“I think we can rely on each other’s silence, Adelaide. And possibly a mutual
alibi, if it ever comes to that?”
The old lady chuckled. “Here, please take my tape and destroy it. And let us
hope Ferris’s tape never sees the light of day. If, indeed, there ever was a tape.” She
regarded her new friend searchingly. “Forgive an old woman’s curiosity, but which of
you people actually did break into Slade’s boat that night?”
May smiled. “It’s best you don’t know.”
Mrs. Rooke-Challenger nodded. “Crooks deserve to die, and crooks have
died. Justice is served. But there is just one little favor I would ask….”
WEDNESDAY EVENING: REVELATIONS
“So where’s Susi, Dad?”
“Susi?”
“You remember. The bimbo who’s been living at Miss Drost’s this last few
days.”
“Oh, Susi. She left last night. After all, she had to go sometime. We had no
reason to hold her.”
This was quite a surprise for Bill. “You mean Miss Drost threw her out to wander
the streets penniless?”
“Actually, I understand she’s gone back to her parents in Vancouver for a spell.
She was able to produce evidence that some of the money in the box belonged to her.
She applied to her old bank for a copy of her savings account, showing a substantial
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 20
withdrawal. Inspector Lockhart reimbursed her fifty percent of her claim based on her
IOU in the box, pending a final distribution when all the evidence is in.”
“She charmed the loot out of old fat-face? Takes some believing, that. Still, I
expect you’re glad to see her cleared of suspicion and out of the way.”
Dad’s expression didn’t change. The old man was good at that. Hiding the
tears behind the clown’s face. Born of practice through a lifetime’s disappointments.
“Maybe there’s a lesson in that for you, Bill.”
“You mean woman thy name is Perfidy?”
“I mean you might devote a little time to helping those less fortunate than yourself,
you selfish little jerk.”
Disappointment in love had caused the Old Man to lash out. It was forgivable.
But the fundamental error in logic could not go uncorrected. “You’re a fine one to talk
about helping the less fortunate, Dad. You throw them in jail. Consider the hippies.”
The old man reared up in his chair, demonstrating the power of his gluteal muscles.
“The owners of the boat Serendipity have been released through lack of evidence!”
“Devoran!”
He subsided with a groan, turning a tortured face to the door. “Come in,
Mother-in-law.”
“I was in the process of doing just that. Ah, I see you have coffee in the pot.
Pour me a cup, Wilberforce, if you please. Now, Devoran, I believe May Vinge and
her friends have been released on bail, pending possible conspiracy charges. Surely
you do not intend to pursue this case any further? You are in danger of perpetrating a
gross miscarriage of justice, are you not? We have all met dear May, and I think we
can agree she is a woman to be admired.”
Bill noticed his Dad’s face change rapidly to a beer-sodden red, and the old
fellow hadn’t even had a drink yet. “A woman to be admired? What’s happened to
change your opinion, Mother-in-law? Did she save you from drowning, or are you just
being your normal contrary self?”
It was a brave speech, likely to provoke an explosion beside which the Ocean
Dream’s demise would be as the pop of a soap bubble.
But the old lady took it well. “I’ll ignore that remark for the time being,
Devoran, although I may return to it later. It so happens that dear May is a good friend
of mine.”
“Oh, God, I can’t keep up with this. Listen, Mother-in-law. Any possible
charges are not up to me, they’re up to the Crown. I merely recommend and I may not
even do that, as Inspector Lockhart is taking a personal interest in the case.”
She snorted. “Let me put it another way. What are they supposed to have
done, apart from having lost a considerable sum of money which you have recovered
and which will no doubt find its way into the Police Retirement Fund?”
“At the very least, they are guilty of breaking and entering. And maybe conspiracy.
And maybe mischief causing death. And so on.” Bill saw a hunted look on
Dad’s face. Clearly he and his cohorts had had difficulty in deciding what charges to
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 20
recommend. “Their illegal action in turning on the propane,” the old fellow continued,
gaining confidence, “resulted indirectly in the death of Lionel Slade and loss of the ketch
Ocean Dream. I’d have liked to charge them with the murder of Wilf Ferris too,” he
continued recklessly, “But Forensics have established the blow to the head was caused
by impact against the rocks along Waterside Road. Of course, he could have been
pushed, but we have no witnesses. You live nearby. Are you in a position to give evidence?”
