Three Classic Thrillers (20 page)

Abanks sat on a stool and rested on his elbows. “That’s not one of my favorite subjects.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“The police instructed me not to talk to anyone.”

“It’s confidential. I swear.”

Abanks squinted and stared at the brilliant blue water. His face and arms bore the scars of a life at sea, a life spent sixty feet down guiding novices through and around coral reefs and wrecked ships.

“What do you want to know?” he asked softly.

“Can we talk somewhere else?”

“Sure. Let’s take a walk.” He yelled at Henry and spoke to a table of divers as he left. They walked on the beach.

“I’d like to talk about the accident,” Mitch said.

“You can ask. I may not answer.”

“What caused the explosion?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps an air compressor. Perhaps some fuel. We are not certain. The boat was badly damaged and most of the clues went up in flames.”

“Was it your boat?”

“Yes. One of my small ones. A thirty-footer. Your friends had chartered it for the morning.”

“Where were the bodies found?”

“In eighty feet of water. There was nothing suspicious about the bodies, except that there were no burns or other injuries that would indicate they had been in the explosion. So I guess that makes the bodies very suspicious.”

“The autopsies said they drowned.”

“Yes, they drowned. But your friends were in full scuba gear, which was later examined by one of my divemasters. It worked perfectly. They were good divers.”

“What about your son?”

“He was not in full gear. But he could swim like a fish.”

“Where was the explosion?”

“They had been scheduled to dive along a series of reef formations at Roger’s Wreck Point. Are you familiar with the island?”

“No.”

“It’s around the East Bay on Northeastern Point. Your friends had never dived there, and my son suggested they try it. We knew your friends well. They were experienced divers and took it seriously. They always wanted a boat by themselves and didn’t mind paying for it. And they always wanted Philip as their dive captain. We don’t know if they made any dives on the Point. The boat was found burning two miles at sea, far from any of our dive sites.”

“Could the boat have drifted?”

“Impossible. If there had been engine trouble, Philip would have used the radio. We have modern equipment, and our divemasters are always in touch with the dive shop. There’s no way the explosion could have occurred at the Point. No one saw it or heard it, and there’s always someone around. Secondly, a disabled boat could not drift two miles in that water. And, most importantly, the bodies were not on the boat, remember. Suppose the boat did drift, how do you explain the drifting of the bodies eighty feet below. They were found within twenty meters of the boat.”

“Who found them?”

“My men. We caught the bulletin over the radio, and I sent a crew. We knew it was our boat, and my men started diving. They found the bodies within minutes.”

“I know this is difficult to talk about.”

Abanks finished his beer and threw the bottle in a wooden garbage box. “Yes, it is. But time takes away the pain. Why are you so interested?”

“The families have a lot of questions.”

“I am sorry for them. I met their wives last year. They spent a week with us. Such nice people.”

“Is it possible they were simply exploring new territory when it happened?”

“Possible, yes. But not likely. Our boats report their movements from one dive site to the next. That’s standard procedure. No exceptions. I have fired a dive captain for not clearing a site before going to the next. My son was the best captain on the island. He grew up in these waters. He would never fail to report his movements at sea. It’s that simple. The police believe that is what happened, but they have to believe something. It’s the only explanation they have.”

“But how do they explain the condition of the bodies?”

“They can’t. It’s simply another diving accident as far as they’re concerned.”

“Was it an accident?”

“I think not.”

The sandals had rubbed blisters by now, and Mitch removed them. They turned and started back to the lodge.

“If it wasn’t an accident, what was it?”

Abanks walked and watched the ocean crawl along the beach. He smiled for the first time. “What are the other possibilities?”

“There’s a rumor in Memphis that drugs could have been involved.”

“Tell me about this rumor.”

“We’ve heard that your son was active in a drug
ring, that possibly he was using the boat that day to meet a supplier at sea, that there was a dispute and my friends got in the way.”

Abanks smiled again and shook his head. “Not Philip. To my knowledge he never used drugs, and I know he didn’t trade in them. He wasn’t interested in money. Just women and diving.”

