device, apparently, but
why use such a roundabout way of killing a man? And there was a fortune in that box,
so the motive may have been to cover up a robbery, which pointed in the direction of
Royboy and Rasha again. Which brought him to the matter of Ferris.
He sat down, his back to the rock face, prepared to allow his thoughts to wander
idly over the matter of Ferris. New ideas would often occur to him if he didn’t concentrate
to hard on the matter in hand; it was like using peripheral vision to detect
movement. A feeble sun had broken through the clouds, reflecting off the surface of the
creek and dazzling him. He began to feel drowsy, no doubt the result of concussion.
He closed his eyes....
Frighten the Vinge into a confession....
How long had he slept? It seemed like seconds, and had those words been
part of a dream? Or were they a useful peripheral thought?
I have a genuine tape of her in the course of nocturnal criminal activities
on the water. We shall confront her with that. And she will break down, mark my
words!
It was no dream! It was the voice of his abominable mother-in-law, speaking
nearby!
“Yes, but supposing—”
And that was Bill’s voice! The pair of them were on the cliff top above him,
plotting some insane course of action! Well, he’d soon put a stop to that, and at the
same time get them to lend him a hand. He ran fingers over his head again. The blood
was fresh and minimal. He could see a few streaks on the rock near the cliff face,
where he had lain.
But the blood near the brink of the ledge was old, and there was a lot of it. Of
course, it might not be human blood at all. It might, for instance, be the blood of some
fish bludgeoned to death by a fisherman’s club, such as the club Bill had bought with a
part of the proceeds from the sale of his rabbits. But this was a most inconvenient spot
to be bludgeoning a fish; it was so inaccessible.
Could it possibly be the blood of Ferris?
If it was, then Ferris must have been well and truly alive when he went over the
edge. A dead body would hardly have lost that much blood, no matter how deep the
injury. He took a small plastic bag from his pocket, knelt down and carefully scraped
some flakes of blood from the rock into the bag with his pocket knife. The lab would
confirm that it was Ferris’s blood.
And another point: if Ferris had been thrown over the edge, he would have
landed in much the same place as he, Devoran, had landed. But Ferris — if it was Ferris
— had landed about eight feet further out. For a man to have achieved that, he must
have taken a running leap over the edge, landed on his head, remained in place until he
died, then rolled off and dropped to the water below. Unlikely but not impossible.
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 18
The situation needed reassessing. One thing was sure: if this was indeed the
blood of Ferris, it let the hippie couple off the hook.
Meanwhile, the discussion continued overhead.
TUESDAY MORNING: AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
The shady trees of Waterside Road, the rippling water below, the boats slumbering in
the morning sunshine, caused Bill’s earlier certainty to fade somewhat. He said tentatively,
“Are we sure about the motive? Wouldn’t the Fox need some kind of evidence
to blackmail the Spooner people with?”
“Obviously, Wilberforce. I’m glad you have your thinking cap on this morning.
Without damning evidence, Vinge and her cohorts would simply laugh in his face, which
brings me to my next assumption. On the occasion of the turning on of the propane, let
us assume the Fox was concealed on a nearby boat, armed with a video camera. Mrs.
Herring mentioned he had one in his possession. I have one myself, as a matter of fact.
The dock lights would suffice, and a moving scene would provide more satisfactory evidence.”
“And they can show the date and the time on the picture. But it would be a
long cold wait for the Fox.”
“Not necessarily. Remember, Wilberforce, the Fox was hired to watch Slade.
He would have noted his movements. He would have told the Spooners the ideal time
to get aboard the boat and turn on the gas. So it’s a fair assumption that the Fox,
armed with his video camera, arrived at the marina only a short time before the killer.
He shot his footage, I believe the expression is, and crept away when the coast was
clear. Then he proceeded with his blackmail in the normal manner. He offered to sell
the Spooner people the tape. He arranged to meet them in a quiet spot.” She stopped
suddenly. “And here, if I’m not very much mistaken, is the spot where the Fox kept his
appointment with death!”
“They pushed him over the cliff?”
It was a grassy viewpoint at the side of the road. There was a wooden seat for
tired hikers. Bill was familiar with the place; he had spent many a fruitless evening there
with Maeve. Gran sat down with a sigh, gazing around with sharp old eyes. Bill wondered
if those eyes would spot signs of his previous visits. He began to search the grass
for clues. A few spots of blood would be useful. Meanwhile Colonel sniffed around
too.
