High Island Blues (12 page)

‘Because Mr Benson might have the wrong suspect but the right motive,’ George said, ‘and I’ve no time for subtleties. I need to prove Rob’s innocence before his group fly back to Britain.’

‘What do you want to know?’ She was sitting in a swinging chair made out of floral canvas, curled like a cat, her hair striped with the shadow of the awning above her.

‘If you were having an affair?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Never.’

‘What about Mick?’

‘I can’t be certain about that, but I wouldn’t have thought so. It wouldn’t be his style. Besides, it wouldn’t have been part of the deal.’

‘What deal?’

‘Marriage,’ she said. ‘That deal.’

‘Is that how you saw it?’

She pushed against the ground with her foot so the chair rocked slightly and leant back against the padded cushion.

‘I’m not sure what other way there is to see it.’

George said nothing.

‘It worked OK,’ she said. ‘Really it did.’

A hummingbird came to a water bottle hung on a tree. It hovered, caught in the sunlight. They watched it until it flew away and then she started to talk. Her chair swung lazily backwards and forwards as she told her story. George listened, his eyes half shut.

‘I was on the road to Winnie,’ she said. ‘It could have been anywhere. I just wanted to get out of town and I had relatives round there, thought someone would put me up. Besides, it was April, and I was a bit of a birder then, though it wouldn’t have been cool to admit it. There were no sanctuaries on High Island at that time but I knew it could be good.

‘I was waiting for a ride, thinking it would be just my luck if the first thing that stopped was a truck with a family man inside. A good man. The sort that tells you he’s worried about you and how you shouldn’t be hitchhiking, and why don’t you just go home. Then this car stopped. I saw three guys and at first I thought: No way. Not with three guys. I mean I was pretty wild in those days but not crazy. But they were young, you know, and English and I thought: What the hell! Why not? And they were birders too, so it seemed OK.

‘They wanted somewhere to stay in High Island. They’d heard of it. Someone they’d met on the trip had told them about the spring warblers. You know. They didn’t have much money but they had some, so I thought of the place my aunt had and took them there. It was run-down, not grand like it is today. She was glad of the custom. And she liked them, you know. It would have been hard not to like them.’

She stopped swinging and sat upright. Her feet were firmly planted on the paving stones.

‘I could have had any of them,’ she said. ‘ Even Ollie. I know he’d promised to go home to marry that girl he’d got pregnant but if I’d said to him: “Stay here with me,” he’d have done it. No question. I could have had any one of them.’

She closed her eyes against the sun, leaned back again.

‘But you chose Mick,’ George said.

‘Yes. I chose him.’

‘He wasn’t the obvious choice,’ George said. ‘Was he? Why Mick?’

He thought she wasn’t going to answer and was about to repeat the question, when she said: ‘ I knew we were two of a kind and we’d get on just fine.’ She smiled as if she realized this wasn’t any sort of answer at all, challenging him to take the matter further.

‘When did you set up the business?’ George asked.

‘About five years after we married. Mick had the skills. He’d done zoology at university. When he first got his Green Card he worked on the environmental team of an oil company based here in Houston. Then we decided to go it alone. We’re small but we’ve done OK. We worked from home at first but more recently we’ve taken premises on a small business park not far from here. It was an expense, a risk I guess, but we’ve plans for expansion and it suits us fine.’

‘What’s your role in the business?’

‘I’m a sort of general manager I suppose. I look for work, negotiate terms, do all the public relations things. Mick headed up the technical team. They do the surveying and prepare the reports. We employ young scientists on short-term contract when we need them.’

‘Is your work mostly oil based?’

‘It was at first. Surveying the route of new pipe-lines. You know the sort of thing?’

George nodded.

‘We were small, no overheads. We could undercut most of the main players. And since then we’ve diversified. Now we do quite a lot of work for non-profit organizations.’

‘Joined the side of the angels?’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘You could say that. They didn’t pay so well but Mick preferred it. And it was good for our image. Industrial companies could say: “ You’ve heard of Brownscombe Associates. You know their environmental credentials. Now they’re working for us.” We all benefited.’

‘What sort of work do you do for them?’

