by Jaq Wright
◆◆◆
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Cameron folded himself into the Fiat 500. “This is really all you have?”
The rental attendant smiled and shrugged.
“Ignore him,” Mitzi said to the man, waving a map. “Do you know William Jacobs? Lives north of town?”
“Sure, everyone knows Mr. Jacobs. He was here before me, and I was born here.” He pointed on the map. “His place is about here, painted bright yellow about ten years ago, so now kind of dull yellow.”
They drove south first to Frank’s place. The cottage was buttoned up tight, hurricane shutters closed, storm debris strewed over the property.
Mitzi hammered on the door. “Dad, are you in there?” There was no answer. “We should break in.”
“Let’s go get the property manager and her keys. Nothing’s going to change in a half hour, and breaking in would be a chore.”
◆◆◆
Jenneane Collins was several hundred pounds of sweaty loquaciousness. “Frank is such a dear.”
“Have you seen him since the hurricane?”
“No, I thought he left before then. I don’t have renters for his cottage until the end of the month, so I really didn’t have any particular need to call on him. I was planning on going over next week to get things ready. I’ll drive over with you. But not in that,” she said, wagging her finger towards the Fiat.
Cameron was more than happy to hop into her mammoth Lexus SUV.
As they drove down the coast road, she pointed out a large sink hole. “That’s where poor Peters was killed.”
“Who was Peters?”
“He was the constable here. He died the day after the storm, drove straight into that hole. Such a tragedy. I had seen him earlier that day with the folks from Antigua, always such a nice boy.”
“Which folks from Antigua?” Cameron was suddenly alert.
“Not sure. The police boat docked at the main pier, and then I saw them get into the constabulary's Land Rover and head towards the station.”
“So this was on Friday the twenty-third?” Cameron checked. “Were they policemen, then?”
“Yes, the Friday. Not policemen, no, something else. I think they were fetching something, because they came back through a while later and loaded a large bag onto the boat. The man who appeared to be in charge left again with Peters. I went over to the Flamingo about then to have a bath, my power being out and all. The boat was gone when I got back.”
“Did you talk to the police about all this?”
“No, no particular reason to.”
“What a mess,” Jenneane said as they came around the bend. There was debris everywhere, including an entire palm tree smashed into one wall of the shed. “Generator was in there,” Jenneane remarked, “Have to get someone in to fix that.”
She unlocked the front door and flipped the switch to raise the storm shutters. “At least the power has been restored here. Some parts of the island are still out,” she remarked.
Mitzi looked around, suddenly sad that she had never come down to visit her father here. Everything looked normal enough, like he had closed it up and left. “Anything look out of order to you?” she asked Jenneane.
“Well, as a matter of fact, Frank always locked up his clothes and personal things in the back closet when he left. He must have thought he would be back. Awfully clean if he was coming back, though.”
Mitzi and Cameron spent an hour going through the house while Jenneane watched House Hunters International on TV. Mitzi called to Cameron from the kitchen. She was kneeling on the tile floor. “Look at this. There’s blood in the grout.”
She scrounged in the drawers and came up with a Ziplock bag, and then scraped in some of the discolored grout. Cameron was impatient. “Even if it is blood, even if it is HIS blood, people bleed in their own homes all the time. Wouldn't mean anything.” Mitzi ignored him.
There was an old but clean Jeep Wrangler in the garage, keys hanging on a peg. “He leaves the car for his renters when he leaves,” Jenneane explained, “gets a taxi into town.”
They found nothing else, and rode back to Codrington in silence.
◆◆◆
“Constable or Jacobs?” Cameron asked.
“Jacobs.” If we see the constable first he may insist on going with us, and I would rather talk to Jacobs on our own. You know, American to American. In fact, I’m not sure I feel the need to let the locals know about Jacobs at all.”
◆◆◆
Jacobs was casting into the surf, but did not seem to be disturbed at the interruption.
“Yep, Frank came up that day, and we went down to the constabulary. Island was even more of a mess then than it is now. You his daughter? The one he called that day?”
“Yes, Mr. Jacobs,” Mitzi started.
“Please, William. Mr. Jacobs makes me feel old,” he interrupted with a wink.
“Mitzi. Have you seen him since then?”
“Nope. But that don’t mean nothing, no reason I should’ve. Plus, he said he had to go back to the mainland to get back to work.”
“What about the body you saw?”
“Pretty grisly. Bloated up, top of the head cut off, all the small parts gnawed away and all. Seen worse in Korea, though. Peters was green.”
“Peters the constable?”
“Yep. Killed in an accident later that same day. Drove straight into a sink hole off the road south, from what I understand. Roads are still a mess, as I'm sure you saw. I've only gone into the post office once. Sorry, don’t know anything more.”
“Thanks for your help,” Cameron said before they squeezed into the Fiat and headed back to town.
◆◆◆
“They did not mention on Antigua that Peters was killed.” Mitzi was indignant. “Don't you think that would have been something they should have told us?” Cameron didn't have an answer.
Constable McCabe was at the constabulary waiting for them.
