He approached the slightly open door, removing his jacket as he did so.
There was a click behind him. He turned. A second later, the bedside lamp was snapped on, flooding the room with its dim light, harsh only at the source.
Alison was sitting up in his bed. He could see that her right hand gripped the small deadly weapon 'issued by the London police'; she was placing it at her side, obscuring it with the covers.
'Hello, Alex.'
'Hello.'
It was an awkward moment.
'I stayed here because I thought your friend Tucker might call. I might not have heard the telephone.'
'I could think of better reasons.' He smiled and approached the bed. She picked up the cylinder and twisted it. There was the same click he had heard seconds ago. She placed the strange weapon on the night table.
'Also, I wanted to talk.'
'You sound ominous.' He sat down. 'I wasn't able to call you... everything happened so fast. Sam showed up; he just walked through the goddamn lobby doors and wondered why I was so upset... Then, as he was registering, the call came from Latham. He was really in a hurry. I think I threw him with Ocho Rios tomorrow. There was a lot of equipment that hadn't been shipped to Boscobel - '
McAuliff was prepared; he had remembered a little thing. 'Because I'd left word we were having dinner. They were sending a page to the dining room.'
'That's very good, Alex.'
'What's the matter with you? I told the clerk to call you and explain. We were in a hurry; Latham said we had to get to the warehouse... down on Crawford Street, by the docks... before they closed the check-in books for the night.'
'That's not very good. You can do better.'
McAuliff saw that Alison was deadly serious. And angry. 'Why do you say that?'
'The front desk did not call me; there was no explaining clerk. . .' Alison pronounced the word 'clerk' in the American fashion, exaggerating the difference from English speech. It was insulting. 'An "assistant" of Mr Latham's telephoned. He wasn't very good, either. He didn't know what to say when I asked to speak to Latham; he didn't expect that... Did you know that Gerald Latham lives in the Barbican district of Kingston? He's listed right in the telephone book.'
The girl stopped; the silence was strained. Alex spoke softly as he made the statement. 'He was home.'
'He was home,' replied Alison. 'Don't worry. He didn't know who called him. I spoke to a woman first, and when he got on the phone I hung up.'
McAuliff inhaled a deep breath and reached into his shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He wasn't sure there was anything to say. 'I'm sorry.'
'So am I,' she said quietly. 'I'll write you out a proper letter of resignation in the morning. You'll have to accept a promissory note for the airfare and whatever other expenses I'm liable for. I'll need what money I have for a while. I'm sure I'll find a situation.'
'You can't do that.' McAuliff found himself saying the words with strength, in utter conviction. And he knew why. Alison was perfectly willing to leave the survey; she was going to leave it. If her motive - or motives - for coming to Jamaica were not what she had said they were, she would not do that. 'For Christ's sake, you can't resign because I lied about a few hours! Damn it, Alison, I'm not accountable to you!'
'Oh, stop behaving like a pompous, wounded ass! You don't do that very well, either... I will not go through the labyrinth again; I'm sick to death of it. No more, do you hear!' Suddenly her voice fell and she caught her breath - and the fear was in her eyes. 'I can't stand it any longer.'
He stared at her. 'What do you mean?'
'You elaborately described a long interview with the Jamaican police this afternoon. The station, the district, the officers... very detailed, Alex. I called them after I hung up on Latham. They'd never heard of you.'
Chapter Sixteen
SIXTEEN
He knew he had to go back to the beginning - to the very beginning of the insanity. He had to tell her the truth. There was relief in sharing it.
All of it. So it made sense, what sense there was to make.