Bahama Crisis

Eight

Storm signals flew over the breakfast table next morning but I was too preoccupied to notice them until Debbie said, ‘I suppose you’re going back to the office again today.’ I poured myself a cup of tea. ‘I had thought of it.’

‘I never see you any more.’

I added sugar. ‘You do in bed.’

She flared up. ‘I’m a wife — not a harlot. When I married a man I expected all of him, not just his penis.’

It was then I became aware that this was not a mere storm in a tea-cup. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Things have been really tough lately.’ I reflected. ‘I suppose I don’t really have to go in today, or even tomorrow. In fact, I can take the rest of the week off. Why don’t we take one of Joe Cartwright’s sailboats from the marina and cruise to one of the Family Islands? That would take us to the weekend and we could fly back.’

She lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘Could we?’ Then she frowned. ‘But we’re going nowhere near any of your damned hotels,’ she warned. ‘This isn’t a disguised business trip.’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’ I was drinking my tea as the telephone rang.

It was Jessie. ‘I think you’d better come in early this morning; we’ve got trouble.’

‘What kind of trouble?’

‘Something to do with baggage at the airport. I don’t really know what it is, but the lobby sounds like a hive of bees. Mr Fletcher’s at the dentist and the under-manager isn’t coping very well.’

That was all I needed. ‘I’ll be in.’ I hung up and said to Debbie, ‘Sorry, darling, but duty calls.’

‘You mean you’re going in spite of what you just promised? Damn you!’

I left the house with recriminations clanging in my ears, and arrived at the Royal Palm to find that a minor bit of hell had broken loose.

I sat in Jack Fletcher’s office listening to him moan. ‘Two hundred and eight of them, and without a damned toothbrush between them, not to mention other necessities. All they have is their hand baggage and what they stand up in.’

I winced. ‘What happened? Did they arrive here and their baggage end up in Barcelona?’

He looked at me with mournful eyes. ‘Worse! You know that new baggage-handling carousel at the airport?’ I nodded. It was an innovation for which we had been pressing for a long time. With increased flights of wide-bodied jets the airport had developed a baggage-handling bottleneck which the carousel was intended to alleviate.

Fletcher said, ‘It couldn’t have done a better job if it had been designed for the purpose.’

‘A better job of what?’

‘Opening the baggage without benefit of keys. The baggage was put on the conveyor, and somewhere in that underground tunnel something ripped open every suitcase. What spewed out on to the carousel were smashed suitcases and mixed-up contents.’

‘Didn’t they try to turn it off when they saw what was happening?’

‘They tried and couldn’t. Apparently it wouldn’t stop. And the telephone link between the carousel and the loading point outside hasn’t been installed yet. By the time they’d fiddled around and sent someone outside to stop the loading it was too late. They’d pushed in the lot — the whole plane-load of baggage.’

I nodded towards the lobby. ‘Who is this crowd?’

‘LTP Industries convention from Chicago. They’re already raising hell. If you want a slice of gloom just go out into the lobby — you can cut it with a knife. One good thing; the Airport Authority carries the can for this — not us.’

The Airport Authority might carry ultimate responsibility but the airport people did not have on their hands over 200 unhappy and discontented Americans — and when Americans are discontented they let it be known, loud and clear. Their unhappiness would spread through the hotel like a plague.

Jack said, ‘That Boeing was full, every seat filled. We’re not the only people with grief; Holiday Inn, Atlantik Beach, Xanadu — we’ve all got troubles.’

That did not make me feel any better. ‘What’s the Airport Authority doing about it?’

‘Still trying to make up their minds.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ I said. ‘You go out there and give them a pacifier — $50 each for immediate necessities. I’ll ring the airport to tell them I’ll be sending them the bill. And make it a public relations service on the part of the hotel. Let them know clearly that we don’t have to do it, but we’re full of the milk of human kindness. We have to make some profit out of this mess.’

He nodded and left, and I rang the airport. There followed a short but tempestuous conversation in which threats of legal action were issued. As I put down the telephone it rang under my hand. Jessie said, ‘Sam Ford wants to see you. By the way he’s acting the matter is urgent.’

