Scheme

 

Scheme

 

I want to tell you how I managed to get a divorce from Timothy Ryan. Wait! Don’t run off yet. Look, I know that sounds about as interesting as a user’s manual for a dinner plate but trust me. It’s a story with enough intrigue to keep you awake. And it’s not that long.

 

Timmy had found the good life he had always wanted. After a very questionable past, he had a beach house in the Bahamas, a BMW Z4 convertible, enough cash to provide a comfortable life for at least a few years, a sailboat that he planned to put into charter for a little extra cash and a girl friend who adored him. This was remarkably close to the dreams he imagined growing up rough in Boston. He thought he had finally made it.

 

It’s true that he should have been more careful about inspecting the beach house he bought, for cash, from Roderick Cooper, the unscrupulous developer on the island of Eleuthera. Once he was in the house he could easily see how shoddy the construction was. But he felt there was nothing that couldn’t be fixed. He was surprised to learn that no insurance agent would give him a policy on the house. Rose, the girl friend he had met in upstate New York and who traveled there with him, said it was because the house was too close to the water, only a foot or two above the high tide line. She told him a big storm could wash it away. But Timmy only listens to his own ideas. I know. I was married to him for six years.

 

No, he had the good life and vowed that nothing would take it away from him.

 

#

 

My name is Elaine Marshall, Laney to my friends. I was the product of a most genteel upbringing, one of the third generation of “old money” by Florida standards. When I was 17 I “was presented” at the Jacksonville Debutante Coterie held at the Timuquana Country Club. Yep, that kind of money. I’m very well educated for no discernible purpose.

 

Over the next 12 years I turned down seven proposals of marriage, about which I have no regrets. Some of them may actually have been interested in more than my wealth but I had no more than a passing interest in them. When I was 38 I purchased the Carlisle estate, a Florida historical landmark on Piney Creek in Palm Landing near Jacksonville. I live there to this day and would never want to live anywhere else.

 

When I was 49 I married, unwisely, an attractive young man named Timothy Ryan. There was a huge scandal when he was apprehended as part of a scheme to steal millions from the bank where he worked, a bank run by my brother Bobby. Since then, I have been keeping pleasant company with a man named Hank Darowski, a man who had helped uncover Timmy’s involvement in the thefts from the bank. But that’s another story.

 

Hank and I were both quite happy with our unsanctioned relationship but, in the society which I’ve always been part of, it would be less awkward if we were actually married. I couldn’t bring myself to introduce him as my boyfriend or lover. Partner was the best term I could find but I don’t care for it. Neither of us had any objection to getting married but the State of Florida did have one. I was still legally married to Timothy Ryan. I had no idea where he was or what had become of him since the trial where he turned state’s evidence and was relocated.

 

Florida law requires that someone wanting to obtain a divorce from a missing spouse first make an attempt to locate the spouse. I figured the best way to do that would be to hire a private investigator. At the offices of A1A Investigators in Jacksonville Hank and I were told that Clete Goodwin was their best Person-Locate man and that if Clete couldn’t find Ryan there would be no charge for his services.

 

Within 24 hours Goodwin learned that Ryan had changed his name to Tom Leary and moved to Oakmont, a town in upstate New York. Goodwin flew to Rochester, rented a car and drove to Oakmont. No one there knew much about Leary except that he had left town months ago with a waitress from Molly’s Cafe. Her name was Rose and her friends thought that Tom and Rose had settled somewhere in the Bahamas.

 

A1A had a contact in the Bahamas named Harrison Sawyer who located Leary, now using the name Ryan again, on the island of Eleuthera near the town of Governor’s Harbour. Goodwin phoned me with the address and mailed a formal report along with a bill for services rendered and expenses. It was money well spent.

 

#

 

I booked seats for Hank and myself on the best flights I could find from Jacksonville to Governor’s Harbour, stopping in Miami and Nassau along the way. A flight that went directly to Governor’s Harbour would be only 400 miles and take about an hour. But there was no such thing so it was five hours after we left Jacksonville that we would reach Eleuthera.

