The Way You Look Tonight (19 page)

The phone rang again and she snatched up the receiver. ‘Lee? Hang on, just let me turn the volume down on the television . . . OK, go ahead.’

‘Great coverage, huh? This really oughta help some. A few more of these teleshots, plus tomorrow morning’s papers, and believe me, we’ll—’

Something in her mind softly clicked into focus.

‘He’s mocking us, Lee.’

‘What? What’s that, Stella?’

‘He’s
mocking
us. He’s mocking the whole world. Oh my God, the
ego
of the man! Couldn’t you see it in his face just now?’

There was a distinct pause at the other end.

‘Stella, have you been at the mini-bar?’

She laughed, despite herself.

‘No, of course not . . . look, Lee, I realise I must sound like some kind of ghastly fake stage medium, but I mean it. I know it’s totally unscientific, but . . . remember what you
were saying on the beach earlier about trusting one’s instincts? How they’re really based on experience? Mine are trying to speak to me now. Oh, I wish I could explain this properly . .
.’ Suddenly she snapped her fingers.

‘Of course. Those pictures of the Nazis. Their official party photos, I mean. You can practically
see
the malevolence in the faces of some of the leading Party members –
Himmler, Heydrich, Hess – their photos
reek
of arrogance and conceit. I felt exactly the same about our man just then. He’d composed his features for an official photograph,
but just like those gangsters in uniform, he couldn’t hide his inherent arrogance
.
’

Now it was Lee who laughed. ‘Well, forgive me, Stella, but we kinda deduced that about the guy already, now, didn’t we?’

She nodded to herself, plunged back deep in thought. ‘Yes, of course, but that’s only part of what I’m trying to say. There’s something else.’

After a long silence he spoke. ‘Stella? You’re not saying anything. You still there?’

‘Just a minute, Lee. There’s
something else
! Dammit, what the hell is it? Something else about that face . . .’

‘Take your time, Stella. I’ve learned to trust your instincts.’

Next moment sudden realisation flooded through her like white light and she gasped in shock.

‘
I’ve seen him! I’VE SEEN HIM!’

‘What? Where? When? How can you be certain it was—’

‘I’ve seen him twice, Lee! The first time on the day I was driven down from Miami. We passed a taxi that’d been pulled over by a police car with its roof-lights flashing and
everything. The officer was talking to the driver and he was facing me – the cab driver, I mean. It was
him
, Lee! I’m certain of it. I remember saying to my driver that I got
the impression the man was trying not to laugh, which I thought was really odd under the circumstances.
Exactly
the expression he’s wearing in that photo.’

Lee whistled. ‘Jesus, Stella, that’s some coincidence, if you’re right.’

‘Of course I’m right!’

‘OK, OK . . . so when was the second time you saw him?’

‘Tonight! On the beach here at the hotel.’

‘
What!?’

‘No doubt about it. There was a man sitting by himself at a table near mine. This was about ten minutes before you arrived, Lee. He was staring at me. I felt distinctly uncomfortable so I
went down to the water. When I came back, he’d gone. But I’d swear on the Bible he was the person whose picture I’ve just seen on the television, and the man who was standing by
the side of the road three days ago. What on earth can it mean?’

His mind raced.

‘Well, the first sighting must have been, like I said, a coincidence,’ he decided at last. ‘A weird one, but still a coincidence.’

His tone flattened. ‘Tonight is different. I reckon he recognised the background to that
Courier
photo of you this morning. He’s probably picked up and dropped off dozens of
fares at Largo Lodge over the years. I guess he was curious to see you before he got out of town and took a chance you’d be having your evening meal out on the beach. Jesus, it’s creepy
as all hell though.’

‘Do you think I’m in danger?’

He considered the question carefully.

