The Deadly Ackee Read online

  “Do I hear Pookie’s car honking in the driveway? I should hate for her to become impatient and back over the azaleas. Charles is so fond of them, as we all know, and likely to—”

  “Theo, you are once more being evasive, and I simply do not have the fortitude to deal with such childish behavior today—not with two sessions of the women’s pairs staring me in the face. Now, we’ll overlook this business about the police station and your peculiar obsession with the servants’ behavior. Simply explain the ransom note.”

  From beyond the kitchen door came the sound of easy laughter. The pipes rattled as showers were turned on upstairs, and a radio played a lilting reggae tune somewhere down the hillside. A doctor bird hummed above a yellow flower. A car backfired as it drove down the street. The light breeze rustled the curtain above the kitchen sink.

  “Ransom note?” Theo was unable to believe the words even as they came out of his mouth.

  “I assured Win that it was a mistake.”

  “Win?”

  “Really, Theo, if I wanted to have my every word repeated, I’d invest in an echo chamber rather than CDs and municipal bonds. We are discussing Winston Andrews Ellison II, the father of those adorable twins. I assured him that the ransom note was a mistake. It was a mistake, wasn’t it? I trust you haven’t allowed anything to happen to Mary Margaret. The Ellisons are very old and dear friends of ours, and I would hate to think you’d permitted something to befall their daughter.”

  “What does this ransom note say?”

  “It’s an ordinary ransom note. Win was upset, naturally, and brought it over for Charles and me to examine the very minute we finished breakfast. He went so far as to consider calling Corky, but he was too distraught to face the ordeal with the overseas operator, and none of us could determine the time difference. It’s either six hours earlier or six hours later, unless it’s seven because of daylight savings time. I wish these Europeans would use the correct time instead of insisting on using local time. In any case, the clinic is quite strict about waking clients in the middle of the night.”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Nadine.”

  “Corky Ellison is having a series of cellulite treatments at an extremely exclusive clinic in Switzerland. Although the menu is French, the staff are all German and tend to be more than a little authoritarian,” Nadine said with the slowness and deliberate enunciation used for maximum communication with a non-English listener. Theo knew she had mastered the technique while doing good works at an Episcopalian home for unwed mothers of Mexican-American descent. The home had folded after the girls had fled.

  “Thank you, Nadine; I am beginning to understand,” he said soothingly. “But what about this purported ransom note?”

  “There is nothing ‘purported’ about it. It came to Win Ellison this morning. It was formed with words clipped from some publication and glued down in a sloppy yet legible fashion. It implied that his daughter was in the hands of unscrupulous people, and that these people would harm her if they did not receive a specified amount of money. You can imagine how he felt.”

  “Did he call the police?”

  “The note said quite bluntly that it would be unwise to contact the authorities. Besides, what would be the point of calling the police here? Mary Margaret is in Jamaica—under your chaperonage. If this is a joke, then it is tasteless. That’s all I can say.” It wasn’t. After a lengthy exhalation to convey the depth of her displeasure, she continued, “If it is not a joke, then you’d best tell me what you intend to do about it, Theo.”

  Theo intended to sink down to the kitchen floor, lean against the refrigerator while gazing blankly at the underside of a table, and hope something would come to mind. “Ah … how much money was demanded for the return of the girl?” he asked.

  “A million dollars, in small, unmarked bills. It was trite, to say the least. One would be inclined to think these people sat around all day watching nothing but old gangster movies. Anyway, I assured Win that the whole thing was poppycock, that he was not to worry one bit more about it—since you would see to it that Mary Margaret was returned in the same condition in which you took her on this self-indulgent, whimsical little trip of yours. I shall be at the airport in person on Saturday to pick you up, Theo, and I expect to pick up all seven of you. Do you understand?”

