Night Frost (A Mike Faraday Mystery Book 2) Page 4

  3

  The Colonel had his headquarters at the small harbour town of Stanley Bay, which served as the island’s capital. It was about seven miles farther on from the Catamaran, so he stopped off at the hotel to complete his inquiries. Looked like he was making a night of it.

  “You don’t mind?” he asked me apologetically. If this had been in L.A. and the police had kept me up all night I should have told him to go fry a stale yak egg, but he was so polite and all that it never occurred to me.

  “I’m on holiday,” I told him.

  The Colonel’s eyes gleamed with suppressed amusement but he only added mildly, “This won’t take more than a quarter of an hour.”

  We went on into the lounge of the hotel. Two or three bored-looking waiters were standing around or hunched in chairs at the side of the main hall. The manager was nowhere about but McSwayne himself was standing behind the reception desk going through piles of paper with a white police inspector. He didn’t look too happy.

  “Looks like you just lost a paying customer,” I told him. He grunted. The Inspector turned round then and recognising the Colonel tore him off a smart salute, despite the lateness of the hour. I was impressed.

  “Oh,” said the Colonel, fidgeting with his nose, “this is Phillips. Mr. Faraday is helping us with the investigations.”

  The inspector was a pleasant-looking lad of about twenty-eight, I should have said. He gave me a rugged grin as we shook hands.

  “Not much here, sir,” he told Colonel Clay, leafing over the visitor’s book.

  I looked over his shoulder. Our friend out on the beach had registered himself as Carl Grosvenor with an address in North Chicago.

  “We’d better have a look at his room,” said Clay to McSwayne, “and then we’ll call it a night.” This last remark he addressed to me, with an apologetic sideways smile as he led the way up the staircase.

  “You can let those fellows go to bed now,” he said to Phillips. “We shall want them available for questioning tomorrow, of course.”

  I drew the Colonel to one side as Mr. McSwayne fumbled with the key in the lock of Grosvenor’s room.

  “I’ll check on Grosvenor as well when I make that Chicago call tomorrow,” I said. “If you can get a picture we can wire that for identification.”

  “There may be one in his room,” said Clay.

  “If not you’d better lay on a post-mortem picture tonight,” I said.

  The Colonel sucked in his cheeks for a second and then blew them out; I guessed what he was thinking without him saying anything. Death is pretty vulgar, I guess, though the English are good at smoothing it over.

  However, all he said was, “We’ve got him on ice, so we should be able to get a fair likeness.”

  By this time McSwayne had got the door open and was looking impatient so we all trooped in. One coloured constable stayed outside the door, another constable and Clay turned the room up and the owner stood at the end of the bed looking like he’d just woken up in the middle of a nightmare. I went and sat down on the edge of the dressing-table and fought to keep awake.

  If Clay thought he was going to hit the jackpot here he must have been mighty disappointed. Apart from the usual items of clothing; bathing trunks, toilet gear, beachwear, sandals and that sort of thing there was nothing personal at all. Even the valise Clay pounced on so eagerly yielded nothing of interest. I didn’t know, of course, what Grosvenor’s pockets contained: doubtless an inventory would be made at the morgue, or whatever they had on this island.

  But, leaving that possibility aside for a moment, I’d never seen anyone travel with less to identify him than our lean friend. I thought again of his haunted, tired face as I had seen him in the corridor only half a day earlier, and I wondered what strange destiny had sent him out to meet his death at the hands of the two men I had seen in the boat. Unless he had been killed by someone else and the two men were merely carrying out a sombre form of delivery service. I hoped we would know in good time.

  Even Grosvenor’s spare clothing was bare of those small intimate objects that might have given us some inkling of his habits. I lit a cigarette and the thin rasp of the match over the box seemed to exasperate the nerves of Colonel Clay.

  “All right,” he snapped, turning to the constable. “That’ll do for tonight, Mr. McSwayne. We’ll have to seal this room. I’ll leave one man on guard and we’ll go over it again tomorrow.”