‘Don’t take this as a yes, Stella, because I don’t seriously think you are, but from this moment on you’re going to have round-the-clock protection, starting with me.
I’m coming straight back there now. In the meantime, lock the door and don’t leave your room.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you. Good God, Lee, this man is even more extraordinarily self-confident than I thought. He has
such
an innate sense of his own superiority to
everyone else. What a risk for him to take tonight! What if you’d already identified him, seen his picture, and you’d been here when he turned up? But all the same . . .’

She fell silent.

‘All the same, what?’ he prompted.

‘Well . . . character is fate, isn’t it? Overweening self-belief and arrogance may be disagreeable characteristics but they can carry a person a long way, especially if they have the
kind of luck this man seems to enjoy.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I don’t think you’re going to catch Woods in one of your roadblocks, Lee. In fact, you may not catch him at all.’

‘Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘Don’t take it personally. I just mean . . . oh, I don’t know what

I mean. I’ll explain it better when you get back here. I’m all hot and bothered. I’m still feeling a bit funny after that kiss on the beach, to be honest.’

‘Me too. Would you mind if I kissed you again?’

After a distinct pause, she heard herself saying: ‘Actually, I think I’d be rather disappointed if you didn’t . . . did you say you were coming back here now?’

The sound of the phone being quietly replaced at the other end was all the answer she needed.

He went straight into the men’s room when he got to the bar. The middle-aged bartender was flirting heavily with two thirty-something women, the only other customers
in the place. They didn’t even see him come in.

It was a small set-up and there was only one WC and washbasin in the men’s room, so it was OK for him to lock its door. Secured against surprise, he fished out the plastic bottle and a
small comb from his bag and moved to the cracked mirror over the basin.

It didn’t take long to work the peroxide-based lotion into his hair and then his eyebrows. The instructions on the bottle said the stuff should be washed out between thirty and
forty-five minutes after application, and he reckoned he’d just about meet the deadline. He’d have to – much longer and his hair would end up bright yellow.

He dumped the empty dye bottle in the trash and rinsed the comb and his hands. When he slipped out of the room the barman was still fully occupied with the women. He left entirely
unnoticed.

His ride was a good twenty minutes’ walk away but it was almost dark now – dusk was brief here in the sub-tropics, where the sun dropped almost vertically below the horizon. He
just had to stay off the main Overseas Highway and out of any patrol car’s way, and that was easy; there were plenty of quiet residential back roads he could use to get to where he was
headed.

He must have been walking faster than he realised because just over a quarter of an hour later he was practically there. He cut across a small patch of waste ground and onto on a palm-lined
residential street. It was a dead-end: the bougainvillea-covered cottages and conch houses finished abruptly a few yards from where the Gulf washed quietly onto a beach of white sand.

He took a left at the waterline and picked up the sun-bleached boardwalk that led to a small marina at the southern end of the beach. The dock only had one modest slipway, but a good
metalled road connected it to the Overseas Highway so folks could get their trailers right down to the water.

There were only six or seven vessels in the marina’s thirty mooring bays, and there didn’t seem to be a soul around. It was still off-season, after all.

The biggest boat there was a 40-footer with twin outboards, a good-sized cabin with a kitchenette and shower room, and two small but comfortable bedrooms. It was bobbing gently in the
furthest bay.

He walked straight to it, taking the cabin keys from his jeans pocket as he stepped on board.

For the last two years he’d had an arrangement with the snowbird who owned the boat. For twenty dollars a month he kept an eye on it, making sure the batteries stayed charged, the hull
and deck were hosed clean of pelican shit, and the engines had their legs stretched every now and then. He took it out for a few hours on his days off, sometimes combining his legitimate
responsibilities with an unofficial fishing charter for local guys, at ten bucks a head. What the owner didn’t know wouldn’t trouble him.

And what the owner certainly didn’t know tonight was that he would never, ever see his beautiful boat again.

He headed straight for the tiny shiny cubicle aft.

He had to rinse this crap out of his hair right now.

Stella’s reference to an inexperienced young man’s perfunctory performance with a woman was not entirely theoretical.

During her three years at Cambridge she had been the focus of unceasing attention from male students (and occasionally, members of the faculty) and by the time she graduated Stella was, in the
words of a friend, ‘not without some experience’.

