The Killer Touch

Thirteen

Tracy bailed with half of a coconut shell while Burt rowed. He was heading north, but the current pulled him inexorably south into the open sea. The handmade oars twisted in his palms; they were blistered and bleeding when Tracy looked up and shouted:

“Look!”

Burt turned to see a schooner bearing down on them. A moment later O’Ryan leaned out of the wheelhouse and beamed down. “Man, they tell me on Mayero you crazy. I sail over to get the body.”

In the wheelhouse five minutes later, O’Ryan produced a quart of black rum. He looked at Tracy shivering beside Burt and trying not to choke on her rum. “She look nothing like when I see her first.”

“She’s been through a hurricane out in the open.”

“Eh... eh. That was a bad one. Many people die.” He told about a fishing village on St. Vincent which had been destroyed by the storm. Flooding rivers had cascaded down out of the mountains, swept the shingle huts into the sea and buried the site in twelve feet of silt. A hundred bodies had been recovered and the digging continued. O’Ryan then passed from the tragic to the commonplace without changing his tone; Joss’s island seemed to have suffered little damage, he said; a few palms had blown over and half the roof of the beach club was gone. He was sure nobody was hurt, otherwise Joss would have signaled him in.

“You saw her?”

“Yes. She come out on the beach and waved me off.”

Burt frowned, then he understood. No doubt Ace had watched from hiding while he held a gun on Coco or Godfrey or one of the others. Rolf’s men knew how to get the most out of hostages.

“Was there a launch in the lagoon?”

“No.”

Ah, thought Burt, then Rolf’s return had been delayed. There might be a chance to bag the whole crew.

People stared as they walked down the cobbled waterfront street of Kingstown, St. Vincent. O’Ryan had loaned Burt a shirt which was far too big for him, and had produced a gaudy dress with red polka dots which hung from Tracy’s shoulders like a laundry bag. She stumbled beside him, and Burt saw the gleam of perspiration on her pale face.

“Is it coming again?”

“A... little.”

He watched her carefully as he said: “The doctor isn’t too far from here—”

“Don’t say it.” She seized his hand in a painful grip. “I’m too near the edge. Stay with me, don’t let me out of your sight. Please. You’re my backbone.”

The sergeant raised his brows as they stepped into the police station. He was a tall, thin blue-black Negro, dressed in a white jacket, black shorts, and white knee socks. Burt read in his eyes the temptation to eject such a disreputable looking pair, then the second thought that these people were white tourists, and that nothing could be lost in giving them quiet and respectful attention. He offered them chairs, introduced himself as Sergeant George, and fingered the buckle of his leather crossbelt while Burt talked. When Burt finished, he said:

“You’re a detective sergeant?”

“Yes. I don’t have my badge—”

Sergeant George waved his hand. “It wouldn’t have any standing here anyway.” He nudged some papers on his desk. “I recall reading about the ambassador’s death. The papers said nothing about missing diamonds, nor about any international art dealer and his wife. Thieves broke in, shot the ambassador, presumably kidnapped his mistress, girl friend or what have you.” He turned abruptly to Tracy. “He says your husband engineered the robbery. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“You would sign a deposition to that effect?”

“Of course.”

“Not that it would hold up in our court, but it would give me something to take to my superiors.” He turned to Burt. “You understand that nearly everybody is attending the disaster at Layou. The governor as well. All communications are out, so it will be necessary for me to drive up and get the necessary warrants. The roads are washed out, but I should probably be back late tomorrow.”

Burt felt a cold fury pass through him, but he kept his voice level. “Do you know Joss, Sergeant?”

“Of course. Quite a fascinating person—”

“She’s on the island with two gunmen. They’ve already killed one of her boys. While we’re sitting here talking politely, making depositions, and going through channels to make sure we don’t get any demerits against our next promotion, she could be dying.”

The sergeant’s face froze for an instant, his nostrils flaring in anger. Abruptly he stood up, opened a drawer, and took out a pistol in a button-down holster. He clipped it to his belt, reached in another drawer and took out a .32 automatic. He put it on the desk. “Take it. Officially I didn’t give it to you.” He looked at Tracy. “We’ll take you by the hotel,”

“I’m going.”