‘I’ll be along.’ I went back to my office via the lobby, testing the atmosphere as I went. Fletcher had made an announcement and the tension had eased. A queue had already formed at the cashier’s desk to receive their dole. I walked through Jessie’s office, beckoning to Sam as I went, and sat behind my desk. ‘I thought you were down by Ragged Island.’

The Ragged Island project was something I had developed by listening to Deputy-Commissioner Perigord. What he had said about the Ragged Island Range and the Jumento Cays had remained with me. My idea was to buy a couple of the cays and set up camps for those tourists who preferred to rough it for a few days on a genuine desert island. It was my intention to cater for all tastes and, being in the low tourist season, I had sent Sam Ford down in a boat to scout a few locations.

‘I was,’ said Sam. ‘But something came up. You remember that fellow you wanted to know about?

‘Who?’

‘Kayles. Jack Kayles.’

I jerked. ‘What about him? Have you seen him?’ It had been over a year and I had almost forgotten.

‘No, but I’ve seen his boat.’

‘Where?’

‘In the Jumentos — lying off Man-o’-War Cay. Now called My Fair Lady and her hull is blue.’

I said, ‘Sam, how in hell can you be sure it’s the same boat?’

‘Easy.’ Sam laughed. ‘About a year and a half ago Kayles wanted a new masthead shackle for his forestay. Well, it’s a British boat and I only had American fittings, so I had to make an adaptor. It’s still there.’

‘You got that close to her?’

‘’Bout a cable.’ That was 200 yards. ‘And I put the glasses on her. I don’t think Kayles was on board or he’d have come out on deck. They usually do in those waters because there are not that many boats about and folks get curious. He must have been ashore but I didn’t see him.’ He looked at me seriously. ‘I thought of boarding her but I remembered what you said about not wanting him scared off, so I just passed by without changing course and came back here.’

‘You did right. When was this?’

‘Yesterday. Say, thirty hours ago. I came back real fast.’

He had indeed; it was over 300 miles to the Jumentos. I pondered for a while. To get there quickly I could fly, but the only place to land was at Duncan Town and that was quite a long way from Man-o’-War Cay and I would have to hire a boat, always supposing there was one to be hired with a skipper willing to make a 100-mile round trip. For the first time I wished we had a seaplane or amphibian.

I said, ‘Are you willing to go back now?’

‘I’m pretty tired, Tom. I’ve been pushing it. I haven’t had what you’d call a proper sleep for forty-eight hours. I had young Jim Glass with me but I didn’t trust his navigation so all I got were catnaps.’

‘We’ll go by air and see if he’s still there, and you can sleep at Duncan Town. Okay?’

He nodded. ‘All right, Tom, but you’ll get no words from me on the way. I’ll be asleep.’

I had completely forgotten about Debbie.

I took the first plane and the first pilot handy, and we flew south-east to the Jumentos, the pilot being Bill Pinder. I sat in the co-pilot’s seat next to Bill, and Sam sat in the back. I think he was asleep before take-off. I had binoculars handy and a camera with a telephoto lens. I wanted firm identification for Perigord although how firm it would be was problematical because Kayles’s boat changed colour like a bloody chameleon.

Although I use aircraft quite a lot, flying being the quickest way for a busy man to get around the islands, I find that it bores me. As we droned over the blue and green sea, leaving the long chain of the Exumas to port, my eyes grew heavier and I must have fallen asleep because it took a heavy dig in the ribs from Bill to rouse me. ‘Man-o’-War Cay in ten minutes,’ he said.

I turned and woke Sam. ‘Which side of the cay was he?’

Sam peered from a window. ‘This side.’

‘We don’t want to do anything unusual,’ I told Bill. ‘Come down to your lowest permitted altitude and fly straight just off the west coast of the cay. Don’t jink about or circle — just carry on.’

We began to descend and presently Bill said, ‘That little one just ahead is Flamingo Cay; the bigger one beyond is Man-o’-War.’

I passed the binoculars back to Sam. ‘You know Kayles. Take a good look as we fly past and see if you can spot him. I’ll use the camera.’

‘There’s a boat,’ said Bill.

I cocked the camera and opened the side window, blinking as the air rushed in. The sloop was lying at anchor and I could see distinctly the catenary curve of the anchor cable under clear water. ‘That’s her,’ said Sam and I clicked the shutter. I recocked quickly and took another snapshot. Sam said, ‘And that’s Kayles in the cockpit.’

