The moment Shayne stepped on the planking of the pier a voice spoke from the doorway of the boathouse.
“Wait a minute there, mister. Where do you think you’re going?”
A short, muscular man, wearing a blue boating cap pulled over his eyes, stepped out of the doorway and put himself between the detective and the bay.
“Is this private down here?” Shayne asked.
“Damn right it’s private,” the man said belligerently. “It’s a private island, practically. This is a private dock, private boats, and that’s a private party. No crashing tonight. I’m making no exceptions.”
“I’m not interested in the party,” Shayne said mildly. “I just want a couple of words with Donahue.”
“No exceptions. If you want to leave a message for him I’ll see that he gets it.”
“The trouble is, I didn’t bring a pencil,” Shayne said.
He gave the bill of the man’s boating cap a hard yank, jamming it down over his eyes. The man groped out with one hand while wrenching at the cap with the other. Shayne spun him around and sat him down hard in a wooden arm chair, which rocked back on its rear legs and came to rest against the front of the boathouse.
When the watchman forced his cap up from his eyes, he found the powerfully built redhead towering above him, his gray eyes cold in the dim light from the interior of the boathouse.
“Well, hell,” he said weakly. “If you’re going to get hard about it.”
“Who are you working for?”
“Various ones. Captain Donahue tonight, he gave me a ten-spot to keep out the crashers. He says every time he gives a party the whole public piles in on him. But I didn’t undertake to get my face bashed in for ten bucks. A good big man can always take a good little man, and you can tell him that if he asks you.”
“How long have you been sitting here?”
“Right along. And there wasn’t no big rush of people. You’re the first.”
Shayne took out his cigarettes and shook one out for the other man. In the flare of the lighter, the watchman’s face was alert and inquisitive. The redhead closed the lighter after starting a cigarette himself.
“I’ve been looking for Donahue all over town. Has he been aboard all evening?”
The watchman, like most people in solitary jobs, was glad to have a chance to talk. “They all have, the whole kit and kaboodle, and by the sound of it, they ain’t going to be leaving under their own locomotion. It’s been going on since the cocktail hour. And they were soused then. Captain Donahue, he had a breath on him you could start a swamp fire with. That’s why I didn’t feel like putting up more of a scrap. Why spill any blood when he won’t know the difference anyway? So go ahead.” He waved his cigarette. “Go on in.”
Shayne breathed out smoke. “What time do you mean by the cocktail hour?”
“Say half past five? And you know they’ve got young girls in there? I’m no puritan myself, I like a snort as well as the next man, but one thing I do hate to see is a girl soused under the age of twenty-one. They don’t know what they’re doing. They keep pouring it down, and the next thing you know-one more unwed mother. Now I’m not going to say for sure that’s what’s been going on, but if you go by the screeching they surely to goodness ain’t been playing scrabble.”
“Did the noise keep you awake?”
“That’s not the problem. I suffer from insomnia. That’s why I hire out for night work.”
“Would you be willing to take an oath,” Shayne said, “that Donahue’s been on that boat every minute since five-thirty?”
“I would,” the watchman said promptly, adding in alarm, “What do you mean, an oath? I never took an oath in my life.”
Shayne left him worrying about it. The first boat was a great mahogany monster from Newport, Rhode Island. The next berth was empty. Then came a fifty-foot ketch, and finally the Nugget, which sounded more like the name of a gambling house than a boat, out of Chicago, Illinois. Al Naples was not a man to go cruising in anything small. The Nugget sat high in the water, and underway probably carried a crew of three. Shayne went up the gangway. Most of the lights were on except on the stern. When a girl laughed, Shayne went in that direction.
“Do that some more,” a voice said in the darkness.
Coming around the curving end of the deckhouse, Shayne smelled the harsh, penetrating reek of marijuana. He saw a glowing spark at shoe top level.
“Vince?” he said.
There was a light fixture on the jutting overhang. Shayne found the switch, on the cabin wall near the companion-way. His foot touched something soft and a girl’s voice said, “Watch where you’re walking.”