Burt read in her eyes the fear of being alone. “Yes, she goes with us.”

Sergeant George sighed. “Life was simpler before I became a sergeant anyway. Come on, you two. I’ll requisition a launch at the jetty.”

“What if Rolf comes in at Grenada?” asked Burt.

Sergeant George clenched his jaw muscles, then bowed to Burt in exaggerated politeness. “Thank you, Sergeant, for your assistance. I shall radio the authoritties their descriptions.”

They started across the wide sweep of Kingstown harbor in a battered cabin cruiser which looked as though it had barely survived the Normandy landing. Burt, standing behind Sergeant George at the wheel, looked up through the port and saw a seaplane dropping down for a landing. “Where does it come from?”

“Trinidad, via Grenada.” He looked at Burt.“You suppose they’re on it?”

“Let’s find out.”

Their old cruiser made less than fifteen knots per hour. The floatplane had landed and a customs boat had pulled up alongside by the time they drew near. Burt peered through the window and saw Bunny step onto the customs boat. She looked chic and lovely in her smoke-blue suit.

“That’s her,” said Burt. “She’s alone.”

“I’ll get her.”

“She could be armed.”

“Stay out of sight. I’ll show you what official courtesy can do.”

Burt watched through the porthole as Sergeant George stepped across to the customs boat, spoke a word to the officer, then bent his long body into a bow toward Bunny. She smiled and gave him her arm. He helped her onto the cruiser and opened the bulkhead door for her. Her eyes flew wide as she saw Burt and Tracy. She started to back out of the cabin and bumped into Sergeant George who blocked the door. She clawed open her purse, but Burt leaped forward and jerked it out of her hand. He lifted out a pearl-handled .32 and dropped it into his pocket.

“Where’s Rolf?” asked Burt.

She showed her lovely white teeth in a sneer.

Burt shrugged. “Okay, you’ll make me work for it.” He turned to the sergeant. “Can you get us out into the harbor? I’ll go on deck and have a talk with her.”

When they were out in the harbor, Burt had her standing facing the waist-high railing. She gave Burt a half-smile over her shoulder. “You won’t throw me overboard, fuzz. I know you that well.”

“I’ll make you wish I had.”

He stood for a moment thinking of how she’d tortured him, of Joss and the boys at the mercy of Ace and Hoke, and finally of her plan to take over Tracy’s life after she was dead. The last thought gave him the will needed. With one swift movement he bent and seized her ankles, lifted her, and pushed her forward with his shoulder. She screamed as her head struck the rushing water. Burt held to her silk-clad ankles as she twisted and tried to raise herself. The skirt fell over her head and he noted that she’d worn the black panties decorated with kissing red lips. He counted to ten, then pulled her back halfway across the railing. “Where’s Rolf?”

She coughed and sputtered. “Go to hell, you dirty—”

The water stopped her voice as he lowered her again. This time he counted to twenty. When he pulled her up, she collapsed on deck and threw up a gallon of sea water.

“He’s... coming in at Grenada...” she gasped finally. “He’s got the man with him... the man with the money. He planned to stop off for Tracy.”

“Why?”

“To use her to... make you tell where you hid the diamonds.”

Back in the cabin, she slumped on the low bench which ran across one wall. Burt told Sergeant George what he’d learned.

“That counts him out,” said the sergeant. “They’ll pick him up in Grenada. Now how do we get the others without getting Joss killed?”

Burt looked back along the low cabin. Tracy sat in a corner with her knees under her chin, her gaudy dress pulled down to her ankles. The faint trembling of her shoulders told him she was fighting a silent private battle. Bunny sat across from her in the damp wrinkled suit, her hair like a wet mop atop her skull. Her chic, expensive look was gone; she now looked as beaten as, Tracy. Looking from one to the other, Burt was surprised to see how near Bunny had come to making herself a perfect copy of Tracy. He walked back and knelt in front of Tracy. “There’s something you could do,” he said. “It’s risky, but it might save the lives of five other people.”

She raised her head and regarded him gravely. “I’ll do anything you say. You should know that.”