‘A lot of it’s data collection. But there’s other stuff too. Fund-raising. Grant applications. I enjoy all that. A born saleswoman I guess.’

‘Have you heard of an organization called the Wildlife Partnership?’

‘Sure. We represent them. They’re a small outfit working mostly in Central and South America. They wanted advice on promotion, how to get their message across more effectively. They could have employed a public relations firm but they wanted someone who understood the science, and Mick had done work on the ground for them. They couldn’t afford much but we put together a package. It was based on the idea of shares. Getting people to invest in the future of the planet. Corny, I guess, but effective. I was going to try it out on Rob’s group but I never got the chance …’

‘Does the Wildlife Partnership operate in the UK?’

‘No. We looked into it but there were too many legal problems. In the end it wouldn’t have been worth the effort.’ She looked at him, flashed a smile. ‘You know George, there just aren’t enough rich people in Britain.’

It would have been possible then to confront her with the Wildlife Partnership advertising material which had used Cecily Jessop’s name, but he did not think it wise to show his hand so soon.

‘I’d like to ask you about the time you spent together at Oaklands, leading up to the morning Mick died,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t upset you?’

He asked the question through habitual good manners. He did not think much would upset her.

‘I told the deputies who drove me home,’ she said.

‘I’d find it helpful.’

‘We’d arrived at Oaklands the afternoon before. Mary Ann threw a kind of party for us that night. Mary Ann Cleary. I explained she’s a cousin. We had dinner and drinks and the boys were just talking about the weather and how amazing it would be for birds the next day. Of course it wasn’t so exciting for Mick. But he was pleased for them. He wanted it to be special. He hoped it would be good.

‘The next morning Rob took his party to Boy Scout Wood but we went to Smith Oaks first. There’s a shop by the entrance where you can buy the patches which allowed you into the sanctuaries. I thought you could probably pay a fee at Boy Scout too, but Mick wasn’t sure. He was always cautious. Always played by the rules.’

‘Were Mr and Mrs Adamson with you?’

‘Oliver was. Not Julia. He said she hadn’t slept well and she’d decided to stay in bed. I wasn’t sorry.’

‘You didn’t like her?’

‘I only met her that first night, but no, I didn’t like her.’

‘Did you stay at Smith Oaks?’

‘No. We had a quick look but Mick and Oliver wanted to find Rob, so we went back to Boy Scout.’

‘You walked?’

‘Are you joking? Americans never walk anywhere. Unless it’s with knapsacks and boots in the National Park. We took our car. Parked it in the street outside the sanctuary.’

‘Did you find Rob?’

Laurie shook her head. ‘Not while I was there but I didn’t stay long. As soon as it started raining I gave up.’

George raised his eyebrows. ‘The best fall in years and you gave up? I thought you were a “bit of a birder’.”

‘Only in good weather. Not seriously. I took the Explorer. The boys would be wet anyway so I thought they could walk back to Oaklands.’

‘What did you do?’

She paused. ‘I had lunch with Mary Ann. Like I said, we’re distant family. We had things to talk about.’

‘Was Julia there?’

‘I didn’t see her at lunch but I guess she was around. I remember Oliver turning up sometime looking for her. The rain stopped so I went back to Boy Scout. Rob was there, waiting by the information stand at the entrance to the wood. At first I couldn’t understand what was wrong with him. He could hardly speak. I thought he was ill. He told me that Mick was dead. Then someone from the sheriff’s office turned up and they took me home.’

She sat very still.

‘Had Mick made any enemies through the business?’ George asked. ‘Had he stepped on any toes?’

‘No. That wasn’t Mick’s way. He wasn’t tough enough to be in business at all. If anyone made an enemy it was me.’

‘Who?’ George asked sharply.

She shook her head. ‘I’m not talking about anyone specific. I’ve a more abrasive style. I won’t be walked over.’

George let that go, though he wasn’t sure he believed her. ‘What will you do now?’

‘What do you mean?’ She looked up at him, putting her hand to her eyes to shade the sunlight reflected from the water.

‘With the business?’

‘I’ll run it myself,’ she said. ‘I’ll take on a graduate to do the surveys and write the reports. There are lots of unemployed environmental scientists out there. It won’t be a problem.’