  “Don’t forget the P.M. picture,” I told Clay. He looked startled for a second or so.

  “To wire to Chicago,” I reminded him. He looked swiftly round the room and saw that the dressing-table was bare of photographs. He sighed. “Right,” he said. We all went on out.

  4

  I leaned on the door of the patrol car and looked in through the wound-down window to where Colonel Clay sat drumming his fingers on the dash-cubby. The engine idled softly.

  “There’s just one thing,” I asked him. “I don’t carry any weapons on holiday and my Smith-Wesson’s stashed away back in L.A. I’d feel more comfortable with a revolver of some sort. Things are apt to get rough on cases like this.”

  Colonel Clay turned his head towards me. “Sorry, Michael, that’s right out of our style,” he said. “Normally we don’t carry firearms of any sort. Of course we have rifles and that sort of thing in case of riots or special emergency. But we have to get the go-ahead from Nassau. And unless it’s something on the lines of an earthquake or tempest they won’t play ball. I’m sorry, but there it is. And this isn’t really on that scale, is it?” He smiled apologetically.

  “All right,” I told him. “We’ll just have to wait and see how things go.”

  “Good man,” he said. “If it’s justified you can rely on me.”

  “I’m sure I can,” I said.

  “Well,” he said wryly, looking at his wristlet-watch. “See you in a few hours’ time. I’m going to get Nassau on the radio now and have a look at my reports. Let you know the situation in the morning.”

  He waved as the engine gunned and the car gathered speed as it moved off from the hotel forecourt. I went over to the hire Caddy, made sure I had locked it for the night and then went indoors.

  Soon it would be dawn and I had a lot of sleep to make up. McSwayne had turned in but the manager and the night porter were on duty. The manager looked as sore as all hell. Inspector Phillips passed me on the stairs and said a constable was on guard outside the late Grosvenor’s door.

  I looked at my watch; there didn’t seem much point in turning in after this, but I had to get some sack-time. As I went up the corridor to my room, a door opened and a figure in a dressing-gown ejected himself. He was fat, with a red, mottled face, pig-like eyes and a greying moustache lurking under his nose like it was ashamed to come out. His breath smelt of drink and he looked mad. It was instant distaste from the word go.

  “Ha!” he said, waving a finger like a Frankfurter sausage under my nose. “So you’re one of these people making all the noise around the corridors. It’s getting so a guest can’t get to sleep. What the hell d’ye mean by it?”

  I steered my way around him, but it didn’t do any good. He only caught hold of my arm and trundled alongside. His breath was even worse than I expected.

  “Go see the manager,” I advised him.

  “This is outrageous,” he bleated. “You can’t get away with it like this. I shall take it up in the highest quarters.”

  “You do that,” I said, giving him the broad of my hand in his chest. It was only a gentle shove but he stumbled back against the wall for just long enough for me to get my key in the lock. He went puce.

  “Thanks,” I told him. “It was real nice.” I closed the door on his face; he looked like a fish fighting for breath. It was only then that I saw the room wasn’t in darkness. There was a big shape sitting in the chair alongside my bed. The barrel of the gun he held steadily aligned on my navel looked like a Long Tom. It didn’t waver any either.

  “Make yourself at home
,” I said mechanically. His face was hidden in the shadow cast by the bedside lamp but I didn’t have to hear his voice to place him. It was the big muscle boy I had seen down at the Bonefish with my friend in the red T-shirt.

  “Don’t make it rough for yourself, Mr. Faraday,” the gorilla said. His voice sounded almost tired.

  “I don’t carry a gun on holiday,” I said. He stood up then; his bulk seemed to block out all the light in the room.

  “That’s your story,” he said.

  “I couldn’t break the Wolf Cub code,” I told him.

  He gave a sort of vulpine titter; he came over towards me. Close up, he seemed twice as big. I still couldn’t see his face properly.

  “I hope you’re levelling—for your sake,” he said. Just then there came a heavy bang at the door. The big fellow took two rapid hops towards the wall and the gun was back in his hand, rock-steady at my mid-riff.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I know who it is.”

