Carnal Hours

“I’m not going.”

“Not going?”

“I can leave if you want. But I was hoping you’d let me stay on awhile.”

She grinned. “I’ll cancel my flight. How long can you stay? We both deserve a vacation, after the hell of these last weeks! We’ll dine elegantly, we’ll lounge on the beach sinfully, and we’ll fuck like bloody heathens.”

“Actually, I’m still working.”

I filled her in on what Nancy had requested I do.

“That’s a wonderful idea. But you won’t get much cooperation out of Hallinan.”

“I doubt I will-but I have a shitload of evidence he doesn’t know about.”

“Some of your best qualities are hidden away,” she said, as she undid my zipper.

Outside the glass doors, palms were swaying; a storm was coming, but not now: now it was just warm wind, and a blonde goddess sitting in my lap, with me buried in her, hands on her slim ass, the globes of her breasts brushing my face like fruit wanting to be picked, our moans, our cries, lost in the caw of exotic birds and the music of the impending tropical squall.

25

I saw Leonard Keeler and Di off at the seaplane dock late the next morning. Both were taking the noon flight to Miami to make their connections, Len to Chicago, Di to Mexico City. An almost cold wind whipped us; the sky was a dingy overcast gray that nearly blended with the choppy ocean, the Pan Am clipper bobbing on the water like an oversize buoy. That storm, which had been threatening to arrive since late last night, still hadn’t shown.

I told Len that we couldn’t have won without him and promised to buy him a meal at the Berghoff when I got back.

“When should that be?” he asked.

“A week or so,” I said. Even if I kept working this case, I needed to get back for a few weeks, at least, and tend to A-1 business.

He waved and smiled as he entered the houseboat-like shed to check his bag and board the plane, while I stayed behind on the springy wharf, talking to Di, who wore a mannish tan slacks outfit with a military cut and matching turban, trouser legs flapping like flags in the breeze. Her sunglasses were black and her lipstick crimson. She managed to look both glamorous and businesslike.

‘“I can’t believe you were able to get Hallinan to receive you,” she said.

“Neither can I. But he seemed almost eager to meet with me.”

“Where? At Government House?”

“No-Major Pemberton’s office. It’s just a preliminary meeting. Still, if I can convince them to cooperate, then Nancy isn’t wasting her money on me.” I touched her cheek. “You’re not sure exactly when you’ll be back?”

“No, but it’ll be just a few days,” she said, shrugging. Then she said, “Oh!” and dug in her purse for something. “Here are the spare keys to the main house-I’ve given the servants the weekend off, with the exception of Daniel, who’ll be at your beck and call when you need the launch, to and from.”

“I’ll be lonely.”

The bruised lips smiled crookedly, but the sunglasses made her face inscrutable. “The birds will keep you company. The kitchen’s well stocked-just help yourself, and don’t worry about the mess.”

“Thank you. For everything. For last night especially….”

She lifted her chin, mock-snooty. “I did it all for Nancy.”

“All?”

“Almost all.”

She kissed me; a sudden gust made us clutch each other, or otherwise risk being dropped in the drink. It turned the little goodbye kiss into something desperate, even passionate, and when she pulled away she had an oddly off-kilter expression.

“You mussed your lipstick.”

“You mean you mussed my lipstick. I’ll fix it on the plane.” Her pretty smudgy mouth smiled, just a little. “Bye, Heller.”

And she trudged toward the shed to check her one suitcase, a well-strapped leather affair large enough to make me wonder what was in it. Something for Axel?

It wasn’t any of my business. I wasn’t about to repay Di’s hospitality by sitting in judgment on whatever she was doing for her blacklisted boss.

That afternoon, at the police station, I met with the long-faced Hallinan and the jug-eared Major Pemberton. We sat at a table in a small conference room, with the Attorney General at the head and Pemberton in impeccable khakis across from me. Both wore tiny mustaches and airs of British imperturbability.

“Mr. Heller,” Hallinan said with a smile as small as his mustache, “you may be wondering why I granted your request for a hearing so readily.”

I leaned back in my hardwood chair. “Frankly, yes. I didn’t figure I was very high up on your hit parade.”

Hallinan shrugged one shoulder. “You were doing your job, as was I, as was Major Pemberton.”

Pemberton nodded.

“With no offense meant to Major Pemberton,” I said, “I would have rather Colonel Lindop continued doing his job-his testimony would have been useful to us.”

“As it turned out,” Hallinan said, with the mildest facial twitch of irritation, “the defense didn’t require that testimony to win. However, let me say that I don’t consider the Crown to have ‘lost’-I am satisfied that we presented the case cogently and fairly.”

“Do you think Barker and Melchen’s techniques were ‘fair’?”

His face tightened; Pemberton glanced away.

“I was referring only to our practices-and, with the possible exception of Mr. Adderley’s ill-conceived strategy where the Marquis de Visdelou was concerned, I believe we were indeed fair. Now, when you call and suggest you can help us find the ‘real’ murderer, I must say to you, frankly, that so far as I am concerned, this case is completely closed. I believe Major Pemberton agrees.”

Again Pemberton nodded.

“We’re prepared to call it a day,” Hallinan said. “In our view, acquitted or not, the accused was the guilty party.”

“Then why did you agree to see me?”

“To give you a fair hearing. You may find this difficult to believe, but I admire the work you did regarding that fingerprint evidence.”

“You admire it?”

“I certainly do. Mr. Heller, the Governor may well have been right in his assessment that the Oakes case was too big for the local police to handle…with all due respect to Major Pemberton, our facilities are limited. But if I may confidentially say, the Duke’s request for aid from the Miami city police was…unfortunate.”

“That’s an example of that British understatement I’ve been hearing so much about, right?”

Hallinan ignored my sarcasm and pressed on. “Weeks ago, I wrote to your federal CID-that is, your FBI-about my grave doubts concerning the fingerprinting procedures Barker and Melchen were following. In the FBI’s view, my doubts were well founded. Barker’s lifting of that print, his neglect to photograph it in situ, was the Achilles’ heel of our case. And you found it.”

“I did at that.”

“Therefore” Hallinan sighed “I feel you deserve a fair hearing.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. “I think you know that any statements, and evidence, that failed to point to the accused were ignored.”

“I don’t know that I entirely agree with that. But you indicated on the telephone that you had evidence the defense itself failed to introduce….”