I picked up one of them and examined it closely. The ampoule itself had an amateur look about it as though it was home-made, the ends being sealed as though held in a flame, and there was nothing etched in the glass to tell the nature of the contents. I thought that if Kayles was in the drug-running scene he could very well be an addict and this was his own supply of dope. The notion was reinforced by the finding of an ordinary reuseable hypodermic syringe. I left everything where it was and closed the box.
I went back to Sam who was still poring over the charts. He had come to much the same conclusion that I had, but he said, "We might be able to tell when all this happened by relating it to weather reports."
"We'll leave that to Perigord," I said.
Sam frowned.
"Maybe we should have left it all to the Commissioner. I think we should have told him about this man before we left. Are we doing right, Tom?"
"Hell, I didn't know it was Kayles before we left. It was just a chance, wasn't it?"
"Even so, I think you should have told Perigord."
I lost my temper a little.
"All right, don't drive it home, Sam. So I should have told Perigord. I didn't. Maybe I wasn't thinking straight. Everything has been going to hell in a handcart recently, from Legionnaires' disease at the Parkway to the fire at the Fun Palace. And we could do without those bloody street riots, too. Do you know what I was doing when you came to my office?"
"No what?"
"Straightening out a mess caused by the Airport Authority. Their baggage-handling machinery ripped a plane-load of suitcases into confetti and I had over 200 Americans in the lobby looking for blood.
Any more of this and we'll all go out of business. " I swung around as Kayles said something behind me.
"What was that?"
"Who the hell are you?" Kayles's voice was stronger than I expected and I suspected he had been feigning unconsciousness for some time while working on his bonds. I did not worry about that I had seen the knots.
"You know me, Mr. Kayles," said Sam, and Kayles's eyes widened as he heard his own name.
"You're carrying no riding lights. That's bad -you could be run down." His voice was deceptively mild.
"Goddamn yacht-jackers!" said Kayles bitterly.
"Look, you guys have got me wrong. I can help you."
"Do you know much about yacht-jacking?" I asked.
"I know it happens." Kayles stared at me.
"Who are you?"
I did not answer him, but I held his eye. Sam said casually, "Ever meet a man called Albury? Pete Albury?"
Kayles moistened his lips, and said hoarsely.
"For God's sake! Who are you?"
"You know Sam here," I said.
"You've met him before. I'm Tom Mangan.
You might have heard of me I'm tolerably well-known in the Bahamas. "
Kayles flinched, but he mumbled, "Never heard of you."
"I think you have. In fact I think you met some of my family. My wife and daughter, for instance."
"And I think you're nuts."
"All right, Kayles," I said.
"Let's get down to it. You were hired over a year ago by Pete Albury as crew on Lucqyan Girl to help take her from Freeport to Miami. Also on board were my wife and daughter.
The boat never got to Miami; it vanished without trace. But my daughter's body was found. How come you're still alive, Kayles? "
"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know you, your wife or your daughter. And I don't know this guy, Albury." He nodded towards Sam.
"I know him because I put my boat in his marina, that's all. You've got the wrong guy-' Sam said, " Maybe we have. " He looked at me.
"But it's easily provable, one way or the other." He regarded Kayles again.
"Where's your logbook?"
Kayles hesitated, then said, "Stowed under this bunk mattress."
Sam picked up Kayles's knife which he had laid on the chart table.
"No tricks or I'll cut you good." He advanced on Kayles and rolled him over.
"Get it, Tom."
I lifted the mattress under Kayles, groped about and encountered the edge of a book. I pulled it out.
"Okay, Sam." Sam released Kayles who rolled over on to his back again.
As I flipped through the pages of the log-book I said, "All you have to do is to prove where you were on a certain date." I tossed the book to Sam.
"But we won't find it in there. Where's your last year's log?"
"Don't keep a log more'n one year," said Kayles sullenly.
"Clutters up the place."
"You'll have to do better than that."
"That's funny," said Sam.
"Most boat folk keep their old logbooks. As souvenirs, you know; and to impress other boat people." He chuckled.
"And us marina people."
"I'm not sentimental," snarled Kayles.
"And I don't need to impress anyone."
"You'll have to bloody well impress me if you expect me to turn you loose," I said.
"And if I don't turn you loose you'll have to impress a judge."
"Oh, Christ, how did I get into' this he wailed.
"I swear to God you've got the wrong guy."
"Prove it."
"How can I? I don't know when your goddamn boat sailed, do I? I don't know anything about your boat."
"Where were you just before last Christmas but one?"
"How would I know? I'll have to think about it." Kayles's forehead creased.
