The plane was twenty minutes late arriving, but Hinge still had over an hour until the meeting between Frazer and Lavander, Plenty of time to check out Trelawney Square and the pastry shop where they were to meet. He had memorized Frazer’s picture and then burned it in the plane’s lavatory.
Hinge felt comfortable moving through customs. They checked his bag with a piece of white chalk and moved him on through.
He immediately noticed the girl sitting on a bench in the waiting room, studying an airline timetable. There was no mistaking her reaction when she saw him. Recognition? Interest? Perhaps she had mistaken hint for someone else.
Was she following him? But why? Why would a woman be waiting for him in the Montego Bay air terminal?
He went to a phone booth and searched his pockets for a coin. She had moved to another bench closer to the door. He could see her reflected in the glass panel behind the telephone.
He stood in front of the dial when he made the call, then casually turned sideways in the booth. She was in a phone booth on the opposite side of the terminal.
It could be paranoia. She seemed t be laughing while she was talking. It didn’t hurt to be overly cautious. He would keep an eye on her.
He asked the restaurant operator for Mr David Jackson. Derek Frazer answered very quickly.
Hinge said, ‘Is this Mr Jackson?’
Frazer said, ‘Which Mr Jackson do you want?’
Avery Jackson.’
‘Is this Mr Garrett from Texas?’ Frazer asked.
‘Yes.’
‘When did you move?’
‘Fourteen months ago.’
‘Very good. Any problems?’
‘Smooth as velvet.’
‘The car is taken care of. They’re holding the keys for you at the rental counter. The package is in the trunk.’
‘Thanks. It’s the Nelson Pastry Shoppe on Trelawney Square. Eight o’clock, right?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘What time do you leave?’
‘I’ll be going straight to the airport from the square.’
‘I’ll call the drop when I’ve delivered the package.’
‘Thank you.’
The girl was gone when he finished. He looked around the terminal, then entered the rental office and got the keys. The car was a red two-door Datsun coupe. He opened the trunk. There was a small canvas bag in back of the spare. He closed the trunk, got in the car and drove off.
A blue Datsun pulled out and started following him. He watched for the lights after turning on the main road to town. It was still behind him. He slowed down and the blue car drew closer. When it was less than half a block behind him, he turned off the main road, coursing around a park. The blue car stayed with him.
It had to be the girl.
But why?
Hinge did not have time to get involved. He needed to do something fast. He floored the accelerator and turned into the next street on his right. The Datsun surged under him as he took the next turn, then another. Then he flicked off his lights and whipped into a palm-lined driveway.
He killed the engine and waited for her.
O’Hara had been looking at the Gulf Star for several minutes without speaking. It was almost seven o’clock and Lavander had yet to show his face.
‘I better check the hotel again, see if Hinge was on that last plane,’ the Magician said.
O’Hara continued to stare at the ship. Finally, as the Magician stood up to go to the phone, he said, ‘I’m going back on board.’
‘Why?’
‘Remember I told you how frantic Lavander was about his hotel room after he was released in Caracas?’
‘So?’
‘Why should he care? The company was paying his expenses. What was so important about the room?’
‘Maybe he was worried about his baggage,’
‘I’ve seen his baggage. Believe me, it has nothing to do with his baggage. I mean, Tony said it was the first thing out of his mouth.’
‘So?’
‘So I think he hid something in the room and he was worried about getting it back.’
‘Money?’
‘Could be. I doubt it. He’s got money stashed all over the world.’
‘So what d’ya think, Sailor?’
‘According to your information on Lavander, he keeps personal records in a book. Maybe the book’s too big to carry around. So, he hides it.’
‘You’ve searched his room.’
‘Maybe I missed something. I got this worm in my stomach that keeps telling me I missed something.’
‘What if Hinge has shown up at the airport?’
‘I won’t be gone long. You call the hotel; I’ll be back in ten minutes,’
He had no problem getting aboard. The corridor was empty. Most of the passengers were still living it up in town. He popped the lock and cautiously entered the cabin again.
The maid had cleaned the small room. O’Hara closed the porthole and pulled the curtains and turned on the lamp. He sat down on the bed and slowly looked around the room. He checked the closet again and the suitcase. He checked the lavatory again. He lifted the mattress and checked under it and then felt the mattress carefully, then replaced it.
He sat back on the bed again.
He stared at the dresser. He got up and took out the drawers, one at a time, starting with the top drawer. The fourth drawer down stuck as he pulled it out. He took out the fifth drawer, lay down on the floor, struck fire to his lighter and held it in under the drawer. There was a black letter-sized notebook taped to the bottom.
O’Hara pulled it free and sat on the floor, leafing through page after page of figures and code words. Not one page in the book made any sense.
He replaced the drawers, stuffed the book into the back of his pants, shut off the lights and left.
The Magician was waiting in front of the bar. ‘He arrived on the six-ten from Miami,’ the musician said excitedly. ‘It was twenty minutes late. She called and left a message about five minutes before I called.’
‘Then Lavander’s still alive.’
‘C’mon,’ the Magician said. ‘I’ve already squared the bill. Let’s get back to the hotel so we can catch her next call in person.’
Eliza drove slowly through the dark. She had circled back to the little park after losing Hinge and now she was near tears. Had he seen her? Or did she just lose him? Either way, she had lost their ace in the hole.
She kept circling, hoping to blunder upon Hinge. After ten minutes of fruitless driving she gave up. She started looking for a telephone. The dark streets led her back to the waterfront. She passed a noisy club, and a block ahead, saw a phone booth on the opposite side of the street.
She stopped, rooted through her cluttered shoulder bag, found a dime, dropped the car keys in her bag and ran across the street to the phone booth.
It took forever for the operator to answer.
‘Cottage Sixteen, please,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’
It rang several times but there was no answer. She jiggled the hook and got the operator back. ‘I want to leave another message, please.’
‘Go ahead.’
Headlights turned into the darkened street two blocks away, but her back was turned to them.
‘For Sixteen. The message is: “Have lost the luggage. I am coming back to the hotel.”
‘You are having a terrible time with your baggage,’ the operator said. ‘Perhaps our manager can be of some assistance.’
The car was moving slowly down the street toward her.
‘Uh, I think the airline has taken—’
She turned and saw the car, less than a block away. The red Datsun. Hinge’s leathery face loomed behind the wheel.
‘—care of it. Thanks very much. Bye.’
She hung up but it was too late to get back across the street. He was almost there. He was so close she could see those cold reptilian eyes staring at her through the open window.
She took off her shoes and ran. She ran faster than she had ever run in her life. She could have made the Olympics, she ran so fast. She ran away from the street, through the darkness, down a long narrow alleyway, toward the beach.