Leeward

by D. Edward Bradley

  By the time Jon drove up at noon, a heavy thunder shower was in full swing. He ran to the porch just as Josie opened the front door for him, and they clung to each other for a moment.

  “Come on.” Josie extricated herself from Jon’s embrace. “Let’s tell Dad about the body and everything. We’ll have some coffee in the living room.”

  The Judge walked into the kitchen while they were loading the coffee-maker. The two men shook hands.

  “How are you, sir?”

  Josie turned away with a smile. Her father wouldn’t stand being called 'sir' for very long.

  “Pretty good considering. But I’m glad you’re here at last. I’m consumed with curiosity about St. Barbe’s. I’m sure you had a lively time, but Josie wouldn’t say a word without you.”

  The aroma of coffee arose from the sputtering machine. Josie was putting cups and cream on a tray. “You’d better start, Jon. The first thing that happened was Bobbie’s adventure, and you arrived soon after it. Listen carefully, Dad, and see what you think. I’m sure all the different incidents are connected.”

  “It seems there’s a bit of a mystery here,” said the Judge.

  “To put it mildly.” Josie picked up the tray and they went into the living room.

  By the time Jon finished describing how Bobbie had been chased by the mysterious creature, coffee had been poured and set on a low table. He went on to explain how he had arrived the next day and found peculiar scratches on the sea grape trees near the seat where it had scared her. He took out the photographs. The Judge hadn’t seen anything like them before, and no one could hazard a guess as to what had made the marks.

  “I know someone in the Zoology Department,” Jon continued. “I’ll get him to have a look. Anyway, the evening I got there, a policeman saw some kind of bear-like animal on an isolated track in the mountains.” He concluded with Legrand’s experience, then it was Josie’s turn. The Judge didn’t say a word as she told him how they’d found the body, leaving out the bit about the skinny dipping of course. Jon said he was convinced there was something fishy going on because of Police Chief Green’s attitude.

  “Later on, I began to wonder if he’d given orders for the body to be removed. It was a very long time before he met Constable Richards and me at the bottom of The Track and we all drove to the reservoir together.”

  “Well he does sound like a nasty piece of work from your description.” The Judge turned to Josie. “You had my hotel number, why on earth didn’t you call me?”

  “And ruin your vacation, Dad. No way. Besides we were quite safe with Jon’s family.” She went on to tell the Judge about her inquisition at the airport.

  “There’s something not right, for sure,” he replied when she had finished. “And now for my little story, though it’s pretty tame compared with yours.”

  Jon and Josie looked at each other as he described the strange meeting room, and the slide that showed a map with St. Barbe’s circled in red. The Judge finished with the coincidence theory.

  “Coincidence it may be," said Josie. “But I’ll bet you almost anything there’s a connection with what happened to us.”

  “I’ll back you up on that, but what it means I don’t know.” Jon stood and walked over to the window. The rain had stopped.

  “Let’s have lunch in the kitchen.” Josie put the coffee cups on the tray. “Cold cuts, hot rolls, and beer. That’s the best I can do. But don’t eat too much and spoil the dinner; we’re having turkey.”

  By tacit consent they didn’t talk about their strange experiences any further. After lunch the Judge said he needed to rest for an hour or so. “The older you get the tougher it is to deal with jet lag.”

  Josie turned to her father. “Before you go, there’s one bit of good news Jon and I forgot. We decided to get a new apartment because Jon’s is too small. It’s only fifteen minutes away.” She didn’t mention that the move was partly to prevent Chief Green from tracing them.

  The Judge brightened. Jon took immediate advantage. “Why don’t you come and see it this afternoon? We could all go while the turkey’s cooking.”

  So they did, and after a short inspection, the Judge drove them home again.

  Several hours later, they ate dinner at the oval oak table in the dining room. It was everything the cooking smell had promised, and the Judge was in a jovial mood, brought on no doubt by an excellent Chablis. He pushed the carver with its mutilated bird to one side, and raised his glass.