The voice of Gran came to him. “Precisely,”
“We’ll need proof.”
“I always say the scene of a murder is like an anthology of modern poetry.
Amongst a mass of unsavory garbage you may find one or two little pieces of interest.
But more likely, you will not. If there’s anything useful here, Colonel will find it.”
Relieved of responsibility, Bill sat beside her. “What if he doesn’t?”
“In either event our course is clear. We confront the Vinge woman with our
knowledge.”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 18
“But we don’t have any knowledge.”
“The Vinge woman is unaware of that. She will assume by our confident manner
that we are in possession of her innermost secrets.”
This sounded like a typical Gran fiasco in the making. “What will we say?”
“We shall say that the Fox, as a precaution, made a copy of the tape which she
took from him before she flung him to his death. We tell her it is in our possession.”
“And when she breaks down, we call in Dad?”
“No, Wilberforce. We name our price.”
“You mean we blackmail her? We can’t do that, Gran! Suppose she turns us
in? It’ll be the finish of Dad!”
“Less than an hour ago you were in favor of just such a policy, as I recall.”
“That was a hypothetical case. Now we’re talking real life.” Good grief, the
old girl had to be made to see the error of her ways, somehow or other! Perhaps a
Grannish approach might work. “Let us assume she’d call our bluff.”
“At which point we shall brandish the tape.”
“Brandish what tape? We don’t have a tape!”
“Any tape will do. You must appreciate the psychological environment,
Wilberforce. Here is a woman unmasked, paralyzed with fear and facing the implacable
face of justice. Do you really suppose she will start rummaging around her apartment to
find something to play the tape on? No. She’ll accept the tape for what it is.”
“But it isn’t!”
“In her mind any tape is synonymous with guilt. What it contains is immaterial.
At the sight of it, she will finally crack. And when she does, I shall capture her entire
confession on a small but powerful recorder concealed about my person. Two birds
with one stone, Wilberforce, two birds with one stone. The murder of Lionel Slade,
and the subsequent murder of the Fox!”
“Well, you can brandish the tape yourself, Gran.” And that would be the moment
when he would discreetly withdraw. A vision of Mrs. Vinge’s face swam into his
thoughts. She was no fool. If there was any unmasking to be done, she’d be the one
doing it. And then she’d report the whole matter to Dad. Attempted blackmail. A
criminal matter. Wilberforce Devoran, I propose to make an example of you.
And another thing. Wasn’t this whole scene based on the edifice of assumptions
they’d been building this past hour or so? Good grief, just one error in that sequence
and the whole thing would come tumbling down like those tottering towers of
rocks kids build on the beach to throw pebbles at. And then it would blow up in their
faces, as if the last rock had fallen on a buried World War II mine. “Gran, don’t you
think—”
“Hush, Wilberforce!” The old girl was gazing over the water thoughtfully. At
last she said, “Wilberforce, my boy, for once I have been a forgetful old woman. I have
to admit that there have been occasions in the past when I have awakened with little
memory of the previous night’s events. It has happened again. But I remember now,
most certainly. Oh, most certainly.”
“Uh, what do you remember, Gran?” Not another harebrained scheme, surely?
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 18
“We have no need of a spurious tape with which to frighten the Vinge into a
confession. It so happens I have a genuine tape of her in the course of nocturnal criminal
activities on the water. We shall confront her with that. And she will break down,
mark my words!”
“Yes, but supposing—”
He was interrupted by a fusillade of barking from Colonel. The aging bullterrier
stood perilously close to the cliff edge, the force of his barking threatening to precipitate
him over. Bill darted forward, seized his collar and peered over the edge. A pale face
gazed up at him. “Dad!”
“Oh, hello there, Bill. What brings you here?”
“What brings you?”
“Just spotted something odd, so I climbed down to take a look. See this rock?
There’s blood on it.” The Old Man was standing on a shelf jutting out some eight feet
from the rock face which then descended sheer to the water. He indicated a dark area
at the edge of the drop.
“As I surmised,” Mrs. Rooke-Challenger joined them. “Forensics will find it is
the blood of Wilfred Ferris, alias the Fox! Clearly he was pushed from where we
stand, hit the edge of the outcrop, lodged there for a moment then fell onward to his
death.”
“I don’t think so,” the Old Man said. “If he was pushed, he’d have landed close
to … this, uh, place here. About where I’m standing.”
“He was a small man, Devoran. I suggest that he was thrown.”
“It would have taken a strong man to throw him that far out, Gran,” Bill objected.