“I am not. Obviously it was an accident. The truth is, you have no idea what to
charge them with. You don’t even know which of them turned on the propane, if indeed
one of them did. They were victims, not crooks, Devoran! Victims of a corrupt
swindler. Good grief, Janine Richards must be well over seventy years old!”
It was sad to see Dad collapse like a slashed tire. “I know. I know. If I had
my way they’d never have been charged at all. It’s too complex for me. But,” he rallied
slightly, “in answer to your outrageous insinuation, we’re contacting all Slade’s victims
and our legal people will be working out a distribution of the funds.” He went
downhill again, running his fingers through his scanty locks. “So we’re left with two
deaths on our hands and nobody to charge. The media will love it. And now Ferris’s
wife has shown up and is raising Cain about police incompetence. Horrible, shrewish
little woman, just about what you’d expect. Lockhart is hopping mad. He’s retiring
next year. This is the last thing he needs.”
“The truth at last, by God! Police politics. If you have any guts at all, Devoran,
you’ll report that man Lockhart to his superiors!”
Bill sighed. Here was yet another unseemly argument between two people
whom he held in high regard. It was fortunate that the doorbell rang before it could descend
further into the realms of personal invective. He hurried to the door.
“Marsha! Thank God you’ve come. They’re at each other’s throats in there.”
The constable was carrying a tattered briefcase. Ignoring the warring factions
she opened it and placed the contents onto the coffee table. “Come over here and see
what I’ve got,” she said.
“Scorecards,” Bill observed. There were four of them. He picked one up. It
was designed for card players, with columns and a space at the top for name, date and
game number. It had been carefully filled in. The name was JANINE RICHARDS and
the date was one that was becoming very familiar: the day before Lionel Slade’s murder.
Dobbin laid them side by side. “Take a look at them.” For once Mrs. Rooke-
Challenger said nothing. Devoran regarded the cards. “All right, Constable, they played
cards that evening. Does it help us?”
“I have a theory,” she said proudly.
“Enlighten us.” Bill could see Dad was still a tad miffed by his battle with Gran.
He didn’t like being called gutless. The truth always hurts.
Dobbin smiled and seemed to gain in stature, her head nearing the ceiling. “Here
we have four women who play cards on a regular basis. They’ve got together to proFoul
Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 21
vide an alibi for one of their number who will perform an uncomfortable job in the small
hours of the morning. So how do they decide who is going to do that job?”
“Draw straws?” plodding old Dad suggested.
“They play cards for it,” Bill said with calm certainty. “You have to look at the
group psychology.”
“Right, Bill. There were other scorecards there for other weekends. Sometimes
as many as six cards each a night. But on the night before Lionel Slade’s death they
only played one game. And they didn’t play bridge this time. They played solo.”
“Oh, well, you didn’t make that clear,” the feeble old fellow said. “So the winner
did the job?” He peered at the cards. “Brenda Moore? But I thought she had an
alibi.” He wasn’t thinking straight, that morning.
Dobbin shook her head. “I don’t think so. Here are four normally law-abiding
women who have agreed to commit a crime. After a long period of waiting for their
chance, it comes.”
In the grip of inspiration, Bill continued for her. “They look at one another with a
terrible certainly. This is it. This is for real. Oh, my God! each woman thinks. I’m not
sure I can do this thing. Creep down to the marina in the wee small hours and blow up
a boat? It’s been fun talking about it for a couple of months, but actually do it? That’s
not my style at all. One of the others must do it. They argue. They quarrel. Shrill
voices are raised.”
“For God’s sake, Bill, do you have to make a meal of it?”
“All right, Dad. Am I on the right track, Marsha?”
“You’re doing fine.”