 

During those long hours, with not much else to do, Hank chose to pass the time by asking questions about my past, something he hadn’t felt any need to do before this. “How is it you came to be married to this Ryan guy?” he asked during the first leg from Jacksonville to Miami.

 

“I met him at a charity auction. You know Duane, Duane Richter, who’s been doing some work on the house?”

 

“Of course. He does real good work.”

 

“Well, he had donated an hour of his time to be auctioned off. I didn’t know about him then but the way the auctioneer went on about his woodworking skills I just decided I had to be the top bidder. After the first few bids the only ones left were me and Muriel Kravitz. Muriel wasn’t bidding herself, that’s not her way. She had come with a guy she had hired from an escort service and she had him doing the bidding for her. You don’t know Muriel. She’s been a tyrant since middle school when she was Muriel Smoot. Well, the bidding kept going up and it didn’t look like either of us was going to give in when Duane stopped it. He told the auctioneer, a local real estate salesman, that he wanted to work on my house and would do whatever was allowed to make that happen. The poor auctioneer didn’t know what to make of that but Muriel’s escort stood up, said he understood and was dropping out of the bidding.

 

“The auctioneer saw an easy way out, slammed the gavel down and said ‘Sold to Ms. Marshall for $1200. Next item.’ Muriel was furious. She leapt to her feet saying ‘I bid $2,000.’ The auctioneer told her ‘I’m sorry Ms. Kravitz but the bidding on that item is closed. Now this next item …’

 

“Muriel turned on her escort, screaming ‘Why did you drop out? You knew I wanted that hunk!’

 

“I turned around to look at them, saw him smile generously at her and say ‘It seemed like the right thing to do, Muriel.’

 

“She screamed back at him ‘It was not the right thing to do. You have just lost your tip and your ride back. You’re fired. Get out of here.’

 

“He rose, smiled again at her, and said ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Muriel’ and walked, in an amazingly dignified manner given the circumstances, to the back of the hall.

 

“Well, I felt so bad about what had happened that I went after him. I didn’t even know his name but called to him ‘Please, let me drive you home.’

 

“He was reluctant but gave in. I drove him back to his car which was parked at Muriel’s. All along the way he wanted to know about my house that Duane was so eager to work on. I told him a little about it and said if he wanted to see it he could stop by any time during the day and I’d show him around. That’s how it began.”

 

“Then he seduced you?” asked Hank.

 

“We seduced each other. He seduced my house and my money. I seduced his youth, his good looks and his charm. We both lost out.”

 

#

 

 

On the second leg, while flying over the Gulf Stream, I asked Hank what he did for a living before he retired. I wondered why I hadn’t asked this earlier then realized it really wasn’t relevant. I was just curious. Now, we were just passing away the time.

 

“I did a lot of things over the years. I worked the longest for a company called Upward Steel, building microwave towers then later cell phone towers. I helped put them up all over the world.”

 

“That sounds very dangerous.”

 

“Not really. With the safety equipment we had it was perfectly safe.”

 

“So that’s why you already had a passport for this trip.”

 

“Yep. I needed it for work. I never traveled outside the US for pleasure before. This is a first.”

 

“Well, let’s hope we can get our little business with Timmy wrapped up quickly and have some time to enjoy ourselves.”

 

“If you’re there, Laney, I’ll enjoy myself wherever we are.”

 

“Oh Hank, I know that’s what men are expected to say but you really mean it, don’t you?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Hank, have you ever had an ulterior motive in your life?”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“I do love you, Hank.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

On the third leg, flying over the Great Bahama Bank, we were captivated by the turquoise water and black patches of coral spread out below us and didn’t talk at all.

