—OOO—
Contact: Phineas_Redux@yahoo.com
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Summary:— Fiona ‘Fay' Cartwright & Alice ‘Al' Drever are private detectives in an East Coast American city, in the 1930's. They are asked to investigate an example of maritime piracy.
Disclaimer:— All characters are copyright ©2015 to the author. All characters in this story are fictional, and any resemblance to real persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Caution:— There is a certain amount of light swearing in this story.
—O—
Story 12 of
the 'Drever & Cartwright' series
1. The Packer Building Incident.
2. The Fowler St. Incident.
3. The Pier 7 Incident.
4. The Elevated Rail Incident.
5. The Charioteer Insurance Co. Incident
6. The Grand Banks Hotel Incident
7. The Vanishing Girl Incident
8. The R-103 Incident.
9. The Stolen Sappho Incident
10. The Compton Trial Incident
11. The Fashion House Incident
12. The Lost Christmas Present Incident
13. The Meiklewood Legatees Incident
14. The Film Set Incident
—O—
“A speedboat?”
“Yep.”
“Y'mean, a real live speedboat?” Alice was non-plussed. “Who cares? Tell the owner t'buy another one; whoever took it's probably re-painted it; given it another name; an' sold it t'some two-bit lobster-fisherman by now, out on the Grand Banks.”
“A thirty foot racing machine?” Fiona had, as always, all the answers; a trait which often tended to get right up her loved partner's nose. “Fitted with two Napier Lion twelve-cylinder aircraft engines? Top speed o'approximately one hundred miles per hour? Goes through fuel like—like—like you goin' through a tub o'ice-cream. I think we can nix the fishing-boat theory.”
“Oh, one o'those.” Alice admitted defeat.
“Uh-huh.” Fiona, on the other hand, revelled in her victory. “Two-man crew, though I believe ladies are involved, too. One t'drive the beast or, at least, keep it under control at speed; and a second t'just sit there shoutin' ‘ Slower! Slower! Please Stop! ”
“That'd be me.”
Fiona, loving her partner unequivocally, forbore to answer.
The women were ensconced in their cosy private office, in the Packer Building on the corner of 12 th and Rosemartin, in Delacote City, NH; sitting at the long desk, contemplating life in general and the letter before them in particular, on this brisk not to say freezing morning of Tuesday 12 th December, 1933.
“Well, go over the client's letter again, Fay.” Alice sniffed magisterially; not being in a giving mood that morning. “Suppose we better get on top of the details, before tellin' him t'take a hike, an' try the Lost an' Found office at the Rail Depot. Not those technical details y've just quoted; just the, umm , personal part.”
“ Hir-Hir! ” Fiona registered mild amusement at this ploy, then commenced to read out loud. “Come at once. All is Lost. Beware the man with the red bandana. Bring guns. Help.”
“Oh, very funny.” Alice snorted contemptuously, leaning forward to tweak the offending missive from her lover's hand. “Give it here; yeah, just as I thought. Fay, y'really got'ta give up re-reading ‘ Treasure Island ' every December—it's beginnin' t'rot your mind.”
“ Harph! ”
“Let's see,” The cool intelligent half of the detective duo scrutinised the letter carefully. “yeah, so, ‘ Dear Miss Drever — Oh , he's addressed it t'me, ain't that sweet?—wonder why he don't like you, dear? Anyway, ‘ Having been told of your company's excellent record I herein wish to consult you professionally on a delicate matter. I should like to discuss the more private details in an interview at my own Town House, shall we say, Tuesday, 12 th —why, that's today—”
“ Oh , y'noticed, darlin'; didn't think y'would.”
“Fool.” The brunette curled an imperious lip and continued. “ By way of explanation I may say that I, Donald Meeker, am well-known as a business-man of some importance in the region. Recently I had occasion, in the utmost secrecy, to have a rather unusual speedboat built in Portsmouth (see technical details below). This was meant as a Christmas present for Leonora Malley, my affianced —well, I'll be the daughter of a gold-miner!”
There was a short silence in the long office, as both contemplated boyfriends who were able and willing to shell out for a speedboat for the loved one. Fiona put it best, in awed tones.
“ Jeez , what else wouldn't he cough up for, for the asking.” She glanced at the young beautiful woman by her side, with a light-hearted smirk on her luscious lips. “Makes me think I may have chosen the wrong end o'the stick, after all—y'know, sexually speakin' an' all.”
The only slightly affronted recipient of this outrageous supposition merely growled low in her throat; shaking her head as at a naughty child; an action which immediately entranced Fiona all over again.
“To continue, lover gal—an' will I ever be able t'finish this rag, by the way?—probably not; but perseverance, that's the thing, perseverance. Where was I? I've lost my place.”
“His affianced, on the right side of a scrumptious Chrissie Pressie.”
“Oh yeah.” Alice contorted her features into those of a school-teacher minutely examining a student's essay which had not come up to the mark. “ I shall expect you at 1342 Edgeware Avenue, Todmorton, at one-twenty in the afternoon. Yours, Donald Meeker, esq. ' Hum.”
“Well, are we interested?” Fiona hoisted an enquiring eyebrow into the air, regarding her loved better half the while. “Is it a date; or d'we tell the bozo t'get lost?”