  “A great meal. There’s hope for you yet, Josie, so here’s to you both.”

  “And here’s to you, Dad.”

  Everyone chinked glasses.

  When Jon put his back on the table, he inadvertently set it on top of an unused knife, and it toppled over, spilling wine on the hardwood floor.

  “Damn!” he said, looking down at the mess.

  “Clumsy,” said Josie, and made a face.

  Jon straightened up. “I’ll get some paper towels from the kitchen.”

  He came back a few moments later and was soon on his knees mopping up. It was all very embarrassing.

  As he began to extricate himself from under the table, he thumped the top of his head on the edge, and something clattered on the hardwood in front of him.

  “What was that?” Josie left her chair and knelt on the floor. “Is it a screw or something?”

  The Judge was indignant. “It had better not be, not from this table. It’s supposed to be an antique.”

  “I’ve got it,” said Jon, and the two of them stood. He held up a small fat disc. “That’s nothing to do with the table, is it, sir?”

  Jon handed it to the Judge who placed it in his huge palm. “I’ve seen things like this as evidence in court. It’s a bug.”

  “Are you sure? Let’s have a look, Dad.”

  “If it is,” said Jon slowly, “there might be more of them.”

  Thoughts of dessert vanished in an instant. Josie handed the device to Jon and looked under the coffee table. Sure enough there was another, stuck well out of sight. She removed it without any trouble, then ran upstairs to her room, but could find nothing. There was a third one in the kitchen, and a fourth on the wall behind a picture in the living room. They all came free with little effort.

  By the time they had searched the rest of the house it was nearly ten o’clock. Back in the living room, the Judge poured snifters of brandy while they stood looking at five discs laid out on the dining table.

  “There was one in my den,” he said flatly.

  Jon picked up a disc, then put it down again. “They’re listening to us, of course. Maybe in our hurry to find the things, we never thought of that. And they must have recorded every word that’s been spoken since . . . since God knows when.”

  Josie put a finger to her lips and pointed to the now darkened window, which looked out onto the driveway. She mouthed one word silently, “Car.” There was no point in being quiet, so they ran out into the rain to Jon’s vehicle, and squeezed in.

  “They could have planted one in your car,” Josie turned to her father, who was in the back seat. “We need to talk without being overheard.”

  “I think we should call the police right away.”

  “And we’ll put these things somewhere out of range. How about the basement?” Josie was sitting in the front passenger seat beside Jon. “And Dad, remember they work both ways. We could feed all kinds of false information to the people the other end.”

  “But they know we’ve found their bugs,” said Jon.

  “Granted,” said the Judge from his somewhat cramped position. “But it’s getting late and I’m tired. Let’s put them out of harm’s way and sleep on it. We can plan a strategy tomorrow. And another thing, the police won’t be much help on Labor Day; it’s not as if there’s been a murder or anything. All I can do is leave a message at the precinct for someone to get back to us on Tuesday. Meanwhile, I’d like you both to stay over if you would.” He smiled. “And don’t bother to make up the guest room
bed.”

  Monday, September 3, Labor Day, Boston

  The rain had stopped and it was warm and sunny again. After breakfast the three sat round a table on the lawn, well away from any further eavesdropping devices. They talked a lot, drank a lot of coffee, and eventually came to the conclusion that the only people likely to have planted the bugs were acting under Chief Green’s orders, unless the Judge had some unknown enemy. There were no firm answers.

  The Judge decided that all they could do was to be on guard and see what the police could dig up. “I know just the man to investigate this,” he concluded. “He has enough seniority in the Boston Police to have some clout. He’s not a bureaucrat but a Superintendent, and is responsible for the crime lab. He’s in court quite a bit, and is extremely good at his job. I’ll leave a message on his answering machine as he won’t be working today.”

  Then Jon realized they hadn’t checked the phones for bugs, so they undid all the covers but found nothing.

  Later on they called Meg and Peter, who were concerned to hear about the bugs, but Peter couldn’t figure out how to verify a connection with St. Barbe’s.

