Once a Crooked Man (30 page)

As Rhonda sipped the last of her tea she looked down at her copy of the
Daily Mirror
and saw a panel on the front page that read: “He Died as Wildly as He Lived!'” Beside it was a small photograph of Percy Santiago.

From conversations with her husband Rhonda knew about the Bruschetti connection with Santiago. Now the man was dead and Charles had been shot at. It was definitely time to act on the information that Murphy had just given her. Back in the kitchen she picked up the phone.

“Good day. I understand you have my husband in your care. His name? Colonel Charles Villiers. Yes that's right. With a
V
. Before I get in touch with our lawyer I'd like a word with him if that is at all possible. My name? Rhonda Villiers. I am also calling to find out with what offense he's been officially charged. Perhaps you can tell me?”

 

52

The young salesman in the hardware store was surprisingly helpful and demonstrated several electric drills. Harry bought a powerful DeWalt with two expensive bits. One was twenty-four inches long and a quarter of an inch in diameter, the other twelve inches long and about half an inch in diameter.

“I'm in for the day from Connecticut to do a job for my sister. She's pretty sick and I don't want to disturb her.” He pulled out twenty dollars. “Could you charge the batteries up for me? I could come back for everything in a little while.”

“Sure thing,” said the man, taking the twenty. “Be sure to come back before we close.”

“When's that?” asked Harry.

“Six o'clock.”

The subway took Harry to Union Square where he walked across the open-air market and up Broadway to Paragon Sporting Goods.

“I'm going to the Bahamas for a short vacation and I need a wet suit, a mask and a snorkel,” he said to a cute salesgirl name-tagged Eve. “Lightweight and nothing too expensive. I usually swim along the surface. Oh,” he added. “I'll need a waterproof bag of some sort. Preferably black.”

Eve persuaded him to add a pair of flippers. “You'll find it makes swimming so much easier,” she explained with a smile.

Avis was his next stop, where he signed the papers for a Ford Escape and arranged to pick it up later.

Back in the box Harry set the alarm on his wristwatch and dozed for a while, dreaming that he was swimming in clear blue water with a naked Eve who giggled at his efforts to skewer a barracuda with the DeWalt.

A rat rummaging in the remains of his breakfast woke him up. The shock of seeing a black rodent so close to his nose made him gasp. The beast gave him a look of pity, twitched his considerable whiskers and ambled off. Harry smashed his way out of the box and into the light. Homelessness was no longer an option.

Getting the car from Avis took less than a half hour. Parking as close to the alley as he could, he put in enough coins for two hours. He gathered up all his belongings and moved them to the car. The passenger seat was now his home, and he sat there listening to the radio until it was time to go back to the hardware store for the drill.

At the Marina, the
Gazelle
was in exactly the same spot as before but now the jetties were deserted. To his relief, none of the boats showed signs of occupancy or activity. Harry watched as the super locked up the office and drove off in his red truck. The security guard closed up the main gate and padlocked it. Out in his shed he sat down and picked up the newspaper and began to read.

Darkness fell. One by one the lights up on the poles clicked on. Harry undressed, hauled on the wet suit and packed all his gear into the plastic bag. Carefully he locked the car and walked over to the gap in the wall.

On a hunk of broken concrete on the far side he made a brief test of the drill, pulled on the flippers, mask and snorkel. The bag was retied securely.

Putting one foot laboriously in front of the other he flip-flopped over the slimy rocks like an elderly walrus. Once he was waist-deep, he floated the bag on the water and launched himself off.

The journey was not as easy as he had assumed. As he was unaccustomed to taking air through a tube, his breathing became labored. To overcome this he concentrated on exhaling rather than inhaling. As he swam out of the calm waters towards the river the current began to drag him along. Harry panicked and almost let go of the bag but then gave an extrahard kick with both legs. The flippers did the trick and he was able to propel himself safely around the end of the jetty.

