Читать книгу Bahama Crisis - Desmond Bagley, Desmond Bagley - Страница 13

And so there was a funeral after all, but before that, the inquest. I attended, but before the proceedings began Perigord had a word with me. ‘Regardless of the findings of this inquest we’re treating this as a murder case.’

I looked at him sharply. ‘New evidence?’

‘Not really. But your daughter didn’t die by drowning; there was no salt water in the lungs. Of course, in the event of an explosion on the boat she could have struck her head hard enough to kill her before entering the water. The head injuries are consistent with that.’ He paused. ‘It might help you to know that, in the opinion of the forensic pathologist, death was instantaneous.’

Debbie sat with me at the inquest – she was staying until after the funeral. The inquest was beautifully stage-managed; by Perigord, I suspect. The coroner had obviously been briefed and knew all the questions he was not supposed to ask, and he guided witnesses skilfully. As I gave my evidence it occurred to me that one of the factors in Perigord’s decision to tell me what he had was to prevent any awkward questions coming from me at the inquest.

The verdict was death by unknown causes.

The family was at the funeral, of course. Grace came from Florida, and Peggy and Bob from Abaco, bringing Karen with them. Karen had regained most of her spirits but the funeral subdued her a little. In Peggy’s opinion it was a good thing for Karen to attend. She was probably right. Also present were some of my Bahamian friends and a surprising number of Corporation employees.

It was sad to see the pathetically small coffin being lowered into the sandy earth. Karen cried, so I picked her up and held her close during the brief ceremony. A few last words were said and then it was all over and the crowd drifted away.

Debbie left for Houston the next day and I drove her to the airport. I picked her up at the Royal Palm and, on the way, she asked me to stop at the International Bazaar as there was something she wanted to pick up. I parked outside, and she said, ‘Don’t bother to come in; I won’t be long.’ So I sat in the car and waited, and she was back in five minutes.

At the airport we had coffee after we had got rid of her luggage and were waiting for her flight announcement. I said, ‘You can tell Billy I’m willing to talk business as soon as he’s ready.’

She looked at me closely. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Mike was right,’ I said. ‘Life goes on, and the Corporation doesn’t run itself. Yes, I’m sure.’

‘I’ve been thinking of what you suggested when we were coming back from Abaco. You know, when I think of it I’ve lived a pretty useless life.’ She smiled wryly. ‘The Cunningham family doesn’t believe in women in business. They’re supposed to be ornamental, be good in bed and make babies – preferably boys to carry on the line. Damned misplaced southern chivalry. So I’ve been ornamental and that’s about all.’

I smiled. ‘What about the bed bit?’

‘You won’t believe this, but I was a virgin until I met that bastard back in Houston.’ She shook the thought from her. ‘Anyway, I think all that’s going to change, and it’s going to give a hell of a shock to my father – me mixing with black kids and poor white trash. I think I can get it past Billy One though.’

‘Stick at it. It’s time the Cunninghams made something besides money. Making people happy isn’t a bad aim.’

We talked about it some more, and then she excused herself and walked across the concourse to the toilets. When she came back she was hurrying, her heels clicking rapidly on the hard floor. She stopped in front of me and said, ‘There’s something I have to show you, Tom. I wasn’t going to, but …’ She stopped and bit her lip nervously, then thrust an envelope into my hand. ‘Here!’

‘What is it?’

‘You remember Sue left her camera behind. Well, I took out the film and had it developed. I just picked up the prints at the International Bazaar and I went into the John to have a look at them.’

‘I see,’ I said slowly. I was not sure I wanted to see them. There would be too many memories of that last day.

‘I think you ought to look at them,’ Debbie urged. ‘It’s important.’

I took the prints out of the envelope and shuffled through them. There were a couple of pictures of the Girl in one of which Pete posed in the bows, striking a mock-heroic attitude; three pictures of Sue herself, probably taken by Julie, which damn near broke my heart to see; and the rest were of Julie herself in various locations – by the pool, by the boat, and on board supervising the loading of luggage. There was one picture of Debbie and also four duds, out of focus and blurred. Sue had not yet got the hang of the camera and now never would. I got a lump in my throat and coughed.

Debbie was watching me closely. ‘Look again.’

I went through the pictures again and suddenly Debbie said, ‘Stop! That one.’ In the picture where Pete was in the bows there was a dim figure in the stern – a man just coming on deck from below. He was in the shade and his face was indistinct.

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ I put down the print and took out the negative. A 110 film negative is damned small – it will just about cover your thumbnail – and the bit which showed the man was about as big as a pinhead. ‘The crewman!’ I said softly.

‘Yes. You’ll have something to show Perigord.’

‘But I’ll have it enlarged first. I’m not letting this into Perigord’s hands without having a few copies for myself. His ideas of discretion might get in my way. I have a shrewd idea that once he gets this I’ll never see it again.’