In Harm's Way (A Martin Billings Story Book 3) Read online

  That got his attention. He touched the tips of his fingers together and smiled as if he’d never done that before. “That would be a fascinating spin, one that I’d want her to come in here and tell me… make that story all official, along with the name of the killer. Is the killer’s name the new information you have for me?”

  I let out a breath. “Not exactly, although I will give you a name — a new one. I don’t know if it’s real, though. The new information is more that last night, she showed up on my boat,” I said, holding up a hand to keep him from interrupting. “She isn’t there now, and I don’t know where went. Once she said her piece and asked me to tell you her story, she ran off.”

  He chewed over that, taking the thoughtful approach. “You tell me you don’t know her, just met her on that reef, and now you are saying she came to you for help?”

  “That’s right. According to her, when Davis was killed, she ran because she was certain the killer was after her she was in danger. That’s why she disappeared. But she doesn’t know anyone on the island. She came to me because I had a boat. She thought I might help her escape.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Partly because she was waving a gun around and threatening to use it to get that help.”

  “And you still said no?”

  “Not exactly. I did talk her out of that plan. I explained what a bad idea running away could be, both in the way it would make her look guilty and how unlikely it was to be successful. I told her you expected me here today and if I didn’t show, and you found out my boat was gone, we could expect to be hauled over by the Coast Guard.”

  “You lied to her,” he said, smiling.

  “I stretched the truth. She believed me, but was not pleased. Since I was coming here, she gave me a little more information, told me what she claims is the whole story. She asked me to tell it to you and see if you’ll be willing to help her out.”

  I decided it might be best to leave out the part about our other activity. That would definitely muddy the waters.

  The Inspector sat back. “I do like a good story, but I prefer them from the source.”

  “I do understand that. But part of her story is that she is too frightened to come in here.”

  “Then please pass along what I am supposed to hear.”

  I settled in. “The key points are that she came here, to St. Anne, running from her boyfriend who is trying to kill her. The why of that is another story, we can get to that later. Her friend — ”

  “Warren Davis?”

  I nodded. “Right. An ex boss, who picked her up in Grenada and brought her here. Then, the other day, she was ashore when she spotted boyfriend and a friend of his. They’d sailed in on another yacht. They went straight to WANDERER and after they left, she found the man dead. She got underway in fear for her life.”

  “That’s a good story,” he said.

  “It gets better.”

  “She told you more?”

  “Not exactly, but I ran into yet another version of the story. Now this one I’m not supposed to tell you, but I should because it confirms and contradicts aspects of her account in interesting ways. It also complicates things. I said I wouldn’t tell you the story unless you specifically asked. Would you like to hear it?”

  “She told you a second story?”

  “No. Donna doesn’t even know I’ve heard it.”

  “Then please tell me this other story. He smiled broadly. “I do believe you have my full attention, Captain Billings.”

  “While you were out detecting this morning, I went to The Barracuda to wait. When I got there, I was approached by a man who told me his name is Nate Devro, and he is here tracking down his wife.”

  “Confirming that someone is looking for her but contradicting the boyfriend part. You do know how to weave a yarn,” he said. “Continue.”

  “I’d asked her for a description of the boyfriend, and there is no doubt this was the guy. He admitted that he sailed in with a friend named Nick. Again, his facts fitting her version. This Nick wasn’t chatty, so I didn’t get his last name. Maybe, if they actually checked in, Walter would know what name he’s traveling under. Anyway, Nate told me that they guessed she’d run to meet Warren Davis and get his help. They followed her to Grenada and chartered a bare boat and followed her here.”

  “Let me check that with Walter and find out when they arrived and where they came from.”

  “Good.”

  “Do go on.”

  “The difference in the stories, the real divergence, lies in the significant details. Donna Devro says that this Nate is a professional killer. She accidentally discovered that and he wants to kill her because he found out she was turning him in to the feds. According to him, Donna is his paranoid and delusional wife escaped from a mental facility and is crazy. He is a concerned husband who came here to whisk her back to get the care she desperately needs.”

  The inspector clucked his tongue. “Crazy or not, that ain’t happening. That woman is a prime suspect in a murder.”

  “Funny thing, that’s what I told Nate. I explained the whole talk-to-the-embassy thing. He struck me as the impatient sort and he isn’t keen on going through all the paperwork to get her brought back for treatment. That’s the reason he gave for asking me not to tell you his version of the story. I said I wouldn’t unless you asked.”

  “Which is why you got me to ask.”

  “Brilliant deduction.”

  “There is no way I gonna let her stay loose on we island where she or her husband neither one might kill a next man. That’s my job, seeing no more folks get killed.”

  The man had a valid point as well as a duty to his people, but I wasn’t sure he got all the complications and ramifications. “The thing is, if she is telling the truth that this Nate is a professional killer, and she turns herself in, then you risk having her killed while she is in your custody.”

  “But now we know to watch careful like.”