“So they decide a game of cards is the only way. But there’s no point in having
the winner do the job; in their present terrified state, each conspirator would play to
lose. So they decide the loser will do the dreadful deed. They bring out the cards and
they sit at the table, and a frightened calm settles over them. They play in a grim silence,
each woman playing as she’s never played before. All you hear is the slippery sound of
sweat-soaked fingers on plastic-coated cards. They—”
“Bill! You’ve made your point. No need to drag it out. According to these
scorecards, May Vinge lost. So she did the job.”
“Probably the one you most expected. It’s not usually the way.”
“At least it takes us a step closer to knowing who to recommend charges
against. Well, done, Constable.”
“Just wait a minute, Devoran!” Gran moved forward. She pored over the four
cards for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. “I’ll ask you to check the additions on these
scorecards.”
“I’ll do it,” Bill said. A quick and accurate mind was required. They’d be here
all day if the Law got hold of the cards, counting on their fingers and muttering under
their breath and arguing over their results. “Mrs. Vinge made a mistake adding up her
card,” he said finally. “Anthea Lee lost. Mrs. Vinge was second from bottom, but
there’s an error of eight points on her card.”
Gran was quick to pounce. “What does that tell you, Devoran?”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 21
“It tells me May Vinge can’t add up.”
Gran assumed a crocodilian expression: her version of a smile. “And it still
doesn’t tell us who visited the marina that night, even if the decision did depend on the
outcome of the card game. For all we know, the error on dear May’s card was noticed,
and Anthea Lee did the job. In a matter so important, you can be sure the cards
were checked meticulously.”
Cunning old bird, thought Bill. She would defend her newfound friend to the
bitter end. Friends are hard to come by, for poor old Gran.
Dad was silent for a long time. Then he said with a sigh like a surfacing orca,
“You’re right. It’s all supposition. We have no proof. It wouldn’t stand up in Court.”
And he was right, although Bill felt the need to explain the subtleties of leadership
to the old fellow. “Do you people really think Mrs. Vinge intended to let one of her
underlings carry out the nefarious task, Dad? Of course not. She led the whole operation
from the outset. She always meant to do the deed herself but she didn’t want any
of her friends to feel inadequate. So she suggested the card game. She set out to lose,
but Anthea Lee’s atrocious play frustrated her. So she was forced to falsify her total.
Nobody demanded a recount. They were all happy with the result.”
SATURDAY NIGHT: REVISITING JENNIFER ATKINS
Maeve was late. It was ever thus. Bill strolled to the edge of the bank and looked
down at the dark water. This was a place of historical significance. The Fox had fallen
to his death at this very spot and clumsy old Dad had gone over the edge too, but survived.
It was spooky here, but perhaps this very fact would inflame Maeve to undreamed-
of heights of sexuality. Jeez, there had to be something that would inflame
her.
“Are you there, Willy?”
They rushed into each other’s arms. Or at least, they stumbled together in the
twilight and kissed awkwardly. Her lips were cool.
“Oh, Maeve, Maeve.” What a stupid name! He cranked up the voltage of the
kiss a tad.
“Calm down, my love. You know what we’ve agreed.” She disengaged herself.
“You know what they say about casual, uh, you know.”
“Jeez, it’s only a kiss.”
“One thing leads to another.”
Just one push, that was all it would take, and the silly bitch would follow the
Fox onto the rocks below. He put an arm around her shoulders. “This is where the villainous
Fox met his just deserts.”
“Really, Willy, sometimes I just don’t know what you’re talking about. But if
it’s to do with your father’s work, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say. I wish
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 21
you wouldn’t take such an unhealthy interest in the nastier side of things, and that’s a
fact.”
“Is it, by golly?” He led her to the memorial bench, away from the temptation
of the cliff.
“I want to know where I stand, Willy. I’ve hardly seen you at all this last week.
You’ve been spending all your time with that awful grandmother of yours and what
about school? that’s what I’d like to know. You won’t ever get to university if you neglect
your education in this irresponsible way.” Her voice was becoming unpleasantly
shrill. “And how can you ever hope to be a gynecologist without a degree, answer me
that!”