By then the sloop was disappearing behind us. I twisted my neck to see it but it was gone. ‘Did he wave or anything?’

‘No, just looked up.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘On to Duncan Town.’

Bill did a low pass with his landing gear down over the scattered houses of Duncan Town, and by the time we had landed on the air strip and taxied to the ramp a battered car was already bumping towards us. We climbed out of the Navajo and Sam said, nodding towards the car, ‘I know that man.’

‘Then you can do the dickering,’ I said. ‘We want a boat to go out to Man-o’-War — the fastest you can find.’

‘That won’t be too fast,’ he said. ‘But I’ll do my best.’

We drove into Duncan Town and I stood by while Sam bargained for a boat. I had never been to Duncan Town and I looked around with interest. It was a neat and well-maintained place of the size Perigord had said — less than 200 population, most of them fishermen to judge by the boats. There were signs of agriculture but no cash crops, so they probably grew just enough food for themselves. But there were evaporation pans for the manufacture of salt.

Sam called me, and then led me to a boat. ‘That’s it.’

I winced at what I saw. It was an open boat about eighteen feet long and not very tidily kept. A tangled heap of nets was thrown over the engine casing and the thwarts were littered with fish-scales. It smelled of rotting fish, too, and would have broken Pete Albury’s heart. ‘Is this the best you can do?’

‘Least it has an inboard engine,’ said Sam. ‘I don’t think it’ll break down. I’ll come with you, Tom. I know Kayles by sight, and I can get six hours sleep on the way.’

‘Six hours!’

‘It’s forty miles, and I don’t reckon this tub will do more than seven knots at top speed.’ He looked up at the sun. ‘It’ll be about nightfall when we get there.’

‘All right,’ I said resignedly. ‘Let’s get a seven-knot move on.’

Five minutes later we were on our way with the owner and skipper, a black Bahamian called Bayliss, at the tiller. Sam made a smelly bed of fish nets and went to sleep, while I brooded. I was accustomed to zipping about the islands in a Navajo and this pace irked me. I judged the length of the boat and the bow wave and decided we were not even doing six knots. I was impatient to confront Kayles.

We came to Man-o’-War Cay just as the sun was setting and I woke Sam. ‘We’re coming to the cay from the other side. How wide is it?’

‘’Bout half a mile.’

‘What’s the going like?’

‘Not bad.’ He peered at me. ‘What’s all this about, Tom?’

‘Personal business.’

He shook his head. ‘A year back when I asked why you were interested in Kayles you damn near bit my head off. And then you brought the police in — Commissioner Perigord, no less. This is more than personal business. What are you getting me into?’

It was a fair enough question. If we were going to confront a man I believed to be a murderer then Sam had a right to know. I said, ‘How close were you to Pete Albury?’

‘I knew him all my life. You know we both came from Abaco. I remember him and you together when I was a little nipper, not more than four years old. You’d be twelve or thirteen then, I reckon.’

‘Yes, he was my friend,’ I said quietly. ‘What about you?’

‘Sure, he was my friend. We used to go turtling together. Biggest we ever caught was a 200-pounder. He taught me how to catch bush bugs with a crutch-stick.’

That was Abaconian vernacular for catching land crabs with a forked stick. I said, ‘Kayles was on Lucayan Girl when she disappeared.’

Sam went very still. ‘You mean...’

‘I don’t know what I mean, but I will when I get to the other side of that damn cay. Right now I’m working out the best way to go about it.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Sam called out to Bayliss, ‘Slow down,’ then turned back to me, the whites of his eyes reddened by the light of the setting sun. ‘If Kayles was on Lucayan Girl, if that’s Kayles on that boat, then that means murder.’ Sam was as quick as any other Bahamian at adding up the facts of life — and death — at sea. ‘I read about the inquest in the Freeport News. It seemed to me then there was something left out.’

‘Perigord put the lid on it; he didn’t want to frighten Kayles away. The picture of Kayles you saw was taken by my daughter, Sue, just before the Girl left for Miami. Perigord reckons Kayles is a cocaine smuggler. Anyway, that’s not the point, Sam. I want to talk to Kayles.’

‘And you’re thinking of walking across the island.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s not the way. That boat is anchored nearly a cable offshore. You’d have to swim. It wouldn’t look right. What we do is to go around and get next to him in a neighbourly way like any other honest boat would.’ He pointed to the water keg in the bows. ‘Ask him for some water.’