  His gun barrel described two quick arcs in the air; he didn’t say anything but the gesture was more eloquent than speech could have been. His eyes were quite expressionless. I opened the door a fraction. Alcohol fumes blew in my face. It was my fat friend with the skinful.

  “I don’t like your attitude,” he sort of screamed at me. The Frankfurter was back under my nostrils again.

  “I didn’t know it showed,” I said. That made him madder than ever.

  “This is disgraceful,” he spluttered. “I am a gentleman…”

  “Come on over into the light,” I said. “I always wanted to see what one looked like.”

  I felt something stir beside me and the big fellow was at my elbow. He eased round me to block the door. He was bigger still in the light from the hall. Judo or no judo I decided not to mix it with him unless I had to. He looked down at the little man almost amiably.

  “Go pick your nose somewhere else, buster,” he said gently. I couldn’t see his face but it must have been pretty impressive, for the man in the dressing-gown just turned red. Then he spun on his heel and went.

  The big fellow turned back to me; he put the gun back in his pocket and ran me over expertly with both hands.

  “All right,” he said, “get over in that chair and sit still. No funny stuff.”

  “Certainly,” I said mildly. “It’s been nice meeting you but do you mind if we take this up some other time? I’ve had a tiring day and I’d like to get to bed.”

  “This is just a warning,” he said. “Don’t mix it with us or you’ll regret it.”

  “Thanks awfully,” I said. “Sorry you had to come all the way out here just to tell me that. A postcard would have done just as well. Now, if you’d mind stating your business.”

  “You know what I’m talking about, shamus,” he said. “Do I make myself clear? It ain’t healthy…”

  “Dear me,” I said. “And I came out here specially for the purpose of improving my health. This hotel was specially recommended…”

  “Just remember what I said,” he grated, interrupting me. “Just to show you I ain’t foolin’…”

  He picked up a heavy wooden stool at the foot of the bed. Without exerting himself visibly he took it delicately in his two huge hands and plucked it apart, like I would the wings of a butterfly. There was nothing audible in the room but the splintering of wood; he sort of rolled the pieces of the stool between the palms of steel-hard hands and they almost fell to powder.

  “I’ll have to complain to the management,” I said. “That stool must be full of woodworm.”

  The rest of the sentence was lost as he threw the remains down on the carpet with a restrained fury. He picked his gun from the end of the bed where he’d laid it, and it just melted back in his pocket.

  “Remember, shamus,” he repeated.

  “Just tell the desk what you’ve done,” I told him. “I don’t want that put on my bill.”

  My door opened and then shut suddenly in the silence. I grinned and went over and locked it after him. I didn’t think it was worth disturbing Colonel Clay. The big fellow was so strong we couldn’t have detained him at the hotel. And he couldn’t get off the island anyway.

  I undressed quickly and got to bed. I was asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow. I was glad to see my nerves hadn’t suffered.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cucumber Cool

  1

  I was awakened by the shrilling of the telephone at my bedside.

  It was Stella.

  “Do you know what time it is?” she asked. “Colonel Clay has already been on to Mr. McSwayne.”

  “Just a minute,” I said. “I’ve got a mouth full of bedclothes and a throat like I’ve been sleeping out on the beach all night.”

  “I told you scampi doesn’t agree with you,” she said.

  I cut her off short. She was beginning to sound like we were married. I looked at my watch. It was all of a quarter to eight.

  “If he’s coming out, tell him I’ll meet him downstairs for breakfast at half-eight,” I said. “I’ll pick you up in about twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be in the shower,” she said.

  “I should be that lucky,” I told her and rang off. I rolled over, looked up at the ceiling and wondered if my lower jaw was still connected to the upper half of my face. I sure felt rough. Late nights didn’t agree with me like they used to. Still, it had been pretty late, even as late nights go.