  Before he could respond, the receiver clicked in his ear. He sat for several minutes, listening to the buzz while he tried to assimilate the conversation with Nadine. Mary Margaret’s father had received a ransom note. The note demanded one million dollars. The note warned against contacting the police and implied Mary Margaret’s welfare was uncertain should there be non-compliance. No one in Connecticut had any intention of compliance. He had been ordered to bring Mary Margaret home. She was to be delivered with all extremities intact.

  The floor was hard, but the view not unpleasant. Theo was still there when Amelia and Emelda came through the back door.

  “Are you okay?” Emelda asked, her face puckered in alarm. “Are you having a heart attack or something?”

  “I was merely thinking,” Theo said with what dignity he could muster. He stood up, brushed off the seat of his trousers, and replaced the receiver. “If it’s convenient, I would like coffee on the terrace. I really do believe I shall continue to think out there.”

  “They’s all crazy,” someone muttered as he left the kitchen, but he did not turn back to refute the statement.

  He was on the terrace, coffee in hand, when several police cars parked on the street below. Sergeant Stahl sent his men into Eli’s room below the pool, then came up the stairs and sat down across from Theo.

  “Do you think there might be an extra cup?” he asked wearily.

  Theo poured a cup of coffee and set it down in front of the sergeant. “You’ve been up all night, too. The young people are in bed, but somehow sitting out here in peace seemed as appealing as sleep.”

  “I’ll see my bed in about a week,” Stahl said. “Sooner if we clear up this mess, but I don’t know. The guy next door is involved—that much we know, but it’s not as simple as we’d hoped.”

  “Then you’re not convinced Count D’Orsini is responsible for Eli’s death? Could it have been an accident after all?”

  “It wasn’t an accident. I got the initial lab reports back an hour ago. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we found a bottle of rum down in Detective Staggley’s room that was laced with pulverized ackee. The only prints on it are his. No, we can rule out an accident; someone went to a lot of trouble to poison that bottle and leave it for him.”

  “I don’t suppose he could have been experiencing some sort of personal problem and decided to … take his own life?” Theo asked without much enthusiasm.

  “Jamaicans know how the vomiting sickness goes. It’s a painful thing, and nothing anybody would choose. It takes about six hours for the symptoms to begin, but once they do, it’s all over. Convulsions, coma, and good-bye.” Stahl wiped his forehead as he looked down at the pool. “Staggley must have ingested the rum sometime during the afternoon, although we’ll know more once we get the autopsy results. He probably went to the deck to clean the pool, was overcome with cramps, and fell into the water. There’ll be water in his lungs, but it doesn’t matter whether he died of hypoglycemia as a result of the ackee or from drowning. Someone caused the death. Staggley was a good officer and a good man, damn it.”

  “What had he told you of his investigation?”

  “Not enough. We hadn’t had a report in twenty-four hours, and I was planning to have him come in this morning to give us an update. He said earlier in the week that he had the goods on this D’Orsini and one of his contacts. But we don’t know what Staggley had—or on whom.”

  Theo told him about the camera lens that had been discovered on Dorrie’s balcony. “I would imagine it would be worth your while to have the film developed as soon as possible. Eli—Officer Staggley, that is—most likely was able to photogr
aph a drug transaction next door.”

  “We found a roll of film in a drawer. It’s at the lab, but the boys there swore it would be late afternoon before they could get to it, if not tomorrow or the next day. I let it go because we weren’t sure that we’d find anything significant, but if it is what you say it is, I’ll send back a uniformed officer to tell them to hustle their bureaucratic asses. I sure would like to have some solid proof that D’Orsini was dealing big quantities of cocaine. We’ve had an eye on him for years. We know damn well where he goes on his yacht, and we have a good idea whom he meets and what takes place. But D’Orsini’s a smart chap. He was a big buddy of the governor before independence in 1962, and he still hobnobs with the more powerful political figures on the island. In fact, we’re already getting pressure to release him, and we’re going to have to do so if we can’t find anything concrete to hold him on.”

  “Perhaps these photographs will be adequate,” Theo said.