  The next morning, Judge Winchester was due in court to try a case involving a charge of manslaughter. He arrived at his chambers early, and his secretary asked him to call Superintendent Marshall Thompson immediately.

  “I’m going to send my best officer to your house,” said Thompson after hearing the story. “He is an expert in surveillance systems, and I can guarantee the place will be clean when he’s finished. Now, where are the devices you found on Sunday?”

  “I have them with me.”

  “We’ll collect them from your chambers, and by the time you recess for lunch I’ll be able to tell you what makes them tick.”

  “I’m sure grateful, Marshall. How about joining me for a meal? We can eat here at the restaurant. That’ll give me a chance to tell you the whole story. You see, the bugs are part of a bigger picture. By the way, could you call my daughter and let her know someone’s coming round?”

  “Of course. See you later, Marvin.” Thompson hung up.

  The Judge’s case was well under way when Josie answered the door to a pale young man wearing slightly baggy pants and a sports jacket. Jon had left to take the photographs of the scratches to the Zoology Department at Tuft’s.

  That evening they met at a restaurant not far from Jon and Josie’s apartment. Over pre-dinner cocktails, Josie reported that the police technician had come up with only one more device. He then checked to see if the phone lines were tapped. “The house is clean, Dad, and so is our apartment, thank God.”

  The Judge picked up his menu, then put it down again. “Marshall told me all about the bugs at lunch. He says he’s never seen the design before. Their range is about a mile, and they’re very sensitive. He’s trying to determine the name of the manufacturer, but he isn’t optimistic. I told him all about St. Barbe’s, and he’s going to ask the nearest US Consul to find out what’s going on. But he isn’t optimistic about that either.”

  When they had ordered, Jon told of his chat with one of the Zoology professors about the scratches. From the pictures, he surmised that the creature had to be a cat with retractile claws, and as big as a leopard. More than that, he couldn’t say.

  “I think I’ll call Leeward after dinner,” said Jon. “I know the business about the creature has scared a lot of people into keeping their kids near home, but the possibility of a leopard, or something similar, poses a much bigger threat.”

  Wednesday, September 5, Boston

  The manslaughter case, over which the Judge was presiding, had just resumed for the day when his gaze wandered from the jury to the smattering of people who had come to watch the proceedings. The last two or three rows of seats usually held more onlookers than those at the front, and today was no exception. Two rows from the rear, a man stood out from those around him. He wore heavy sunglasses. For a second the Judge thought he looked familiar, then the feeling vanished. He was about to return his attention to the defense lawyer when the man removed the sunglasses and stared straight at the bench, locking Judge Winchester in his gaze. He felt the blood drain from his face. The Judge had been right about the familiarity after all. The man was making no attempt at concealment. He was the lecturer who had been standing on the rostrum in the meeting room at the London Hilton. The man got up, squeezed past a woman on his right, and went to the exit, turning to look at the Judge once again as the guard opened the door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sunday, September 9, Stockholm

  Anna Kristina Andersson was lucky. She had been given the last window seat on the SAS flight from Stockholm to Miami. Not only that, the two seats beside her were still empty with only five minutes left until departure. Further up the aisle, she saw a man checking his boarding pass against the seat numbers. Needless to say he stopped at Anna Kristina’s row, and claimed the aisle seat.

  He spoke Swedish with difficulty. “We should be leaving soon. I think I was the last to board.”

  Anna Kristina smiled as he stowed his hand baggage. “In that case the center seat will stay empty.”

  The man was about her own age, dark, clean-shaven and good-looking.

  “Excuse me, but I have a feeling we’ve met somewhere,” he said. “I’m Hans Wetzlar.”

  Anna Kristina was going to speak, but he raised a hand to stop her.

  “Wait! I know! My aunt is your secretary. You’re Anna Kristina Andersson.”

  “Full marks, and I remember you too.” They shook hands across the empty seat. “You dropped by the office for a few minutes about five years ago.”