Her complete trust nearly caused him to abandon his plan, but he had no other. “All right. Change clothes with Bunny. You’re going to be a decoy.”

Bunny, with her shapeless polka dot dress a forecast of less colorful but no less shapeless prison garb, was left on Bequia in the custody of a corporal and his six-by-six concrete jail. Sergeant George had exchanged his uniform for the clothes of an island seaman: white canvas trousers cut off at the knees, a sleeveless undershirt, and no shoes.

Burt watched the island draw near in the late afternoon sun. He was relieved to see nobody on the tower; Ace’s vigilance must have waned during the long days of solitude. Burt directed Sergeant George to approach the island from the west; the sun would be at their backs, he explained, and a tongue of rocks screened the sea from the clubhouse. He wrapped his gun in oilskin and sat down to remove his sneakers. “I’ll be behind them in ten minutes. Tracy, just show your head and shoulders above the cabin. Don’t talk!”

“Yes, Burt.” She knelt in the wrinkled suit, smelling faintly of wet wool. She kissed him with lips that were hot and cracked but strangely sweet. “Don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself.”

He crawled to the side, slipped over into the water and stroked silently along the rocks. He crawled out onto a hidden patch of sand and unwrapped the gun from its waterproof cocoon. Holding it in his right hand, he crawled through the low bush until he was twenty yards from the beach club. He could hear the low grinding of the boat’s diesel engine. He peered out and saw Joss sitting on the steps of the beach club, her face like that of a robot which has been turned off. Coco lay in the sand with his hat over his eyes. Godfrey sat beside him and pulled ravelings from his frayed shorts. Hoke stood behind the bar, his shotgun resting on the polished wood and pointing at Joss’s back. Ace walked down to the jetty, shading his eyes and peering toward the sound of the launch.

Burt watched the launch approach the break in the rocks; his stomach sank when he saw how vulnerable Tracy looked in Bunny’s suit, like a small girl dressed up to play adult. Burt held his breath, then Ace called over his shoulder. “Okay, Hoke! It’s Bunny.”

The big man left the club and walked toward the beach. Burt waited until both men stood on the jetty, then he ran out in front of the club.

“You’re covered, Ace! Don’t move!”

As though it triggered a reflex action, Ace doubled over and swung his gun around. Before he completed the half-turn, Burt fired. Ace threw his arms wide and did a backflip off the jetty. Burt swung the gun to Hoke, who dropped the shotgun and raised his arms. Burt walked forward and looked down at Ace. A redness oozed from his chest and tinted the crystalline water a delicate pink. The gentle surf rocked his lifeless head from side to side as though he were saying, in a slow, tired manner, no... no... no...

“Burt!” Joss seized his neck and shouted in his ear. “They said you were dead. When you jumped in front of me, I thought... good God! I’ve really wigged out now.”

Sergeant George nosed the launch up to the jetty; Burt helped him tie Hoke and lay him in the cabin. Joss invited everybody to the club for drinks, and Burt remembered the diamonds.

“I’ll join you later,” he said.

Tracy ran up and seized his hand. “You don’t leave me, remember?”

They walked along the path, past cabins four, three, and two. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“To a certain cave—”

He stopped, frozen. Rolf had stepped out from behind the banyan with the gun leveled in his fist.

“Don’t move, Burt. She gets the first shot. Tracy, take that gun from his pocket and bring it to me.”

She hesitated, and Burt licked his dry lips. A burst of Joss’s half-hysterical laughter came from the direction of the club.

“Do as he says,” Burt told her.

She delivered the gun to Rolf, who dropped it in his pocket. He caught her arm and pulled her in front of him. “All right, Burt. Take me to the diamonds.”

“You won’t hurt her?”

“You’re in a poor bargaining position, but...” he shrugged. “Show me the diamonds and she goes unharmed.”

Burt led the way across the crusted grass. He remembered the last time he had made this trip, with Ace and Hoke behind him. He had known they would kill him; he was not certain about Rolf. The man could kill on a momentary whim, true, but a similar whim could stop him from killing. Rolf was logical in his own way; perhaps the diamonds would be enough...