The light flashed on. Two girls and a man were lying on the deck amid pillows and scattered clothing. One of the girls, thin and tired-looking, sat up and blinked. She was wearing a thin gold necklace and toenail polish but nothing else. At first she seemed angry, but her expression changed as she took Shayne in. Her pout changed to a whistle.
The man was lying on his side, mixed up with the second girl, whose face was hidden under a tangle of blonde hair. This girl gave no indication of knowing that a light had been turned on or that a stranger was watching. The man was Vince Donahue’s age, but unlike the descriptions of Donahue Shayne had been getting, he was pudgy and out of condition. He was untanned, his skin the color of the underside of a trout. His eyes were so glazed they seemed to fasten on Shayne’s by accident.
“That light, man, it’s murder.”
The girl slipped her naked foot inside the leg of Shayne’s pants and scraped her toenails against his calf. “Come on down. We need some new blood.”
Moving only his arm, the young man held out a brownish cigarette with a friendly smile. “Throw away that tobacco. Don’t you know that cigarettes can kill you? You’ll like this. It’s top quality.”
“I wouldn’t deprive you,” Shayne said. “As you were, everybody.”
He turned off the light, separated his leg from the girl’s foot and went back the way he had come. There was a patter of bare feet on the deck behind him. The girl leaped on his back like a jockey.
“No fair! You can’t show up like that and then just walk out.”
He pried her loose and forced her off his back, trying not to hurt her. She had little breasts and sharp hipbones, and gave off a dry, baking heat, like an open oven.
“I’m Lee Ewing,” she said. “I’m feeling left out so why don’t we-? Come on, please. Steve’s inside trying to straighten out the movies. It’s honestly OK. You don’t want me to turn into a dried-up old maid, do you?”
He took one of her wrists in each huge hand and made her hold still. “That’s the last thing I want. But business before pleasure. I just got here. Put on a few clothes and we’ll start over.”
“And just have to take them off again? I don’t see the sense-all right,” she said quickly, “I know people don’t like girls to make the first move.”
He released her wrists and she padded off toward the stern. Opening the nearest door, he entered a brightly lighted room. A youth with an unkempt shock of black hair-fully dressed, Shayne was glad to see-was pawing through a tumbled heap of movie film. There was a projector beside him, a small screen on the wall. He didn’t notice Shayne.
“You’re Steve, aren’t you?” Shayne said. “Have you seen Vince?”
“He’s around,” the boy said. He freed one hand to pick up a martini glass and drink. “Maybe you think you’ve seen dirty movies. Well, there’s a scene here somewhere, you never saw anything like it. All I have to do is get this organized. You wouldn’t be willing to give me a hand, would you?”
“After I talk to Vince.”
He tried a door. It led down to a small compact galley.
“My advice is,” the boy said, looking up, “wait till morning. There hasn’t been a peep out of them for hours. Listen, all I have to do is find the damn end. Any damn end. Get it back on the reel. It’ll make your eyes pop. I mean some of the things they do are impossible.”
“Vince won’t mind if I wake him up,” Shayne said, trying another door. This one was locked.
“Yeah, but can you? After Vince puts himself away, forget it. What I was thinking, if I had somebody to help I could string the film around the room and take out the twists, find the end that way.” He held up a section and looked through it. “Take a look at this. Of course you don’t get any detail, but this babe has one of the biggest and sexiest cans-”
Shayne took a strip of celluloid out of his wallet and forced it between the door and the jamb. Realizing what he was doing, the boy threw down the film and came over.
“You’d better have some reason!” he said.
Shayne looked around. “Sit down.”
“Oh,” Steve said, retreating. “Well.”
As the celluloid strip slipped between the bolt and the socket, Shayne stepped up the pressure. Slowly the bolt came back. In a moment the door sprang open.
This was the master cabin. It was furnished like a motel room, with an ordinary double bed and wall-to-wall carpet. The bed was in a state of extreme disorder, the bedclothes in a heap. No one was sleeping in it. On the bedside table were glasses and two bottles of Scotch, one still unopened and the other nearly empty, an untouched plate of cold baked beans, overflowing ashtrays. One light was on, over a dressing table next to an open window. A girl was studying her reflection in the triple mirror. She wore a lowcut bra and a half-slip. The bra hook was open. A cigarette dangled from her mouth.
