Shoot Him if He Runs (11 page)

“Okay,” Holly said, switching on her blow dryer.

Stone slipped into a linen jacket and walked up to the inn. Thomas was behind the bar, in conversation with a customer, a black man in a black suit. A very nice suit, Stone thought, but an odd choice for the tropics.

Thomas waved him over. “Stone, I’d like you to meet one of our more prominent citizens,” he said. “This is Colonel Croft, of our home office. Colonel, this is an old customer, Mr. Stone Barrington, from New York.”

The colonel swiveled on his stool and smiled a broad smile with many teeth. “How do you do, Mr. Barrington?” he said.

He was wearing gold-rimmed dark glasses with reflective lenses, so Stone could not see his eyes, which he found a little disconcerting. “How do you do, Colonel? I didn’t know St. Marks had an army.”

“It’s a police title,” the colonel explained. “Since joining the Home Office I’m no longer a policeman, exactly, but the rank seems to have stuck. Everyone calls me Colonel.”

“I’m a retired policeman myself, like Thomas,” Stone said.

“You look awfully young to be retired,” the colonel replied.

“Medical reasons,” Stone said. “I took a bullet in the knee after fourteen years on the NYPD.”

“And what was your assignment on the force?” the colonel asked.

“I was a detective, mostly investigating homicides.”

The colonel smiled again. “Well, Mr. Barrington, you would have been unable to earn a living in St. Marks; we have so little violent crime and hardly any homicides.”

“You are to be congratulated,” Stone said. “It takes good police work to keep crime at such low levels.”

“We do our best for a small country. I understand you now practice law; in fact, I’ve heard that you have actually practiced in St. Marks, on a previous visit.”

So the colonel knew who he was; Stone was hardly surprised. “I had that honor,” he said, “but quite by happenstance. Your distinguished prime minister bested me handily in court.” Stone thought it best to spread the flattery on thick.

“Yes, your client was hanged, I believe.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I was chief of police in Markstown at that time,” the colonel said, “so I was not involved in the investigation, but, of course, everyone knew of the incident.”

“Yes, I believe the trial gained some notoriety in the United States as well.” Couldn’t hurt to remind him that treating Americans badly engendered bad publicity. “I hope your tourist trade was not affected.”

“On the contrary,” the colonel said, “the notoriety seemed to give us a shot in the arm, as it were, and our tourist trade has grown steadily since then, benefitting many St. Marksians, as Thomas can readily testify.”

“I can,” Thomas said. “My home island has been very good to me.”

“I hear rumors of a big expansion in tourism to come,” Stone said, “with the arrival of casinos.”

The colonel abruptly stopped smiling. “Oh? And where did you hear that?” he asked, and he seemed genuinely interested in an answer.

“Oh, just gossip on the beach. That couple who went home yesterday said something about it.” The colonel was silent, and Stone felt that his eyes might be boring into him from behind the reflective glasses. “I forget their names.”

“It is best not to repeat gossip, Mr. Barrington,” the colonel said, and it didn’t sound like a suggestion.

“Quite right,” Stone said. “May I buy you a drink, Colonel?”

The colonel looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I have an engagement,” he said. “Perhaps another time.” He stood up.

“I hope so,” Stone said.

“Will you be remaining in St. Marks for very long, Mr. Barrington?”

“Only until the weekend,” Stone said. “So much work waiting back in New York.”

“What a pity,” the colonel replied. “It would have been interesting to get to know you better.”

“Perhaps on some future visit,” Stone said. He offered his hand; the colonel shook it, then departed. When he had gone, Thomas sighed. “Stone, you want to be very careful of what you say to that gentleman.”

“Oh? Did I say something wrong?”

“That business about the casinos is
very
closely held information.”

“The colonel did give the impression that I wasn’t supposed to know about it.”

“You recovered well, but still…Where on earth did you hear that? Not from me, certainly.”

“Just between you and me, it came up at dinner at Irene Foster’s house.”

“Ah.”