 

When the plane touched down on the single airstrip at the tiny, unsophisticated, fragrant, welcoming airport near Governor’s Harbour, we’d had quite enough of plane travel. It was a relief to walk down the steps to the tarmac and into the unimpressive airport building. There were so few other passengers that it didn’t take long to get through Immigration and Customs and out to the parking lot.

 

We hired a taxi driven by an elderly, dark skinned, impeccably mannered gentleman named Basil Albury. He drove us to the Coconut Palms Inn near the house that Timmy had bought. After checking in, we were led to our room by a young Bahamian bell hop named Winston. I gave Winston a $10 tip and asked him if he’d mind delivering a note to the house down the beach. “Oh no madam, I’d be most happy to. But that house ain’t there no more.”

 

“What do you mean? The house is gone?” I asked.

 

“Oh yes, madam. The very first tropical storm that came through got rid of it. It happened about a week ago. Not a real big storm but enough to knock out that house. It was too close to the beach and not built good at all.”

 

“I see. And do you know what happened to the people who lived there?”

 

“No, madam. They’re gone too.”

 

#

 

Hank and I were sitting on lounge chairs set up on the beach below the hotel. We had taken a look at the site where Ryan’s house had been. Winston was right. There was nothing there but rubble. We were wondering what to do next when Winston appeared. He said “Madam, I know where the man is who lived in that house that’s gone.”

 

“Where is he, Winston?”

 

“Locked up in the jail in Governor’s Harbour, Madam.”

 

“What did he do, Winston?”

 

“He murdered Mr. Cooper, the man who built the house that’s gone.”

 

“Oh dear.”

 

I suggested to Hank that it might be better if I took this next step on my own. He didn’t object. He figured I’d be safe enough in a police station..

 

I walked in the front door of the lime green police station in Governor’s Harbour and approached an occupied desk. The man behind the desk was as black as the triangle on his national flag. There was a hint of native intelligence in his eyes and a look of constant bemusement in his smile. I knew it would be fun dealing with him. The man stood and said “I am superintendent Reginald Simms. How may I help you?” He sounded like Sidney Poitier.

 

“My name is Elaine Marshall. I believe you have arrested the husband I am trying to divorce. His name is Timothy Ryan.”

 

“You are quite correct. Mr. Ryan is in the cell at the rear of this building. He murdered a local man named Roderick Cooper. Divorcing him would seem the correct thing to do.”

 

“May I see him?”

 

“Of course. We have no visiting room like you might see in films. Follow me and I’ll put a chair outside his cell for you.”

 

I sat on the provided folding chair and took a long look at the man lying on a cot in the cell. I had once been so infatuated with him. What a fool I was. He jumped to his feet saying “Laney, you’ve come! You have to help me.”

 

“Well, Timmy, what have you done now?”

 

“Nothing. I swear. They say I killed the man who sold me a worthless house. But I haven’t even seen the guy since I bought that damned house. I know I told people I was going to get him but I never did. Laney, you have to help me.”

 

“You bought a house at the edge of the water where there’s a hurricane every couple of years. What did you expect?”

 

“I don’t know anything about houses and boats. I thought you just buy them and they take care of themselves. I was wrong, okay? I know that now.”

 

“You bought a boat too?”

 

“Yeah, a sailboat for chartering out. It’s in okay shape. I can live on it when I get out of here.”

 

“Timmy, I don’t want any part of this. AlI I want is for you to sign these affidavits so we can finally get divorced.”

 

“All right. I’ll make you a deal. You help me get out of this mess and I’ll sign the papers.”

 

“What do you expect me to do?” I asked him.

 

“I don’t know. Hire a detective or a lawyer. You can afford it.”

 

I got back in touch with the Bahamian detective, Harrison Sawyer, who had helped locate Timmy for me. I explained the situation and asked him to look into the murder, see what he could find out.

 

Harrison got back to me two days later saying there’s something not right about this. Cooper’s body has disappeared.

 

#

 

I returned to the police station. “Superintendent Simms, I wish to see the body of Mr. Cooper.”