In a desperate moment some weeks ago he’d told her he planned to become a
gynecologist. Maybe he’d hoped the sexual connotations would kindle some kind of
flame in her loins. Maybe he’d held some vague hope of engaging in practical research.
Whatever. But like everything else, it hadn’t worked. She’d taken him at his word. In
her pristine mind, it was inconceivable that there could be anything ruttish about a gynecologist.
“I’m sorry, love,” he mumbled.
“I mean, how can we get married if you don’t have a decent job?”
“Maybe you’ll get to be a gynecologist,” he said incautiously. He felt her puff
up angrily and said quickly, “It won’t happen again. Gran and I were helping Dad, you
see. We don’t often get murder cases in Noss Cove and he needed all the help he
could get.” He tightened his arm around her shoulders. Had the mention of murder
aroused her in any way? Was that a faint shiver he felt, a frisson of excitement?
“Murder,” she said with a shudder. “It’s so unsavory. I wish you wouldn’t get
mixed up in that kind of thing, Willy. And anyway, it wasn’t a murder. Open verdict on
Mr. Slade, that’s what the Coroner said. It was in today’s paper. And as for that nasty
little detective, they say he just fell onto the rocks down there accidentally. And why
you want to meet me at such an awful place I can’t think!”
It was hopeless. He was wasting his time here. He could be at home watching
TV and discussing the case with Dad. He’d attempt one last assault on the citadel of her
virginity, then he’d head home and enjoy some honest male companionship. He
reached around and placed a hand on her breast, an innocent enough move since she
was dressed for Arctic exploration.
He should have known it would trigger another grievance. “I want to know right
now if you respect me as a woman, Willy. It certainly doesn’t seem like it!”
“What else would I respect you as, my love?” he asked, his voice muffled as
she leaned forward unexpectedly, her shoulder butting into his face.
She was in the process of drawing herself to her full height. Caught by surprise
as she stood vigorously, Bill toppled off the seat. Lying among the Mars wrappers and
beer cans, he watched her shadowy figure stride to the cliff edge. Was she going to
throw herself off? She stood silhouetted against the lights of the cottages on the far
bank of the inlet, motionless and sad, a woman wronged. He prepared to lever himself
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 21
to his feet. Then he froze. There was something hard under his left hand. Small and flat
and rectangular, in the grass under the seat. He fiddled with it. A tiny flat box.
And suddenly he knew what it was.
“See you at school Monday,” he said, and hurried home.
SUNDAY A.M.: MRS. ROOKE-CHALLENGER PLAYS MASTERMIND.
“Of course dear May will not confess, Wilberforce. Neither will she creep, crawl or
beg. And even your father has more sense than to recommend charges against her.
She would dismiss the flimsy evidence of the scorecards with dignity, and any jury
would believe her. In any event, breaking and entering is the only conceivable charge.
There was no intent to murder, and your father knows that full well.”
“You like her, don’t you, Gran?”
“She’s what you would call my kind of woman.”
She eyed him keenly. She could see the color of his Mastermind pegs reflected
quite clearly in the glass of his oversize wristwatch. Red, blue, yellow, blue. An interesting
combination, hinting at a boy in the grip of an inner conflict.
She said, “Life is complex and we have many reasons for what we do, or for
that matter, what we don’t do. I am not an impulsive woman and I believe in weighing
the pros and the cons before acting. Both Slade and Ferris were crooks who deserved
to die, and die they did. Justice has been served at a minimum cost to the taxpaying
public. There may be one or two details that are not known to the police, but I see no
purpose in confusing them further.” She held her fingers over the pegs, building suspense.
There were many psychological aspects to the game of Mastermind. The lad
had turned away, glancing around the room. “I’ll make an assumption here,” she said,
playing for time.
Good grief, she’d forgotten the colors of his pegs! She waited for him to bring
his wristwatch to bear again. But he took it off and laid it on the table beside him. He
could be an infuriating young fellow.
“Gran....“
“Yes?”
“There’s something else. Something I found, and I don’t know what to do
about it.”