Stone shrugged. As he recalled, it had been Harry Pitts who knew about it, but he didn’t say so. “I visited Leslie Hewitt this afternoon, and I heard about Colonel Croft from him. I was surprised you hadn’t mentioned such an important figure.”

“It was my hope that you could visit St. Marks and depart without encountering the colonel,” Thomas said. “But now that you have, you should avoid further contact with him, if at all possible.”

“I think I would enjoy avoiding further contact with him,” Stone said. “He gives me the creeps.”

“He is the second most powerful man on the island, and he seems to derive a certain pleasure from making miserable the lives of people he dislikes. And it doesn’t take much to incur his dislike.”

“You seem to get on well with him.”

“I have made a point of it,” Thomas said. “I have to make a living here, and that might be impossible if the colonel didn’t wish it to be so.”

“Thomas, we talked this morning about the means of escaping this island. I hope you have a way out, should it become necessary.”

“You needn’t concern yourself about me, Stone,” Thomas replied. “I have always been a survivor and, even though I am enjoying my success, I know very well that my position here could become untenable if I make the wrong move.”

Stone nodded. “If I can ever be of help, I hope you’ll call on me.”

“Thank you; I hope that won’t be necessary.”

“By the way, speaking of escape routes, I visited Don Wells at the airport this afternoon, and he told me of a new arrival on the island, one Robertson, who has an airplane in one of Don’s hangars. Do you know him?”

“He has been in for dinner.” Thomas looked at Stone. “Are you thinking he might be your man?”

“It’s a possibility; do you have an opinion?”

Thomas shrugged. “I’ve seen the man only once; he spoke with a very good British accent.”

Holly, Dino and Genevieve arrived in the bar, and Stone let the matter drop.

22

T
hey ordered drinks and sipped them while Thomas tended to other guests. “Who was the man in the black suit?” Holly asked.

“That was the fabled Colonel Croft,” Stone said, “and I’m glad you didn’t get to meet him.”

“Why?”

“A very creepy person, and by all accounts, very dangerous. He also has a bit of an accent that I can’t place. He doesn’t sound like the other islanders.”

“So he’s the one who’s bugging our cottage?”

“I think we can assume that. I’m afraid I sort of put my foot in it with him.”

“How so?”

“We were talking about the tourist trade here, and I told him I’d heard that it would be expanded by the arrival of casinos. He didn’t like hearing me say that.”

“Why not? It seems innocuous enough.”

“According to Thomas, it’s a closely guarded secret,” Stone said.

“But Harry Pitts told us about it at Irene’s; if it’s so secret, how does he know about it?”

“It struck me that Harry was extremely well informed about just about everything to do with St. Marks—especially for someone who’s only been here for a few days.”

“Irene must have brought him up to date,” Dino suggested.

“Perhaps,” Stone said, “but from here on in, don’t mention the casino business to anybody. I don’t want to raise any more red flags with the colonel. And Holly, when you talk to Lance tomorrow ask him to find out what he can about the gentleman.”

T
he following morning at ten, Holly called Lance. “What did you find out about Robertson?” she asked.

“Very interesting,” Lance said. “Mr. Ian Robertson doesn’t exist. He doesn’t have a British passport, he doesn’t have a driver’s license, he doesn’t have an airplane registered in his name in the U.K., and he doesn’t have a birth certificate.”

“But there must be a number of people by that name in the U.K.; it sounds like it could be very common.”

“There are around two dozen,” Lance said, “but none of them squares with any of the information about himself that Mr. Pemberton gave to the St. Marks housing authority when he made application to buy a house here. Foreigners have to apply for permission to buy. None of the other Robertsons are his age, which he says is fifty-seven, none of them have his middle name, which he says is Osmond, and none of them owns an airplane. All of them, however, have driver’s licenses, and most of them have passports. The airplane registration number you gave me belongs to an airplane that has been removed from the British Registry and listed as destroyed in a fire.”

“I see. Lance, how did you come up with the information from the St. Marks housing office?”

“That brings me to another matter,” Lance said. “Write down this phone number.”

Holly found a pen and paper in her bag. “Shoot.”

