Shark Island (22 page)

“He just built the coffin,” Folger interrupted quickly. “Didn't do no more than that.”

“So who put the body in the coffin?”

Folger looked at Boyd, and the younger man said, “I did. But Jack here had already sewed up the body in that rug what was a-soaking with his own gore. Disgustin', I call it. Bloody un-Christian.”

Jack Winter exclaimed, “I don't think it Christian any more than you do! But when I asked Captain Hammond for a piece of old canvas for a winding sheet he bid me use the mat to save expense. Not only was it bloody mean—if you'll excuse my biblical language, Mr. Coffin—but it turned a nasty job into a dirty one. You ask Captain Hammond, and if he speaks the truth, he'll tell you that's the way it come about, and 'twasn't nothin' to do with me.”

“What about the knife?”

“What knife?”

“The murder weapon. When I inspected the body,” Wiki elaborated with rapidly ebbing patience, “there was a knife in his back.”

“Well, there wasn't no knife when I saw it,” said the steward sulkily. “Just a gash in his back, and a hole in his front, and his shirt all soaked with gore.”

Wiki exclaimed, “So who the devil took it out?”

“Not Bill,” said Folger instantly.

“Not Bill nor me, because the knife was already gone,” the steward said righteously. “You'll have to ask Captain Hammond how it got out and where it went.”

“I'll do that,” said Wiki grimly, and turned on his heel.

Twenty-four

Out on deck, the noon sun was hot and bright, and Wiki was amazed how little time had passed since his dreadful swim at dawn. He went to the rail, and looked out at the bay where the
Swallow
floated serenely, and then turned to look at the beach, to find it ornamented with the glitter of George Rochester's uniform. Wiki blinked, feeling very startled, wondering why George had left the schooner. Then he saw that Rochester was conferring with Forsythe, whose men were swarming over the wreck of the sloop. It was a hopeful sign, he thought. George, having established Wiki's credentials on the schooner, was thinking over the proposition of building a raft and getting the
Annawan
hove down and repaired.

When Wiki turned to survey the decks again, his attention was caught by a furtive movement. Someone, he realized, was doing his best to keep out of his sight—a Spanish-looking type, wearing a loose striped red and white shirt over tight black pantaloons, the waist of the shirt cinched in with a broad, brass-studded belt. Having a very strong feeling that this was the character the cutter's men had described coming down from the mizzen rigging about the time that Captain Reed was killed, Wiki approached him with intent.

When this stylish figure saw Wiki coming toward him he started like a spurred horse, and moved decisively in a different direction—which confirmed to Wiki that this was indeed one of the men he most wanted to question. Pursuing him determinedly, he finally cornered him by the taffrail.
“Hola,”
he said, and the seaman stopped trying to get away.

Remembering the name in the crew list, Wiki checked, “Da Silva, right? Pedro da Silva? Didn't you join this ship in Rio?”

“Senhor.”
The bloodshot eyes were slipping in every direction to avoid Wiki's stare. Though he bravely shoved out his chest by cramping in his buttocks and clasping his hands tightly behind his back, he was so obviously nervous he looked as culpable as sin.

Wiki contemplated him for a long silent moment, something that didn't ease the man's jittery state. Then he asked in Portuguese, “Did you ship out to avoid conscription into the army?”

“No,
senhor!
Never!” Pedro protested, but still refused to meet Wiki's stare.

“Because if that is the case, it might explain your guilty look.”

“Guilty?” Pedro jumped a foot with fright. “I am guilty of nothing, sir, nothing!”

“Yet you are trying to avoid me—why?”

The seaman wavered, and then said uneasily, “I do not wish to appear before an official court of inquiry, sir. It would not be good—for my reputation.”

“But why should you be called up to give evidence—unless you saw something of importance?” The seaman was silent, and Wiki pursued, “You could be the man whose evidence is the means of apprehending a vicious killer.”

“Oh,” said the Portuguese seaman, and obviously wavered, impressed by the possible importance of his role.