‘Are you coming?’

‘Sure I’m coming,’ said Sam promptly.

‘He’ll recognize you,’ I said doubtfully.

Sam was ironic. ‘What do you want me to do? Put on a white face? It doesn’t matter if he knows me or not — he’s not afraid of me. But he might know your face and that would be different. You’d better keep your head down.’

So we went around Man-o’-War Cay with the engine gently thumping and made a few final plans. Although Sam had seen Kayles from the air through binoculars, it had been but a quick flash and firm identification would only be made when he talked to the man on the sloop. If Sam recognized Kayles he was to ask for water; if it wasn’t Kayles he was to ask for fish. From then on we would have to play it by ear.

When we drifted alongside the sloop there was very little light. I took off the engine casing and stood with my back to My Fair Lady apparently tinkering with the engine. Bayliss took the way off and Sam bellowed, ‘Ahoy, the sloop!’ He stood in the bows and held us off with a boat hook.

A voice said, ‘What do you want?’ The accent was American.

I think Sam went more by the voice than by what he could see. ‘We’ve run us a mite short of water. Can you spare us a few drops?’

A light stabbed from the cockpit and played on Sam. ‘Don’t I know you?’ said Kayles. There was a hint of suspicion in his voice.

‘You could,’ said Sam easily. ‘I run a marina in New Providence. I know a lot of yachtsmen and they know me. Maybe you’ve been to my place — at the Sea Gardens Hotel, west of Nassau. I’m Sam Ford.’ He held his hand to shade his eyes, trying to see beyond the bright light.

‘I remember you. You want water?’

‘I’d appreciate it. We’re damn thirsty.’

‘I’ll get you some,’ said Kayles. ‘Got anything to put it in?’

Sam had taken the precaution of emptying the water keg. He passed it up to Kayles who went below. ‘He’ll know if we go aboard,’ Sam whispered. ‘The sloop will rock. If we’re going to take him it’ll have to be when he comes up now. Get ready to jump him when I shout.’

‘You’re sure it is Kayles?’

‘Damn sure. Anyway, any ordinary yachtsman would have asked us aboard.’

‘All right, then.’

The sound of a hand pump came from the sloop and after a few minutes it stopped. ‘Ready, now!’ said Sam in a low voice.

The sloop rocked as Kayles came up into the cockpit. Sam said cheerfully, ‘This is kind of you, sir.’ He had shortened his grip on the boat hook and when Kayles leaned over the side to hand down the keg, instead of taking it Sam gripped Kayles’s wrist and pulled hard. With the other hand he thrust the end of the boat hook into Kayles’s stomach like a spear.

I heard the breath explode out of Kayles as I jumped for the sloop. Kayles stood no chance; he lay half in and half out of the cockpit fighting for breath and with Sam holding on to his wrist with grim tenacity. I got both knees in the small of his back, grinding his belly into the cockpit coaming. ‘Come aboard, Sam,’ I said breathily.

Bayliss shouted, ‘What’s going on there?’

‘Stick to your own business,’ said Sam, and came aboard. He switched on the compass light which shed a dim glow into the cockpit. ‘Can you hold him?’

Kayles’s body writhed under mine. ‘I think so.’

‘I’ll get some rope; plenty of that on a boat.’ Sam plucked the knife from Kayles’s belt and vanished for a moment.

Kayles was recovering his breath. ‘You... you bastard!’ he gasped, and heaved under me and nearly threw me off so I thumped him hard at the nape of the neck with my fist — the classic rabbit punch — and he went limp. I hoped I had not broken his neck.

Sam came with the rope and we tied Kayles’s hands behind his back, and I knew Sam knew enough about seaman’s knots to let him do it. When we had Kayles secure he said, ‘What do we do now?’

Bayliss had allowed his boat to drift off a little way in the gathering darkness. Now I heard his engine rev up and he came alongside again. ‘What you doin’ to that man?’ he asked. ‘I’m havin’ nothin’ to do with this.’

I said to Sam, ‘Let’s get him below, then you can talk to Bayliss. Cool him down because we might need him again.’

We bundled Kayles below and stretched him on a bunk. He was breathing stertorously. Sam said, ‘What do I tell Bayliss?’

