Read Online 1979 - A Can of Worms by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online

you find the lighter?”
    “A couple of nights ago. I was down on the quay. . . .”
    “Why?”
    “This sounds like an interrogation.”
    “What were you doing down on the quay?”
    “I had finished work and I like the quay. I know people there.”
    “What are you working on?”
    “A job. If you want details ask the Colonel. He’ll tell you to go to hell.”
    “This is serious, Bart,” Coldwell said, softening his tone. “Okay, so you were on the quay . . . what time?”
    “I got down there about ten o’clock. I shot the breeze with Al Barney, bought him a couple of beers, then I wandered down to the commercial harbour. I watched the ships for a while, then as I was deciding to have one more beer before going home, this character appeared out of the darkness. I was feeding a cigarette into my face and he offered me a light, with the lighter you’re worked up about.”
    “Hold it! Let’s take this a step at a time. This character . . .” He pulled a scratch pad towards him and found a pencil. “What did he look like?”
    “Medium build, stocky, heavily bearded, dark, thick uncut hair, wearing jeans and a dark T—shirt.”
    Coldwell wrote this down, then opening a drawer in his desk, he took out a folder. From it, he produced a glossy mug shot and pushed it across the desk.
    “That him?”
    I studied the photograph. It showed a clean-shaven man of around twenty-five with close cropped black hair, lean features and small vicious eyes. The eyes gave him away. This was my hippy all right.
    “Could be.” I put on my doubtful expression. “The light was bad, and he was wearing a beard and his hair was long, but . . . yeah, I wouldn’t want to swear to it, but could be.”
    Coldwell took back the photograph, found a felt pen and gave the face a beard and long hair and pushed the photograph back to me.
    I had no doubt then that this was my hippy.
    “Still wouldn’t want to swear to it, but I’m pretty sure this is the guy.”
    Coldwell sucked in his breath.
    “So, go on.”
    “I wondered who he was,” I said. “I meet all kinds on the waterfront, and I hadn’t seen him before. He seemed jumpy, and he kept looking around as if he thought he was being watched. He asked me if I knew anything about boats going to the Bahamas. I said I didn’t, but Al Barney could tell him, and he was sure to find him in the Neptune tavern. I warned him it would cost him a couple of beers. He muttered something and took off. He headed for the tavern, paused as if changing his mind, and I lost sight of him. On the ground where he had been standing was this lighter. I guess he must have had a hole in his pocket.” I gave Coldwell my cocky smile. “Being a smart shamus, I told myself this guy might be on the wanted list. From Nassau, it’s no sweat to get to Havana. Right?”
    Coldwell nodded.
    “So I took the lighter to Harry and asked him to check the prints. You know the rest.”
    “Havana . . . yeah, it figures,” Coldwell said thoughtfully. He reached for the telephone, dialled, then talked to someone about boats leaving for Nassau. He scribbled, said he was obliged and hung up. “The Chrystabelle sailed for Nassau this morning. She’s an old tub that does a regular run twice a week to the islands. This guy could have smuggled himself aboard. Nice work, Bart. I’ll get his description on the wire. He might be spotted in Nassau. It’s a long shot.” He paused as he reached for the telephone. “Was he alone?”
    “He was when he spoke to me. Should he have been with someone?”
    “He’s supposed to be travelling with his wife. Look, Bart, I’ve got to get busy, then I’m going down to the waterfront.”
    “I’ll drive you down. My car’s outside. If he didn’t get on the boat, he might still be around and I might spot him.”
    Coldwell nodded and began dialling.
    “I’ll wait in the car,” I said and left him.
    Getting into the Maser, I did some quick thinking.
    Travelling with his wife. Was that the