“Not a chance?”

“No, not a chance. I’ve never heard this rumor, and I doubt if they know more in Memphis. This is a small island, and I would have heard it by now. It’s completely false.”

The conversation was over and they stopped near the bar. “I’ll ask you a favor,” Abanks said. “Do not mention any of this to the families. I cannot prove what I know to be true, so it’s best if no one knows. Especially the families.”

“I won’t tell anyone. And I will ask you not to mention our conversation. Someone might follow me here and ask questions about my visit. Just say we talked about diving.”

“As you wish.”

“My wife and I will be here next spring for our vacation. I’ll be sure to look you up.”

S
t. Andrew’s Episcopal School was located behind the church of the same name on a densely wooded and perfectly manicured five-acre estate in the middle of midtown Memphis. The white and yellow brick was occasionally visible where the ivy had for some reason turned and pursued another course. Symmetrical rows of clipped boxwoods lined the sidewalks and the small playground. It was a one-story L-shaped building sitting quietly in the shadows of a dozen ancient oaks. Cherished for its exclusivity, St. Andrew’s was the most expensive private school in Memphis for grades kindergarten through six. Affluent parents signed the waiting list shortly after birth.

Mitch stopped the BMW in the parking lot between the church and the school. Abby’s burgundy Peugeot was three spaces down, parked innocently. He was unexpected. The plane had landed an hour earlier, and he had stopped by the house to change into something lawyerly. He would see her, then back to his desk for a few hours at one hundred and fifty per.

He wanted to see her here, at the school, unannounced. A surprise attack. A countermove. He would say hello. He missed her. He couldn’t wait to see her, so he stopped by the school. He would be brief, the first touch and feel and words after that incident on the beach. Could she tell just by looking at him? Maybe she could read his eyes. Would she notice a slight strain in his voice? Not if she was surprised. Not if she was flattered by this visit.

He squeezed the steering wheel and stared at her car. What an idiot! A stupid fool! Why didn’t he run? Just throw her skirt in the sand and run like hell. But, of course, he didn’t. He said what the hell, no one will ever know. So now he was supposed to shrug it off and say what the hell, everybody does it.

On the plane he laid his plans. First, he would wait until late this night and tell her the truth. He would not lie, had no desire to live a lie. He would admit it and tell her exactly what happened. Maybe she would understand. Why, almost any man—hell, virtually every man would have taken the dive. His next move would depend on her reaction. If she was cool and showed a trace of compassion, he would tell her he was sorry, so very sorry, and that it would never happen again. If she fell all to pieces, he would beg, literally beg for forgiveness and swear on the Bible that it was a mistake and would never happen again. He would tell her how much he loved her and worshipped her, and please just give him one more chance. And if she started packing her bags, he would probably at that point realize he should not have told her.

Deny. Deny. Deny. His criminal-law professor at Harvard had been a radical named Moskowitz, who
had made a name for himself defending terrorists and assassins and child fondlers. His theory of defense was simply: Deny! Deny! Deny! Never admit one fact or one piece of evidence that would indicate guilt.

He remembered Moskowitz as they landed in Miami, and began working on Plan B, which called for this surprise visit at the school and a late-night romantic dinner at her favorite place. And no mention of anything but hard work in the Caymans. He opened the car door, thought of her beautiful smiling, trusting face and felt nauseous. A thick, dull pain hammered deep in his stomach. He walked slowly in the late autumn breeze to the front door.

The hallway was empty and quiet. To his right was the office of the headmaster. He waited for a moment in the hall, waited to be seen, but no one was there. He walked quietly ahead until, at the third classroom, he heard the wonderful voice of his wife. She was plowing through multiplication tables when he stuck his head in the door and smiled. She froze, then giggled. She excused herself, told them to stay in their seats and read the next page. She closed the door.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked as he grabbed her and pinned her to the wall. She glanced nervously up and down the hall.

“I missed you,” he said with conviction. He bear-hugged her for a good minute. He kissed her neck and tasted the sweetness of her perfume. And then the girl returned. You piece of scum, why didn’t you run?