 

“Oh I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. The body was returned to the family for burial.”

 

“Where is it buried?”

 

“I do not know. I was not involved.”

 

“All right then, which undertaker was the body delivered to?”

 

“Ms. Marshall, this interview is interrupting my tea time. Might I suggest that we move outside where I can enjoy what my wife has packed for me and we can continue the discussion there?”

 

“Certainly.”

 

We walked outside to a bench in the park behind the station. Simms offered me part of the small pastry his wife had packed for him. It was tempting but I declined.

 

“Ms. Marshall, why do you wish to see this body? What do you imagine you would learn from that?”

 

“With all due respect Superintendent, I do not think there is a body. I think Mr. Cooper has left Eleuthera.”

 

“No body? Do you think I made this all up?”

 

“Yes, frankly, I do. I think you came up with a very clever plan to rid yourself of two headaches.”

 

“You give me too much credit. I am just an ordinary policeman.”

 

“I know that is untrue.”

 

“Okay. Let’s imagine that you’re right. Let’s say that I invented a scheme to be rid of the troublesome Mr. Cooper and the potentially troublesome Mr. Ryan. Let’s say, hypothetically, that both of these bad men will have quietly disappeared, never to return. Ms. Marshall, I ask you, if there had been such a scheme, what would you have thought of it?”

 

I was puzzled for a moment then asked “By ‘disappeared’ you don’t mean . . . “

 

“No, no. Allow me to explain. Mr. Cooper, wherever he may be now, is most healthy. He is not even concerned about the threat of Mr. Ryan coming after him since he is proven to be already dead. And Mr. Ryan will, if given an opportunity, leave the Bahamas as quickly as possible and never return to face these pending murder charges. Do you see?”

 

“I think that is an absolutely brilliant plan. You get rid of both men with no money wasted on investigations, trial and prison. Cooper won’t return because Timmy is out to kill him. Timmy won’t return because you’ll lock him up for life. And nobody wants to ask any questions except me. I wish there were more men in this world clever enough to produce such useful schemes. I approve completely. But I do have one request. Might we include in this hypothetical plan one additional element?”

 

”What might that be?”

 

“I still need to get Timmy to sign these affidavits documenting that our marriage is irretrievably broken and that he wishes to petition for divorce. I need a small amount of leverage over him to get him to sign..”

 

“I understand. What do you suggest?”

 

When I explained my idea he agreed. “That would fit in perfectly,” he answered. “I think we have arrived at an understanding. We will go back inside and you can speak with your husband again.”

 

I sat again in the same folding chair and told Timmy “I hired a Bahamian detective named Harrison Sawyer. He thinks he has found something that could help your case when it goes to trial. It’s not proof but a good lawyer should be able to make good use of it. I’m also prepared to hire an attorney for you and provide him with the evidence that Sawyer came up with. But this is the end of my involvement. I will do this on one condition - that you sign these affidavits right now.”

 

“I knew you’d come through for me Laney. Sure, I’ll sign. Do you have a pen?”

 

#

 

I met with Superintendent Simms the next afternoon. He told me that he had unlocked Ryan’s cell door in the morning and told him “I know you’re guilty and I’m going to prove it. But the prosecutor says we haven’t enough evidence yet to continue holding you. I am letting you go for now but do not leave the island. Do you understand?”

 

“Of course. I’m looking forward to proving my innocence in court. I’ll be here. I have a boat in Hatchet Bay where I can stay until the trial.”

 

“All right. But that boat must remain in Hatchet Bay. If you should take it into your head to sail off, you would be in very serious trouble when you returned.”

 

“You don’t need to worry about that.” Simms told me he felt certain that this, at least, was an honest statement.

 

Simms later learned through local gossip that Ryan left the police station and walked to where he had left his BMW. It wasn’t there. He called Basil Albury, the taxi driver, who drove Ryan to Alicetown. He walked down to the Hatchet Bay dock and found that his car was there but his boat was not. Rose had left on the boat three days earlier. I winked at the Superintendent and said “maybe Rose didn’t adore him quite as much as he thought.”