Harry swam down the line of boats until he reached the
Gazelle
and, slithering along the smooth hull, he climbed out onto the dock and pulled the bag up beside him. Leaning back against a post, he sat down and pulled down the mask and dragged off the flippers.

How would the boat settle in the water? The engines were the heaviest part and were usually towards the rear. If he made the holes near the front and the boat sank by the stern those same holes would be lifted clear of the water. Not a good idea. A spot near the stern directly below a stanchion would work best. There he could make a series of holes just above the waterline. Once these were made he would angle the bit down and drill through the submerged part of the hull to start the flow.

The long, thin bit was quickly tightened into the DeWalt. Back in the river and with the drill held over his head he made his way to the chosen spot. But even before he turned the drill on he ran into a problem. Each time he pushed the drill against the hull his body floated backwards. If he pressed his shoulders firmly against the dock his arms weren't long enough to reach the hull. A solution was fortunately close to hand. The
Gazelle
was roped fore and aft and from side to side to the jetty. Climbing out and keeping low, he loosened both starboard lines and then crawled around and took a firm grip on the port stern line. By pulling with all his might the boat slowly began to respond. Eventually he was able to take a second loop around the bollard. Once the process was repeated with the bowline the boat was considerably closer to the dock.

He was now able to hold the drill against the hull. But when he turned it on, the bit slid across the shiny paint and made no impression. Harry climbed out, switched to the thicker bit and scrambled back down and tried again with the same annoying result.

“Shit!” he said. “You need to make a starter hole, Harry my boy! You need a hammer and a nail. Well, Rome wasn't built in a day!”

Back up on the dock he was about to swim back and make his way to the car when he noticed that the DeWalt company had thoughtfully provided a small but very pointed Phillips head bit clipped to the base of the handle. Harry took it out and put it in the chuck.

With his feet up against the hull he wedged himself as tightly as he could and turned the drill motor as slowly as he could. After a while the sharp point made a mark on the white paint. Harry got out and put in the thin bit. This time it stayed in place and tiny slivers of the
Gazelle
began to drop into the Hudson. A neat round hole was forming. Suddenly the drill shot through the first layer of hull and hit the second.

By the time Harry had drilled ten small holes above and five below the water line he was very tired. It took a great deal of effort to widen the lower holes. But water was now definitely flowing in and success gave him renewed energy. It might take a while, but this baby was going down!

Eventually all the holes were widened and he was able to climb out, pack up the bag, tie it securely and swim back to shore by the most direct route. Crouching down at the wall, he checked to see that the coast was clear, and then ran swiftly over to the Ford.

As soon as he was back in his clothes, he drove across the lot and up the ramp, where he made a U-turn and parked. The entire Marina was now below in full view.

When dawn streaked in the eastern sky Harry was delighted to see that only the wheelhouse, mast and aerial of the
Gazelle
were above water. Still tied by her portside lines, the hull had settled at a steep angle.

As he continued his vigil he was amazed to see that no one noticed anything amiss. The guard was relieved. The gate was reopened and pushed back. The superintendent opened up the office. People went to and from their boats and many of them walked past the sunken hull without giving it a second glance.

Around noon, a father and son came into the dock from the river in a Boston Whaler. The little boy jumped out and made fast the painter. As the pair went towards the office the boy hesitated and his father called for him to keep up. The boy pointed at the
Gazelle
. The father yelled at him to keep up. The kid began to cry. Both of them disappeared into the Marina office. Moments later they came out followed by the superintendent. The boy led the way back along the jetty. All three peered down at the
Gazelle.
As the superintendent hurried back to the office, the father put his arms around his son and gave him a hug.

The lot was now filling up with cars, trucks and vans. To get a better view of the proceedings Harry drove down and parked by the fence. A few minutes after one o'clock an angry squeal of brakes announced the arrival of a black Town Car.

