Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 2, April 1961

A vicious current ripped past Petit Tabac, its boundaries marked by a series of whirlpools. The sea rolled in upon the island like a carpet being shaken, tearing itself to pieces on a fringe reef of beige-colored coral.

Albert frowned as they dropped anchor. “This ain’t good holding ground, chief. The tide’ll shift in an hour and she’ll drag her anchor.”

“Take us ashore in the dinghy. You can come back and stay with the launch.”

Albert looked at him curiously. “Why don’t you do it here and throw her to the sharks? They’re all around.”

“I’m doing it my way.”

The kid hesitated, then grinned. “I get it. You want her alone on the island. When’s my turn?”

“You don’t touch her.”

Albert’s eyes narrowed. “You ain’t gonna stop me. Don’t forget I gotta report at midnight.”

Johnny spoke through stiff lips. “Two broken arms wouldn’t keep you from reporting. Now pull in the dinghy. I’ll get the woman.”

In the cabin, Johnny packed Norma’s suitcase. She was fingering the cloth of her blouse like someone counting a rosary. She didn’t look up, and that suited Johnny. He didn’t want her to ask why he was throwing in canned beef, water flasks, skin-diving gear and a roll of bills from his wallet.

As they stepped in the dinghy, Albert pointed to the suitcase. “What’s in there?”

“Her clothes, stupid. I bury them with her.”

Albert grinned. “No, man. You’re gonna maroon her and make me think you killed her.”

Johnny’s stomach tightened. “You think I’m crazy?”

“I think you’re too damn touchy about the woman. I won’t believe you’ve killed her until I see the body.”

Johnny forced himself to relax. This was serious. “Suppose you watched me kill her? And bury her?”

Albert looked confused. “You mean... from the launch?”

“Sure. Use the binoculars.”

He frowned, then nodded. “Okay. But don’t get outa sight.”

They had to jump out of the dinghy beyond the surf line. Johnny struggled through waist deep froth carrying the suitcase and dragging the woman. He climbed to the top of the sandpit which formed the western tip of the island.

“Sit down,” he told her. “Keep your back to the launch.”

He found a conch shell and dropped to his knees beside her. Using the flange of the shell, he began scraping out a trench at right angles to the launch. “Now listen. I’m going to put you in this hole—”

“Johnny, for God’s sake, don’t make me sit here and watch!”

“Shh. I forgot to tell you. I’m not going to kill you. Don’t turn!”

Her voice trembled. “I don’t understand. You told Albert...”

“I’ll just pretend to kill you.” As he talked, he kept enlarging the trench. “You’ll have a face mask and the snorkel tube when I bury you. You’ll be able to breathe. After we leave you can crawl out and...”

She began to make noises halfway between laughing and crying. Her shoulders jerked and a stream of tears ran down each cheek. He kept working, the sun hot on his back. After a couple of minutes her sobs tapered off.

“Here’s the rest of it,” he said. “I’ve put food and water and seven hundred dollars in your bag. You’ve got two days to wait for the fishermen.”

“What if they don’t come?”

Smart girl, he thought; already recovered enough to ask practical questions. He darted a glance at the launch; saw Albert on deck with binoculars trained on the island.

“They shouldn’t skip more than one week.” he told her. “You can stretch your food supply by living off the sea. At low tide you get whelks off the rocks just below the waterline. They look sorta like snails, only bigger and rounder. You can pick up white sea eggs too. Don’t mess with the black ones or they’ll stick a poison spine in you.”

“Water?”

“Go without until you’re damn sure you’ll die if you don’t get a drink in the next minute. Then wait another hour. If it looks squally, spread all your clothes out on the ground. When it rains, wring them out in the cans. If it doesn’t—”

“I die of thirst.”

“No.” He paused to swat at the sandflies which were making a meal of his leg. “Dig a hole in the beach back of the waterline. It’ll fill slowly with water. Then filter it through silk. It’ll taste like the runoff from a sewer but it’s wet. Any more questions?”

“Yes. The fishermen come and I go off with them. What happens then?”

Before-answering, he set aside the conch shell and lay the suitcase into one end of the trench. There was still room for her.

“Go to South America, Europe, anyplace. Let your hair grow long, bob your nose, get fat or skinny, whichever is easiest. But don’t come back to the States.”

“Oh Lord... Won’t I see you again?”

“Not unless you want us both dead. If this is to work, I have to stay with Albert and follow it through until he reports you dead. Then I’ve got to go back to work as though nothing had happened.”

“More killing...”

“It can’t be helped.” He turned, gripped her shoulders and pushed her gently back onto the sand. He leaned over her, speaking through stiff lips. “I’ll strangle you now. Kick and scratch and fight like hell. You won’t have to pretend, because I really have to hurt you.”