The One a Month Man (18 page)

Carla lowered her shades to impale me with enlarged and very expressive walnut eyes. ‘You mean the name she’s using is false?’

‘Yes, but that’s not the issue here.’

‘Maybe not for you, but it could be for me.’

‘Take my word for it,’ I said, refusing to be drawn further. I had no intention of revealing that Laura was CIA and so too the person we were hoping she’d lead us to. No PI who valued his/her life would relish tangling with the CIA; anyone crazy enough to do so would treble the fee, calling it ‘extreme danger money’.

Carla wasn’t completely won over, but she shelved that line of questioning, at least for the time being. ‘So, basically, you just want her followed?’

‘We need to know about all men she meets, plus photos of the meetings.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘Just locations.’

‘So timewise it’s open-ended.’

‘Yes, but I can’t see it running longer than two or three days.’

‘Is there any chance of my being subpoenaed for a court appearance some place?’

‘No.’

‘Definitely no?’

‘Rest assured,
definitely no
.’

‘OK, a thousand Bahamian dollars up front as a retainer, five hundred dollars a day fee, plus expenses.’

‘You’re expensive,’ I observed.

‘I’m worth it.’

‘How did I know you’d say that?’

‘Because you’ve already assessed how good I am. My charges are commensurate with the workload and time involved. To do this job to your specifications, it would be impossible to combine it with other assignments. So you’re paying for exclusivity.’

Case proved. Fee justified.

‘A deal,’ I said. ‘I assume it’s acceptable to you for payment with plastic?’

‘Anything except cheques. Plastic has the advantage of being a universal currency.’

Carla had credit-card machinery with her and after the
transaction
had been sanctioned, she said, ‘There’s something I have to ask you. When I say
have to
, I mean for my own peace of mind, though there are many people in my trade who wouldn’t be so fussy.’

‘Fire away,’ I said, making Sarah wince.

‘If I come good for you, is there any prospect of the fruits of my labour being used unlawfully?’

‘No chance,’ I said.

‘You may be lying, but I’ve asked the question and your answer enables me to go ahead with the commission, reasonably satisfied that I’m not getting involved in something I might live to regret. I have principles which I adhere to unyieldingly. Give me your mobile number.’

As she wrote down the digits, she said, ‘This is the best way for me to keep in touch with you. The moment I have something positive to report or need further instructions in a hurry, I’ll call, OK?’

‘OK,’ I confirmed.

‘Any night-time deadline?’

‘No. If something happens middle of the night that you reckon is worth reporting, call me.’

I left the description of Laura
Clapton
to Sarah, who had a unique ability to graphically sketch personality, as well as
physical
features, so succinctly with words.

‘Brilliant!’ said Carla, when Sarah had finished. She downed the remains of her Budweiser, rose, shook hands businesslike with us both, promised to make contact the moment she had any news, and disappeared into the early sunset. I was soon to discover that in the Bahamas the sun went down like a
guillotine
. There was no red and smouldering dying embers of the day; no seamless overlap. Daylight was decapitated; sudden death. Blackout.

‘I think our Carla knows a thing or two about your proverb,’ Sarah said, quietly, squeezing my hand. ‘She realized that the first impression was the only one she was going to get a chance to make.’

W
e heard nothing from Carla for thirty-six hours. The same cannot be said of Sharkey or Pomfrey. Suffice it to say I stonewalled very badly. The blitz of calls ended with Pomfrey decreeing, ‘You have forty-eight hours to wrap up whatever the hell you’re
allegedly
packaging and be on a plane for London – or else!’ I didn’t ask for him to decode what ‘or else’ translated into.

Carla didn’t call; she arrived, without warning, brimful of confidence.

Sarah and I were in the restaurant having breakfast when she swaggered in, photographic eyes snapping the scene. She located us within a single frame.

‘I’ve made progress,’ she said, hoisting her briefcase from the floor on to the table. ‘Well, I think it’s progress, but you two will have to be the judge of that.’ She snapped open the
briefcase
and extracted a buff folder.

Sarah and I stopped eating.