  “If they prove the drug connection, we can hold him on that. If they’re no good, we’ll have to let him go. The only thing we’ve got is possible motive and passable opportunity, although it’s a shaky case at best. There’s nothing to link him to Staggley’s murder.”

  “Have you any idea who his associates are?”

  “We have a few names of Colombian dealers, but there are some gaps in the overall picture. D’Orsini doesn’t bother with small, local dealers. He purchases the cocaine in significant quantities, then has it transported to the States. Somehow.”

  “Perhaps on jaunts to Florida?”

  “It doesn’t seem likely. Your Feds are real serious about what takes place in their water. It could happen, but they’ve kept tight surveillance on him and he’s kept his nose clean. All of his close friends—and even his short-term women acquaintances—are given a thorough search at customs. The cocaine goes out and the cash comes in, just about as predictably as the tide. We don’t know how.”

  Theo replenished the sergeant’s coffee cup. “Why are you telling me all this? As much as I appreciate your candor, I find myself somewhat perplexed by it. I am, after all, a civilian.”

  Stahl flashed even white teeth. “That’s not what your friend from the CIA says. Sitermann says he doesn’t know what the devil you are, but that you’ve been well-trained. He didn’t go into detail about what happened over in the Middle East, although he hinted that you cleared up a messy problem that baffled the police. He also said that it might be worth my while to have a quiet talk with you, Mr. Bloomer. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “I suspected as much.” Theo said with a sigh. “Sitermann has been quite generous in his willingness to provide references. It is certainly beyond the call of duty.”

  Sergeant Winkler came onto the terrace. “We’re done with the room below the pool, Stahl. The men will be done with the pool in another few minutes. What now?”

  “I think we might drive down to the lab and see how they’re coming with that roll of film,” Stahl said, standing up. He adjusted his sunglasses and looked down at Theo. “Have you had any word from the girl who’s missing? I put out an APB on her, but I still think she’s out partying and will come home sooner or later to nurse a hangover.”

  “We haven’t heard a peep from her,” Theo said, meticulously truthful if not terribly accurate in the present spirit of candor. There was a very real problem concerning the ransom note. He soothed his conscience with a promise that, should the problem not be resolved briskly, he would report the purported abduction and blame the omission on fatigue. In the interim, he could not force himself to bring more trouble on the residents of the Harmony Hills villa. They were in enough trouble as it was.

  Stahl gave Theo a grin, then went down the driveway and drove away. After a few minutes, the men by the pool packed up their equipment and left, as did those in Eli’s quarters below the pool. Amelia came out of the kitchen to ask about lunch; Theo told her he doubted anyone would appear before mid-afternoon. They had been up all night, he added in order to divert any unspoken condemnation.

  “I heard what happened to Eli,” she said, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. “Those ackees shouldn’t have been brought into my kitchen. It was asking for trouble, and trouble’s what you got.”

  “I noticed the ackees on the windowsill. How many were brought in?”

  “There was a paper bag with some in it,” Amelia said. “I’m not ignorant enough to buy ackees when they’re not ripe, but I hated to waste them. I put them aside to ripen. Looks like I should have wasted them.”

  “How many were in the paper bag?”

  “Three, if I recollect. Now there’s two.”

  “Could someone have come into the kitchen of the villa yesterday while we were on the Governor’s Coach?”

  She shrugged. “How do I know? Emelda and I cleaned up after lunch, folded the laundry, made salads for dinner, and left for the day. We didn’t have no reason to stay around here with everybody gone.”

  “Did Eli come into the kitchen before you left?”

  “I already told all this to the police, about ten times by now. Eli came back from the station, helped himself to a piece of fish and some salad from the refrigerator, told Emelda she was putting on a little weight, and generally hung around being a nuisance until we left. I hinted that he could drive us home, but he just laughed and said he was going to spend the afternoon by the pool, pretending he was rich folk.”