So of course he’d come to his Gran for advice. It was, she admitted, pleasant
to be looked on as the fount of all knowledge in the family. “You may have the benefit
of my experience, Wilberforce,” she told him kindly.
He produced a little camcorder cassette. “I found this down the lane last night,
under the seat near where Dad fell down the bank. It’s Ferris’s. He must have
dropped it.”
The recollection of his father’s tumble caused a moment of pleasure and she
spoke more gently than he deserved. “Why didn’t you bring it to me immediately?”
He looked sheepish. His mother used to put on just such a look, when caught
out in a misdemeanor. “It was getting late. And I wanted to check it out myself first.”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 21
“And does it record what we expected?”
“Uh, more or less. More, in fact.”
“I suppose you should give it to your father.”
“Yeah. Maybe. Maybe not.”
“However, I see no harm in my viewing it first. My camcorder is in that cupboard.”
He busied himself with her camcorder, hooking it up to the television. Images
appeared on the screen. “It’s the marina at night,” he said.
It was indeed. The date and time appeared briefly in the bottom right-hand
corner of the picture. Boats showed up dimly behind pools of yellow light cast by the
tall dock lamps. They were looking along the dock toward the entrance ramp. A figure
stood some distance away, clearly hesitant, looking around. The miscreant herself! She
advanced slowly along the wooden dock which swayed slightly under her weight. She
paused at a boat which Mrs. Rooke-Challenger recognized as Sappho. She moved on,
head turned away as she scanned the row of boats, finally stepping onto the finger at
which the despicable Slade’s craft was moored. The camera swung to follow her. She
climbed into the cockpit and forced back the cabin hatch with the aid of some kind of
pry bar, and the light from an overhead lamp fell full on her face.
It was May Vinge, of course. Mrs. Rooke-Challenger had never had any
doubt but it gave her something of a shock, seeing her new friend sneaking about in the
gloom like that.
And so it went on. After a while May emerged, trailing a wire that she let down
into the water as she walked. Eventually she reached her own boat and climbed
aboard. She opened the hatch and disappeared below. Wilberforce paused the cassette.
The screen froze on the Ocean Dream.
Mrs. Rooke-Challenger sighed. She felt strangely depressed. There was a
great temptation to urge Wilberforce to suppress the tape, but she had to consider the
matter of his natural loyalty to his father. Such loyalty was to be admired, even when
misplaced. She could not present the lad with such a dilemma. “It confirms what we
suspected, and puts the identity of the villain — if I may so describe her on this one occasion
— in no doubt.”
“There’s more.”
“More? He taped the explosion?”
He regarded her unhappily. “Something infinitely more sinister.”
He reads too much, Mrs. Rooke-Challenger thought, but he’s a good boy. He
pressed the button and the pictures resumed. Now they were looking at the marina entrance
in broad daylight. “It’s the next morning,” Wilberforce said as the date and time
appeared again. The view was the same. The camera zoomed in on a woman arriving
at the top of the ramp, carrying supermarket bags.
Mrs. Rooke-Challenger grunted. “Ha! That hussy Sturgess.” Susi strolled
down the ramp, obviously in no hurry, and made her way along the dock. Reaching the
Ocean Dream, she climbed down into the cockpit and they heard her faint cry. “Li!”
Then she paused at the cabin hatch, staring.
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 21
“She’s wondering why the hatch is unlocked, and yet Slade isn’t around,” Bill
explained.
She slid the hatch back and descended into the cabin.
Almost immediately she reemerged rapidly and stepped onto the dock.
She stood there motionless for half a minute according to the tape counter. Then she
leaned over and slid the cabin hatch closed, glanced at her watch, scanned the deserted
docks, walked unhurriedly back to the ramp and up into the yard, still carrying her bags
which she deposited behind a garbage skip. The camera zoomed in on her. She was
leaning against the yard rail, one knee bent. “Just like a lady of the night in some dark
doorway,” muttered the old lady.
Susi’s fingers were drumming against the rail. She was staring back toward the
marina entrance. She glanced at her watch again, then resumed her intense gaze in a
direction the camera did not cover.