Before answering Alice leaned back in her chair and slowly scratched her chin in contemplation. Never one for the knee-jerk reaction, or the jumping in where angels, etc, Alice thought about the scientific in's and out's of the problem carefully.
“I got'ta tell you, handsome, I'm intrigued t'find out what kind'a gal would jump for joy at bein' presented with a brand new fast speedboat for a pressie, at this festive time o'year.” Alice smiled at her taller companion. “OK, we're in; no cast-iron decisions, mind; just a sort'a preliminary reconnaissance, y'know. You can drive; I'm feelin' lax an' luxurious. Got any grapes? I'll peel ‘em myself.”
“ Huh. Y'll be askin' me fer the Moon, next.”
—O—
Edgeware Avenue, as did all the thoroughfares in the exclusive district of Todmorton, exuded a quiet sense of knowing full-well its own importance. The road was lined, at wide intervals, by set-back villas of lavish extravagance and style. Most were defended by wide lawns and belts of tall elms and ash, if not outright fences or walls; as was their destination, when the intrepid detectives rolled up in Fiona's honey-coloured Buick.
“ Whee , that's what I call a fancy pad.” Alice took stock of the building, some fifty yards away across the wide lawn, in her usual breezy manner. “What style's that, then?”
“Who cares? It's a dam' big house; what more d'ya want.” Fiona was feeling grumpy that morning, too. “Come on, let's get up there, an' annoy the hell out'ta the front-door bell.”
Contact having been established in the usual manner with the inmates, a capable-looking woman, probably the House-Manager, took them along a wide heavily furnished corridor to a big morning-room where their client awaited them.
“Hi'ya, ladies, take seats here, if ya like.” He nodded amiably at his visitors, seating himself in a deep leather armchair as they occupied the wide sofa indicated. “Tea for three, Mrs Macklin, please. So, was it a fine drive out, or what?”
“So, so.” Alice never liked to kow-tow to the rich and gentry. “So, what's botherin' you, Mr Meeker? Some bum filched your week-end fishing-boat, an' flogged it surreptitiously t'a lobster-catcher up by Portsmouth, eh? Wouldn't it be easier just t'buy another boat with an outboard motor, an' call it quits?”
“ Ah , Miss Drever; you are Miss Drever, I assume?” Meeker seemed no whit put out by this radical outburst. “Yes, quite. As t'the boat, as you call it—it cost me somewhere in the region of $40,000, and is driven by two huge Napier Lions. It's sole an' single object in existin' is for my sweetheart, Leonora Malley, t'break the water speed record; win the Harmsworth Trophy; an', in doin' both, irritate Joe Carstairs no end. Ha-Ha! ”
The two women looked at each other; Fiona finally putting their single thought into words.
“Joe Carstairs? Who's he?”
“ Ah. Ah. ” For the first time their client seemed flummoxed, adjusting his too-flamboyant silk tie with a nervous movement. “Perhaps, if we got onto the, er , bones of the matter?”
“That'd be swell, Mr Meeker.” Alice, as always in this situation, leaned down to retrieve a notebook from the trusty handbag resting by her feet. “OK, give us the general scheme o'things. What, Where, How, but y'can forget the Why, if y'want.”
Donald Meeker was a rich businessman; though less by his own involvement in the various companies under his control, and more to the bequest of same by his father some ten years earlier. He had pretty quickly delegated the everyday management to other trusted executives, thereby freeing him to live the life he had grown up enjoying—that of a wealthy playboy and man about town.
He was not by nature self-centered; rather simply mollycoddled by Life in general; considering the open doors his riches could, by their simple presence, activate in all aspects of Society. In personality somewhat lackadaisical, he was nevertheless in general highly intelligent.
“ Uum , yes.” He settled himself more comfortably; obviously, to the experienced detectives closely watching him, playing for time. “Right well, I'd ordered the boat earlier in the year, with the addenda that it be ready for December—for Leonora's present, y'see. Well, it was completed about a month ago, and since then Lennie an' I've been carrying out tests—”
“So she already knows about it, then?” Alice was on top of this detail; like a shark on a particularly unpromising day.
“Oh yes.” Donald nodded energetically. “Not what y'might call any real secrecy about it at all. Too big a thing to hide, y'know. It was a Christmas present in name only, I suppose you'd say. So, we've been running it up an' down the coastal waters just off-shore of Delacote; it bein' too public t'swan up an' down the Piscataqua River at Portsmouth.”
“So where'd ya keep the boat, in harbour?” Fiona wrinkled her brow. “I mean, a fast speedboat, meant t'break records? Was it berthed here, at Delacote; or Portsmouth? Must'a been pretty difficult t'keep out'ta the way o'pryin' eyes, I should'a thought.”
“I have a beach-house, a couple of miles north along the Interstate Highway.” He made this statement with no sense of one-upmanship, but simply as a fact of life. “There's a fine boat-house attached, with a partially covered jetty; so there's no problem about keeping Bremusa 1 away from, er , unnecessary public attention.”
“Oh, it has a name; that helps.” Alice industriously noted this important fact in her notebook. “Ask any bozo about a mere boat or car, or virtually anythin', an' they'll, nine times out'ta ten, be flummoxed. But give it a name an' they gen'rally come up trumps.”
Donald was by now looking somewhat at sea himself; the position of witness interviewee in a robbery clearly not appealing. Fiona stepped in, trying to calm his nerves with a few technical questions.