“We have a very powerful man among our suspects, Wilberforce. I draw your
attention to the Jackal.”
“I thought we’d decided May Vinge killed Ferris.”
“It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that the Vinge woman and the Jackal
are working in partnership. She representing the brain, and he the brawn. Such partnerships
are not uncommon among the criminal classes.”
It was a possibility, no doubt. Bill was beginning to build upon it when his
thoughts were interrupted by a shout from his dad.
“For Christ’s sake, you two, can we deal with the matter in hand? Do you
want me to stay down here all day?”
For the first time Bill noticed the Old Man looked a little shop-soiled. And
there was something frantic about his expression.
“How did you manage to climb down, Dad? I’m not sure I could have made
it.”
“The holds will come, if you know how. Uh, Mother-in-law?”
“I am present, Devoran!”
“I seem to remember you have a certain amount of equipment in that boathouse
of yours. A rope would be useful at, uh, this moment in time. By the way, I thought I’d
given you the strictest instructions not to involve yourself in unauthorized—”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 18
“You don’t instruct me, my good man. And you have no business eavesdropping
on private conversations.”
“I could hardly help overhearing. And as for you, Bill—”
“You wanted a rope, Devoran, I believe? I may have one, or I may not. If not,
you will have to wait there for some time until a boatman observes your plight, since you
seem unable to tackle the climb unaided. Do I make myself clear?”
“You do, Mother-in-law. A rope, if you please.”
WEDNESDAY MORNING: NEWS FROM VICTORIA
Dobbin was concluding her report. “So I got basically the same story from all the people
I saw. Some talked more readily than others. I saw all the people on the list except
April Harper. She’d committed suicide last year.” She hesitated. “It may have been my
imagination, but three of them were less forthcoming than the others. Coincidentally or
not, they’re members of that odd little club run by Mrs. Vinge. Brenda Moore, Anthea
Lee and Janine Richards. The Spooner people.”
“So now we know why Slade’s victims didn’t report him,” Devoran observed.
“They’d been persuaded to leave everything in this Sally woman’s hands. We’ll be
wanting a word with Sally.”
Dobbin, Bill and Devoran sat around the kitchen table. Dobbin had arrived in
time for breakfast, so the bowls of Sugar Puffs had been supplemented by toast and
marmalade. Now they sat with cups of coffee. Devoran had brought out the Port
Meirion ware that Veronica had always used for favored guests. He didn’t want Dobbin
to think that their lifestyle was in any way primitive.
And then of course there was the presence of Bill. Apparently it was Founder’s
Day at school, meaning a day off, and since the death of Veronica Devoran had always
tried to spend as much time with him as possible. Once again, this meant exposing him
to police work to an extent that Jim Lockhart might not have liked.
Now he addressed Bill coldly. “So you and your Gran knew that three members
of the James Spooner Society were on the computer?” It was difficult to believe
that his own son had been withholding important information. Mother-in-law, yes. But
not Bill.
The treacherous young fellow began to bluster. “Well, I did tell you I thought
their Society was just an excuse for alibis. And I sort of assumed you recognized their
names on the printout; they attended your groin lecture, didn’t they? You can’t blame
us for your failing memory, Dad. And when I tried to mention it yesterday morning at
breakfast you got all uppity and shut me up.”
The young idler warmed to his theme. “The problem is lack of communication.
I can’t talk to you, Dad. You shut me out. You never—”
“That’s enough, Bill. You’re beginning to sound like a letter to an agony aunt.”
They would get nowhere like this. “So, Marsha. We have a financial trickster as one of
our murder victims. How about the other? Did anyone look interested when you mentioned
Ferris?”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 18
“Difficult to say. It’s easy to imagine the Spoonerites did, but I’m not sure. I’m
sure the name meant nothing to most of the people I spoke to.”
Bill broke in. “But Marsha says several of them were approached by this Sally
woman. Let’s call her the Vixen. Perhaps she approached them all with a murder plan.
The wimps would opt out. But the good guys were enlisted by the Vixen, who also
hired the Fox to keep a watch on Slade and advise them when to strike. If they’re so
committed, they’d have no problem in acting all innocent when Marsha mentioned the
Fox.”
Dobbin said, “Probably not, Bill. Now, while I was in Victoria I discovered
something else. It may be significant or it may not. You remember I saw Charlie Hood
going into Cavalier’s marina? Well, I decided to follow it up. So I called in the marina
on the pretext of being interested in a small runabout, and got talking to one of the
salesmen. It turned out that Hood and Cavalier are associates of a kind.”