I shrugged. ‘Why not tell him the truth?’

Sam grinned. ‘Who ever believes the truth? But I’ll fix him.’ He went into the cockpit and I looked around. Sam had been right about Kayles being a good seaman because it showed. Everything was neat and tidy and all the gear was stowed; a place for everything and everything in its place. Nothing betrays a bad seaman more than sloppiness, and if everything below was trim it would be the same on deck. That is the definition of shipshape. Given five minutes’ notice Kayles could pull up the hook and sail for anywhere.

But a good seaman is not necessarily a good man; the history of piracy in the Bahamas shows that. I turned and looked at Kayles who was beginning to stir feebly, then switched on the cabin light to get a better look at him. I got a good sight of his face for the first time and was relieved to see that Sam had made no mistake — this definitely was the man whose picture had been taken by Sue.

I sat at the chart table, switched on the gooseneck lamp, and began going through drawers. A good seaman keeps a log, an honest seaman keeps a log — but would Kayles have kept a log? It would be useful to have a record of his movements in the past.

There was no log to be found so I started going through the charts. In recording a yacht’s course on a chart it is usual to use a fairly soft pencil so that in case of error it can be easily erased and corrected, or when the voyage is over the course line can be erased and the chart used again. Most yachtsmen I know tend to leave the course on the chart until it is needed for another voyage. A certain amount of bragging goes on amongst boat people and they like to sit around in a marina comparing voyages and swapping lies.

Kayles had charts covering the eastern seaboard of the Americas from the Canadian border right down to and including Guyana, which is pretty close to the equator, and they covered the Bahamas and the whole of the Caribbean. On many of them were course lines and dates. It is normal to pencil in a date when you have established a position by a midday sun sight and you may add in the month, but no one I know puts in the year. So were these the records of old or recent voyages?

Sam came below and looked at Kayles. ‘Still sleeping?’ He went into the galley, unclipped an aluminium pan, and filled it with water. He came back and dumped it in Kayles’s face. Kayles moaned and moved his head from side to side, but his eyes did not open.

I said, ‘Sam, take a look at these charts and tell me if they mean anything.’ We changed places and I stood over Kayles. His eyes opened and he looked up at me, but there was no comprehension in them and I judged he was suffering from concussion. It would be some time before he would be able to talk so I went exploring.

What I was looking for I do not know but I looked anyway, opening lockers and boxes wherever I found them. Kayles’s seamanship showed again in the way he had painted on the top of each food can a record of the contents. I found the cans stowed in lockers under the bunks and he had enough to last a long time. If water gets into the bilges labels are washed off cans, and Kayles had made sure that when he opened a can of beef he was not going to find peaches.

I opened his first-aid box and found it well-equipped with all the standard bandages and medications, including two throwaway syringes already loaded with morphine. Those were not so standard but some yachtsmen, especially single-handers, carry morphine by special permission. If so, the law requires that they should be carried in a locked box and these were not. There were also some unlabelled glass ampoules containing a yellowish, oily liquid. Unlike the morphine syringes they carried no description or maker’s name.

I picked up one of them and examined it closely. The ampoule itself had an amateur look about it as though it was home-made, the ends being sealed as though held in a flame, and there was nothing etched in the glass to tell the nature of the contents. I thought that if Kayles was in the drug-running scene he could very well be an addict and this was his own supply of dope. The notion was reinforced by the finding of an ordinary reuseable hypodermic syringe. I left everything where it was and closed the box.

I went back to Sam who was still poring over the charts. He had come to much the same conclusion that I had, but he said, ‘We might be able to tell when all this happened by relating it to weather reports.’

‘We’ll leave that to Perigord,’ I said.

Sam frowned. ‘Maybe we should have left it all to the Commissioner. I think we should have told him about this man before we left. Are we doing right, Tom?’

‘Hell, I didn’t know it was Kayles before we left. It was just a chance, wasn’t it?’

‘Even so, I think you should have told Perigord.’

I lost my temper a little. ‘All right, don’t drive it home, Sam. So I should have told Perigord. I didn’t. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. Everything has been going to hell in a handcart recently, from Legionnaires’ disease at the Parkway to the fire at the Fun Palace. And we could do without those bloody street riots, too. Do you know what I was doing when you came to my office?’