Lance gave her the number. “It’s a cell phone; call that number at twelve-fifteen
P.M
. sharp, today, from your satphone. A man named Bill Pepper will answer. Make an appointment to meet with him.”

“Okay. Who is he?”

“He’s one of ours, planted in an offshore casino there as a computer programmer. You may be of help to each other.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him before?”

“It wasn’t necessary for you to know about him before.”

“Then why now?”

“Stop asking questions,” Lance said sharply. “Meet him; see what you can do for each other.”

“There’s something else,” Holly said.

“What?”

“Stone wants to know about a man in the St. Marks Home Office named Colonel Croft.”

“Ask Bill Pepper about him. Good-bye.”

H
olly joined the others on the beach and reported on her conversation with Lance.

“I don’t get it,” Stone said. “If Lance already has a man in St. Marks, why did he send us down here?”

“How the hell should I know?” Holly said irritably.

“Take it easy; I’m curious, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m curious. I’m sorry if I was short, but Lance was very irritating. He’s usually very smooth and courteous.”

“Maybe something else is eating him.”

“I had the impression that he was introducing me to this Bill Pepper very reluctantly.”

“Well, if the guy is working undercover in one of the Internet casinos, maybe he’s concerned about blowing him.”

“Yeah, okay; maybe he was just in a bad mood,” Holly said.

A
t precisely twelve-fifteen, Holly dialed the number she had been given.

“Yes?”

“It’s Holly Barker.”

“My wife and I will be at the inn for dinner at eight this evening; I’ll be wearing a bright green linen jacket. At nine-fifteen, before the dessert course, I’ll go to the men’s room. You wait until I’m gone, then walk past the ladies’ room and out into the parking lot. I’ll be sitting in a white Toyota Avalon; join me. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He hung up.

23

H
olly made sure her group was already seated for dinner when Bill Pepper and his wife arrived. They were placed three or four tables away, but the bright green linen jacket marked him well. He was in his late thirties, blondish hair, the very picture of the young American businessman.

Holly and the others talked through dinner about everything but why they were there—Robertson and the colonel. Holly was worried that even the tables might be bugged.

At nine-fifteen, Pepper rose from his chair and, ignoring them, walked out of the dining room toward the men’s room. Holly waited the prescribed minute, then headed for the ladies’. At the end of the hallway, past the restrooms, she opened a door with a big red “EXIT” sign over it and stepped into the parking lot. It took a moment for her eyes to become used to the darkness, then, a few yards away, the overhead light went on in a car, then went off again. She made her way to the white Avalon and got in. “I’m Holly Barker,” she said, offering her hand.

“Bill Pepper,” he said, shaking it.

“Is that a trade name?”

“Probably. What do you want to know?”

“Have you found out anything more about this Robertson? Or about Pemberton or Weatherby?”

“I think—and this isn’t official opinion yet, since not enough people at Langley agree—that Robertson, as he calls himself, is an Englishman named Barney Cox, who Scotland Yard believes is one of four men who robbed a shipment of money at Heathrow Airport about nine months ago. They got away with something over a hundred million pounds sterling.”

“I read about that in the papers; I didn’t know the police there had identified them.”

“‘Identified’ is too strong a word. All they know for sure is that Cox disappeared simultaneously with the robbery, and they only know that because his wife made a missing persons report a day later.”

“Did she have any information about the robbery?”

“No; all she knew was that her husband went to work one day and didn’t come back. They had been married for more than thirty years and had two grown children.”

“Did he have a criminal record?”

“No, he was an ordinary civilian; he sold computers to businesses. In fact, he was director of sales for his company.”

“Why do you think Robertson is Barney Cox?”

“Description, timing, money, and the fact that he says he’s retired from the computer business, which, if he is Cox, is a stupid thing to say.”

“Do you have any other possible identities in mind for him?”

“Well, I don’t think he’s the Lindbergh baby; did you have somebody else in mind?”

“Not really.”

“Then what are you doing in St. Marks?”

“I take it Lance didn’t tell you.”

“No, but he didn’t tell me not to ask, either.”

“Don’t ask.”

“Okay, sure.”