Montbard was still laughing, but his laughter had the detached flavor of shock. I said, “How are you doing back there?”
“Bloody fucking lovely,” the man said, teeth clenched. “By God, our Chinese brothers deserve full marks for inventing fireworks. I do love the smell of cordite. And the white phosphorous glow of an incendiary-even these weak things-it leaves a smile on my face. Damn nice show I’m putting on. Too bad we’ll miss it.”
I said, “You hang on, Hooker,” as Norma said, “Your fireworks? They’re beautiful,” sounding like a nurse comforting a patient. She was turned in her seat, looking toward the back window, but not because of the fireworks. She was concerned about Montbard. “Don’t you worry. We’ll be able to see them from the beach. I bet people at the resort are out right now, watching.” When she added, “Ohhh… that was a nice one,” I checked the mirror: a blue velvet starburst with silver sparklers. The Midnight Star floated into my mind.
“Ford, old man, will you promise me something? If we get to the beach house and find our girls hurt, I’d like you to promise you’ll boot me down all three hundred and eighty-one steps at Bluestone. Would you mind?”
“With pleasure,” I said.
Norma told him, “He’s not going to touch you as long as I’m around,” then slipped into the backseat, saying she thought there might be towels in the rear of the van. Montbard was suddenly concerned.
“My bag’s back there, dear lady. Do be careful, won’t you?”
I heard the woman grunt. “That must be what’s sitting on the towels. I’ll try, but it’s heavy… what in the world’s in here?” But then she said, “Got them,” and pivoted back to her seat with a stack of towels. In the rearview mirror, I watched her pull the bloody handkerchief away from Montbard’s hand.
“Marion? Is there a light or something?”
I kept my eyes on the road as I fished the little Triad flashlight from my pocket and handed it to her.
After several seconds, Norma said, “This is bad. This is real bad. We’ve got to get him to the clinic and fetch the doctor. The clinic’s not far from the rental-”
“No doctor, and no clinic,” Montbard interrupted. “Not on this island. We just robbed the most powerful woman around. It would be unwise to linger.”
“Mister, I don’t want to scare you, but I’ve dealt with the kind of wound you’ve got. You could lose this hand. And you’ve already lost a lot of blood.”
“Then I’ll lose my hand,” he said. “Rather that than the local jail.”
“Is dying better than jail? Because that’s what might happen, the way you’re bleeding. Marion-he’s white as a ghost. The clinic’s only two miles at the most-”
“No doctors. Sorry. I’ll not discuss it anymore.”
The woman made a grumbling sound of frustration and slapped the seat. She was done with crying now, getting angry. “Those damn dogs! Why are you men always so stubborn about getting help? They got teeth as dirty as snakes, but you don’t care.”
Puzzled, Montbard said, “You work at the place. What do you have against the dogs? Brazilian mastiffs-only doing their jobs, dear.”
I said, “Hooker, she has her reasons. Okay?”
“Don’t be sharp with him, Marion. There’s no way he could know. It was almost thirteen years ago my man came crawling into the village, so torn up by those dogs he wanted to die. He would’ve rather died than live like he did. And I have more reasons than that to hate them. I wish you’d killed them all.”
I took a chance and said, “I think Sir James knew your husband, Norma. You told me he was a good man, Hooker.”
Montbard was confused, but said, “You lost your husband recently, dear? I’m so sorry.”
“Two days ago, he finally left us. But he was never really a man again because of those dogs. He was a proud one, Paul senior. Wouldn’t let me be his wife after what happened. Didn’t want our son to know his father was begging for coins on the street, either. After that night, we were never a family again.”
Montbard’s brain was still working fine. “Ahhh,” he said gently. “I did know your husband, Norma. A good chap, he was. I’m truly sorry. It’s an honor to meet his widow.”
AT FIRST, I wasn’t worried about taking Ritchie and Clovis, or anyone else, by surprise. I had the brights on, the pedal to the floor, as I fishtailed down the lane to the beach house. The sweep of headlights showed the rain-forest bluff where the camera blind was located… showed coconut palms leaning incrementally toward a black, vacuous space that was the sea… showed the outbuilding where I’d jumped the guys two nights before.
But then I thought, why make it obvious? If the men were inside, they might panic. Could make a bad situation worse. So I switched off the lights, killed the engine, and used the clutch to coast the last seventy yards down the incline. I swung in behind a good-sized citrus tree loaded with Key limes, and handed Norma the keys.
“I’ll be back as quick as I can. Keep the doors locked. Watch for my flashlight. Sir James knows the signals, but use your own judgment. If you think you should run, run. Don’t worry about me. My boat’s not far from here.”
“Ford, you’re talking rubbish. I’m perfectly capable of going with you. I’m a right-handed shooter-”
“That’s why I’m asking you to stay here. Look after Norma. It’s about time someone took care of her.” When I opened the door, the dome light came on, and the woman caught my eyes, looking from me to Montbard, whose head was now in her lap. For the first time, he looked his seventy-some years. His face was as white and fragile as rice paper. On the floor was a pile of towels soaked black with blood.
I handed Norma the VHF. “If you roll down the window, maybe you can raise someone. We need a helicopter. Don’t worry about the price.” I pulled the SIG Sauer and ran toward the house.
36
There was a white car in the drive. A midsize Volvo, which made me think of Beryl. An expensive rental car in this part of the world. Or the sort of vehicle a street guy with an ego would drive.
I touched the hood. Cool.
The beach house was lit up, windows bright, upstairs and down. The patio at the rear of the house shimmered with an aqueous, swimming-pool glow. There was music-Bob Marley, again-pounding through the palm canopy, stirring leaves like a sea breeze. It muted the percussion of waves on the beach, and the last distant crackle of Sir James’s fireworks diversion.
Crouched low, I jogged across an expanse of sand to the hedge. The hedge shielded the pool at eye level, but didn’t interfere with the view from the camera blind above the house. I turned and looked. No lights up there in the rain-forest darkness, no sign of movement. Wolfie had produced his last film.
I moved along the hedge, gun pointed at the ground, index finger resting parallel to the trigger guard. On the back wall of the house, I could see shadows. Shadows of people standing near the pool. Because pool lights reflected upward, their shadows were huge. At least one woman. At least one man.
I stopped and tried to decipher a garbled exchange-the man saying something… the woman answering, but the music disassembled their voices and left me listening to the wind.
I walked faster, then heard another exchange. This time I recognized the woman’s voice. “… if it’s me you want, get that damn knife away from her neck. Stop it!”
Beryl’s voice.
I ran. Sprinted toward the walkway where the hedge ended, and peeked around the corner, seeing the lime blue water of the pool… seeing Senegal Firth sitting in a chair next to the bar… seeing Clovis, his back to me, standing, holding a knife to the side of Senegal’s neck as the woman sat very straight, weeping.
Beryl faced them-stood with the wooden stiffness of an actress frozen by stage fright, arms at her sides. She wore pleated white beach pants and sandals. Nothing else. In a pile at her feet were a bra, a blouse, and a turquoise scarf. Her tanned skin was darkened by the paleness of her breasts.