‘No — what?’

‘Straightening out a mess caused by the Airport Authority. Their baggage-handling machinery ripped a plane-load of suitcases into confetti and I had over 200 Americans in the lobby looking for blood. Any more of this and we’ll all go out of business.’ I swung around as Kayles said something behind me. ‘What was that?’

‘Who the hell are you?’ Kayles’s voice was stronger than I expected and I suspected he had been feigning unconsciousness for some time while working on his bonds. I did not worry about that — I had seen the knots.

‘You know me, Mr Kayles,’ said Sam, and Kayles’s eyes widened as he heard his own name. ‘You’re carrying no riding lights. That’s bad — you could be run down.’ His voice was deceptively mild.

‘Goddamn yacht-jackers!’ said Kayles bitterly. ‘Look, you guys have got me wrong. I can help you.’

‘Do you know much about yacht-jacking?’ I asked.

‘I know it happens.’ Kayles stared at me. ‘Who are you?’

I did not answer him, but I held his eye. Sam said casually, ‘Ever meet a man called Albury? Pete Albury?’

Kayles moistened his lips, and said hoarsely, ‘For God’s sake! Who are you?’

‘You know Sam here,’ I said. ‘You’ve met him before. I’m Tom Mangan. You might have heard of me — I’m tolerably well-known in the Bahamas.’

Kayles flinched, but he mumbled, ‘Never heard of you.’

‘I think you have. In fact I think you met some of my family. My wife and daughter, for instance.’

‘And I think you’re nuts.’

‘All right, Kayles,’ I said. ‘Let’s get down to it. You were hired over a year ago by Pete Albury as crew on Lucayan Girl to help take her from Freeport to Miami. Also on board were my wife and daughter. The boat never got to Miami; it vanished without trace. But my daughter’s body was found. How come you’re still alive, Kayles?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know you, your wife or your daughter. And I don’t know this guy, Albury.’ He nodded towards Sam. ‘I know him because I put my boat in his marina, that’s all. You’ve got the wrong guy.’

Sam said, ‘Maybe we have.’ He looked at me. ‘But it’s easily provable, one way or the other.’ He regarded Kayles again. ‘Where’s your log-book?’

Kayles hesitated, then said, ‘Stowed under this bunk mattress.’

Sam picked up Kayles’s knife which he had laid on the chart table. ‘No tricks or I’ll cut you good.’ He advanced on Kayles and rolled him over. ‘Get it, Tom.’

I lifted the mattress under Kayles, groped about and encountered the edge of a book. I pulled it out. ‘Okay, Sam.’ Sam released Kayles who rolled over on to his back again.

As I flipped through the pages of the log-book I said, ‘All you have to do is to prove where you were on a certain date.’ I tossed the book to Sam. ‘But we won’t find it in there. Where’s your last year’s log?’

‘Don’t keep a log more’n one year,’ said Kayles sullenly. ‘Clutters up the place.’

‘You’ll have to do better than that.’

‘That’s funny,’ said Sam. ‘Most boat folk keep their old logbooks. As souvenirs, you know; and to impress other boat people.’ He chuckled. ‘And us marina people.’

‘I’m not sentimental,’ snarled Kayles. ‘And I don’t need to impress anyone.’

‘You’ll have to bloody well impress me if you expect me to turn you loose,’ I said. ‘And if I don’t turn you loose you’ll have to impress a judge.’

‘Oh, Christ, how did I get into this?’ he wailed. ‘I swear to God you’ve got the wrong guy.’

‘Prove it.’

‘How can I? I don’t know when your goddamn boat sailed, do I? I don’t know anything about your boat.’

‘Where were you just before last Christmas but one?’

‘How would I know? I’ll have to think about it.’ Kayles’s forehead creased. ‘I was over in the Florida keys.’

‘No, you weren’t,’ said Sam. ‘I met you in the International Bazaar in Freeport, and you told me you were going to Miami. Remember that?’

‘No. It’s a hell of a long time ago, and how can I be expected to remember? But I did sail to Miami and then on down to Key West.’

‘You sailed for Miami, all right,’ I said. ‘In Lucayan Girl.’

‘I sailed in my own boat,’ said Kayles stubbornly. ‘This boat.’ He jerked his head at me. ‘What kind of a boat was this Lucayan Girl?’

