A Matter of Time (30 page)

Colin stared at his friend, hope beginning to build for the first time since the FedEx had arrived. “Is he—for real?”

“I think so. I said I knew someone who might be available, and of course, Marcia, piped up, ‘Oh, you mean, Colin?’” He shook
his head. “That woman—”

“Hurry up, man,” Colin urged his friend. “You’ve got to go, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He glanced at his watch, and his eyebrows rose. “I really do! Anyway, he asked me how much this Colin would charge,
and I asked him how much was he prepared to pay.”

Colin shook his head and grinned. “I can’t believe this! Go on.”

“When he mentioned two thousand a week, I said no way! The gig’s worth at least three. He said,
three
? I said, we’re talking about the best skipper in Bermuda! And what’s more, he’s going to need a signed contract for twenty
weeks. A letter of agreement will do, but he’s got to see half the money up front!”

Colin’s mouth fell open. “Did he—swallow that?”

Anson laughed, “Well, he looked as if he was going to choke, but—he accepted it.” He clapped Colin on the
shoulder. “Man, that’s thirty long! And with this,” he produced an envelope with Colin’s name on it, “you’re two-thirds there!
Just take the boat and this client and—disappear. By the time you come back here, you’ll have your nut.”

Colin was dumbstruck.

“Come on, man, you got to meet this guy, ‘cause I’ve got to go!”

“Wait a sec,” Colin said, his voice thick, “I got to tell you, Anson; you’re the—” He couldn’t finish it.

“Forget it, man,” Anson replied gruffly, taking his friend by the arm over to the group. “Like I said, me and the Beater’s
going to be doing a lot of sailing together.”

To the Frenchman he announced, “Here’s the man I told you about. And now I’ve got to take off!” And he did, like a shot.

“Colin,” said Marcia, ever the hostess, “this is René Dupré. He knows friends of ours at the Cap, and he wants to charter
you for the whole winter! Isn’t that absolutely fabulous?”

Colin looked at the Frenchmen, who met his gaze. Neither man spoke.

Marcia, puzzled, was about to speak, when Neil turned to her and quietly said, “Just shut up, darling.”

“But shouldn’t they be negotiating, or something?”

“They are.”

“Oh. A guy thing.”

“Yes, darling. Be still now.”

Colin didn’t care for the feeling he was getting from this man. He seemed charming enough, but there was cold steel behind
those eyes. In fact, under any other circumstances he’d decline this proposition—graciously, of course. This was not a man
he wanted to spend a week
with, let alone a winter. But beggars could not be choosers, he reminded himself, and he could put up with a lot to keep
Care Away
. For three grand a week, he could even put up with this one’s
faux
charm.

Colin turned to Marcia and gave her the full Lands End smile. He hadn’t used it in years, but it still had the desired effect.
“Marcia,” he said sweetly, “we need to be alone now, for just a few moments.” He beamed at her. “We’re going to sit down over
there, do our deal, and come back, soon as we’re done, I promise.”

“Actually, take your time,” Neil said. “We’ve got to leave ourselves. Right now,” he said, glancing at Marcia, so she would
know he meant it. “We’re sailing at—1800 hours.” (Marcia would just have to learn that this was the way men of the sea talked.)

“Well, I hope it all works out!” gushed Marcia at Colin. “From what René tells me, you’re going to be in a lot of the same
ports we are, at around the same time. Think of the fun we’ll have!”

“Come along, darling. It’s nearly 1630.”

Colin and the Frenchman sat down. “I gather Anson gave you my terms.”

The Frenchman nodded.

“They’re acceptable?”

“Quite.”

Colin smiled. “Good. I also understand you’d like to leave ASAP. Is Saturday soon enough? The storm will be well out of here
by then, and far enough to the north that we should have smooth sailing all the way down.”

“I want to leave now. This afternoon.”

“Oh, man! Have you got
any
idea how rough it’s going to be, if we head south?”

“The Carringtons are leaving now.”