“If ya keep the thing at your beach-pad, that means y'll need'ta bring fuel down there pretty regular. How's that done? I only ask ‘cause it means the boat, bein' where it was, couldn't a'bin any kind'a a real secret, y'see. Hell, anyone could'a known where it was.”
Meeker didn't answer this pertinent question immediately; but sank back in his chair, considering the matter. The evident conclusion did not seem all that satisfying, for he held both hands out in a gesture of defeat.
“Well, ladies, since y'ask I hav'ta say, what with fuel, an' various mechanical odds an' ends; an' havin' t'have mechanics from the boat-building company in Portsmouth along pretty constantly; well, the place began t'look like a suburb of a car-manufacturing company at times.” He looked somewhat gloomy at the memory. “Bits an' pieces of engine, an' other things, littered all over the beach by the house; crowds o'people hunched over the dam' boat; an' telephone calls back an' forth between the chief-mechanic an' his HQ every dam' day. Not t'say anythin' about Lennie bein' on hand constantly, givin' of her best in every crisis. Jesus , I wake up now an' agin thankful the bloody thing has been half-inched.”
“Albatross, eh?” Fiona surmised.
“Dam' straight.”
Alice, a little baffled, but valiantly determined to make up for lost ground, hovered her pencil over her revered notebook and gave Meeker the evil eye.
“Insurance.”
“What?”
“Insurance.” Alice nodded comfortably, no whit put out. “The Police, an' the insurance agents; the first thing they'll focus on is that you did it yourself for the insurance. They'll spend most of their investigations tryin' t'pin the dastardly deed on your own shoulders. Well, did you?”
“Did I? Did I what?”
“Take the boat out t'the briny deeps offshore; an' deep-six it, for the greenbacks?”
“ Good God , woman, are you accusing me of—”
“Hold it. Hold it right there.” Fiona rose to her full height, interposing herself between the now also standing man and the source of his anger. “Let's not go off at half-cock here. A perfectly natural question, Mr Meeker; perhaps a tad short in the askin', but had t'be brought up, nonetheless. With an expensive thing like a fast speedboat there's always gon'na be the spectre o'insurance hangin' over the investigation. So, wha'd'ya say, then? Take a seat, take a seat—show's over. Relax.”
The boat-owner sank back, unwillingly, frowning still at his detractor.
“Dam' silly thing t'ask.” He hunched his shoulders and twisted his hands together nervously. “If the Police come t'the same conclusion I'll have somethin' t'say t'them, you bet.”
“Have they?” Fiona, still trying hard to cool scratched tempers, settled herself back on the sofa beside the unrepentant source of the present schemozzle. “The Police I mean. What'd they have t'say, in their first investigation?”
“Oh well,” Meeker curled a lip, scornfully. “if y'can call it an investigation. Some tallish grey-haired character, with a personality like a love-snubbed bull, came along an' asked some dam' strange questions. Seemed t'think because I'd gifted the dam' boat t'Lennie, that made it some kind'a a joke, or somethin'. Anyway, I could see from the get-go he wasn't takin' the affair seriously—just another rowboat heist t'him, obviously. No idea o'the importance of the thing, at all. That's why I called you two in—hopin' for some intelligent detective work, y'see. Well, can y'encompass that high a fence? Real detective work, I mean?”
Both ladies, in the course of their now lengthy careers, had long been exposed to this carping quibbling attitude associated with the mere fact of their femininity; so took this present criticism with a pinch of salt and practiced nonchalance, as being the best reaction. Alice, trying for some sense of reconciliation no doubt, leaned forward and now—probably unconsciously—fixed the unhappy ex-boat-owner with a basilisk stare.
“We've cleared up some mighty fancy mix-ups in the past, sure enough.” The brunette bent her head, giving Meeker an appraising once-over. “The question ain't what we can do; the question is, d' you want the help we can give, that's all. If not, why Fay an' I can mosey on along, an' leave y'to cry salt tears inta your champagne at your terrible loss—no skin off our noses.”
“OK, OK, I apologise. I apologise.” Meeker waved his hands about forlornly. “ Jeez , what's a guy t'do? I give Lennie a bloody expensive speedboat; there's lot's a'extra work involved in gettin' it ready, never mind actually takin' it t'sea; then it's grabbed one night. Well, I ask you.”
“No, Mr Meeker,” Alice was now once more back on top of the situation, smiling slightly as she scribbled industriously in her notebook. “I'm askin' you. So it was stolen at night, eh? What happened?”
“ Jeez , I've already gone over all this with the cops.”
“But not with us.” Fiona percipiently put this in, by way of dousing all mutiny at its source. “So sit back; grab the salient facts; an' let us have ‘em, in chronological order, if ya don't mind.”
The owner of the stolen boat, still wringing his hands like a character from Dickens, looked as if he was just about to spill the beans on the loss when an interruption occurred in the shape of the sitting-room door being thrown wide to allow the entrance of a whirlwind in the shape of a young woman.
She was of medium height, brunette, shingled hair, lithe form, and of a clearly bright and chirpy personality. She breezed into the room as if she owned the place; threw her wide-brimmed hat on a spare chair, and grinned widely at the hapless proprietor of the house.