‘A trawler — fifty-two feet — Hatteras type.’

‘For God’s sake!’ he said disgustedly. ‘I’d never put foot on a booze palace like that. I’m a sailing man.’ He nodded towards Sam. ‘He knows that.’

I looked towards Sam who said, ‘That’s about it. Like I told you, he has this tiddy little diesel about as big as a sewing machine which he hardly ever uses.’

For a moment I was disconcerted and wondered if, indeed, we had the wrong man; but I rallied when Sam said, ‘Why do you keep changing the name of your boat?’

Kayles was nonplussed for a moment, then he said, ‘I don’t.’

‘Come off it,’ I scoffed. ‘We know of four names already — and four colours. When this boat was in the marina of the Royal Palm in Freeport just over a year ago she was Bahama Mama and her hull was red.’

‘Must have been a different boat. Not mine.’

‘You’re a liar,’ said Sam bluntly. ‘Do you think I don’t know my own work? I put up the masthead fitting.’

I thought back to the talk I had had with Sam and Joe Cartwright in my office a year previously. Sam had seen Kayles in the International Bazaar but, as it turned out, neither Sam nor Joe had seen the boat. But he was not telling Kayles that; he was taking a chance.

Kayles merely shrugged, and I said, ‘We know you’re a cocaine smuggler. If you come across and tell the truth it might help you in court. Not much, but it might help a bit.’

Kayles looked startled. ‘Cocaine! You’re crazy — right out of your mind. I’ve never smuggled an ounce in my life.’

Either he was a very good actor or he was telling the truth, but of course he would deny it so I put him down as a good actor. ‘Why did you go to Cat Island?’

‘I’m not saying another goddamn word,’ he said sullenly. ‘What’s the use? I’m not believed no matter what I say.’

‘Then that’s it.’ I stood up and said to Sam, ‘Where do we go from here?’

‘Sail this boat back to Duncan Town and hand him over to the local Government Commissioner. He’ll contact the police and they’ll take it from there. But not until daylight.’

‘Scared of sailing in the dark?’ jeered Kayles.

Sam ignored him, and said to me, ‘I’d like a word with you on deck.’

I followed him into the cockpit. ‘What did you tell Bayliss?’

‘Enough of the truth to shut him up. He’d heard of the disappearance of Lucayan Girl so he’ll stick around and cooperate.’ He picked up the flashlamp Kayles had used and swept a beam of light into the darkness in a wide arc. There came an answering flicker from a darker patch of blackness about 200 yards to seaward. ‘He’s there.’

‘Sam, why don’t we sail back now? I know it’s not true what Kayles said.’

‘Because we can’t,’ said Sam, and there was a touch of wryness in his voice. ‘I was a mite too careful. I was figuring on what might happen if Kayles got loose and I wanted to hamstring him, so I got some of Bayliss’s fish net and tangled it around the propeller. That engine will never turn over now. Then I cut all the halliards so Kayles couldn’t raise sail. Trouble is neither can we. I’m sorry, Tom.’

‘How long will it take to fix?’

‘Splicing the halliards and re-reeving will take more than an hour — in daylight. Same with the engine.’

‘We could take Kayles back in Bayliss’s boat, starting right now.’

‘I don’t think he’d do it,’ said Sam. ‘Fishermen aren’t the same as yachtsmen who sail for fun. They don’t like sailing around at night because there’s no call to do it, so they don’t have the experience and they know it.’ He pointed south. ‘There are a lot of reefs between here and Duncan Town, and Bayliss would be scared of running on to one. You don’t know these folk; they don’t work by charts and compasses like pleasure boat people. They navigate by sea colour and bird flight — things they can see.’

‘You’d be all right on the tiller,’ I said.

‘But Bayliss wouldn’t know that. It’s his boat and he wouldn’t want to lose her.’

‘Let’s ask him anyway,’ I said. ‘Call him in.’

Sam picked up the lamp and flashed it out to sea. There were a couple of answering winks and I heard the putt-putt of the engine as Bayliss drew near. He came alongside, fending off with the boathook, and then passed his painter up to Sam who secured it around a stanchion. Sam leaned over the edge of the cockpit still holding the light. ‘Mr Mangan wants to know if you’ll take us back to Duncan Town now.’