She looked over her shoulder at Shayne. She had long untidy hair, over her forehead and down almost to her bare shoulders. Her eyes, in a pale face, were very large, with artificial lashes and green lids.
“Come in,” she said without surprise. “I was trying to decide if I’m getting too fat. The minute I decide I’m the teeniest bit overweight I’ll go on a diet, like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I don’t kid around.”
Steve had come into the doorway to look around. “Where’s Vince, Betty? This guy wanted to see him and I said it’d be OK. We don’t want to interrupt or anything.”
“Interrupt what?” she said bitterly.
Shayne glanced into the narrow bathroom and opened the sliding doors of the closet. Vince didn’t seem to be hiding in closets tonight.
“Somebody hook me up,” Betty said. “It keeps moving around.”
Shayne came back and hooked the bra.
“Thank you,” she said nicely, her eyes on her own reflection. “I’m full, but you couldn’t call me fat. God, I worry every time I wake up. I have to go straight to a mirror and find out.” She took the cigarette out of her mouth and smiled at herself. “No, I’m still cute. I’ve got good bone structure.” She added somberly, “And right now, what a headache.”
Her mood changed abruptly. “You know what I have to put up with Vince, Steve. You tell him.”
Steve blew out his breath. “Not again, Betty. You’ve got to start looking at the bright side. Nobody likes a chick who keeps spilling over all the time.”
“Are you referring to me?” she said icily. “I make it a point to never show my feelings, even when I’m crying on the inside.”
“Oh, brother,” Steve said, and went back to his own problem.
Betty swung around with a dramatic gesture which almost carried her off the backless bench.
“All they think about is their own kicks.” She smiled at Shayne and held out an empty glass. “Will you freshen up my drink? And look in the John for an aspirin. Then we’ll talk.”
Shayne made her a new drink, finishing the first bottle and opening the second. He found a tin of aspirin in the medicine cabinet. She shook a half dozen tablets into her palm. He picked out two and put them back.
“Most of these jerks,” she said admiringly, “I could swallow the whole bottle and they’d figure it was up to me.”
Shayne took a long drink of Scotch from the bottle and sat on the foot of the unmade bed. “What’s your idea about what happened to Vince?”
She giggled. “Do you realize I feel much better? I’m like that. I sort of press a button and count three and I’m normal again. Vince-he disappears on me all the time.” She looked puzzled. “What time is it?”
“About ten-thirty.”
She nodded. “He’s out rambling. Rambling and looking and trying to hustle some poor chick out of a couple of bucks. How good a friend of his are you?”
“I can take him or leave him.”
“He owe you some money?”
Shayne grinned. “Betty, you’re a mind reader.”
“Oh, that doesn’t make me such a wonderful guesser,” she said modestly. “He owes all over town. I’ve made him some loans myself. I’m a receptionist, I drag down pretty good money. When he starts paying off you know who’s going to be first in line, yours truly. And I’m supposed to tell people that’s going to be soon.”
“I hear he’s been making it with his boss’s wife. Why does he need money?”
“She doesn’t have too much you can cash in on.”
Shayne drank from the bottle again. “How long’s he been gone?”
“I didn’t even know he was! My trouble is, I get disgusted and I drink too fast and forget to eat anything. Things don’t look so screwed-up after a couple of drinks. And all of a sudden I’m out like a light.” She drank off her Scotch and held out the glass, confident that he would get up and fill it for her. “Sometimes I wake up somewhere else and I don’t know how I got there. What a feeling! I know I ought to eat, but ugh. We adjourned in here with those two nice bottles of Johnny Walker, compliments of Mr. and Mrs. Al Naples. Still wrapped up in tissue paper, like presents. What I wanted to do was go to bed, but Vince has been a flop in that department lately. So we opened the Scotch.”
Shayne handed her a new drink. “He’s on junk, isn’t he?”
She nodded slowly. “The person I’m in love with. I’m not like some people. I don’t jump in the hay with anybody. Before Vince moved up to H that was the one thing I didn’t like about him, the way he would do it with anybody. I don’t include Mrs. Naples. He has to make a living, I grant him that. But I was brought up different and I’m not about to change.”