“So what
did
you see from aloft, that afternoon that Captain Reed was killed?”

There was a long, suspenseful silence, while Pedro's dark eyes slid from side to side, but then he said boldly, “I did see a great deal. One sees much from there.”

“Perhaps what you saw will prevent more murders in the future.” Wiki paused, and then said reassuringly, “Just tell me what you saw that afternoon, right from the beginning.”

It was as if he had turned on a faucet. Pedro suddenly became garrulous, the words hurrying out of his mouth and his sentences tumbling over each other; it was as if he had been anxious to tell someone about it, but hadn't had the courage until now.

“The cutter arrived at about the same time as the two boats,” he described. “I saw the two officers talk with Mr. Hammond, and then Captain Reed came out and they went into the cabin with him. Soon after that I saw the steward come out. He took a bottle to the seamen on the fo'c'sle deck, and I saw him sit down with them. Later still, I saw the captain and your two officers come out, and stand talking—I think they were arguing. The captain was yelling for more brandy, and I saw the captain's wife bring it to him. Then Mr. Hammond called for two boats' crews to go to the navy brig, but I am not one of those, you understand. Instead of going to the
Swallow,
I stayed aloft. After the boats had gone away, they all went into the cabin; then after a while I saw the two navy officers come out. They were in a hurry. I saw the captain's wife come running out after the two officers from the navy ship, but she did not join them. She ran to the galley; then she ran back to the cabin; then she ran out again, screaming. That was when I came down from the rigging to see what she was screaming about.”

“When she ran to the galley, did you see anyone else on the quarterdeck?”

To Wiki's surprise, Pedro nodded without even troubling to think.

“Who was it?”

“I can't tell you, because it was only a glimpse—a movement, you understand. The man was either very short, or bent low down. Then he was gone. It happened very quickly, and my attention was on Mrs. Reed.”

“Did you hear her call out to the cook?”

“To the man in the galley?”

“Aye,” said Wiki, thinking that this was the first confirmation he had had that there was a man in the galley at the time, because the cutter's men had been so unsure of it.

“She did say something to him,” Pedro said. “But I did not know the words. It was in a different language, perhaps.”

Wiki hesitated, and then said, “Do you remember the kind of sound the words made?”

Pedro shook his head, but then to Wiki's surprise he laughed, saying, “When she called out it reminded me of the call of an owl—
tu-whit-tu-woo.
”

Wiki's brows shot up. “What happened next?”

“Next, Mrs. Reed turned around and ran back to the after house. Down she ran, then back she came, screaming. Then everyone was running to the quarterdeck all at once and you came on board. I did not know then that you are an officer of the law, or I would have spoken to you right away,” he added importantly, just as if he expected Wiki to have forgotten that only minutes before he'd been doing his damnedest to avoid being questioned.

Wiki said, “You can't remember anything else—what the man you glimpsed was wearing, for instance?”

Pedro shook his head.

“Were you at the wake?”

“But of course! Our captain was dead, and it was the right thing to do.”

“And you played monte with the midshipman?”

Pedro went back to looking nervous, blustering, “Is that something wrong?”

“Perhaps you lost all your money.”

“His lieutenant made him give it back.”

“Who else was playing?”

The seaman hesitated, but then rattled off a short list of names that did not include the steward, Boyd, Folger, or the cook. Wiki said, “Did they all lose their money to the midshipman?”

“He was cheating, we think.”

“But they all got their money back?”

“Aye, sir. Your lieutenant made sure of that.”

“So what happened afterward?”

“Most went into the fo'c'sle, as it was no longer fun, you understand.”

“What about yourself?”

Pedro shrugged. “I stayed to have a small drink. Then Captain Hammond came out and ordered me to go to masthead lookout.”

So, coincidentally, he was in the same vantage point where he'd been when Ezekiel Reed was knifed. Wiki said, “What else did you notice about our midshipman?”