No, George thought, as he drove back down the I10 towards the coast. I don’t suppose it will.

When George returned to the Oaklands Hotel the Mays were waiting for him. They had been waiting for most of the afternoon, had even decided against going on the trip Rob had organized to the wildlife refuge at Anahuac, although he had promised them alligators and that the wet prairie would hold birds they still needed for their list. The Mays were beside themselves. After their first encounter with Rob in the Marriott Hotel in Houston when they had been so critical, so – they realized it now – unreasonable, he had become a hero for them.

George recognized them, standing on the veranda looking out for his car. They had been sitting at his table on the night of his arrival; it had been their kind faces which had turned towards him when he was feeling unwell. They had not known then the purpose of his visit. Now rumours about him had spread and they considered him an ally.

When he climbed the steps on to the veranda they blocked his path. They were not used to making a fuss and were embarrassed about accosting him but quite determined.

Russell held out his hand, partly in greeting, partly to stop George’s progress into the house.

‘Mr Palmer-Jones,’ he said. ‘We need to speak to you.’

George stopped. He was tired. He wanted a bath and dinner.

‘You have information about Mr Brownscombe’s murder?’ he asked.

‘Not exactly information. But we think we can help.’

They were desperate to be taken seriously.

‘Of course we can talk. But after I’ve had dinner? Perhaps I could come to your room. Then we won’t be overheard.’

It was just the right response. They went away gratefully to prepare for him.

The Mays’ room was pleasantly proportioned but small. They gave him the only chair – a rocker with a quilted cover thrown over the back – and sat on the bed. Connie’s legs were too short to reach the floor. She had made instant coffee, spooning the powder from a jar she had brought with her from England, although sachets had been left on a tray in the room.

‘We can’t offer you anything stronger,’ she said. ‘Russell and I don’t drink.’

There was nothing apologetic about the words. It was a statement of principle. She turned to her husband, encouraging him to explain their concern. He started hesitantly.

‘I suppose we’ve had sheltered lives,’ he said. ‘I was a Special Constable when I was younger but you couldn’t say I saw much active service. It was all routine. Now our social life revolves round the Natural History Society and the Bowls Club. Most of our friends are retired. Not having family we don’t mix much with young people. But that doesn’t mean we’re narrow-minded. We might not come across folk like Rob Earl very often, but we can tell he’s a
good
man, Mr Palmer-Jones. It’s not possible that he committed murder.’

‘He hasn’t been arrested, you know,’ George said. ‘It was natural that the authorities would want to question him because he found the body. It would be just the same in Britain.’

‘We thought you’d come out to stop him being arrested.’ Connie had caught the sun. In the light of the bedside lamp her face was pink and earnest. ‘ That’s what everyone’s been saying.’

‘Not quite.’

‘But you are a private detective?’

‘Of a sort.’ He hated the description. ‘ Rob’s employers hired me, but I’m here as his friend. Of course I’d like to find out what really happened. Not,’ he added quickly, ‘that I don’t think the local agencies are competent to do that too.’

‘I didn’t take to that Mr Benson,’ Connie said. ‘He seems to be everywhere. And he carries a gun.’

‘What we’re really here to tell you,’ Russell interrupted, ‘is that we want to help. In any way we can. We don’t think Rob would have killed anyone and we want to help you prove it.’

What did he imagine he could do? George wondered. Crawl around the underbrush of Boy Scout Wood looking for clues? Follow suspects down the main street of High Island? Or perjure himself by providing Rob with an alibi? Is that the sort of excitement he had hoped for when he joined the Specials?

‘You could help by answering some questions,’ George said carefully.

They were disappointed.

‘Is that all?’ After an afternoon of waiting it was an anti-climax.

‘I need to piece together exactly what happened that morning.’ He looked at Russell. ‘I expect you know how tedious a painstaking investigation can be.’

‘Well yes,’ he said, flattered despite himself. ‘ Of course.’

‘So if you could tell me what you did and saw that day…’

‘We had breakfast…’ Connie started. George felt a desire to yawn, stifled it. They would have to tell their story in their own way.