“Yeah, under power. They’ll be seventy miles south of here by the time this storm reaches its full intensity! I talked to
their captain last night. Their real captain. Their engine’s bigger than my whole boat! And they’ve got enough fuel to motor
halfway to England, if need be.”

Colin laughed sardonically. “I’ve enough fuel to make it back into the harbor, if anything happens—as long as I’m not more
than twenty miles out.”

The Frenchman looked at him with his ball-bearing gaze. “I don’t care how rough it gets. I want to leave this afternoon.”

Colin took a long time before replying. “Well, I’m sorry, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea.
Laventura
can get away from this storm. We can’t.”

“Are you scared?”

“You bet! Only a fool wouldn’t be. I’ve been through two gales at sea. I don’t ever want to go through another.”

“I was told you’re the best sailor on the island.”

“Anson tell you that? You should take what he says with a grain of salt.”

“Anson—and others.”

So he
had
been at the White Horse! Checking him out! “I’m sorry, Monsieur Du—”

“René,” the Frenchman interrupted. “If we’re going to be spending the winter together, we might as well be informal.”

“Well—René, the answer’s still the same. Unless you agree to wait until Saturday, you and I are not going to be spending the
winter together—and incidentally, I do
cherchez les femmes; les hommes
are not my cuppa.”

The Frenchman inspected his nails. “Regarding our departure, how much would it take to overcome your—reluctance?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Dupré pursed his lips, “suppose I were to increase the advance—give you, say $45,000, up front—would that do it?”

Colin looked at him, his eyes narrowing. Someone at the White Horse must have talked. He tried to remember whom he told about
the judgment. It was probably Mike. The bartender was a friend—but hardly a Sphinx.

He took a deep breath. If he said yes, that would make a total of $48,000, plus what he could get for the Rolex. He could
keep
Care Away
. And he wouldn’t even have to ask his brother for a loan. But it would mean putting his beloved boat—and himself—at extreme
risk.

When he didn’t respond, the Frenchman said quietly, “I will pay in cash.”

Colin exhaled. $45,000! What kind of venture capitalist carried that kind of cash around?

As if he could read that thought, the Frenchman explained, “In my business, checks often bounce. Even checks that one would
assume were good as gold. Also, cash clears immediately—whereas, for a check of that size, one might have to wait a week for
it to clear.” He smiled. “By that time, we’ll be halfway to Antigua.”

He had a point—several points, in fact. Yet there was a distinctly unsavory aroma about this deal. The only people on the
island with that kind of cash were druggies. But he was a friend of Neil and Marcia’s, and was going to join the Marblehead
syndicate. He
had
to be all right!

Colin took it to the bottom line: Life without Amy and their son was misery. Life without
Care Away
, too, would be—unbearable. Not worth living. Might as well put his life on the line.

Looking at his watch, he said, “I’ll pick you up at the
East End Wharf on St. David’s, next to the Black Horse Tavern,” he glanced at his watch, “in one hour. How much gear will
you have”

“Two duffle bags and a hang bag.”

“Got your passport?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ve got a lot to do, and not much time to do it in. I’ll get the charts we need, and a couple of weeks’ provisions.
Then I’ve got to go to the Harbormaster’s office and file our departure plan and intended destination: me and one passenger
bound for Antigua—and points south.”

“Must you file this plan? Can we not just go?”

“Well, they’re a little sticky about that sort of thing. In fact, they wouldn’t let me leave without it. Normally we’re supposed
to file the day before, but under the circumstances, with them evacuating all possible craft, I don’t think we’ll have a problem.
They’ll be glad to have us out of there.”

The Frenchman shook his head. “When you file, say nothing about a passenger. You’re sailing alone. And you’re not sailing
to Antigua; you’re going to Bar Harbor, where you went last summer.”

“Sorry, Monsieur—René, I can’t do that. It’s illegal. I’ll lose my license.”

“So you changed your mind in the middle of the ocean? It can’t be that uncommon.”