Her mind skipped. “For instance, the minute you walked in I knew you’d be gentle. Those shoulders of yours. You look tough, but you’re not, are you? I like the way you get me drinks without making a big deal out of it. You don’t know how tired I get of these boys. I’m ready for somebody more mature.”
Her eyes misted over. “We’d be great! I know just the things I’d like to do with you.”
She was beginning to move about excitedly and she was breathing more quickly. She slid forward so her knees touched his.
“But I’m not going to do them!” she said, her eyes shining with excitement. “So never mind asking me. Because I love Vince! I don’t believe in cheating on the guy you love, with all his faults. But how I’d like to!”
He took hold of her knee to hold it still. Her flesh was cool and smooth under his hand, and she moved her leg between his so his hand slid along it. Using both hands, he closed her knees firmly.
“Betty, you and Vince came in here and locked the door. You made yourself a drink. What did he do?”
“What do you think he did?” Little lines of tension gathered around her eyes. “Why do they have to do it? Do you know? Shoot themselves full of that crap and pull out of the human race? I get a kind of-you know”-she seemed embarrassed-“sexy feeling when he puts in the needle, and what good does it do me? I know he’s going to be nodding in thirty seconds. What could I do but get stinking?”
“When was this, Betty, about seven or eight?”
“What’s the point of all the questions? We both know what happened. They sold him a bad bag. They cut it all the way down so it didn’t give him much of a charge. He woke up sick and he had to get dressed and go out looking for somebody with five or ten bucks so he could hunt up a connection and get himself right again. You want some advice about how long to wait? You know better than that. He could walk in this minute, or he might be gone a couple of weeks. That’s what it is with a junkie.”
“There’s a watchman on duty,” Shayne said. “He says nobody’s passed him.”
“A watchman? Don’t be dense, honey. He dozed off. Get me another drink. One more, and then I’m going to eat those baked beans if they strangle me.”
“And Vince didn’t get dressed,” Shayne went on.
He went back to the closet. One section was labeled “Hers,” the other “His.” He pulled a lightweight blue blazer off a hanger. It was longer, more narrow and more rakish than Al Naples’ clothes.
Betty said, “He was sick, he didn’t wear a jacket. Now you’re going to stop being polite? I’ll pour my own drink.”
She misjudged the corner of the bed and went headlong on the crumpled blue sheets. Shayne sorted through the slacks until he found a pair that was too long for Al Naples, with tapered legs into which the older man could never have forced his heavy thighs.
“And he forgot his pants,” Shayne said. “His shoes must be here somewhere.”
Betty groaned. “Why does he do those things? He’s always been so wild-”
“No, this was fairly intelligent,” Shayne said, “and maybe somebody else thought it up for him. He cooked his shot and put it in his arm, and he probably let out a groan to make you think he was getting a jolt of the real thing. It was probably only sugar. He knew you’d knock yourself out with the Johnny Walker as soon as he closed his eyes. And that’s what happened. He hung his clothes in the closet so they wouldn’t get wrinkled. Then he went out the window.”
Shayne pulled the sliding window open as far as it would go. A narrow rope ladder was fixed to two cleats beneath the sill.
“Yeah,” Shayne continued. “He wouldn’t want to dive because somebody might hear the splash. The south shore of Normandy Isle is about an eighth of a mile away. He didn’t have to hurry. The door was locked and no one would bother you. He could swim back half an hour later, unfasten the ladder and let it go. Then he’d dry himself off, get back in bed and give himself a real shot of heroin. He’d be in the clear all the way.”
Betty stared at him, the uncapped whiskey bottle in one hand. “Where is he, then?”
“Probably still in the bay, don’t you think?” Shayne said.
“Vince?” She gave a high giggle. “You’re so wrong. He’s a marvellous swimmer. He could swim to Palm Beach and back.” Her face changed. “Unless somebody-”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Shayne said.
He took the bottle out of her hand and drank from it. He gave it back and left her on the bed, looking after him with a dazed expression.