Bayliss’s face crinkled and he looked up at the sky. ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘Might if there was a full moon, but tonight no moon at all.’

I said, ‘Sam here is willing to navigate and take the tiller, too. He’s a good man at sea.’

It was just as Sam had predicted. Bayliss became mulish. ‘How do I know that? This the only boat I got — I don’t want to lose her. No, Mr Mangan, better wait for sunrise.’

I argued a bit but it was useless; the more I argued the more Bayliss dug in his heels. ‘All right,’ I said in the end. ‘We wait for sunrise.’

‘Jesus!’ said Sam suddenly. ‘The knife — I left it on the chart table.’ He turned and looked below. ‘Watch it!’ he yelled. ‘He’s coming through the forehatch.’

I looked forward and saw a dark shape moving in the bows, then there was a flash and a flat report and a spaaaang as a bullet ricocheted off metal. Sam straightened and cannoned into me. ‘Over the side!’

There was no time to think but it made immediate sense. You could not fight a man with a gun on a deck he knew like the back of his own hand. I stepped on to the cockpit seat and jumped, tripping on something as I did so and because of that I made a hell of a splash. There was another splash as Sam followed, and then I ducked under water because a light flashed from the sloop and the beam searched the surface of the water and there was another muzzle flash as Kayles shot again.

It was then I thanked Pete Albury for his swimming lessons on the reefs around Abaco. Scuba gear had just been introduced in those days and its use was not general; anyway, Pete had a hearty contempt for it. He had taught me deep diving and the breath control necessary so that I could go down among the coral. Now I made good use of his training.

I dribbled air from my mouth, zealously conserving it, while conscious of the hunting light flickering over the surface above. I managed to kick off my shoes, being thankful that I was not wearing lace-ups, and the swimming became easier. I was swimming in circles and, just before I came up for more air, I heard the unmistakeable vibrations of something heavy entering the water and I wondered what it was.

I came to the surface on my back so that just my nose and mouth were above water. Filling my lungs I paddled myself under again, trying not to splash. I reckoned I could stay underwater for two minutes on every lungful of air, and I came up three times — about six minutes. The last time I came up I put my head right out and shook the water from my ears.

Then I heard the regular throb of the engine of Bayliss’s boat apparently running at top speed. Ready to duck again if it came my way I listened intently, but the noise died away in the distance and presently there was nothing to be heard. The sound of a voice floated softly over the water. ‘Tom!’

‘That you, Sam?’

‘I think he’s gone.’

I swam in what I thought was Sam’s direction. ‘Gone where?’

‘I don’t know. He took Bayliss’s boat.’

‘Where’s Bayliss?’ I saw the ripples Sam was making and came up next to him.

‘I don’t know,’ said Sam. ‘I think he went overboard, too. He may still be in the boat, though.’

‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ I said. ‘That might have been Bayliss running away, and Kayles might still be around.’

Sam said, ‘I was bobbing under the bows and Kayles was swearing fit to bust a gut. First, he tried to start the engine and it seized up. Then he tried to hoist sail and found he couldn’t. I think it’s fairly certain he took Bayliss’s boat.’

‘Well, if we’re going to find out, let’s do it carefully,’ I said.

We made a plan, simple enough, which was to come up simultaneously on both sides of the sloop, hoping to catch Kayles in a pincer if he was still there. On execution we found the sloop deserted. Sam said, ‘Where’s Bayliss?’

We shouted for a long time and flashed the light over the water but saw and heard nothing. Sam said, ‘It’s my fault, Tom. I botched it. I forgot the knife.’

‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘Which way do you think Kayles went?’

‘I don’t know, but in his place I’d head north. He has fifty miles of fuel and maybe more, and there are plenty of cays up there to get lost in. He might even have enough fuel to get to Exuma.’ He took a deep breath. ‘What do we do now?’

I had been thinking about that. ‘We wait until sunrise, do the repairs, find Bayliss if we can, go back to Duncan Town and report to the Government Commissioner, and have Bill Pinder make an air search for that son of a bitch.’

It was an uneasy night and a worse morning because, while Sam was repairing the halliards, I went under the stern to cut the fish net from around the propeller and found Bayliss jammed in there. He had been shot through the head and was very dead.

That broke up Sam Ford more than anything else and it did not do me much good.