“When did you get in?” she asked, straightening her hair and glancing down the hall.

“About an hour ago. You look wonderful.”

Her eyes were wet. Those wonderfully honest eyes. “How was your trip?”

“Okay. I missed you. It’s no fun when you’re not around.”

Her smile widened and she looked away. “I missed you too.”

They held hands and walked toward the front door. “I’d like a date tonight,” he said.

“You’re not working?”

“No. I’m not working. I’m going out with my wife to her favorite restaurant. We’ll eat and drink expensive wine and stay out late, and then get naked when we get home.”

“You did miss me.” She kissed him again, on the lips, then looked down the hall. “But you better get out of here before someone sees you.”

They walked quickly to the front door without being seen.

He breathed deeply in the cool air and walked quickly to his car. He did it. He looked into those eyes, held her and kissed her like always. She suspected nothing. She was touched and even moved.

DeVasher paced anxiously behind his desk and sucked nervously on a Roi-Tan. He sat in his worn swivel chair and tried to concentrate on a memo, then he jumped to his feet and paced again. He checked his watch. He called his secretary. He called Oliver Lambert’s secretary. He paced some more.

Finally, seventeen minutes after he was supposed to arrive, Ollie was cleared through security and walked into DeVasher’s office.

DeVasher stood behind his desk and glared at Ollie. “You’re late!”

“I’m very busy,” Ollie answered as he sat in a worn Naugahyde chair. “What’s so important?”

DeVasher’s face instantly changed into a sly, evil smile. He dramatically opened a desk drawer and proudly threw a large manila envelope across the desk into Ollie’s lap. “Some of the best work we’ve ever done.”

Lambert opened the envelope and gaped at the eight-by-ten black-and-white photographs. He stared at each one, holding them inches from his nose, memorizing each detail. DeVasher watched proudly.

Lambert reviewed them again and began breathing heavily. “These are incredible.”

“Yep. We thought so.”

“Who’s the girl?” Ollie asked, still staring.

“A local prostitute. Looks pretty good, doesn’t she? We’ve never used her before, but you can bet we’ll use her again.”

“I want to meet her, and soon.”

“No problem. I kinda figured you would.”

“This is incredible. How’d she do it?”

“It looked difficult at first. He told the first girl to get lost. Avery had the other one, but your man wanted no part of her friend. He left and went to that little bar on the beach. That’s when our girl there showed up. She’s a pro.”

“Where were your people?”

“All over the place. Those were shot from behind a palm tree, about eighty feet away. Pretty good, aren’t they?”

“Very good. Give the photographer a bonus. How long did they roll in the sand?”

“Long enough. They were very compatible.”

“I think he really enjoyed himself.”

“We were lucky. The beach was deserted and the timing was perfect.”

Lambert raised a photograph toward the ceiling, in
front of his eyes. “Did you make me a set?” he asked from behind it.

“Of course, Ollie. I know how much you enjoy these things.”

“I thought McDeere would be tougher than that.”

“He’s tough, but he’s human. He’s no dummy either. We’re not sure, but we think he knew we were watching him the next day during lunch. He seemed suspicious and began darting around the shopping district. Then he disappeared. He was an hour late for his meeting with Avery at the bank.”

“Where’d he go?”

“We don’t know. We were just watching out of curiosity, nothing serious. Hell, he might’ve been in a bar downtown for all we know. But he just disappeared.”

“Watch him carefully. He worries me.”

DeVasher waved another manila envelope. “Quit worrying, Ollie. We own him now! He would kill for us if he knew about these.”

“What about Tarrance?”

“Not a sign. McDeere ain’t mentioned it to anybody, at least not to anybody we’re listening to. Tarrance is hard to trail sometimes, but I think he’s staying away.”

“Keep your eyes open.”

“Don’t worry about my end, Ollie. You’re the lawyer, the counselor, the esquire, and you get your eight-by-tens. You run the firm. I run the surveillance.”

“How are things at the McDeere house?”

“Not too good. She was very cool to the trip.”

“What’d she do when he was gone?”