 

Simms also told me what he had learned from Seymour Cartwright who owned Eleuthera Car Rentals in Governor’s Harbour. Ryan came in and pleaded with him “Mr. Cartwright, this car is worth a lot of money. All I want for it is enough to buy a plane ticket and have some spending money back in the States. Surely we can work something out.”

 

“Mr. Ryan,” Seymour replied, “I’m not a used car dealer. I rent cars to tourists who want something inexpensive to drive around the island. They won’t want to pay what I would have to charge for renting your fine car.”

 

“Mr. Cartwright, I understand, but there are no car dealers on this entire island. You’re the only one who is in a position to buy it. And I know there will be some wealthy tourists looking for a luxurious rental just like this one. Or, you could sell it to one of the tourists now living here. You could get a lot of money for it. Please, I know you have me over a barrel but I need to sell this car. Have a heart.”

 

“I can sympathize with your plight, Mr. Ryan. I will offer you $500 for it.”

 

“You can’t be serious! I paid $50,000 for it! That’s a hundred times what you’re offering!”

 

“But, as I say, I don’t have a use for this car. That’s all it’s worth to me.”

 

“Okay, okay. You know I’m desperate and I have to accept that. I’ll take $2,000 for the car, in cash, today.”

 

“Oh, I can’t go that high. Shall we say $700? I don’t see how I can go higher than that.”

 

“Seymour, this is robbery but I’ll take $1500 and that’s final.”

 

“Then we seem to be at an impasse. I am very sorry we couldn’t work something out.”

 

Ryan was dejected. He made one final attempt. “All right, let’s compromise on $1,000.”

 

“I will agree to this even though I may never make it back. I am a generous and compassionate man. We can go to the bank tomorrow and obtain the necessary cash. Or, if you prefer, I can give you all the cash I have here in the office, about $800. Which would you like?”

 

Seymour had won a total victory. Ryan said. “I’ll take the $800.”

 

#

 

Hank and I decided to spend an extra week on Eleuthera, a sort of pre-wedding honeymoon. We consulted Winston, the busboy, for his recommendations of places to visit. He told us “I like the north. That’s where I’m from. I grew up in the Bogues. There’s not much for you dare but you could tay the Span Well Fey and see all a fishin boats, or the fey to Briland where you’ll find lotsa rich tourist shops.” Whenever he mentioned the Bogues his English would lapse back to his youth.

 

“Hold on,” said Hank who was taking notes. What’s a span well fay?”

 

“Oh, I am so sorry, that’s just my old talk slipping back in. The Spanish Wells Ferry will take you across to that island or the Harbour Island Ferry will take you to that other island. If you have enough time you should visit both. Then down south of Governpr’s Harbour you should stop at Tarpum Bay for the best conch salad on the whole island and see some paintings by artists who live there. At Rock Sound you can get a good meal at the Wild Orchids and you can feed the wild fish at the Ocean Hole. If you drive all the way out to Cape Eleuthera you can sit on the beach and look out at Exuma Sound.”

 

“That all sounds great, Winston,” I said , “but we’ll need a car. Can you arrange that?”

 

“Yes, madam. But you should just stop in at Eleuthera Car Rentals here and choose the car you want.”

 

“We’ll do just that.”

 

The next morning we were dealing with Seymour Cartwright at Eleuthera Car Rentals. He showed us a small Toyota that was available, and a larger Volkswagen. We weren’t enthused about either. Then he showed us a nearly new BMW convertible that he had just acquired at great expense, he claimed. He could let us have it for $200/day.

 

Hank said “How about five days for $800?”

 

Seymour thought for a moment then replied “I’m a generous man. If you could make it $900, in advance, you can have it for all five days.” And that’s what we did.

 

 

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 17.12.2016

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