“How do you mean, of a kind?” Devoran asked.
“According to the salesman they’ve occasionally been partners in boat deals.
They keep in touch with each other concerning boats for sale in Duffy’s and Cavalier’s
marinas, and concerning people wanting boats. They sometimes buy boats themselves
and resell them. Interesting, eh?”
Devoran wondered if Dobbin was doing a Goodenough. The case was complicated
enough already, surely? “There’s nothing illegal in that, is there?”
“No. But suppose Duffy doesn’t know about it. Suppose they buy low from
Duffy’s marina, and sell high somewhere else.”
It might be worth following up. “Have a tactful word with Duffy about it this afternoon,
will you? In general terms, as to boat sales ethics. Don’t drop Hood too deep
in the mire.”
“I’ll do it now. You two will want to get on with your lunch.” As she left, she
spoke over her shoulder. “Where’s Miss Sturgess these days?”
Again it seemed to Devoran that her tone went a little cold at the mention of
Susi. You never knew with women. Sometimes they got along like a house on fire.
Other times, well, the claws were out. And Susi was such a gentle soul.
“Still at Miss Drost’s, so far as I know.” he said casually.
The door closed behind Dobbin; rather forcefully, he thought.
While Bill busied himself preparing Balti chicken for lunch he sat in his reclining
chair, raised the footrest and began to read carefully through Dobbin’s report. There
was something bothering him. Something at the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite
put his finger on, if a guy might mix a metaphor for once. In the detective novels that
formed the staple diet of both him and Bill — although Bill went for the heavy stuff too
— there usually came just such a moment. And then, suddenly, a connection would be
made, the light bulb would flash and the mystery would be solved.
But this had never happened to Devoran before. Which made it quite intriguing
that it should happen now. It had something to do with a book. And Dobbin’s report
from Victoria. April Harper, who had committed suicide….
“Bill!” he called. “Here a minute!”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 18
“It’s inexcusable to interrupt the master chef at his most creative.”
“Stop pissing about. This is important. You remember you told me May Vinge
had written a book?”
“I never read it. Too simplistic for my educated taste. That’s probably why she
wrote it under a pseudonym.”
“Exactly. Didn’t you say the pseudonym was her maiden name?”
“Did I? Uh, yes. Right. Maybe I did.”
“Remember what it was?”
“Uh, May.... May.... Wait a minute! It was May Harper!” The light of inspiration
glowed in Bill’s eyes. “They’re related, Dad! April Harper and May Harper,
now Vinge! And.... Marsha said April Harper killed herself....”
“And that means all four Spooner women had a motive for murder. And May
Vinge most of all, if Slade drove her sister to suicide. Or maybe her mother or her aunt.
That’s just a detail we can flesh out. I’ll get Dobbin to show those other people a photo
of her. Find out if she’s this mysterious Sally. The photo on the book cover will
probably do.”
“Another point, Dad. There was no meeting of the Society on the weekend of
the first murder attempt. When the boat nearly fell on Slade, remember?”
“So there wasn’t.”
“Or the second, when the boat sank.”
“Right.”
“Which means that Mrs. Vinge, alias the Vixen I believe, has no alibi for those
two times,” said Bill.
WEDNESDAY NOON: LUNCH WITH RED DUFFY
As Dobbin entered the marina yard in search of Red Duffy she heard a shout.
“Marsha!” It was Farquarson, who had extended his search area from Ocean
Dream to include the rest of the boatyard. “You might be interested in this. Duffy’s
diver found it on the bottom near the site of the explosion.”
He handed her a large loose bunch of brown two-core wire of the type used for
household lamps. One end had been tightly coiled and crossed over so that it wouldn’t
unwind. The extremity was separated into two strands; the insulation had been stripped
back about half an inch on each strand. The other end was fused into a single blackened
blob.
Dobbin’s heart began to thump almost painfully.
“This tight coil at the end,” she said, and her voice sounded strange to her. “You
didn’t wind it yourself, did you?”
He gave her a reproachful look. “Of course not. That’s exactly how it was
found.”
“Come on, then.” She led the way down the ramp to Ocean Dream’s vacant
berth. “The cockpit would have been about here.” She handed him the fused end of the
wire. “OK. Now you stay put while I unwind it.”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 18
She set off along the dock, paying out the wire as she went. It quickly dawned
on her that she was headed in the wrong direction; the dock would end before the wire
did. So she walked back the other way past Farquarson and onward, and eventually
she came to the tightly bound coil from which protruded the bare ends. She was directly
opposite the cabin of a small sailboat, maybe a twenty footer.
