Feast of Murder(54)

Gregor’s only thought was that, no matter what else happened, Charlie Shay must not disappear. He might be able to spot strychnine poisoning just by looking at it, but no district attorney would prosecute—and no court would convict—on just his word. If Charlie Shay’s body fell into the sea, whatever investigation there might have been would be dead before it started. Gregor kept staring at Charlie Shay and what he saw was Charlie Shay leaping. Charlie Shay’s feet came up off the deck and did little tap steps in the air. Charlie Shay’s body arched back over the sea and snapped forward again, almost making the dive.

Gregor couldn’t stand it any longer. The boat dropped with the water beneath it. Charlie Shay went into the air one more time. Gregor held his breath and launched himself forward, sliding across the wet deck toward the low bow side. As he was skidding, the water and the boat rose again and Charlie Shay came down. Gregor got a single fistful of grey flannel trouser and felt it tear away from the trouser itself as Charlie once again began to rise in the air. Up and down, up and down. If Gregor had had a chance to think about it, he would have been seasick. All he had a chance to think about were Charlie Shay’s ankles. The boat began to rise again. Charlie Shay’s body began to fall again. Gregor put out his hands and grabbed. One of those hands got hold of something solid, dead flesh and brittle bone. The other got smashed. Charlie Shay was wearing thick-soled canvas deck shoes, the tie-up kind people order from catalogs like J. Crew and Land’s End. One of those deck shoes hit Gregor’s hand like a hammer hitting a nail. Its full force was blunted by the fact that Gregor had hold of the other leg and was pulling it in the other direction. The result was paralyzing and painful, but nothing worse. Gregor got his hand out from under as soon as he could and put it up near his chest.

“For God’s sake, help me,” he called out in the general direction of where he thought Tony Baird must be. He felt as if he’d been fighting the sea and the wind and the corpse of Charlie Shay for hours, even though he knew it must only have been seconds. “Help me,” he said again, with a strength born of exasperation in his voice. “What in God’s name are you doing over there?”

What Tony Baird was doing over there was nothing, because he hadn’t been over there for most of Gregor’s struggle with the body. As soon as he’d seen what was going on, Tony had headed for the mess, running and shouting at the top of his lungs. His report had been impossible to understand, but also impossible to ignore. Now he was back on deck, with the rest of the company behind him, craning over his shoulder to see anything they could.

“For Heaven’s sake, help him,” Bennis Hannaford screamed. “You can’t just leave him out there like that in the rain.”

“Tony, you’re blocking up the passage,” Jon Baird said.

“Right,” Tony said, suddenly leaping forward into the wet.

Gregor felt him land beside him just a moment before he was about to let the body go. Tony got hold of Charlie’s other leg and then seemed to be trying to push Gregor aside. Gregor held on ever more tightly. The one thing he had no intention of doing was letting this corpse out of his custody until he got it safely into a cabin. Tony shoved again. Gregor held on. Then Gregor got hold of a coiled line and began to use it to haul himself upward.

“I can do this,” Tony shouted in his ear.

The shout seemed abnormally loud, because it was no longer really necessary. The wind had begun to die down. Gregor secured his hold on the lines and pushed himself almost to a standing position. He was still holding on to one of Charlie Shay’s ankles with his right hand.

“All right,” he said to Tony Baird. “Forget about the legs. Take the hands.”

“I can carry him myself.”

“No you can’t.”

Tony shot him a black look, but this time he obeyed. He dropped the leg he’d been holding, making it necessary for Gregor to bend over again to pick it up. Then Tony moved around until he was standing over Charlie Shay’s head and reached for the corpse’s hands.

“Let’s get him out of the rain,” Gregor said. “Then I think we’d better all sit somewhere and talk.”





2


Getting the corpse of Charlie Shay out of the rain was a project easier planned than executed. Gregor had always thought of the halls and passageways belowdecks as “tight.” Now they made him feel as if he were being squeezed through the neck of a tube of toothpaste. In order to keep Charlie Shay’s body off the floor, both Gregor and Tony had to keep their elbows cocked slightly outward. They were both too big to do that comfortably on this boat. Elbows smashed into doors. Elbows smashed into beams. Elbows smashed into the smooth-planed wood of the walls. Their heads took a beating, too. Gregor was getting used to what was happening to his. Getting knocked on the head was practically a definition of his life on this boat. Tony seemed more surprised by just how much of a beating he was expected to take. Every time his forehead smashed into a beam, he swore.