“ God , y're lookin' dam' glum, Don.” Her voice was musical and set in a low register. “Whose'is the fancy Buick by the front gate, by the way? Oh , hello ladies, what's up. No, don't tell me; it's that dam' boat, ain't it? Yeah, I knew it. Bremusa's been a right royal pain in the ar—neck, ever since Don whipped the wrapping paper off the dam' thing an' said Happy Christmas, three weeks ago. Any clues yet?”
For their part Alice and Fiona took time to study the latest entrant in the contest for hapless victim of a crime; though there was certainly nothing at all luckless about the present lady. She was just short of Fiona in height; wore a good woolen suit of short jacket and long skirt, in medium blue; her eyes a sort of amber-chestnut shade; and her features sturdy and open; a charming smile completing the impression of a young lady with verve and lots of get-up-and-go.
“What's it like, bein' given a bloody great boat for a pressie, if I may ask?” Alice raised an enquiring brow towards the typhoon of femininity. “D'you drive the thing yourself?”
“Well, yeah.” Leonora flung her handbag down on the table and sat on a spare chair beside Donald. “I've been into fast boats all my life, really. An' recently, what with a certain amount o'competition, I've been tryin' hard t'get t'grips with the dam' Harmsworth Trophy. That's where Don's gift comes in, y'see.”
“What exactly is that?” Fiona ruffled her shoulders, adopting an enquiring expression. “We're not experts in the speedboat line, y'see.”
“Oh, it's one of these annual international competitions t'see who can go fastest.” Lennie smiled crookedly. “Sounds silly, put like that; but it's really extremely important. I'm gon'na use Bremusa to train with, an' enter her in next year's competition.”
“And the water-speed record?” Alice added her iota to the interrogation. “Usin' the same boat?”
“Well, no.” Lennie gave Don a quick look before replying. “I'm thinkin' of havin' another built, to a slightly different design; Bremusa Two . With more powerful engines, an' different underwater lines; it should stand a good chance, I think.”
“So this theft's upset your plans pretty badly, all round?” Alice raised her eyebrow at the nervously intense woman.
“Yeah, too right.” Lennie was clearly not a happy racing-boat driver. “It's not so much the loss; the temporary loss; but the fact it may be damaged, or even destroyed. You have to find it before anythin' like that happens.”
“ Uumph , no doubt.” Fiona mused on this information for a few seconds. “Why d'ya think it was stolen at all? I mean, was it just a spur of the moment thing, by some passing lout; or was it more of a pre-planned operation?”
“I can answer that fairly comprehensively.” Don sat up straighter in his armchair. “For a start it wasn't just fired up an' driven away. Have either of ya ever been at a speedboat competition?”
Fiona and Alice shook their heads together.
“Well, lem'me tell ya the noise these things, the boats, I mean, make in havin' their engines started is unbelievable.” Meeker spread his hands wide. “They generally have two engines each; started separately. They have eight or ten cylinders, and the fuel injection means it's a long-drawn out procedure—an' dam' noisy. If you're anywhere within a hundred yards, y'wouldn't be able t'hear yourself think.”
“So, are you sayin' someone towed it away, in the dead o'night?” Alice was on top of the situation, various possibilities running through her mind as she spoke. “That'd mean another boat, an' probably a group of thieves in it together. That's good.”
Lennie and Don looked at each other curiously, then turned to Alice with equally bemused expressions.
“Why'd ya say a thing like that?” Lennie took up the torch of interested inquiry. “What's good about it? I've,—Don an' I've, lost our bloody boat; nuthin' funny there.”
“Oh, it's simply that Al means with a group of thieves there's a much better chance of somethin' comin' t'the surface quickly, than otherwise; if y'll pardon the expression.” Fiona spread oil on troubled waters, having much experience in doing so. “There's no honour among thieves, y'know; no matter what the cheap crime novelists'd have ya believe. No, with a group, all suspicious of each other; an' wantin' paid up-front an' quickly, an' then havin' the need t'make a fast an' comprehensive getaway: well, y'can see it probably wouldn't be long before one o'the gang broke under the strain, an' started goin' public with his worries, t'some supposed buddy or other.”
“Which, o'course, would mean us gettin' a line on the whole set-up straight-off.” Alice nodded knowingly, as having been in the same situation many times before. “Don't worry, somethin'll come out in the wash within a day or two. An' I wouldn't worry overmuch about anythin' nasty happenin' t'the boat in the meantime, either.”
“ Huh .” Don snorted unhappily, obviously unimpressed. “What makes ya think that?”
“It can't be sold on the open market, can it?” Fiona took up her partner's line of thought. “Even re-painted, it'd be recognised from Maine t'New England. No, it's been kidnapped, is what. They don't mean t'sink it. If they did, why go to the trouble of snatchin' it first? No, they'd have a far greater chance o'success in that area, an' not bein' found out, by simply pourin' petrol over it and settin' it alight.”
“Or even, if they had the right gangland connections, maybe a small bomb.” Alice focussed on the melodramatic scenario, as was her wont. “Y'know, blow the thing t'bits, in one single gigantic blast that'd rock the foundations of every beach-house for a mile up an' down the coast. Probably use a clock, a timer, so they needn't be anywhere around when it went bang. Everythin' covered that way, y'see.”
There was a pause, while the owners considered this horrible possibility, Alice and Fiona grinning widely the while—like two particularly sarcastic Cheshire cats. Then Fiona eased the tension a little.