EB ran over the bridge with his driver close behind. Harry recognized the second man as the one who had driven him from the taxi garage. They both stopped at the
Gazelle.
EB uttered a long moan. His body language was marvelously expressive. Sagging incredulity, pacing frustration, arms raised to Heaven seeking an explanation.

On the other side of the boat his driver picked up a pair of flippers and held them up.

“Hey! Enzo!” he called out. “Look what I found!”

 

53

Rhonda Villiers was pleased when she heard her husband's key in the front door. Usually she accepted his return with a degree of equanimity, but the last few days were unsettling at best.

“Rhonda!” he called out.

“In the kitchen,” she replied, and picked up the papers, passport and money that she had in front of her on the table.

“Where have you been, you naughty man?” She spoke with mock severity as he came in from the hallway.

“Ah!” he said dramatically. “Now there's a tale!”

She stood up and gave him a light hug and a kiss on the cheek. As they parted, Charles Villiers noticed the little bundles.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“I was checking to see if my passport was up-to-date. I was also curious to see how much cash I'd squirreled away.” She held up the thick wad of notes.

“Odd that you should bring that up,” said the Colonel. “I've been thinking along those same lines myself.”

“Yes, dear, I'm sure you have, but before you say another word, I suggest you go up and use the facilities. You smell as if you've been in the trenches. While you do, I'll make us some food. You must be famished. Then I want to hear all about where you've been and what you've been doing. And there's no need to get dressed; just put on your robe and slippers.”

Rhonda followed her husband halfway up the stairs and sat down. She pushed the upper left corner of one of the panels in the left-hand wainscoting. With an audible click it slid back and with gentle pressure she eased it to the side. Built into the wall was a clever space lined with black felt. Putting everything in, she closed the panel.

Back in the kitchen she put a skillet and two pans of water on the stove. Into the former she dropped four pork sausages. Peeling and thinly slicing two King Edward potatoes, she dropped them into one of the pans. A small head of shredded cabbage went into the other.

She could hear the sound of the big tub filling up. She always knew when Charles was actually in the water as that was when he began to hum to himself. But this time there was only silence. This confirmed what she had sensed when he had come into the kitchen. His incarceration had made him ill at ease. Charles would have to be handled delicately. She wished she could go and have a word with her father in Highgate but that was quite out of the question. But then she knew what he would say: “Stand on you own two feet, my love. Take charge as only you can.”

Twenty minutes later she and her husband were eating together at the dining table.

Rhonda began, “You say you were thinking along the same lines. What lines were those?”

“I have a nasty feeling the Bruschetti organization is compromised.”

“And you base this on what?”

“First that attempt on my life! A total stranger turns up in the Mews to warn me of impending danger. I know now that he clearly wanted me alive so he could get his hands on that suitcase of money. But I outsmarted him and followed him to the West Country. Can you believe it? I caught Mister Harry Murphy red-handed burying the case.”

Rhonda watched as her husband got up and walked over to the sideboard, where he poured himself a larger than usual scotch.

“I was about to take care of him but the damn police intervened.”

He came back to the table and began to speak faster as if he were relieved to be telling her what had happened to him.

“I thought the game was up, stupidly gave them a phone number, but then I was never charged, just kept in a cell all by myself and away from prying eyes. After a while I asked to speak with counsel. That was refused. So I asked to meet with the duty solicitor. That too was refused.

“By law, this gave them thirty-six hours they could keep me under lock and key. All along I had the feeling the whole business was ‘off-the-books,' so to speak. Then this morning I was informed that you had called and without further ceremony I was told I was free to go. I thought it prudent not to ask questions.”

“Very wise,” she said quietly.

“Secondly, when I called Max he didn't seem to know much about Murphy. I had the feeling there was a bit of a mystery there too.”

“How interesting.” Rhonda smiled inwardly. The situation was not as bad as she had feared. It was certainly manageable. With careful prodding she was sure she could achieve a positive outcome. One that would work to her advantage.