“They were watching for you in Grenada,” he said. “What happened?”

“I saw them before they saw me. They weren’t watching for a man carrying a baby.” Rolf chuckled. “It pays to be chivalrous. My companion wasn’t, and he got caught.”

Burt climbed down the low cliff and started along the pebble beach. He heard Rolf’s voice behind him:

“Something like old home week, isn’t it, Tracy? I presume he took you off the island. Has he been treating you well?”

“Better than you ever did.”

“Isn’t that sweet?”

Burt heard a low grunt of pain. He turned to see Tracy fall forward onto her hands. He clenched his fists and took a step forward. Rolf pressed the gun against the back of her neck.

“Come on, March. Come and get her killed.”

Burt stopped, trembling with suppressed rage. “You only get one shot, Rolf. Then I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

“Ah, the beast is out, is it?”

“It will be if you kill her.”

“What if I kill you first?”

“You never find the diamonds.”

Rolf nodded slowly. “Beautiful. Beautiful impasse. I like you for an enemy, Burt.” He straightened. “Get up, Tracy.”

When they were walking again, Rolf said, “You must have had an interesting time on the island, Tracy. Plans for the future and all that. Will he be your connection? It won’t be hard for a cop.”

“I don’t use it any more.”

His only answer was laughter.

Burt walked along the low cliff, thinking fast and getting nowhere. He could have escaped easily, but the fact that Rolf had Tracy made it useless. He couldn’t depend on Rolf not to kill her...

Burt saw the lamplight before he entered the cave, but Maudie wasn’t there. She must have heard the launch coming and run up to the hills. Burt turned as Tracy came in, followed by Rolf.

“Where are they?”

“Let her walk out of here first,” said Burt. “When she’s out from under the gun, I’ll show you.”

Rolf’s teeth showed like fangs in the lamplight. “You picked a poor time for an ultimatum, Burt. The diamonds are here?” His eyes flicked around the cave. “Sure. This is that girl’s rathole. Over there, both of you.” He shoved Tracy over beside Burt and had them both squat down with their hands clasped above their heads. Then he rummaged swiftly through Maudie’s trove of treasures. Finding nothing, he started checking each crevice in the cave wall. The gun never left Tracy’s heart; Burt was watching it.

“We made a deal, Rolf. I thought you always fulfilled your contracts, even with Nazis.”

“Technically,” said Rolf, “you have taken me to the diamonds, though I don’t have them yet. And technically I am fulfilling my contract. I haven’t killed Tracy — yet.”

Burt’s heart sank. “Why should you kill her?”

“Because I can.”

“Then it’s as good as done, isn’t it?”

Rolf frowned, tugging at the rock Burt had jammed against the box. “You sound as though you have a point to make.”

“I mean,” said Burt, “you’d be getting a sitting duck. There’d be no problem in killing her, a little touch on the trigger and the machine stops. Click. She’s dead, and there’s no more kick than shutting off a radio.”

“Maybe to you—”

“To you, too. Man, I know this score. Half the kick is anticipation, the other half is danger. Getting the other guy before he gets you. You think you’re unique in this world? Rolf Keener, the incomparable killer? You and a hundred thousand Nazis, you and Caligula, you and probably a billion others since the beginning of time. You go around shutting other people off because you see yourselves in them, and you hate what you see.”

“You see yourself in me?”

“Sure.”

“You hate me?”

“I understand you. That cancels out the rest of it.”

Rolf’s lip curled. “You want to take me in and be a character witness for me?”

“I want you to take the diamonds and go.”

“Suppose I were caught—”

“I’d do all I could to see you fry.”

Rolf laughed. “That’s better, Burt. I thought you were about to come on with violin music. Ah!” He pulled out the strongbox. Burt rocked forward on his feet, and Rolf’s gun boomed like thunder in the cave. A rock fragment gouged Burt’s cheek.

“Sit tight, Burt. We haven’t finished our talk.”

Rolf spun the combination, opened the strongbox, and glanced at the glittering fortune nestled in velvet. With his left hand he began stuffing the diamonds in his pocket. When one pocket was full, he shifted the gun and began filling the other. To make room, he took out Burt’s gun and dropped it behind him. To Burt he said: “You seemed about to suggest another deal. What was it?”