“They called and told me you were coming. Expected you hours ago, to be honest.”
“We went to look at my father’s place first. It took a while to get the property manager and all. Do you know her? Mrs. Collins?”
“No. I just transferred over here, really don’t know anyone yet.”
“Yes, we heard that your predecessor was killed in an accident.”
“Yes, that’s right, one of the residents discovered him dead in his Rover in a sink hole the Saturday before last. Looked like he’d been dead a day or so.”
“Anything odd about the accident?” Mitzi asked. “What did the autopsy show?”
“There was no autopsy. We don't do autopsies for motor accidents. Particularly with all the mess after the hurricane. I did the examination at the scene. Nothing to say. He took a nose-dive into a sinkhole, broke his skull on the windscreen. Poor blighter.”
“What about the corpse he and my father had found? The one that washed up?”
McCabe stared. “What are you talking about? I don't know anything about any corpse.”
Mitzi started to tell him what she knew, but stopped as Cameron gripped her arm. “We had heard there was a body they brought here,” he broke in.
“Someone must have been telling hurricane ghost stories. There was nothing here, everything was ship-shape.”
“Probably so,” Cameron laughed. Then added, like a new thought, “Could we see the Rover?”
“I don’t see why not. But look, it’s getting dark, and you won’t see much. How about tomorrow morning? Say noon?”
“Perfect,” Cameron replied.
They drove out to the Caribbean Jewel. Mitzi was fuming. “You certainly did not push him on anything.”
“He doesn’t know anything, he wasn’t here.”
“Oh, so now you know that Daddy disappeared on the twenty-third? It could have been any time since then, as far as you know!”
“Possible, but by the time McCabe got here the next day, there was no body and no Peters, so it makes more sen
se that, IF there is something fishy going on, that was the day.”
“Jacobs is still there,” Mitzi observed.
“Maybe whoever they are didn’t know about him."
They booked into a two-room suite. Mitzi went straight into her room and slammed the door.
Chapter 4
Thursday, October 6
Barbuda
First thing in the morning, Cameron was on the phone with the Chief in St. John's. “We talked to a woman who says a police boat was here in Codrington on the twenty-third. What was that about?”
“Not possible,” he replied. “We were fully engaged in rescue operations here, about four hundred people were stranded in areas not accessible by land after Hurricane Marge came through. The whole force, including all our boats, was tied up. I would have had to personally approve a trip over to Barbuda, and that never happened. She must be mistaken on the day. We sent a boat over the next day, when Peters was found. That must be what she saw.”
“What she saw,” Cameron replied, “was Peters driving them towards the constabulary, and then returning with a large heavy bag that they loaded onto the police boat.”
◆◆◆
Breakfast at the Jewel was what Cameron thought of as thoroughly British, with eggs, toast, and thick ham steaks. Then they headed back to Codrington. “Park near the dock,” Mitzi directed. They got out and started into the small shops along the road, looking for anyone who had seen anything that day. Some of the shops were still closed, and after a couple of hours of talking to cheery shop owners who turned cool as soon as they picked up the interrogation vibe, they found only one person who had been there at the time in question. He was the proprietor of a driftwood art shop, a tiny, round, red-faced man, and he was pretty sure that the constable's Rover had been up and down the street a couple of times that day, but he was somewhat near-sighted, and he did not have any recollection of seeing who was in the car.
They continued walking along the street to the constabulary. As they got close, a trim brunette with deeply tanned skin popped out from a doorway, nearly bowling Mitzi over. “Sorry,” she puffed, “I wasn't looking out well. Always rushing about for no reason.”
“No problem,” Mitzi replied, “were you around the Friday after the hurricane?”
“Oh, I'm always around. Can I help you with something? And how do you do, my name's Alyssa.”
Cameron took her offered hand. “You'll have to excuse Mitzi, she has had a bit of a shock. My name is Cameron.”
“How do you do.”
“Anyway,” Mitzi continued, “on that Friday did you see Peters driving around in the Rover, like to the dock?”
“No, I don't think so. Poor Peters, such a tragedy.”
Mitzi was impatient, “And how about a police boat coming into the dock? Anything else unusual that day?”
“Pretty much everything was unusual that day, but no, nothing like a police boat. Your husband said you had a shock?”
“He's not my husband and I am not prone to having shocks. Thanks for your help.” She darted into the constabulary.
“Sorry for the trouble, ma'am,” Cameron added, and followed her in.
◆◆◆
Alyssa crossed the street and ducked into a doorway fifty yards down, where she could watch the constabulary. She called the Compound, reporting what she had heard. A few minutes later the garage door opened and McCabe drove out with Cameron and Mitzi in the back. They turned right and headed up the street out of town. Alyssa darted around the corner, re-emerging seconds later on a moped, a blond wig showing under her helmet as she went up the road.
She was expecting them to head south on the coast road, and so hung back to avoid detection. When she finally crested the hill, to her surprise, there was no sign of the brand new Rover. She was puzzled, but disguised or not, she did not fancy driving up and down the side streets looking for them. She went back to her second-floor apartment overlooking the street, with a view of the port as well, and sat at her window to watch.