The name of the boat was Sappho.
“Thanks, Constable,” she said, and gathering up the rest of the wire she headed
back to the yard office.
She met Duffy coming out. “Mr. Duffy!”
He hesitated before approaching her. “I’ve told your boss everything I know.
Which is fuck-all, if you’ll pardon my language. And now I’m off to the Globe for a
coffee. And maybe follow up with a beer.”
“Bit early for that, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. So what do you want?”
“First of all, whose boat is the Sappho?”
“That’ll be Mrs. Vinge’s Catalina 22.”
It was like a punch in the solar plexus. Dobbin gasped, then quickly tried to
turn it into a cough. Forensics would establish that this wire and the length found in the
boat with the sparking device were one and the same. It looked very much as though
they’d found their villain.
Duffy was looking at her curiously, then he shrugged. “Come along to the
Globe. I’ll stand you a coffee.”
The thought of accepting hospitality from even a remotely possible suspect filled
her with unease. But then, the evidence of the wire seemed to put Duffy in the clear.
“Well, I don’t know….”
“I’m going, anyway.”
“Well, all right. But I’ll buy my own coffee.”
“Suit yourself.” Once seated in the bar, which was fairly quiet at this time of
day, Duffy said briskly, “OK. Out with it.”
For a moment she couldn’t think what he was referring to; the discovery of the
wire had been occupying her thoughts. Then she remembered; she’d arranged to see
Duffy to clear up a minor mystery.
“It’s not much, really. It’s just… does Mr. Hood act as a kind of traveling
salesman and buyer?”
“More or less. He’s on the road most of this week. Why do you ask?”
“Oh…. I just wondered. By the way, what’s your connection with Dexter
Cavalier?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Oh.”
Silence fell. James arrived with the coffee which took the form of brown plastic
gadgets with a coffee bag in the bottom, filled with water and perched on white cups.
Dobbin lifted hers too soon and coffee dripped to the table. She replaced it hastily.
When at last the coffee had all dripped through, there came the performance of opening
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 18
the cream container without squirting the stuff at herself or her companion; always a difficult
task for a woman with outsize hands. Finally Duffy and she took simultaneous
mouthfuls and replaced their cups.
“Why do you ask about Cavalier?” Duffy asked.
“Oh…. It’s just that I happened to see Mr. Hood talking to him in Victoria the
other day, and I was curious.”
The result was gratifying. Duffy’s face darkened. “Charlie talking to Cavalier?
The sneaky little bastard!”
“I thought you said you didn’t know Cavalier.”
“An instinctive reaction. I thought you might tell me next he’d been murdered,
and where was I on the night of whenever. A guy can’t be too careful these days.
What the hell were they talking about?”
“I wasn’t near enough to hear. They seemed to be good friends. Why
shouldn’t they be talking?”
“I’ll tell you why,” Duffy snarled, leaning close. “Because Cavalier’s a crook,
that’s why. You know how many marinas and boat-sales showrooms he owns on the
Island? Eight at the last count.”
“What’s crooked about that?”
“It’s his methods. You know how it is with marinas; things are always falling
apart and it’s difficult to make ends meet. Virtually no income in the winter months
apart from a bit of permanent moorage and dry-land storage. Get by in the spring with
a few boat sales. Summer, we get overnight moorage. But that’s no great shakes.
Lots of cheapskates drop anchor in the inlet, and know what they do then? They tie
their dinghies up at my docks and bitch and complain because I charge them for it.” He
stared around the pub bleakly. More customers were drifting in. “Jesus, I wish I had a
business like this!”
She reminded him gently, “You were going to tell me what’s wrong with Dexter
Cavalier.”
“Yeah. He’s a bloody vulture, that guy. He watches marinas for signs of weakness.
Then he moves in with a low offer to buy the place out. Now, this is off the record,
right? The word is, he’s not averse to a bit of sabotage to bring the price down.
Nothing big. Just enough to scare off the permanent moorage and dry-land storage.
Then he buys for next to nothing, renovates, kicks out any liveaboards and upgrades the
class of boat he’ll allow at the docks, puts in glitzy sales offices, puts in charter offices,
chandlers, cafes, transforms the place so it begins to pay. He’s got the backing to do it,
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