‘We have an interesting situation,’ said Carla, slowly rolling her head and eyes. ‘It didn’t take me long to hook on to the target. What quickly became evident was that while I
shadowed
her, she was busy following someone else.’

‘Who?’ I said, suppressing excitement.

‘A guy.’

‘Have you managed to ID him?’ said Sarah, impatiently.

‘Sure. Dickie Lambert. US citizen.’

‘Got any pics?’ I asked.

‘Naturally.’ She opened the folder, producing photocopies that she’d obviously printed from her computer. Some of the shots were of Laura, others were of
Dickie Lambert,
who we knew must be Richard Pope.

‘Did Lambert
make
her?’ I said.

‘No. This Laura is good. Very professional.
Too
professional.’ Her eyes had become a little jumpy, shuttling between the two of us.

‘Where did Laura latch on to him?’ I asked.

‘As he came out of an office on Bay Street, not far from here, further west, though.’

‘Nearer the Beachcomber, where Laura’s booked in?’ I suggested.

‘No more than two hundred yards away, yeah.’

‘What kind of office?’ said Sarah, squinting inquisitively.

‘A trading company.’

‘Trading in
what
?’ I said.

‘Imports and exports; well, that’s what it says on the brass.’

‘But what products?’ I pressed, frustration pluming.

‘Doesn’t say. It’s probably just a front for a scam; most of the companies here aren’t legit. Could easily be a drug-trafficking outfit.’

‘What’s the name of the company?’ Sarah enquired.

Carla referred to her file. ‘Clint, Wood and East, Inc.’

‘Not very clever,’ I said. ‘Switch the last two words, apart from Inc, and you have Clint Eastwood.’

‘Gunslinger,’ observed Carla, almost indifferently.

‘More likely
gunslingers
, plural,’ said Sarah.

Carla simply shrugged. ‘Nothing too unusual about that here.’

‘Where did he go?’ I said.

‘A couple of bars. Met a woman. Someone I recognized, but
I don’t know her by name, but she’s a secretary in the office of one of the island’s politicians. They exchanged envelopes.’

‘You get pics of that?’

‘Of course.’ She patted the folder.

‘How long did the meet last?’ Sarah was anxious to know.

Carla looked up at the rotating colonial fan as she pondered the question. ‘About ten or fifteen minutes. Time for a quick drink and some earnest, furtive talk.’

‘Do you think he gave her money, a bribe?’ I said.

‘Listen, I deal in facts. I’m an ex-cop, right. I saw envelopes exchanged. I don’t have X-ray eyes. I don’t speculate. My thoughts on what might have been in the envelopes count for nought.’

I liked her answer because it endorsed the veracity of her report; she wasn’t one for histrionics or embroidery.

‘What next?’

‘They shook hands and separated.’

‘So it was a business meeting?’ I said, posing another
question
. ‘They weren’t socializing? They were there for a transaction?’

‘That’s the way it looked.’

‘Where was Laura all this time?’ Sarah wondered aloud.

‘Out of their direct line of vision, face half-shielded with large shades and head covered with a floppy hat.’

‘Did she leave when they did?’ I said.

‘Yeah, she followed the guy.’

‘That figures,’ said Sarah.

‘And you stayed on her?’ I quizzed.

‘Naturally. That’s my brief, isn’t it?’

‘Of course,’ I concurred. ‘This must have been something of a procession; you on Laura’s tail and she on his.’

‘That’s exactly how it was.’ She wasn’t amused. In fact, I sensed she was becoming pissed off with my pedantry.

Carla took out the pics and handed them round, as if dealing
playing cards. In appearance, Pope bore a close resemblance to his father, of whom there were many photographs on the internet, plus a detailed Wikipedia biography.

‘Very distinguished,’ murmured Sarah, but without admiration.

‘And doesn’t he know it!’ sneered Carla. ‘All the
characteristics
of a smooth viper. Just look at those reptilian eyes.’