Most of it had been with boys of her own age, although on one occasion she had surrendered to a married Philosophy don’s impressively determined campaign, only to be disappointed when he
was so overwhelmed by the reality of conquest that he was unable to perform. His repeated protestations of: ‘Honestly, this has never happened to me before,’ eventually became even more
tiresome than what had given rise to them. Or rather, she’d thought wryly as she got dressed again, had not given rise to them.

Lee Foster was knocking on her cabin door and calling softly to her barely ten minutes after she had, to all intents and purposes, invited him to kiss her again. But she wasn’t sorry, she
thought, as she went to let him in. After their ill-tempered and prickly introduction they had quickly found each other’s measure and were increasingly at ease together. She liked the fact
that he hadn’t been fazed by her uncompromising way of standing up for herself. So many men, in her experience, felt threatened by her intelligence and forthrightness: here was someone who
actually seemed to welcome and encourage it.

Anyway, she thought as she looked at him standing in the doorway, grinning at her and holding a bottle of what might be champagne – he was undeniably attractive. Not just because of his
looks. He had an unquestionable air of competence and authority. She had no doubt that he had faced some sort of insurrection that morning because of her, but the voice of the officer on the radio
earlier had been respectful and deferential. And she appreciated the way Lee had praised the man, too; clearly he was a good team leader.

And now here he was, waving the bottle at her and saying: ‘I’m sorry, Stella, the liquor store didn’t have any champagne so I had to get this – it’s some sort of
Californian fizzy blush and I’m sure it’s revolting, but needs must.’

‘What needs would those be, Lee?’

He laughed.

‘My need to kiss you again, for a start.’

Without another word he took two steps into her room, wrapped one arm round her waist and pulled her to him for a far more comprehensive exchange than they had enjoyed on the beach earlier.

They were interrupted by a squawk and electronic burst of tone from the corridor outside.

He looked slightly abashed.

‘I’m sorry, Stella . . . I had to bring it with me. The moment we get the bastard, I need to be told. You understand . . .’

She kissed his forehead. ‘Of course I do. Just tell me they can’t hear
us
.’

‘What if they can?’ he asked innocently as he went back out to collect the short-wave radio. ‘We’re only drinking a glass or two of Pommery together and discussing the
case while I act as your overnight bodyguard, aren’t we?’

‘If that’s all you’re planning to do, Agent Foster,’ Stella said drily as she ushered him back inside, ‘you can leave the bottle with me and go sleep in your own
room. I’ll take my chances.’

They had left one lamp still burning and afterwards by its glow she looked at the sleeping FBI man’s face. His fringe had fallen all the way forward now, covering his right eye. Stella
thought he looked all of fifteen years old.

She gradually slid her arm out from underneath his body, trying not to wake him. Eventually she was free and able to massage her wrist and fingers, which had gone to sleep.

Circulation restored, she reached for the bottle they’d left on her bedside table and poured what was left into the tooth mug they’d had to share when he realised he’d
forgotten to bring any glasses.

His prediction had been right: the wine was awful – sweet and sticky. But it was better than nothing, Stella thought, as she sipped the last few mouthfuls. Anyway, she felt like holding a
private celebration, however silent and solitary.

Their lovemaking had been
wonderful.
His body was lean and firm and brown and she’d teased him about his tan. ‘I thought you told me you were
working
in
California,’ she said when she’d eased his shirt from his shoulders.

‘You can go through case notes by the pool just as well as in the office,’ he grumbled as he unbuttoned her blouse. ‘Anyway, look at you – you’re one to talk.
You’re not exactly Miss Milkskin yourself, are you? I assume you got that colour hobnobbing with the Kennedys on the beaches of Martha’s Vineyard.’

After that they hadn’t done a lot more talking.

She looked at her watch. It was almost two in the morning. On the dressing table on the other side of the room, she could see yesterday’s
Courier
with her photograph staring out
from page one.