“What Al means is, they want t'use the boat as a,-a chess-piece.” The tall black-haired detective nodded at her own sagacity. “Havin' stolen the dam' thing, that means they have some other purpose in mind than just scrappin' it. They want to use it as a lever, for a reason of their own. Maybe even just simple ransom. They know how important the boat is to you, an' imagine you'll cough up with the greenbacks in sufficient numbers to satisfy their combined avarice. Had any strange phone-calls or letters, in the last two days or so?”
“Nah, I ain't had anythin' like that.” Meeker looked enquiringly across to his fiancée. “You, dear?”
“I ain't been back t'my pad since the theft.” Lennie shrugged at this question, tapping blunt fingers on a cigarette–case she had pulled from her handbag. “Went t'a woman friend's here in Todmorton, after we'd been initially cross-examined by the cops, then came straight back over here. Don't know what amount o'mail's been backin' up in my absence.”
“Where'd ya live, Miss Malley?” Fiona gave the lady a searching once-over. “Perhaps a quick run home, right away, might produce results.”
“Results?”
“A ransom note.” Alice nodded knowingly. “A certain amount of money, to be placed secretly at a certain place, at a cert—”
“Lady, lady, I know what a dam' ransom entails.” Leonora frowned darkly, as one with little patience. “Give me credit for some sense. OK, OK, I'll shoot over there, pronto; though I think y're barking up the wrong tree. Who ever heard of holding a world record speedboat t'ransom?”
“Well, there's always a first time for everything; as the showgirl said t'the Bishop, after he'd made a very strange suggestion.” Alice was often like this, as her long-suffering partner well knew; but not usually so much so in public. “It's a joke, y'see.”
It was immediately apparent that neither Leonora nor Don appreciated the humour of the thing; so Fiona stepped in to change the direction of the group's thoughts.
“”Why don't I accompany Miss Malley t'her place o'residence; while Alice here, takes down the details of the robbery, and makes a plan of the immediate area.” Fiona nodded, as if in full command of the situation. “You'd be amazed what can sometimes be discovered at a crime scene, even days later. Right, Miss Malley, shall we go. We can safely leave Alice t'sort things out here.”
This last was accompanied by a meaningful glance towards her paramour, supposed to be overflowing with all sorts of connotations; but Alice seemed not to notice as she put away her notebook and stood up assuredly, as if she too knew exactly what was required in the circumstances.
“Yeah, I'll go for a saunter along the beach and past the boat-house; see what's lyin' around.” The brunette detective raised an eyebrow at her departing partner. “If y'find anythin' important, use the phone, will you.”
“Sure thing, Al. OK, see ya, Mr Meeker.”
—O—
Leonora's place of residence turned out to be in Carter Street, The Heights; the southern middle-class suburb of Delacote City. With Fiona following in her Buick the speedboat afficianado took her own Ford along the Interstate, passing the city on the ocean side before turning back in. In twenty minutes she ran her black vehicle up to the edge of the sidewalk, in that curious angled manner all American drivers seem to favour as a means of parking, and waited while Fiona did the same.
“OK, here we are.” The brunette pointed at the main entrance of an eight-storey apartment block. “Mine's on the sixth; come on, follow me.”
A few minutes later, comfortably domiciled on a long sofa in the large sitting-room of her suite, Leonora settled back to survey the bundle of post the couple had found awaiting her.
“Let's see, this's just a bloody bill—bloody bills, y'd think the dam' Government had nothin' better t'do.” Leonora sniffed imperiously. “This's from an old friend; this's a catalogue; this's another bloody bill; this's—wait a mo', what is this? Ain't seen this writing before, an' the postmark's Wolfeboro, Lake Winnipesaukee, of all places. Now, who'd I know lives up there?”
“Perhaps openi—”
The cicerone of the apartment gave her visitor a withering glance, but proceeded to take her advice. The unfolded letter turning out to be of great interest.
“Printed letters, stuck on the paper individually. Ha! ” Fiona nodded in delight, and reached out a hand for the offending item. “Can I take a look? Yeah, this is it. A ransom note, in the time-honoured manner. Hmm .”
“Well, don't just sit there, tell me what the hell it says.”
“Sorry, right.” Fiona sat up, straightening the note between her fingers. “First off then, it's composed as per Hoyle; letters cut from newspapers and magazines and stuck down with glue. There's lots o'possibilities as t'clues right-off from this alone. Type o'glue, f'instance. The typography of the various letters an' words; which mags an' newspapers they originated from. Y'll note I'm holdin' it kind'a delicate; there's some faint chance o'prints; but not much. An' finally, the style of the message itself; was the writer educated, or not; that kind'a thing. So y'see, it can tell us a lot.”
“What it apparently can't tell us, however, is exactly what the hell the message actually says?”
“ Oh, Ah , yes, quite.” Fiona tried to look as if she were not ever so slightly embarrassed. “Right, so,—‘ Boat Bremusa safe. Want back bring $25,000 in attaché case low denoms. 7.30pm Friday 15 th Dec. Corner Almeida and Holcroft. Johnsons Store side. Red Chrysler sedan. Give money to driver with red shirt and hat. Boat location by post Saturday 16 th Dec. Any funny biz boat trashed. ' Well, that seems clear enough.”
“Where in hell d'they think Don or I can get that sort'a money?” Leonora was incensed. “Who d'they think we are—Rockefeller? I can't lay my hands on a tenth of that.”
