“You’re covered. Where is he?”
I waved him to a chair, then sitting down myself, I told him the story. I was careful to keep myself out of it, saying my informer had been the guy who had discovered Pofferi on the island. Watching Coldwell, as I talked, I could see he didn’t believe me, but he had said he would cover me, and when Coldwell said anything like that, I could rely on him.
When I had finished, he sat back and stared at me.
“You are sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Pofferi and his wife, Lucia, are in Hamel’s house right now. They have Nancy there. When the estate is settled, they will force Nancy to sign a batch of cheques, then they will murder her. They will then bleed the estate white and take off. They have Hamel’s yacht. It’s not far to Cuba. From there, they will move the money to Italy.”
He thought for some moments, then he nodded.
“I’ll get it organized. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you under cover. I’ll talk to Terrell. I’ll need some of his men to stake out the house until we are ready to move in.”
“You have all the time in the world,” I said. “They’ll stay still until the estate is settled. They couldn’t have a safer hideout.”
“Yeah. We’ll move in tomorrow.”
“Watch it, Lu. Those three are dangerous. You’ll have a shootout.”
He grinned wolfishly.
“That’ll save the expense of a trial.”
When he had gone, I went down to the garage and got into the Maser.
As I drove fast to Paradise Largo, I thought of Nancy Hamel. A bright idea came into my fertile mind. When she was free and inherited all those lovely millions, I could go to her, explain how I had saved her life, give her my respectful smile and hint she should reward me.
That, I thought, was the least she could do.
Chapter nine
I sat up in the tree and looked down at the ranch house. There was a light behind the curtain windows of the living room. From time to time, a shadow passed: Pofferi, then Jones. The rest of the house was in darkness. There was no action, but I waited until the light went out and a light went on in two of the bedrooms. I waited until those lights went out, then I climbed down and walked to the cottage.
While I watched, I had been using my brains. I decided that my first idea about going to Nancy, after she had been rescued and claiming that I had saved her, and how about some financial reward, was hasty thinking. I reminded myself that I had already tried to put the squeeze on her. She would be hostile when the time came for me to give her my respectful smile.
Bart, baby, I said to myself, you’ll have to find a different approach. You need help to swing this. You need to give this a lot more thought.
I settled on the couch in the living room of the cottage, ate the beef sandwiches Jarvis had left me, and I worked at it until my brain began to creak. Around 02.15, I had a workable solution. I took a long look at this solution, decided it would hold together, patted myself on the back, then I went to sleep.
I woke as the sun came through the curtains. The time was 07.30. I roused myself, took a shower, shaved, dressed, then stepped out into the warm air, looking hopefully for Jarvis to bring breakfast.
When he did arrive, I was looking like an alert guard who had been on the job throughout the night.
I asked after the old nut.
“He is still very upset, Mr. Anderson,” Jarvis said as he placed the loaded tray on the table. “I am keeping him under sedation.”
“Best thing,” I said as I sat down. There were pancakes, sausages, grilled ham and a pile of scrambled eggs.
Jarvis sat by my side as I ate. He talked of his friend, Washington Smith. I listened and did a lot of sad head wagging, but the recital didn’t stop me eating.
“It is something I can’t understand,” Jarvis said. “People who are rich enough to employ servants are unpredictable. To be dismissed after fifteen years’ service! It is quite shameful.”
I said it was, finished the coffee, then patted his arm.
“I can’t see that happening to you, Mr. Jarvis.”
“I trust not, but Mr. Herschenheimer is also unpredictable.”
Taking the tray, he left me. I went down to the tree, climbed it and surveyed the ranch house. Josh Jones was standing in the doorway of the front door, smoking. Around his waist, cowboy style, was a gun belt from which dangled a mean-looking.45. Hidden in the foliage of the tree, I watched him. He remained there, breathing in the warm air, motionless and menacing. I told myself that Coldwell and his men wouldn’t have a picnic when they moved in.
After a while, he stepped back and closed the front door. I waited, but there was no further action. I wondered what was happening to Nancy. Maybe, like the old nut, she was under sedation.
When it was 11.30, I returned to the cottage and waited for Carl to relieve me. As soon as he arrived, I got in the Maser and headed for Mel Palmer’s office.
Palmer’s secretary was a sexy-looking doll with Venetian red hair and a bust line that would make a brigade of guards misstep. She eyed me the way she would eye a roach in her soup.
“Mr. Palmer,” I said, giving her my sexy smile. “Bart Anderson.”
“Have you an appointment, Mr. Anderson?” Cool and distant as the moon.
“Just tell him. I don’t need an appointment.”
She hesitated, then rising from behind her desk, she went into an inner office. She was a tail-wagger: a condition that always makes me horny.
She stood in the doorway and jerked her head.
“Mr. Palmer will see you.”
As I passed her, my right hand strayed, but that had happened to her countless times, and my hand encountered nothing.
Palmer, dwelling behind a big cigar, regarded me doubtfully.
“What is it, Anderson?”
I selected a comfortable chair and sat down.
“Your client, Mrs. Nancy Hamel,” I said. “She is your client?”
“Of course. What about her?” He looked impatiently at his watch. “I have an important lunch date.”
“This is something you will want to hear, and it can’t be rushed. Did you know Mrs. Hamel had an identical twin sister?”
He blinked.
“No, but is that important?”
“The twin is Lucia Pofferi, an Italian terrorist wanted for two murders. Her husband, Aldo Pofferi, is also a terrorist; one of the leaders of the Italian Red Brigade, wanted for at least three murders, and I have proof he murdered Russ Hamel.”
If I had driven a nail into his fat behind, he couldn’t have reacted more. His face flushing, his eyes bulging, he jumped to his feet.
“Are you drunk?” he squealed. “How dare you say such a thing!”
“The FBI have the facts, and they are taking action tonight.”
“Good God!” He sank into his chair and began mopping his face with a silk handkerchief.
“It’s a complicated story,” I said. “You had better hear it from the beginning. When it is finally sorted out, the publicity will be red hot. It can’t do Hamel’s books any harm. Handled right, it should treble his sales, and you’re the man to handle it right.”
That made him take notice as I knew it would. He put away his handkerchief and put on his business face.
I gave him the same story as I had given Lu Coldwell. I concluded by saying, “So the set-up is this: the two terrorists hold Nancy Hamel in her home. The woman who joined you when I found Hamel dead wasn’t Nancy, but Lucia.”
“Damn it! I’ll swear it was Nancy, he muttered.
“Identical twins, and you saw her in half-light and you were naturally shocked. Nancy will certainly be murdered once she has been forced to sign a batch of cheques which will give her sister access to Hamel’s money.”
He sat and thought, then he nodded.