  “You might be a well-trained law-enforcement professional yourself, but, if she is telling the truth, are your deputies and jailers up to the challenge of dealing with a professional killer? Even if they could keep him away, if she is telling the truth and you lock her up the real killer can sail away. How will you close the case?”

  He leaned forward, studying me. “You think she is telling the truth?”

  I laughed. “I think they are both lying out their asses, and they both would have a motive for murder if the other is telling the truth. His idea that Warren Davis brought her here and then she killed him because he wouldn’t take off when Nate showed up seems skinny to me.”

  “They could have had a falling out of some kind.”

  “That’s true enough. Like I said, either one could be the killer. Even in my limited experience, I’ve found that people kill for reasons that seem strange to everyone else. And honestly, I don’t have a clue what’s going on with these people, much less what their motives might be.” I leaned close. “Personally, having less investment in closing the case than you, I just wish these people would all go home. Alternatively, having you arrest all three would suit me fine.”

  The inspector’s eyes rolled back in his head as he considered the possibilities, the options, the liabilities. He was, after all, both a member of the community and a law-enforcement professional with a reputation to think of. “Well, I’ll can tell Walter that boat is not to leave the island.”

  “As a formality, I suppose that makes sense. But if they decide to run, it isn’t effective. In the islands a boat can just sail off without checking out. I’m positive that Nate is ready to do it in a heartbeat if he gets his hands on Donna. Hell, people do it all the time for less reason.”

  “I’ll have the coast guard watch it.”

  “The entire country has two Coast Guard cutters. One is in the boatyard and Everett’s is up island.”

  The inspector grimaced. “You seem to have all the answers
.”

  “No, just questions and problems.”

  “And my prime suspect.”

  “I don’t have her. I honestly don’t know where she is. I don’t even want to know where she is. She’d been nothing but trouble. I tried to get her to stay on my boat while we talked, but she saw right through me. She told me she didn’t trust me, and guessed I’d happily turn her over to you. She was right. I’d much rather have you deal with her.”

  He smiled. “So what help can you give me?”

  I held out my hands, some vague gesture of honesty, I suppose. “Besides telling you everything I know? When she calls me, I can tell her whatever you want me to, but that’s it. And I’d rather you didn’t use me to deliver the woman into a trap.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I am trying to distance myself from the entire mess. And, on the off chance she is telling the truth, I don’t want to be responsible for getting her executed without a trial.”

  His face darkened. Too late, I realized I’d implied he couldn’t protect her — again. “Are you sure you don’t know where she is?” he asked. “No idea at all?”

  “None. The deal is she will call me later so that I can tell her what you said.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Why did you agree to do that? You knew I wasn’t exactly convinced of your story. Coming here and telling me hers doesn’t help you convince me that you aren’t somehow part of this.”

  He had me on that. “I heard her out. I thought her story had some truth in it. She’s being stupid but deserved to have her story passed along.”

  “And then this Nate told you a different story that also has some truth in it.”

  “Yup. And the fact that she lied about everything from the start made him sound reasonable by comparison.”

  “And she might be using you to keep the confusion going. Telling you to talk to me could be just a way of giving her time to get off the island.”

  I gave him my most innocent smile. “She might. I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s possible.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  “No. I think she is focused on getting our help with Nate. I believe that she considers him some kind of threat.”

  “And this Nate? How you see that man?”

  I looked at the man’s face. On some level, the Inspector had taken a measure of me. Either he believed me and wanted my opinion, or he was sure I was a chronic liar and wanted to hear what tale I’d spin. “He is too cool a customer. His ‘concern’ seems bogus, almost detached.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His words are those of a caring, long-suffering husband, but sounded rehearsed to me, and this plan of his… deciding to kidnap her to take her back for treatment, risking becoming an accessory to murder without even knowing if she’s innocent or guilty, doesn’t strike me as the kind of thing most men would do.”

  “I would hope not,” he said.

  “This pal of his, Nick, doesn’t strike me as a friend who is tagging along, trying to help out.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll understand when you meet him,” I said. “It’s a visceral thing, something you feel. He is a dangerous type — not a smart man, more of a brute, a vicious dog impatiently waiting to be let off the leash.” I sighed. “Hell, Inspector, both of these people are gaming you and me. Donna and Nate are way too calm about things that would have most people anxious. That leaves me with no idea what to believe.”

  The inspector turned in his chair and looked at the large map of the island on his wall. It was one of those tourist maps that has more information about the various businesses catering to visitors than about the island itself. Still, if you knew the island, it was a useful reminder of the relative positions of things.

  “While we wait for the woman to do the right thing, I gonna see what I can find out about the three of them,” the inspector said. “I’ll call the Port Captain and see what he can tell me about these men and their boat. I can contact the authorities in the US and see if there is anything going on about any of them. If the man is a professional killer, or the woman escaped from a mental institution, someone up there should know something.”

  “That’s a start,” I agreed. As I got to know the man, I grew to admire his professional approach. Maybe Scotland Yard training, and the connections he’d made, would serve the island well.

  “We need to collect more information and figure out what’s true. I guess this Nate character won’t be willing to drop by and supply the name of her doctor so we can check out his story.”

