| I looked at my watch. 11:30. If I saw Whitaker now it
would likely cut into my lunch hour and make me a very
grumpy private detective. To avoid him I'd have to slip
out the window. My office is on the 18th floor of the
Garbo Building, which gives me a swell view of the
oceanfront. There's a lot of oceanfront in Bermuda. But
sand is as tough as concrete and every bit as deadly when
approached on the perpendicular from the 18th floor. "Show
Whitaker in, Opal"
He wore a dark gray pinstripe suit, the kind of
paisley tie you're certain will come back into style any
time now, a crisp white shirt and sensible shoes. He held
a homburg.
"Rufus Crockett?''
"That's me.''
"I hope you can help me with a small matter,'' he
said, settling into the chair that faced my desk. I lit
his cigarette. He looked nervous.
"That depends,'' I said.
"Depends on what?'' Suddenly he was asking all
the questions.
"I don't know, Whitaker,'' I said, grabbing
control of the interview. "Speak up now, Whitaker.
While you have the chance.''
"Crockett, I'm an airline pilot. I work for
Friendly Guy's Airways. It's a glamorous job. Takes me to
exotic settings, mixes me up in intrigue and gets me
tangled with the most beautiful women in the world. I
know their needs and I have the dough and the stamina to
give them what they want.''
He winked in a feeble attempt at male bonding.
"Sounds like what you need is an internist, not a
detective,'' I said, lighting up an Old Gold.
"There's more, Crockett. Through it all, there
was really only one gal for me. She lives -- lived
-- here in town. When I went to her place this morning
after the flight from Grand Rapids, I found Muriel
dead.''
The smoke rings I was blowing into Whitaker's face
cast an eerie pall.
"Why come to me? Why not go to the police?''
"Crockett, you know as well as I that the cops in
this town are crooked. And there's another detail I
haven't told you yet.''
"What's that?''
"I'm being blackmailed.''
"Blackmailed?''
"Blackmailed.''
I made a mental note to install that acoustical
ceiling tile. The echo in my office was getting worse.
"I've made one indiscretion in my life,''
Whitaker said. "And I pay for it gladly. But if it
ever were to revealed, it would bring down not only me,
but an entire corporation. That's why my, shall we call
it, connection with Muriel must never come to light.''
"I see.''
I didn't.
We rose and shook hands. "I'll be in touch if I
learn anything.''
Whitaker took his billfold from his breast coat
pocket. "Do you take American Express?'' he said.
The card felt like hard plastic between my fingers. I
turned to imput the identification number for a credit
check, but remembered I didn't have a computer.
"Whitaker.''
"Yeah, Crockett?''
"Don't leave town.''
"Where would I go?" he said. "It's an
island.''
|