It wasn’t, thought Colin. But you were expected to advise your home port of any change in plan at your next port of call.
He was liking the prospect of this voyage less and less.

“We’ll make the advance an even $50,000,” said the Frenchman, and he stuck out his hand.

This was no venture capitalist, Colin thought. He shuddered. If it
was
drugs this guy was into, he might know something about what happened to Eric. And if I pursue this thought any further—I’ll
be going to the police, not Antigua, and
Care Away
will be going to the auction block. Besides, he rationalized, it was not as if he’d not done some shady running in his day;
most of the captains had. He’d be careful, keep a weather eye out. And not pursue this thought any further.

Well, shake hands with the Devil, he said to himself grimly, accepting the proffered hand.

37
  
  
one by land, two by sea

The silence in Ian Bennett’s study was broken by the brass ship’s clock ringing three bells—half past five. Then the silence
returned, undisturbed by the three men present.

Dan Burke had finished telling Ian of gaining his son’s confidence, to the point where the boy had told him of his involvement
with drugs and of young Jonesy telling him he’d just witnessed a murder. Knowing how bad his friend felt about how things
had played out, Brother Bartholomew had come with him to support him on this errand of conscience.

At length Ian said, “Well, I’m glad you told me all this, Chief. It fills in the blanks.” He looked out the window. “I’m glad
he told someone. He was never able to talk to me—about anything that was important to him.” He put a hand over his eyes.

“He wanted to,” murmured Dan, looking up. “That’s why he didn’t go to the station that night, or first thing in the morning.
He wanted to wait till you got home, so he could tell you himself.” He paused. “And since I’ve
a boy his age, who has a hard time talking to me—I let him.”

Bartholomew spoke. “I realize how bad it looks, but I’ve got to remind you: We don’t know for sure that Eric’s dead. If the
Frenchman was going to kill him, he would have done so at the same time he killed the Jones boy.”

Ian looked at him, not daring to hope. “What do you mean?”

“He might see Eric as being of use to him, getting away.”

“I don’t see how,” countered Dan. “As the inspector said, there are only two ways off the island, by plane or cruise ship.
The police have copies of the artist’s sketch, and tomorrow it’ll be everywhere.” He turned to Ian. “They’ll get him.”

“There may be a third way off,” said Bartholomew quietly. Both men looked to him. “In a small boat.”

“No!” declared Ian. “There aren’t half a dozen charter boats still here with that kind of range—”

Dan finished it for him, ”—and the police have already contacted them.”

Bartholomew didn’t answer. He was looking at the wind whipping the surface of Ely’s Harbour. “He could go by sailboat.”

They stared at him. Slowly, reluctantly, Ian nodded. “It’s possible. But if that’s what he’s planning, he’s stuck here until
after the storm. No sailboat’s crazy enough to leave in the teeth of a force nine gale!”

The Chief nodded. “By the time the weather clears, every man and his dog will know what the murderer looks like.”

The phone rang. Ian started to reach for it, but the policewoman
in the kitchen with Nan reminded him, “Mr. Bennett! Let your wife answer! We have the recorder hooked up in here, and a relay
to Bermuda Telephone.”

Nan took it. She kept the person on the other end talking the requisite 45 seconds. Unfortunately, it was not a request for
ransom money.

Nan, wrung-out and cried-out, came into the den. “It was just a friend of your brother’s,” she told Ian. “Someone named Mike
at the White Horse. He said Colin’s about to leave for Maine, and he’d left off a package for you.”

Ian stared at her. “Colin never said anything about going to Maine!” He snatched up the phone book, looked up the White Horse
and dialed it.

“You say Colin’s leaving for Maine?” he asked when someone answered. “I don’t believe it! Not in this storm! He’s smarter
than that!” Pause. “But that’s insane!” Pause. “Did he say what was in the package?” Pause. “My God!” Pause. “No, he never
told me!” Pause. “Has he left yet?” Pause. “Okay, I’m coming out there!”