I can't see clearly what has gone wrong between us, but I will be thinking hard about it, and I hope you do the same. It's funny but I still love you, and so I can end this note with Love, Debbie. "
I read that letter five times before putting it into my wallet, and then sat down to write my own letter asking her to come back. I had no great hopes that she would.
The week after Debbie left we lost Bill Finder.
He was taking four American fishermen to Stella Maris on Long Island which they were going to use as a base for hunting marlin and sailfish off Columbus Point and on the Tartar Bank in Exuma Sound. I was going with them, not because I am particularly charmed by American fishermen, but because Bill was flying me on to Crooked Island, 100 miles further south, where I was to look at some property on behalf of the Theta Corporation.
As it chanced I did not go because the previous evening I slipped in the bathroom and broke a toe which proved to be rather painful. To look at property and to walk a few miles on Crooked Island in that condition was not a viable proposition, so I cancelled.
Bill Pinder took off in a Navajo early next morning with the Americans. He was flying over Exuma Sound and was filing his intentions with Nassau radio when suddenly he went off the air in mid-sentence, so we know exactly when it happened. What happened I know now but did not know then. The Bahamas may be the Shallow Sea but there are bits like the Tongue of the Ocean and Exuma Sound which are very deep; the Tartar Bank rises to within seven fathoms of the surface in Exuma Sound but the rest is deep water.
The Navajo was never found, nor any wreckage, and Bill Pinder disappeared. So did the four Americans, and two of them were so influential on Wall Street that the event caused quite a stir, more than I and the Bahamas needed. After a couple of weeks some bits and pieces of clothing were washed up on one of the Exuma cays and identified as belonging to one of the Americans.
The death of Bill Pinder hit me hard. He was a good man, and the only better light plane pilot I know is Bobby Bowen. It is hard for blacks like Bill and Bobby to achieve a commercial pilot's ticket, or at least it was when they pulled off the trick. I suppose it is easier now.
There was a memorial service which I attended and to which many of the Corporation employees came, as many as could be spared without actually closing down the hotels. A lot of BASRA pilots were there, too. After the service I had a word with Bobby Bowen; I had not had a chance to talk to him much because, being an aircraft short, he was an overworked man. I said, "What happened, Bobby?"
He shrugged.
"Who knows? There'll be no evidence coming out of Exuma Sound." He thought for a moment.
"He was filing with Nassau at the time so he'd be flying pretty high, about 10,000 feet, to get radio range. But why he fell out of the sky…?" He spread his hands.
"That was a good plane, Tom. It had just had its 300-hour check, and I flew it myself three days earlier." He grimaced a little.
"You'll hear talk of the Bermuda Triangle; pay no heed it's just the chatter of a lot of screwy nuts who don't know one end of an airplane from the other."
I said, "We'll need another plane and another pilot."
"You won't get one like Bill," said Bobby.
"He knew these Islands right well. About another plane something bigger?" he said hopefully.
"Perhaps. I'll have to ta lk it over with the board. I'll let you know."
We watched the Pinder family walking away from the church. Bobby said, "It's bad for Meg Pinder. Bill was a good husband to her."
"She'll be looked after," I said.
"The pension fund isn't broke yet."
"Money won't cure what's wrong with her," said Bobby, unconsciously echoing what Perigord had said about Bayliss's wife, and I felt a stab of shame.
But how could I know that someone was trying to kill me?
Billy Cunningham paid a flying visit. He came without "5 warning at a weekend and found me at the house where I was packing a few things to take to my suite at the Royal Palm. We talked about Bill Pinder and he said the usual conventional things about what a tragedy it was, and we talked about getting another aircraft. He appeared to be a little nervous so I said, " Stop pussy-footing, Billy. Sit down, have a drink, and get it off your chest. Are you an emissary? "
He laughed self-consciously.
"I guess so. I've had obligations laid on me."
"Cunningham obligations?"
"Score one for you I never did think you were stupid. You had that subtle look in your eye when you were inspecting us back home when you married Debbie. I suppose you didn't miss much."
"A tight-knit bunch," I observed.
"Yeah. The advantages are many one for all and all for one that stuff. A guy always has someone guarding his back. But there are disadvantages, like now. Old Jack's not been feeling too well lately so he couldn't come himself."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said sincerely.
Billy waved his hand.