  “He doesn’t want you to even know he exists.”

  “For the moment, let him think I don’t. It doesn’t seem like if I called him in he’d add much to what he told you, and probably just point out that he’s done nothing and I’ve got no reason to talk to him officially. He might even deny he knows her.”

  “Good guess.”

  “When that woman calls, you tell her that if she agrees to meet with me, it doesn’t have to be here or in public. And, if she tells me a good story, one that makes me believe she is in danger, I gonna send officers out to that boat and bring both them men in. You remind her that this is a small island, and she is a wanted criminal, at least until she gives me reason to think otherwise.”

  That was about all I had expected, the best I could hope for. “When she calls me, I’ll tell her that you are willing to go that far.” I grinned. “It’s truly out of my hands. I’m just an innocent bystander that got sucked up in this mess.”

  “See that you stay that way,” he said. “Not that I necessarily believe you are so innocent.” He sighed and nodded to the door. I took it as a hint and stood up. “One way or another I’m going to eventually have to get them all in here and compare their stories. That’s the only route to the truth. But I can wait until we know if the woman really has a problem, if she is in some kind of danger. Meantime my men gonna see what people around the docks know; see if they can determine who was actually around the boat when Mr. Davis got killed.”

  “A timeline with their movements probably would be nice,” I said.

  He nodded toward the back room. “It gonna be a helluva lot easier to get answers with these people behind them bars.”

  It would indeed. But if they were as dangerous as my instincts suggested, getting them there might be a helluva chore.

  10

  When I got back to The Barracuda, I found Bill alone at his table, staring out across the yacht basin, his attention focused on a young couple busily attempting to anchor a yacht in a space clearly far too small for it to fit in easily. Their frenetic actions told us they didn’t have the skills needed to accomplish the task, and our trained eyes told us that having enough skill wouldn’t matter.

  “Five pounds of shit just won’t fit in a one-pound bag,” was the way Bill summed it up.

  Even if they did squeeze their boat into that space, even if they managed to set the anchor without hitting the boats on either side, there was no room for it to swing at anchor. Every boat swings differently at anchor, the change in its position due to wind and tide, depending on its hull shape, type and size of keel, length to width ratio, and numerous other factors. Experienced sailors defaulted to simply leaving plenty of room to turn 360 degrees without hitting anything, and this couple wasn’t even close.

  “The afternoon show seems to have new players,” I said, sitting down at the table.

  “We are watching a demonstration, not only a lack of seamanship, but of a complete inability to future pace,” he muttered, “or perhaps the inability to visualize what might happen.”

  “Or indifference to the consequences of their actions,” I suggested. “They want to be close to the marina dock so they can save themselves a few feet of dinghy ride.”

  Bill snapped his fingers. “Excellent diagnosis. Another form of hubris. Speaking of hubris… tell me about the sta
te of the current fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” he said.

  “Me? What mess did I get you into?”

  His grin told me he was enjoying my discomfort. “I’m not exactly sure, but I have a strong hunch that you and your good deed doing have ensnared us once again, as your ex-wife would say — and probably did many times before she had the sense to run away.”

  I winced. “If you don’t mind, let’s leave Polly out of this and all future discussions, entirely. And don’t blame me. The things I do, I do for you.”

  He snapped a look at me. “For me? How does that work? I’m not capable of getting into my own trouble?”

  “You can and do, but I’ve noticed that you have a short attention span. I catch you daydreaming about sailing a junk-rigged boat around the world with a sweet lady beside you, and other fanciful stuff. Without the fine messes I stir up you’d get bored and move on, leaving me to find a crew.”

  Bill saw the truth in it. “Then you might even need to figure out a way to pay the help. That would lead to the inevitable downfall of your plans to emerge as a shipping magnate.”

  “Don’t get carried away, now.”

  “Besides, I don’t work for you. We are partners.”

  “Minor details; distracting irrelevancies.”

  It bothered me that Bill’s mention of Polly stung. He barely knew her; she’d left me right after I bought into the freighter with him. That had been the straw on the camel’s back. She didn’t understand, or support, or like, my need for a career change. She didn’t like it enough that she divorced me. That was ten years ago now.

  Breaking up our marriage didn’t exactly leave her heartbroken. She was angry — with me, but after a single one of those ten years, she’d remarried. It stung that she’d picked a guy who was on the same fast track I’d walked away from. I’d left a path, and apparently that path meant more to her than our marriage. From what I’d heard, she found happiness with her new stolid husband, a big house in Maryland, and a rapidly rising career in national politics.

  At one level, I understood Polly’s dissatisfaction with me. If she’d stayed, she would have had a piece of rusty freighter and a rustier future that had to build on the shambles of my Navy career. That it became a shambles was of my own doing and she never forgave me for it. And, as Bill reminded me, the way I threw up my career was directly tied to this very issue — my need to help people, my habit of compulsively stepping up and poking my nose into other people’s business. I just couldn’t seem to leave things alone.