Three blocks away, Mitzi was scrutinizing Peters' wrecked Rover. “Why are there three separate cracks in the windshield? And why are they all in the lower third? If Peters took a dive into the sink hole, you would expect one break, and probably in the upper third, if you think about the trajectory. Unless he was belted, but you say he was not, and I would think even you would know whether you had needed to unbuckle him. Where is the body? I want to do an autopsy.”
McCabe was overwhelmed. “You'll have to talk to the authorities in Antigua. His body was released to his family the following day. I have no idea what happened to him after the service. Buried, no doubt.”
“Let's get back to Antigua,” Mitzi snapped to Cameron. “Call the helicopter.”
“Forgive me ma'am,” McCabe cut in, “but the ferry leaves in an hour, save you hundreds.”
“Perfect.” Cameron was ready for some sanity. They rode back to the dock, where they turned in their car and purchased tickets for St. John’s. Just before the boat left at four, Alyssa jogged up the ramp, spotted them, and headed their way.
“Hullo again,” she beamed at Cameron. “Didn't know you were heading over to Antigua. Find what you were looking for?”
Mitzi turned. “Do you spend much time in Antigua?”
“Just popping over to do some shopping and visit a friend,” she replied.
“Must be a close friend. You have no bag.” Mitzi turned away and said nothing more for the entire ninety-minute crossing.
◆◆◆
When they docked, Mitzi grabbed Cameron's arm to stop him from getting up. The awkwardness was finally too much for Alyssa, who got up with a cheery “Bye, now,” and disembarked. Mitzi watched her as she slowly made her way up the landing, and did not rise until she rounded the corner at the top of the hill.
“Close enough friend to keep her underwear and toothbrush, but not close enough to meet her,” she remarked.
They jumped into a taxi at the wharf and had the driver take them up to the lookout before calling the chief inspector.
Cameron inquired after Peters' remains. “Buried on the twenty-eighth. I was there, we all were.”
“I need to have him exhumed to do an autopsy.” Mitzi was emphatic.
“I'll need a little more than your say so for that. His people won't like it. What do you think you are looking for?”
Mitzi explained the windshield.
“Listen, I think it is time you told me what you think is going on. I can't just have two Americans poking about my islands willy-nilly.”
“We're staying at the Blue Bay Inn, Bungalow 4. Meet us in thirty minutes.”
◆◆◆
When the Chief rapped on the door, Mitzi popped it open and fairly dragged him in. As they laid out the whole situation, he started to nod.
“Right, let's say that your father never left Barbuda, but was taken or worse by someone who did not like him having seen this alleged corpse, and that same someone somehow killed Peters and made everything disappear. Why did they leave this Jacobs?”
“It's possible they did not know about him. He may not have been mentioned when Peters contacted this conveniently dead Simmons, so they did not know about that loose end. What are the chances someone on the island has a phony police boat?”
“Not likely. We are constantly patrolling, trying to interdict the narcotics trafficking.”
“Do you have any thoughts?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, there is a small privately held island north and west of here. Very private, mysterious almost. I've long been concerned there was something going on over there. The fishermen have reported seeing men patrolling the bluffs with rifles. It is out of my jurisdiction, and there has not been any traffic between here and there, other than small launches buying food and such. Lots of food, actually. There are likely forty or fifty people there, by our estimates. If there is something going on, my money would be on Isla Sofia.”
“Who owns the island?”
“Which one?” asked Cameron.
“Like I said, rumors. Some say the Hidalgo, others the Ojo del Diablo.”
Cameron was about to ask another question, but saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun and jerked open the French doors to the veranda. The silhouette of a lithe figure jumped over the rail at the far side of the deck and ran across the grass. He started to give chase, but stumbled as he tried to vault the fence, and landed heavily on his bad ankle. The shadow melted into the trees.
“That was Alyssa,” he stated.
“How could you possibly tell that?” Mitzi asked.
“I watched her walk for quite a while earlier. I have a, er, talent for remembering gaits.”
“You mean asses.” Mitzi rolled her eyes. “Well, she's gone.”
Cameron jumped up and opened the door. “Thanks, Chief.” The Chief rose slowly to his feet, and before he knew it, Cameron was shaking his hand and letting him out. “I don't think we need bother Peters’ family. You've been a big help.”
The Chief found himself outside. He considered banging on the door, then decided against it. “Cheeky blighter,” he thought, then got back into his car and drove off.
◆◆◆
Cameron made a phone call, gave a code and their address, and twenty minutes later they were picked up by a trim man in golf shirt and chinos. He had driven in via the west entrance, passing an unseen Alyssa who was watching from the tree line by the side of the road. They left to the east, and drove in total silence to a lovely home overlooking the harbor. He escorted them upstairs, where a steel door opened into a loft with thick green window glass and metal blinds. He handed Cameron a bulky phone, asked them if they needed anything, and left, showing them how to bolt the door and operate the intercom to his residence downstairs. “Call me when you are ready to leave or if you need anything. There is food in the fridge and beds in the adjoining rooms.”