I took no part in this particular assassination. Instead, I tried to visualize him in his rowing days at Oxford. He certainly had the physique, though much of his muscle had degenerated into flab. He hadn’t lost much hair, but it was now the colour of tinsel. All oarsmen needed gargantuan hands –
all the bigger to strangle you with
– and Pope was no exception. His head was boulder-shaped and his slightly hooded eyes were set deeply in pendulous flesh. In a couple of shots, he was flashing teeth that seemed to have been fastidiously preserved. As for his clothes, he was dressed to be absorbed in any wallpaper of the Bahamas: garish, short-sleeved shirt, blue silk slacks and white brothel-creeper shoes.

‘Did Laura return to her hotel?’ I asked, moving on.

‘Not right away. First, she drove to the quay to a boat-hiring business.’

‘What sort of boats?’

‘Small fishing craft and speedboats. She was there about twenty minutes and came away with what looked like a brochure or tariff. Then she drove to the hotel.’

‘And didn’t surface again?’

‘Not out the front; not by car.’

‘Is there any other way of leaving the hotel?’ Sarah quizzed.

‘Yes, but only on foot. She could walk through the pool area to the beach, then go either way, east or west. But she was in her room at 10 p.m.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’ I said.

‘Because I called the hotel from my car on my mobile and asked to be put through to her room She answered.’

‘And you hung up?’ said Sarah.

‘Not without speaking because to have just killed the call might have aroused her suspicions. I said, “Sorry, I must have the wrong room. I’m calling my mother and I can tell you’re not her age.”’

‘So you got an early night?’ I said.

‘No. I hung around in the hotel parking lot until midnight just in case she did emerge to join the night-owls.’

‘But she didn’t?’

‘No. Perhaps she wanted a good night’s sleep to be fresh for a fishing trip today.’

That set me thinking.

‘Is that it?’ said Sarah.

‘For now. You can keep that report and the pics; I have copies. I’d better get back on the beat and try to catch up with her. My bet is she’ll already be out of her hotel, but this is a small town; no place to hide. As long as she’s on the move by car, I should be able to sniff her out without too much trouble.’

‘You’re doing a good job,’ I said, affably.

‘Just what are you expecting from this?’ Carla said, puzzled. ‘You seem to be investing a lot of money for a very mundane, limited return. Not that I’m complaining.’

‘I can’t tell you anything more, Carla, but suffice it to say you’re getting us everything we want. But now’s the time for a change of focus.’

Carla caught on immediately. ‘You want me to concentrate on the guy, Dickie Lambert?’

‘Most importantly, we need instant warning should he seem to be preparing to leave the island,’ I said.

‘Are you cops?’ Carla said, suddenly, her eyes jumping back and forth between me and Sarah.

‘Now what gave you that idea?’ I said, stalling.

‘So you are!’

‘I didn’t say that,’ I said, without conviction.

‘Oh, but you did! I was a cop, remember; a damned good one, too, even though I say so myself. I was trained to translate evasive answers. What I haven’t figured out yet is who’s the
real
target.’

‘Just keep the meter running and pocket the money,’ I implored. ‘You’re doing fine.’

‘Does it matter who or what we are?’ Sarah butted in.

Carla shrugged again, a mannerism of hers that I was
beginning
to recognize. ‘Could do. I don’t knowingly take commissions from gangsters.’

‘And would you classify cops as gangsters?’ I said,
teasingly
.

‘Oh, yeah, quite easily! Especially where I come from.’ Getting up, she added, ‘OK, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll play along for the time being. But, be warned, if I smell a rat …’

‘Oh, you’ll smell a rat, all right, Carla, but it won’t emanate from present company, believe me,’ I said.

A little happier now, Carla made off with her briefcase, treating us to an over-the-shoulder, irreverent wave. Like Sarah, she had style.

Just after lunch I took a call on my mobile from Carla. She was breathless now, adrenaline making her voice hoarse.

‘Things are developing,’ she said. ‘Fast. Nasty. I’m on the road. Trailing a car. You need to play catch-up; quick as you can. I’ll try to give you directions that you can follow easily. I’m out of my comfort zone, losing the plot.’