“Well, all in due order.” Fiona was putting the offending missive carefully back in its envelope. “First of all, what we got'ta do now is break the Law.”
“What? What? ”
“Well technically, anyway.” Fiona stood with an air of determination. “What we should do is take this letter immediately t'the 5 th Precinct, an' Inspector Fletcher. His back-room boys'll have all sort's a'fun sifting clues out'ta it with chemicals an' what-not. But what we're actually gon'na do is take it back to your paramour's beach-house, an' Alice. She's a gem at examinin' things like this. Then, afterwards, y'can pass it along t'the boys in blue; sort'a brushin' over its intermediate travels, which don't concern the cops none. Got that?”
“Oh yeah, sure. “ Leonora's tone could be described as nothing short of the heaviest sarcasm. “Tell lies t'the cops; with-hold vital evidence for longer than legally required; an' run said cops up the garden-path about our involvement with the letter. Is that all? OK, I'm in. Come on, let's get back t'Don. My, this's is turnin' out t'be fun.”
—O—
“Well, let's see.” Alice held the letter carefully by its edges, as she sat on a sofa in the beach-house living-room, surrounded by all interested parties. “When dealin' with clues like this here, y'first got'ta be quite sure o'what y'might realistically be in hopes of findin'; an', contrariwise, what y'can cross off your list as bein' beyond the scope of likelihood.”
“Y'sound like a Government pathologist.”
“D'you want this report, or not, lady?”
“Sorry, carry on.” Fiona admitted defeat with a smile and a nod to the anxiously waiting co-respondents. “She's very good, really.”
“ Irrph . First, then, the paper's thin, but well-made of high quality, tinted slightly yellow. Not general store bought; fancy special stuff, from elite outlets. Should be easy t'trace, an' eventually finger someone's name an' address. Bad first mistake.” Alice bowed her head over the piece of paper, now deeply interested in what she was examining. “The words, even though stuck down in individual letters, are well-spaced. That means, in my experience, a woman's touch. Secondly, although comprising single letters, the various words don't show as much of a difference in placing—one letter higher or lower than the other—as might be expected. Again, a woman. Third, even I can see at a glance that the majority of the letters are cut from expensive magazines, not merely newspapers. Mostly fashion magazines, in fact. Of the papers that are represented I can definitely recognise the ‘ Delacote City News ' and the ‘ East Coast Herald '; which is only to be expected. There's another one I can't finger; but the font is unusual, so it shouldn't be hard to place, after a short search.”
“All very well, but is this going to help us find the dam' boat any quicker?” Lennie spoke with a nervous tone in her voice, wringing her hands meanwhile.
“Oh yes, it all adds up.” Alice nodded re-assuringly.”And what we do figure out gives us the chance to get that two or three steps ahead of the cops, in discovering the answer to your problem—so, yeah, this helps a great deal. Now, fourthly, the words used, and the grammar of the whole thing. There are no multi-syllabic or curious words, or long grammatical sentences; which is again only to be expected. After all, a ransom note ain't generally an essay in the manner of Henry James.”
“ Har-Har .”
“Do be quiet, Fay.” Alice shook her shingled head gracefully, taking Fiona's mind off the matter in hand for a vital few seconds. “But there is a lot of information, contained in relatively few words; and all precisely an' clearly stated, leavin' the recipient in no doubt about the meaning. Such, firstly, bears all the hallmarks of a first-class intelligence; and, secondly, that of a woman.”
“A woman?” Don sat up straight, clearly surprised. “You really think you can figure that out, from the tiny scraps of information in that note? I don't see it, myself.”
Alice, well-used to this lack of trust from dubious clients, waved the offending note in the air, with an expression of absolute certainty; she and Fiona exchanging glances and nods at the same time.
“Put your mind at rest there, Mr Meeker.” Fiona spoke up for them both. “We've had years of experience in this game. This ain't, by far, the first note of it's kind we've had t'deal with. When we speak about knowin' what we're doin', in this kind'a case, we' ain't elaboratin' un-necessarily. What Al says is in the letter, is really there. An' what she says it all stands for, is the real thing, too. This letter tells us a lot; far more than the senders probably'd be happy about if they knew we'd figured such out. I for one can see a whole parcel of possibilities as to our next moves; simply because of what Al's told us here.”
“Well, if you say so.” Meeker remained obviously doubtful of the matter, however. “When can we expect results? I mean, you don't really want Lennie or I t'actually go over on Friday and meet this creep in the red Chrysler, do you?”
“Hell, no.” Fiona smiled easily as they all moved to the door. “No chance. Let ‘em stew for a while. Maybe it'll push them into further action; action that'll likely be of some use t'us. An' don't worry about your boat; that's the golden egg, for them. Their only means of getting paid; so they ain't gon'na do anything to it for the foreseeable future. By which time we may very well already have bearded ‘em in their den. So long.”
—O—
On the beach by the house Alice led her partner along the sand to the long clapperboard hut by the high-water mark; the building being some twenty yards to the side of the main house.
“Did ya find anythin' interestin', in my absence?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Alice directed her lover towards the left side of the rather rundown building. “There's somethin' just round here, at the side, y'might wan'na look at.”
The boathouse was strongly built, but had obviously not been painted in recent times; its general tone being that of grey ash. Alice halted the tall woman by her side and, bending down, carefully removed an old upturned metal bucket lying close to the side of the structure where the lower strake of planking met the sand.