“He and your lieutenant were very, very drunk, and they were still very angry with each other, I think. Then the midshipman went and lay down in the captain's boat.”

“You saw him from aloft?”

“He was directly below me. I saw people come and look at him—the boatswain's mate, the steward, and then Captain Hammond. After they had gone away he got up and jumped out of the boat again. Some men came and lowered the boat, but he was not there. They pulled to the beach after putting your lieutenant in the bottom. After that I was off duty, so I went to my berth.”

“Did you see where the midshipman went after he got out of the boat?”

“Aye, sir. After he jumped out of the boat he staggered off to the after house, heading for the captain's cabin.”

“Is that so?” said Wiki slowly.

Twenty-five

The door at the top of the short companionway to the captain's cabin was clipped open, so that as Wiki descended the stairs Annabelle was in plain view. Again she was sitting in an armchair by the stove. This time, however, the fire wasn't lit. When she heard Wiki's step she turned in the chair, looked up, and gasped, “Oh Wiki, you've come!”

“Aye,” he said, and when he stepped right into the room she stood up and rushed to him as if she were desperate for reassurance. He held her, feeling the different ways her trembling body pressed hard against his. Looking down at her, he saw that the black hair was the same, shining like silk, falling in wings from a center parting and braided into the tender nape of her neck. Without volition, his hand cradled the back of her glossy head.

He wasn't even sure she felt it, because she pulled away, and settled back in her chair. “Please sit,” she said, in the formal way she adopted every now and then. He looked around, and took the seat he'd used before.

She said, “Captain Rochester tells me you are now a sheriff.”

“A deputy,” he corrected, and added wryly, “I didn't apply for the position. The sheriff of Portsmouth felt frustrated because he couldn't follow a murderer onto the exploring expedition, and so he delivered a document to Captain Wilkes appointing me his proxy.”

“And did you find that murderer?”

Wiki nodded.

“So that makes you a most important person.”

Wiki couldn't find an answer to that—he didn't agree, but he could hardly make the investigation more difficult by saying so. So instead, he gave her a self-deprecating smile.

“Now you understand the situation,” he suggested, “you don't mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Only if I can do the same,” she said pertly.

He laughed with surprise. “What do you mean?”

“For every question you ask, I can ask you one of my own. Isn't that a fair trade?”

“I'm not sure that's the usual procedure.”

“But that is the condition I set,” she said. Her eyes were dancing with sudden mischief, but he nodded.
Damn it,
he thought,
we're flirting again.

He said, “Me first?”

“You are the important one,” she said saucily, “so of course you go first.”

“How did Ezekiel find out that the sloop was wrecked on Shark Island?”

“Shark Island?”

“Ilha Tubarão.”

“Is that what this island is called?”

“Aye,” said Wiki, and added severely, “Now I have answered two of your questions, and you haven't answered even one of mine.” He repeated, “Who told Ezekiel the sloop
Hero
was lying here?”

She shrugged, and said, “Ezekiel would never discuss his business affairs with a woman, even a woman who was his wife.”

“Annabelle, that is not an answer!”

“All I can tell you is that he went on shore at Rio, and came back very angry. He had learned that the sloop had been wrecked, and while he was away the cook and a seaman had run off. Next day, my husband received Festin and another seaman called da Silva on board, and we weighed anchor, and sailed for this coast. I didn't go on shore at all,” she said resentfully. “This I did not expect when I made up my mind to go to sea.”

“I've already told you that coming on a sealing voyage was a crazy idea.”

She shrugged elaborately, looking very Gallic, and said, “What does it matter? This voyage turned out to be not for sealing.”

“He gave up the sealing idea because the
Hero
had been wrecked?”

“Of course. He wished to come and salvage it.”

Wiki watched her through his lashes as he insinuated, “I wouldn't have thought the sloop valuable enough to be worth the trouble.”

She waved an eloquently dismissive hand. “I don't know about value. All I know is that the captain of the
Hero
ran the sloop ashore in order to escape some pirates.”