‘Whose car are you pursuing?’ I said.

Sarah’s ears twitched like those of a rabbit.

‘His. But they’re together.’

‘
They
?’ I said, perplexed.

‘
Lambert
and Laura.’

Carla was losing me. ‘What am I missing?’ I said.

‘I’ll explain as soon as you’re rolling. Keep your phone open. The vibes are bad here. Very, veree bad.’

‘Handing you over to Sarah,’ I said.

We were in the lobby. Sarah was pulling faces, mutely asking for the storyline.

‘Let’s go,’ I urged, as Sarah took my cell-phone.

By now we were running through the parking lot, wringing wet as if under a steaming shower. Out of the shade, the temperature was at least forty degrees centigrade. Not a cloud between Nassau and Miami, ninety miles to the east. The only breeze came from the vortex whipped up by our own
exertions
. By the time we reached our Oldsmobile, we were both hyperventilating.

‘We’re about to roll,’ Sarah spoke into the phone as I gunned the engine. ‘Which way should we turn on to Bay Street?’

‘Right,’ said Carla. ‘Hug the coastal road. Don’t peel off towards the airport. Keep the ocean in sight on your right.’

Sarah relayed instructions to me, saying to Carla, ‘Where are you?’

‘About five minutes ahead of you.
Lambert’s
at the wheel of the car – with a gun pressed to the back of his head. Laura’s gun.’

Sarah passed this information to me dispassionately,
staccato-
style. She was always at her cool, professional best in hairy situations.

‘I’ve got to alert the local cops,’ said Carla. ‘We can’t play this solo.’

I agreed. The show had to be opened up. It was imperative that we stayed on the right side of the law.

‘Ask her where she reckons they’re heading?’ I instructed Sarah.

Carla’s answer was what I feared: ‘No idea.’

‘How did this begin?’ Sarah asked.

‘She was waiting for him as he emerged unsuspectingly
from his office,’ said Carla. ‘He opened the driver’s door of his car, got in, and as he was sticking the key in the ignition, she jumped in the rear. She must have already drawn the gun because, as he swung round, he found himself staring down that scary little black hole.’

‘Where were you?’ said Sarah.

‘Sitting in my parked car across the road, about a hundred yards away, binoculars on them.’

‘No other witnesses?’ said Sarah.

‘No one else around close enough. She was talking in the car, obviously reading him the riot act. He turned away from her, so he was facing ahead. Then they were wheeling, taking it nice and steady.’

Before Sarah could pop any more questions, Carla said
excitedly
, ‘They’re pulling off the road.’

‘How far are you behind?’ Said Sarah.

‘Two hundred yards. I’ve slowed. I mustn’t get too close yet. I’m stopping. They’re jumping ship. I’m going the rest of the way on foot. You’ll see my car at the side of the road. I’m disconnecting now to call the cavalry.’

Sarah had treated me to a non-stop running commentary.

‘This is getting out of hand,’ she said.

The road was not made for rallying. It was narrow and circuitous, with holes like craters. Even so, I kept my foot flat on the pump, as if I was trying out for a place in a Formula One racing team. We were kicking up dust as if crossing the Sahara. We sped past large, colonial-fashioned houses among palms and pines to our right, with their own ocean-fronts and private marinas. Through the trees we caught glimpses of the endless white sand.

As we careened round a tight right-handed bend, leaning into the tilt, with Sarah almost propelled on to my lap, we spotted Carla’s abandoned car just ahead. I hit the brake pedal just as hard as I’d been accelerating, subjecting our vehicle to
the severest possible stress as we went into a skidding tailspin before shuddering to a halt, our nostrils assaulted by the
overpowering
smell of burning rubber.

Sarah was first out of the car, but I soon caught up.

‘This way,’ she said, leading me into a clearing that led to a narrow, stony track. ‘They must have gone this way. The sea can’t be far away.’

The path was sinuous and gloomy because little sunlight was able to filter through the roof of leaves and branches. We didn’t have far to go. After two bends, we were suddenly on sand with the beach directly ahead.