“I put the bucket here t'keep things safe. See that?”
On the beach surface now revealed, gripped between the slightly protruding edge of the lowest wooden board and the sand itself, lay an only partially smoked cigarette. Almost its entire length remained and, because of the dry cold weather recently, was still intact. Fiona bent and delicately removed it with extreme care. Alice already having a small paper envelope ready.
“Well, well, look at that.” Fiona brought the object to face height and peered intently. “Dark crimson lipstick, on an black Egyptian cigarette. Hell, it even still has the thin gold ring near the end. ‘ Caliph Farouz ' special imports. What does that suggest, Al?”
“That one clue tells us all the glad tidings we need, lover-gal.” Alice was openly sniggering with glee at their great good fortune. “First off, we're dam' lucky the cops missed it, or Inspector Fletcher'd have had the case closed about an hour after bein' called in yesterday.”
“True enough, darlin', true enough.”
“Secondly, it means her ladyship Helen MacAllan, Queen o'the South Side, is the mastermind we're after—not a doubt o'it.”
“Y'got it in one, Al.” Fiona punched her confrere lovingly on the shoulder. “ God , that's a fine bit of work y'did in findin' this. Dam' near closes the case right off.”
“So, what're we gon'na do now?” Alice looked questioningly at her partner. “As I see it we got two options; go off on our own an' finger the gal ourselves; or hotfoot it t'the 5 th Precinct, and let Inspector Fletcher in on the good news from Ghent. Wha'd'ya say, lady?”
Fiona was still beaming with happiness, and some relief, as she considered this question. Meanwhile she had been taking stock of their present position and its relation to the finding of the abandoned cigarette.
“I got a theory—”
“What, already?”
“Funny gal.” Fiona smiled wider, and indicated their position with a wave of her hand. “Standin' here, we're out'ta sight o'the main beach-house. Helen probably took this opportunity t'have a quick puff; but, again, she maybe also used her lighter t'signal her boys out in the bay in their own boat; waitin' for just that signal. They probably gave a return sign, an' she threw her cigarette away unthinkingly, out'ta habit. Then returned to the boat-house to see whoever of her gang was with her had prepared the moored speedboat for towing out. And there y'have it.”
“Works for me, dear.”
Alice nodded in agreement, as they entered the boathouse by the side door; walking onto a narrow jetty floor which ran the length of both sides of the interior, with the open water surface between. The roof was inclined and ceiling-less, showing the thin rafters which held it up. On the sea-side two wide wooden doors lay open revealing the cutting in the beach, apparently concrete-sided, which allowed for a deep stretch of water between the boathouse and the low-water mark. A small open floor at the rear of the shed contained a small table, covered in equipment and tools, and a couple of cupboards with open shelves equally well-stocked. To one side most of the remaining space was taken up by what were obviously, respectively, an oil barrel and petrol drum. The heavy acrid smell of both still hanging throat-catchingly in the air.
“So this is where the ol' Bremusa spent her evenin's, eh?”
“Yep.” Alice nodded, pointing out, with an elegant finger, a spot on the greasy oil-smeared floor. “Don't touch it, y'll never the get the stain out; but just there, see?”
The taller woman bent at her knees to gaze intently at the spot indicated. Amongst all the other stains two stood out meaningfully; at least they did so if you knew what to look for.
“Well, wha'd'ya know.” Fiona stood up gleefully, grinning at her partner once more. “Things just get better an' better. Those two stains ain't stains; they're heelmarks, from leather boots. Surprised Fletcher missed ‘em; but they do look uncommon like ordinary stains.”
“Unless, like us, y'had earlier experience o'just who wears footgear like that.”
“You said it, Al.” Fiona took another glance at the two, somewhat mediocre looking, oil-stains on the concrete floor; almost invisible amongst all the other nearly similar stains of the same kind all round. “One heel's smaller than the other, an' more lightly imprinted on the floor, compared to its companion. Y'can just barely make out the sole pattern.”
“ ‘ Lefty ' Krueger.” Alice agreed with a nod and a grin of delight at their continuing fortune. “With his heavy limp y'can spot him half a mile away, in a crowded street. An' he's well-known t'be Helen's second in command. Looks like everyone o'note in her gang was down here for the boat-snatchin'. So, what's the next step?”
“Fletcher, I'm afraid. Got'ta keep on the right side o'the Law, baby.”
“Too true. Oh well, will you drive, or shall I?”
—O—
Inspector Fletcher disliked many things; and many aspects of his job. But foremost amongst these was discovering that his team had fallen down on the gathering of clues. And at the pinnacle of his dislikes, by a long way, was being told so by Fiona and Alice. As the two women sat on the ricketty chairs for which his office was famous, they saw at close hand an unhappy member of the Police Force; and he was in the process of letting it be known to all and sundry, by telephone, private messenger, and loud shouting.
“Listen Braithwaite,” His manner on the phone, never perfectly polite, now fell several notches short of kindness and gentility. “I only gave ya one job t'do, out at the Meeker beach-house; findin' clues. An' did ya? No, ya dam' well didn't. I just got a passel o'private dicks come in my office—my own private office at HQ, dammit—an' give me clues o'such a nature we only need'ta tie up a few loose ends an' the case's closed. An' where was you, in all this? Trailin' in last in the race, is where y'were, y'incompetent ass! Come up here in half an hour; I wan'na talk t'ya.”
