“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Tash. “Short-circuiting an alarm inside the house could only be done by someone already inside.”
“Exactly. It was an inside job.”
“And the alarm was short-circuited by the same person who let Freaky in and out?”
“Obviously. The Family must be involved, but the murders were made possible by someone in the Governor’s own household. He was betrayed by someone he trusted.”
Carlos’ dark eyes blazed. “Are you suggesting . . . ?”
Wilkes said, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
And walked out of the patio.
“This is intolerable!” cried Carlos. “A guest in my own house who—”
“Who is trying to find Jeremy’s murderer,” said Hilary. “We’ve got to help him. After all, it’s only for a few hours more. He did say he was going back to the mainland.”
“He’d better! He has insulted my guests and me. You may help him if you like, but I shall leave the house now and not return until he has gone.”
“I feel the same way, Carlos,” said Tash. “I shall get a headache tomorrow morning and stay in bed so I don’t have to see him again before he goes.”
She was half asleep when her mother came into her room to say good-night. They talked of nothing for a few moments, and then her mother said, “You were in love with him, weren’t you?”
Tash nodded.
“Dear girl, you must make a clean break, Come to me in Boston, or go to your father in Rome, but don’t try to go on living where you knew him.”
“Running away?”
“What’s wrong with running away if it saves life or reason? Unnecessary heroism is just vanity.”
She didn’t have to invent a headache. She awoke at seven with a sore throat and a slight fever.
Mariquita de Miranda took one look at her and said, “I am going to take everybody out in the launch for an excursion to the other islands so you can go back to sleep. Carlos has gone off by himself somewhere, so you’ll have the house to yourself all day.”
Tash awoke again at nine feeling better but still without appetite. She could tell from the silence that no one else was about. Felipe and the rest of the staff must be in their own quarters.
In such stillness her thoughts could range free over many things without distraction. The slight fever seemed to spur them to wander further afield than they had gone before.
Carlos, Job, Hilary, the three people in Jeremy’s household who had been closest to him—three people she had liked and trusted, but suspicion, once planted in the mind, grows perversely with the unwanted strength of a weed.
She could not see a motive for any one of them, Carlos, loyal friend and perfect ADC, Hilary who loved Jeremy as a son, Job, whose whole life was a scaffolding built to support Jeremy’s future career.
How could a treacherous friend bear to be present at the end? Could it be that Job’s quick trip to Washington was an attempt to escape that? No, Job was away August 8th, Jeremy died September 9th. The dates were too far apart to be confused.
What about Wilkes himself?
There were corrupt policemen. He himself had said that a security system is only as strong as its weakest human link. The mere fact that Halcon was said to have been shot by police while resisting arrest suggested police involvement. Jeremy himself had not trusted Wilkes enough to ask him for help with Vivian’s drug problem. By coming down to Sotavento, Wilkes had given himself an alibi for the actual shooting of Halcon, but he might have planned it. Who was in a better position than Wilkes to make contact with petty criminals like Halcon and Freaky? As a policeman, he dealt with such people every day. Did Job suspect him? Was that the real reason Job had fired him? Had Wilkes discussed the case last night because he wanted to find out if any of them suspected him?
He was in a unique position to stay close to the investigation. All the policemen who had worked with him before his downfall would talk to him freely about the case. They might even ask him for help or advice. That would put him in an ideal position to turn suspicion away from himself if it veered in his direction.
It wouldn’t occur to any of them that he himself might be involved. He had not been dismissed. Job had allowed him to resign. What else could Job do if there was no evidence against him? No doubt, there had been an exchange of polite letters published in the newspapers. Everyone would sympathize with Wilkes because he had happened to be in charge of the Governor’s security when the Governor was killed through no apparent fault of Wilkes.
Who could possibly imagine that the man responsible for Jeremy’s safety was the man who had arranged for Jeremy’s murder? Yet who had a better opportunity to do so?
And now Wilkes was leaving Cayo Siesta in a few hours. She might never be so close to him again. Could there possibly be some clue, some indication of the truth in the things he had brought with him? She would never have a chance to find out again.
Of course, a cop turned crook would be even more cunning and knowledgeable than a professional crook in hiding his traces and getting rid of things that might incriminate him as he went along, like a tidy housewife washing her pots and pans after each step in her cooking. And yet . . .
All humanity is fallible, especially criminal humanity with its great psychological burden of guilt. He just might have overlooked something.
Barefoot, in shirt and shorts, she went down the arcade that led to his room, silent as a ghost.
The suitcase was empty. In the bureau drawers there were only nightclothes and underclothes. In the old-fashioned
