A fat barman in an apron that may have, at one time, been clean approached and took our orders; Marjorie asked for a Goombay Smash and I had the same. Arthur already had his bottle of Schlitz.
Marjorie sat forward. “This is Mr. Heller, Arthur.”
I extended my hand and he looked at it, as if it were some foreign object, then extended his. It was a firm but sweaty handshake. His eyes were both wary and troubled in his carved mask of a face.
“He’s trying to help Mr. Fred,” she explained to him.
“Mr. Fred is a good mon.” He spoke in a hushed, rich baritone. “My cousin, he works for him.”
I said, “I’d like to hear about what you saw out at Lyford Cay the night Sir Harry died.”
“I work de night shif,” he said. “In fact, I got to be out there by ten tonight. I use to fish de sponge, you know, before de fungus come.”
I tried to get him on track. “What did you see that night, Arthur?”
He shook his head. “It was a bad night, mon. Storm, it whip de island. I see one of dem fancy motorboats come in and dock, ’bout one in de mornin’. Two white mon, big ones, got off de boat-somebody else, he stay behind with dat fancy boat. It was rockin’, mon. Thought maybe it was gonna sink.”
“Did you approach them? Lyford Cay is private property, right?”
“Right-but dey was white. And I didn’t know what dey was up to, in dat storm-didn’t
“Carnal hours?” I asked.
Marjorie explained patiently. “In these islands, that’s what they call the time between dark and daylight.”
Our drinks arrived and I gave the barman a buck and told him to keep the change and made a friend. The Goombay Smash seemed to be pineapple juice and rum, mostly.
“It was rainin’ so hard,” Arthur said, “one of de mon, he slip and drop his hair.”
“His hair?”
“His hat, it fly off, his hair too-get wet in de rain.” Arthur laughed. “He chase it like a rabbit.”
One of the men was wearing a toupee, then.
“Did you notice anything else distinctive about him?”
“What?”
“Anything special or odd about his appearance. Him, or the other man?”
His eyes narrowed. “That rain, mon, was really comin’ down, you know. But dey walk right past my shed, you know. I was peekin’ through de window. The fella dat lost his hair, he had a skinny mustache, his nose was all pushed in. The other fella…he was fat, with a scar on his face.”
The back of my neck was tingling.
“What sort of scar, Arthur?”
He drew a jagged line in the air with one finger. “Like de lightning in the sky, mon-it flash across his cheek.”
“A car was waitin’ for dem-dey come back an hour later. Maybe longer. Got back on dat boat and go back out in de storm. Crazy, doin’ that-the sea was real ugly.”
“What sort of car was it? Did you see the driver?”
“Driver I didn’t see. What do you call dat long square car, with de extra seats?”
“A station wagon?” Marjorie asked.
He nodded confidently. “Dat’s it. It was a station wagon.”
“You didn’t happen to catch the license number did you?” I asked.
“No.”
I didn’t figure I’d be that lucky.
“Could it have been Mr. Christie’s station wagon?” Marjorie asked. Then to me, she said, “Mr. Christie, he has a car like that.”
“Maybe,” Arthur said. “It was dat kin’ of car. But I didn’t see de driver. See, I wasn’t thinkin’ about dat car so much as dat boat dat docked at Lyford Cay. I’m thinkin’, maybe dis boat don’t have no business here. So I got de registration nomber, and name on de side.”
I grinned. “Arthur, you’re a good man. You remember that name and number, by any chance? Or maybe have it with you?”
“No. But I write it down.”
“Good. That’s very good…. Did you show it to anybody? Or tell anybody-like Mr. Christie, say-what you saw that night?”
He smeared the moisture on his beer bottle with his thumb, then shook his head. “No-I got to thinkin’, if dat
“You told your sister,” Marjorie reminded him.
“Oh, well, I tell a few friends. Guess that’s how the story got around.”
“But nobody you work for,” I said.
“No. More I thought about it, less I want to make a fuss. Still…knowin’ dat Sir Harry, he was killed dat same night. It makes you think.”
Yes it did.
I reached in my pants pocket and fished out a fin. I handed it to Arthur, who took it gratefully. “I work with a lawyer named Higgs,” I told him. “He’s going to want to get your deposition.”
Now he frowned. “What’s dat?”
“Your statement about what you saw.”
“I don’t know, mon….”
“Look-there’s more dough in it for you. What would you say to a hundred bucks, Arthur?”
Arthur grinned. “I say, hello.”
I laughed a little. “All right. But you got to keep quiet about this till you hear from me.”
“As a mouse, mon.”
“I’d like to see this Lyford Cay…get the layout. Why don’t I give you a ride to work, right now, and have a look around?”
He waved that off. “No-no thanks, mister. I got my bicycle. Anyway, I got to try and find dat piece of paper I wrote dat nomber and name on.”
“Okay, then-how about I meet you at the dock tomorrow night. You go on at ten, right? Is eleven okay? You could have that information ready for me, and I’ll have a time set up for you to meet with Higgs at his office, day after tomorrow.”
“Okay. Make dat an afternoon time. I sleep mornin’s.”
“Not a problem. Now, Arthur-keep all this under your hat….”
“I buy a hat and put it dere,” he promised, and grinned again, and this time he offered his hand. I shook it and Marjorie and I found our way out. By now we barely rated a glance from the native clientele. The fat bartender I tipped even waved.
Going back up and over the hill, Marjorie asked, “What do you think it means, Nathan?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.”
“Could those men Arthur saw be the killers?”
“Yes. But I have to give you the same advice I gave Arthur: not a word to anybody.”
I left the car in the country club parking lot and walked her to her cottage. Occasionally our arms would brush, and we’d move away, then eventually drift back together. We weren’t saying anything much; suddenly, with business out of the way, things had gotten awkward.
Just as I was about to say good night to her on her doorstep, feeling as shy as a teenager at the end of a first date, something scuttled across the sand, and scared the hell out of me.
She laughed. “It’s just a sand crab.”
I raised a hand to my forehead. “I know….”
Concern tightened her eyes; she touched my face with gentle fingertips, as if inspecting a burn. “You’re