“A hand-to-hand fight. Winner take all.”

Rolf laughed. “You always suggest that when you’re at my mercy. I’m already the winner.” He finished emptying the strongbox and stood up. “Let’s put it up to Tracy. Tracy, you want to stay and die with him, or you want to live with me?”

Tracy gasped. “You mean, Burt—”

“He lives — if you come with me.”

She looked at Burt, and he read the anguish in her eyes. “Decide for yourself,” he said.

“I did that a week ago. I’d rather die than live with him.”

“Then that’s your answer.”

“Look here, Tracy, before you decide.” Rolf squatted on his heels and opened his palm. Inside it was a small white capsule.

She gasped. “No!”

“You could sniff it right here. Right now.”

“I don’t... want it.”

Rolf moved his hand, and the capsule landed at her feet. She stared down at it, trembling, the sweat beading her brow. Rolf spoke softly:

“You just imagine you’ve kicked the habit. You really haven’t. You’ll go back to it sooner or later. Why go through a lot of pain—?”

Burt saw his chance and lunged between Rolf and Tracy. The gun boomed, and the bullet ripped through his upper arm like a lance of fire. Burt drove his knee into Rolf’s face and knocked him backward. He leaped on Rolf and ground his knee into the other’s throat. He seized the wrist of Rolf’s gun-hand in both of his, hammering the knuckles against the rock until the fingers gave up the gun. Burt seized it just as Rolf arched his back and threw him off. Burt rose to see Rolf lunge out of the cave. Burt ran out behind him and saw him wading through the black water.

“Stop!” he shouted.

“Shoot me,” yelled Rolf.

Burt fired, and his bullet struck sparks from the rock beside Rolf’s head. Rolf left the crevice and turned right. Burt followed and saw that Rolf had walked out on a blind ledge, fifteen feet above the rocky beach. He stood with his back to the wall, his face smeared with blood.

“All right, Rolf,” said Burt. “Come on back.”

Rolf threw back his head and laughed. “You’ll have to shoot me.”

“The state handles executions.”

“They don’t have the right! A bunch of moronic electricians, what have they done? They didn’t beat me. You did. So shoot!”

Burt started edging toward him.

“Your gun isn’t much good, is it?” Rolf laughed and leaped headfirst off the ledge. Burt thought he’d decided to dash out his brains on the rocks, but the lean body knifed the water three feet beyond the rocks and came up swimming. Burt saw the power cruiser riding at anchor a hundred yards out. He felt a curdling anger in his stomach; Rolf had been sure he wouldn’t shoot. Now Rolf was getting away; the old diesel could never catch him.

Burt dived out over the rocks, thankful that the beach was narrower here; he struck the water, arched his back, and came up swimming with all his strength. He saw that he was slowly closing the gap. Thirty feet, twenty...

A twinge in his arm reminded him of the wound. Losing blood... He heard Tracy’s distant scream. He glanced over his shoulder to see a huge dorsal fin knifing through the water. Tiger shark, he thought in panic, must have been nosing around the rocks. He saw the fin turn sideways as the monster twisted for the bite. Burt surfaced, dived, and clawed for depth. He glimpsed a bulking shadow above him, then a huge body like a stucco wall slammed against him and sent him spinning down into the depths. He rose slowly, watching for the monster’s second pass. It didn’t come, and Burt saw why. Rolf was sinking down through the sunbeams that speared the air-clear water, turning slowly over and over. It was an oddly foreshortened Rolf, ending at his hips. Each stump gave forth a blue fountain which turned to red and drifted away like tenuous pink veils. The impossibly huge bulk of the shark returned, and the scene dissolved into churning red froth. Burt turned and stroked rapidly back to shore.

Tracy was waiting on the rocky beach. “Rolf—?”

“He’s dead.”

She lowered her head and looked at the capsule in her palm. “I’ve been holding this, fighting with myself...”

“Yes?” said Burt. “Who won?”

“There are no winners,” she said. She tossed the capsule into a pool of water trapped by the rocks. Together they watched the ripples spread out and disappear.