The picture jumped slightly and a new time appeared at the foot of the screen; it
was almost fifteen minutes later. Susi still stood there, staring, tapping her foot.
Then suddenly she straightened up. A man came into view, striding across the
yard toward her. It was Slade. They kissed briefly. Mrs. Rooke-Challenger snorted.
She did not approve of public exhibitions of affection; there was a proper place for that
kind of thing. The couple talked, huddled together with hands cupped high while Susi lit
their cigarettes, although all the viewers could hear was the sound of the Fox’s breathing
behind the camera. Susi pointed down the road and Slade nodded toward docks, then
walked down the ramp toward the boats. Susi watched him go, then retrieved her
shopping bags from behind the skip and hurried out of the marina entrance.
The camera swung to follow Slade as he strolled along the dock. He paused at
Serendipity, arrived at the Ocean Dream, climbed into the cockpit, slid the hatch back
and descended into the cabin.
There was a brilliant flash and the thud of an explosion. The picture swung
wildly up and down, then the screen went blank.
“The last moments of Slade,” Bill said in an odd voice. “Creepy, isn’t it?”
“My eyes are not what they were, Wilberforce. Did we see what I thought we
saw?”
He said flatly. “Yes, we did. Susi lit a cigarette for Slade.”
Mrs. Rooke-Challenger felt an unpleasant thump in the region of her heart. She
was getting too old for sudden revelations. “That’s what I thought.”
“She went down into the cabin, smelled the propane and got out of there
quickly. She thought about it, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of Slade
alive, and Slade dead. Slade alive was becoming a problem; matters had deteriorated
between them and the Slade of that day was not the Slade of a few months ago. Slade
alive, in fact, might well be intending to cast off and sail away any time soon, leaving her
bereft on the dock — or even wandering the streets of Peterville on some spurious errand.
“However, Slade dead might have big financial advantages. In the confusion
following the explosion she might be able to recover the box herself, or bribe one of
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 21
Duffy’s divers with promises of, uh, sexual favours, or at least reclaim it from the police.
Remember, they had no knowledge of the box’s contents at that time. Neither did Susi
know the hippies had already stolen the box.
“It didn’t take her long to pass the sentence of death on the guy.
“So she lit a cigarette for him, gave him some excuse for not going to the boat
with him, waited until his back was turned and retrieved the shopping bags, made sure
there was nobody around, jumped into her Volvo and got the hell out of there, to reappear
later. She was lucky nobody saw her arriving and departing, but at that time of
morning there was hardly anyone around. Except the Fox. It was only the explosion
that brought the natives out of the woodwork. The police would have assumed the
death of Slade was the culmination of all the other things that had happened to the boat.
The coup de grace. ”
Bill sighed, conscious of s deep unhappiness. It shouldn’t have been like this.
Solving a murder case should be a joyous triumph. “I rest my case,” he concluded
sadly, visualizing dear old Dad’s reaction.
“We must not forget the Fox also knew the boat was full of propane,” Mrs.
Rooke-Challenger pointed out, “and he would have removed the warning notice dear
May put on the office door. And he watched Slade walk toward the boat with a lighted
cigarette. Surely that incriminates him as much as it did the Sturgess girl. He could
never have used the tape.”
“Oh, he could, Gran. There’s no evidence of who made the tape. He could
have sent it to the police anonymously. He was in clover. He’d got two birds with one
stone. May Vinge and Susi. Susi was an unexpected bonus.”
“I suspected that girl from the start. I’m never wrong.”
“The lure of gold, Gran. She saw the chance to get her hands on his ill-gotten
loot. That’s why she wasn’t as happy as she should have been when the hippies were
unmasked and Dad took the box into custody. She realized then then that the loot
would probably find its way back to its rightful owners.”
They sat in silence apart from the labored breathing of Colonel. It was all very
Дата добавления: 2015-10-21; просмотров: 28 | Нарушение авторских прав
| <== предыдущая лекция | | | следующая лекция ==> |