  Theo hesitated, unsure how to pose a particular question without offending the woman. “Ah,” he said, wading in timidly, “is it possible that Eli might have helped himself to the liquor supply in the kitchen? I’m not implying any sort of theft, but might he have considered it a mere loan if he were temporarily out of his own supply?”

  “I told the police what he said. I can see you’ll hound me until I tell you. I got better things to do than to stand here repeating myself, but I guess it won’t hurt nothing. Eli took some fruit juice from the refrigerator and said he had a little birthday present he was going to use to make a pitcher of rum punch. Some birthday it turned out to be!”

  “Did the police find the pitcher by the pool?”

  “Eli knew better than to leave it there, where Emelda or I would find it and have to take it inside the house. I suppose he took it in himself and washed it before …” Her expression hardened, but a nerve jumped in her eyelid and her voice was strained. “He cleaned up before the vomiting sickness overtook him. Put the dishes away, the glass to dry in the sink, and the ackee rind in the garbage can out back. His mama must have taught him about cleanliness being next to godliness. Too bad she didn’t teach him about the sin of taking your own life.”

  “You think he committed suicide?” Theo asked, surprised.

  “He was sure acting crazy early in the afternoon. All excited, and tighter wound up than a dreadlock. He told Emelda he was leaving right soon. She thought he meant he was taking a vacation, but she’s liable to get all kinds of things wrong. Like lunch.” Amelia turned away and marched into the kitchen, leaving Theo to blink at her rigid back.

  Once the kitchen door slammed shut, he poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back in the chair. It was a muddle of incredible magnitude, he thought, tugging distractedly on his beard as he tried to sort things out. Things seemed disinclined to be sorted, at least to any satisfactory conclusion. Eli had photographed a transaction involving Count D’Orsini and an unknown figure, who could well be the man Theo had heard when inadvertently eavesdropping. It was possible that the count had learned of the mysterious lens cap and had taken action to see that the investigation was halted. Extreme action. But some of it made no sense, and Theo could find no way to resolve the irritating contradictions.

  Mary Margaret’s disappearance, although equally irritating and increasingly distressing, could be coincidental. The appearance of the ransom note hinted as much. Theo grimaced as he gave his beard a hard tweak. There was an obvious way to clear up the glaring problem of the note, but it
was distasteful at best. He sat for a long while, seeking an option.

  At last he ceded and went across the dining room to the kitchen. “I shall be out for lunch,” he said apologetically. “The others will survive on sandwiches. Please be so kind as to tell them I shall return by the middle of the afternoon and that I hope the absence of the car will not disrupt anyone’s plans.”

  “You going to drive?” Amelia asked with a smile that seemed faintly sardonic. “You ain’t in Connecticut, you know.”

  “I hadn’t considered it, but I suppose I shall be forced to drive.” Theo went to his bedroom and put on a jacket and tie, repeating to himself that he could handle the drive with minimal peril to his vehicle and his person. If he could just remember to stay on the left, especially when entering the road and turning, he would survive. Two million Jamaicans did it daily. Tourists zipped about on motorcycles, scorning such basic protection as helmets. The local newspapers did not have lengthy lists of those maimed and killed in automobile mishaps, which surely meant most of the drivers avoided accidents.

  In the middle of the mental pep talk, there was a tap on Theo’s door. “Uncle Theo? Are you awake?” Dorrie whispered. He let her in and invited her to sit down. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said, twisting her hands together and flicking her foot back and forth in an impatient cadence.

  “Are you having difficulties with what occurred in the pool, my dear? It would be understandable if you found yourself dwelling on unpleasant memories.”

  “Do you think my hair is the tiniest bit too ash? Bitsy said she thought it tended towards brassy, but she can be awfully bitchy when the mood strikes.”

  Theo tucked his wallet in his pocket and soberly observed himself in the mirror while he confirmed that his tie was straight. “A question of such importance cannot be answered without thought. Allow me to ponder the possibilities before I tender what will be an amateurish response. Hair color has not been a major issue in my life; hair retention, on the other hand, has rather occupied my idle moments.”