  I went over and looked at myself in the mirror. My face was a nice shade of lavender so I didn’t stay long. I went into the bathroom and took a shower. Then I smoked as I dressed. I opened the big French doors leading on to the balcony and went out. The sea came creaming in from the Atlantic in long, lazy swells and met the dazzling pink and white sand down below the hotel. Sailboats were already dotted about and splashes and shrieks of girlish laughter came up from the big crescent-shaped pool in front of the terrace. They weren’t all coming from girls either.

  I smoked, took in the morning air and with it the perfume of the flowers and the wind off the sea. Then I thought of last night, the beach and the big ape with a neat line in chair-dismantling and a frown chased away my vision of the Garden of Eden. There were some dangerous snakes in the garden and we had agreed to smoke them out.

  I finished dressing, put my room key in my pocket and went on out and down the corridor to Stella’s room. A door shut somewhere as I passed but when I looked over my shoulder I couldn’t place the sound and nothing was moving. Stella had a sailor-blue dress on to-day, very simple and child-like, except that it didn’t look at all child-like on her. Not with that figure. She wore tiny jade earrings and she had some sort of bandeau arrangement holding back her hair; at any rate the general effect was good enough to alter my blood-rate, though I didn’t let on to her.

  As we went down to breakfast I filled her in on the latest developments. When I mentioned my visitor her eyes widened and she wrinkled her nose, though whether in distaste at my description of him or disgust at my not mixing it with his fifty stone, I had no way of knowing.

  “He shouldn’t be too difficult to trace,” I said by way of excusing myself, “and he can’t get off the island.”

  “Neither can you, chum,” she said with a significant glance. I got her point.

  “Cheer up,” I said. “I’m sorry about the holiday but that’s war.”

  She squeezed my arm. “Don’t get too involved,” she said. “Do you want me to come along and take notes?”

  I shook my head. “No need for two of us. I couldn’t very well help it the way the cards fell, and it seems to me Clay could do with some assistance. All these fellows carry is a glorified wooden walking stick.”

  She laughed. “Anyway, I hope we shall still see each other occasionally.”

  “It won’t ruin the vacation,” I said.

  “I’ve heard that before,” she told me. I couldn’t top it so I didn’t come back this time.”

  We went in to breakfast. McSwayne was look
ing a little more cheerful. He was sitting having his own breakfast with Mrs. McSwayne and two friends at the corner table permanently reserved for them. He came on over when he saw us sit down. On the way he passed a plump figure which was making its way furtively into the dining-room. As the two skirted each other, the red-faced one turned towards me and I recognised my fat friend of the night before. I gave him a hard stare.

  He started, coughed and then went redder than ever. He pulled away pretty rapidly and set off at a heavy lope out through the dining-room and to an outside table. He made the water buffalo seem like an elegant beast. McSwayne sat down at my nod. He smoked moodily for a minute or two.

  “Don’t worry,” I told him. “These things are just passing shadows.”

  He shrugged. “All the same, I wish I knew what Colonel Clay was up to. It gets a hotel like ours a very bad name.”

  “You’re taking it to heart,” I said. “He didn’t die here, did he?”

  He brightened. “No, that’s true. And he could just as easily have been knocked down in a motor accident.”

  Then a frown chased across his face again. “All the same, I’d be glad to know when the Colonel plans to release the room.”

  “Why don’t you ask him?” said Stella. “He’s just coming in now.”

  The tall, grey-clad figure of the Colonel appeared on the terrace as she spoke. McSwayne looked relieved. “Guess I will,” he said. He slid off the chair and stood up. “See you later.”

  The waiter came just then and we were ordering but when I looked up I could see the two of them standing on the terrace talking.

  “Good morning, young lady. Good morning, Michael.”

  Clay, as he joined us, looked pleased with himself. He was relaxed, his hair and moustache were as trim as the morning, he was freshly shaved and bathed, and if I hadn’t known better I’d have said he’d put in at least ten hours sleep the previous night.

  He sat down almost jauntily and addressed himself to the oversize grapefruit the waiter immediately brought him.