With this parting request, Fletcher crashed the handset down with an echoing clang and gazed morosely at the two women opposite, over his crowded desk. Saying thank you never coming easy to him.
“OK, so I suppose y're both mighty pleased with yourselves?”
“Dam' straight, Fletch.” Fiona poked her chin in the air, with superior condescension; as was clearly her right. “Two clues o'prime quality. Which as good as give the names of guilty parties, printed in two-foot high gold letters. What ain't Alice an' I got to crow about? We're happy.”
“Oh, you're both happy?” Fletcher had been examining a cigar he had produced from an inside pocket of his jacket, but now discarded it on the heaped table, to join the mess already in situ. “That makes everything alright, don't it? I'll say! Here's the 5 th Precinct made t'look downright fools, by a coupl'a private dicks out on a jaunt. As a result o'which we now get t'feel the collars of the delinquents responsible. Which we might'a been able t'achieve days earlier, if only we'd done our job properly then. The papers'll have a field day. I wouldn't be surprised if the Mayor decided heads have'ta roll; mine among ‘em. Oh yeah, I'm happy fer you two, all round.”
Fiona looked at Alice with a small smirk, though she tried valiantly to conceal this from the irate law-officer. Then she turned her attention fully on the still growling upholder of the Law.
“What for d'ya wan'na get so het-up, Inspector?” Fiona raised an arm enquiringly towards the red-faced man. “Who's gon'na find out? Al an' I, we ain't interested in givin' it t'the news rags. We came here hotfoot, didn't we? You ain't gon'na spread the news abroad, are ya—no, didn't think so. In fact, nobody but us three knows anythin' about it, at the moment. Al an' I are of one mind in decidin' t'let ya take full responsibility, an' any forthcomin' kudo's, for the appearance o'this latest new evidence.”
“Yeah, Fletch, stop gettin' riled, an' look on the bright side.” Alice leant over to place her hand on Fiona's sleeve, while she smiled gently at the still fuming Inspector. “The evidence's laid out on your table here. As far as Fay an' I care it was your men who found same, in the ordinary performance o'their duties. So, why don't we just leave it at that? Nothin' for the newshounds t'bite on; nothin' for the Mayor t'get overexcited about. An' you an' your Dept get the credit. Works for Fay an' I. How'd y'feel about it?”
“Can't do it.” If nothing else Fletcher was a stickler for the rules. “You two found the evidence; you two will have'ta show up in court t'explain where an' how, an' to what purpose, same is important. OK, maybe I went off the deep-end a trifle, a minute or two ago. Nobody's gon'na see anythin' much out'ta place in the official police case. Maybe I was exaggerating that a mite. We'll just put it in with the rest o'the official file, an' take it from there. That leaves you two out'ta it, o'course. I don't wan'na find either, or both, of ya tryin' t'muscle inta grabbin' the miscreants in their dens. That's out—got that?
“Yeah, we got it, Fletch.” Alice grinned widely, as both women rose to go. “Capturing Helen MacAllan, dead t'rights at last; that'd be a real feather in your cap, Inspector. Next step Captain, eh?
“Go on, get out, the both o'ya; before I figure out some excuse t'lock ya both up; fer the good o' the township, or somethin'.”
—O—
An hour later, after phoning Meeker and Leonora to expect good news in the immediate future from the Police Dept, Fiona and Alice sat back comfortably in their Packer Building office, contemplating their success.
“Well, that went well, darlin'.” Alice reached over, as they reclined together on the office's long leather sofa, to caress her paramour's shoulder. “Meeker an' Lennie happy as larks; Fletcher pretty much satisfied; an' we both get a nice pay-out from satisfied customers. What's not t'like.”
“Yeah.” Fiona growled contentedly low in her throat, as she returned the gentle touch of her lover. “Fletcher'll find the hiding-place o'the Bremusa easy as pie, now. Then the whole thing'll be wrapped up, barring the court-case. So, what d'we do with the rest o'the evenin'? It's only five-thirty, as it is.”
“Well, I was thinkin' o'doin' some shoppin'.”
“ Uh-huh? ” Fiona raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Strange, that's what I was gon'na suggest, too. Only alone, as it were. That's t'say, you by yourself; an me by myself—if y'see what I mean.”
“An' why should we both do that, lover-gal?”
“Because that's the only way I can think of, off the top of my head, that we can each buy our better-half's a whole bunch o'pretty beautiful gorgeous Christmas Presents; without the other findin' out what they are t'the appropriate moment. How does that hit ya, Al?”
“D'you know, my beautiful moonbeam, it hits me just fine. Let's see, you go t'Armstrongs', the jewellers; while I go first-off t'Heinneman's, the clothiers—me already havin' your measurements. Is that a good plan?”
“As plans go I think it covers all the necessary points.” Fiona leaned closer to the brunette by her side, feeling her lover's warmth and delicate perfume in her nostrils. “Meet ya back at the condo in, say, three hours. But first, a gal' s got'ta keep her strength up, for that kind'a physical exercise, y'know. I'm thinkin' three, four, maybe five kisses?”
“Make it six.”
The End
—O—
To be continued in the next instalment of the ‘ Drever & Cartwright ' series.
—OOO—