  “That’s correct. I was visiting Aunt Hedi, which is what I’ve been doing for the last few days.”

  “She never mentioned you were in Stockholm,” said Anna Kristina. “But then she never says much about her private life.”

  “And she’s very cagey about her work as well. The excuse is that it’s highly confidential.”

  “She’s right. All our work requires secrecy, since there are often huge sums of money involved. You see our specialty is in the corporate field.” This was Anna Kristina’s standard explanation. She gave no indication of the company’s involvement in political matters.

  “My work is nowhere near as glamorous. Our family owns a vineyard near Heidelberg. We moved there from Denmark after Uncle Heinrich died, and I run it now that my parents are getting on.”

  “I think it sounds romantic.”

  By this time the engines had been started, and the plane was taxiing away from the terminal. Various announcements precluded further conversation. Anna Kristina thought back to the events that had led to her to this flight in the first place. It was over two weeks since the Seakers had disappeared, apparently between St. Barbe’s and Kingston, Jamaica. Thibald and Sörnsen sent an investigator from the Hanley Agency in Miami, with which they were affiliated. He turned up nothing in either place. The inquiry took time, and it was only a few days ago that the directors of the company had met and agreed that Anna Kristina should make one last effort. She would also look for someone to replace the agents. The stopover in Miami provided an opportunity for her to meet Hanley’s investigator.

  The sudden roar of the engines brought her back to the present as the Boeing 747 began its takeoff run. When they could speak again, Hans apologized for his difficulty with Swedish, and Anna Kristina suggested they continue in English.

  Hans was dying to know what a pretty woman with such an intriguing job was doing on his flight. An easy way to find out was probably to tell her the object of his own trip. “I’m visiting Jamaica for two weeks. My parents complained I looked pale, and insisted on taking over the vineyard so I could get away to the sun. I’m going to the Jolly Roger Hotel in Montego Bay.”

  “I envy you. Mine is strictly a business trip. After a stopover in Miami I’m going to Jamaica too, but to Kingston.”

  Hans glanced surreptitiously at his companion. She really was stunnin
g. That long blonde hair and the dancing blue eyes enhanced truly lovely features. Then he smiled to himself, imagining the possibilities.

  Following lunch, they made their way to the upstairs bar, rather than watch the in-flight movie. After what seemed no time at all, but was actually several hours, they were back in their seats. A change in the pitch of the engines heralded the long descent into Miami. Anna Kristina glanced out the window. It had been quite a flight. Hans was more than just nice, and the attraction she felt was the first she had experienced since Bengt. She turned her head and saw that he was regarding her intently.

  He smiled. “I’m sorry, Anna. I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t forget you.”

  She noticed he had dropped the Kristina part of her name. Few people did. “I don’t want to forget you either.”

  “Do you mind if I call you when you get to Kingston, just in case you change your plans and have a couple of free days?”

  “If you don’t, I’ll call you.” Anna felt almost pushy. “I’m at a place just outside of town called the Casa Monte.”

  A stewardess came by and asked for their unused audio headsets, and hoped they’d had a comfortable flight.

  “You must come and see the vineyard in the spring,” Hans added. “That’s a firm invitation.”

  “Accepted with pleasure,” said Anna with a smile.

  When the plane rolled to a stop at the gate, they shook hands and soon became separated in the exiting crowd, Hans to his connecting flight, and Anna to Customs and Immigration.

  Wednesday, September 12, Kingston, Jamaica

  Anna had spent Monday in Miami talking to the agent from Hanley’s. The man had been thorough in his visit to the Seakers’ restaurant in Kingston. Nevertheless, she thought it would be advisable to check it out for herself, and then go on to St. Barbe’s. While Anna enjoyed an enormous breakfast at the Casa Monte Hotel, she considered the merits of posing as a tourist for her visit to the island. Obviously her cover would be more convincing if she had someone with her, and Hans would be perfect. She decided to go to her room and call him immediately.