Leeward

by D. Edward Bradley

  “Don’t eat anything,” warned Rodney. “I’ll show you the poisonous ones.”

  Apart from the odd bicycle and private car, there was little traffic. They passed the level crossing where the railway that served the sugar cane plantations turned toward the south coast, and reached The Track a few minutes later. Rodney turned in and drove about a hundred feet to drop off Hans. Anna squeezed his hand. Hans wondered when he’d see her again, and kissed her gently as the beetle came to a halt.

  “I’ll pick you up in about an hour,” said Rodney. “Hey, man, don’t you get yourself lost.”

  Hans shut the car door. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here in the trees on the left. Let me check the coast’s clear before you back out.” He walked quickly to the main road, which was obscured by a bend in The Track.

  Rodney watched in the rearview mirror, and saw Hans dodge behind a bush. A moment later he heard a heavy vehicle rumble past.

  After a couple of minutes, Hans stepped across the road, satisfied himself there was nothing coming, and ran back up The Track to signal the all clear. “That was the cops!” he called through the car window. “A whole truckload of them!”

  “We’d better get going!” Rodney ground the gears in his hurry to move off.

  They passed a car about ten minutes later, and Anna had to duck momentarily—Rodney recognized the passenger as Police Chief Xavier Green.

  “I wonder where he’s going,” said Anna.

  “To Leeward. Where else?” Rodney was getting worried. “And then what?”

  “God, what a mess! And it’s all my fault. Listen, Rodney, if you’re questioned, just tell the police the truth, or rather half of it. Tell them Hans and I made you take us to the German Consulate. That will get you off the hook, and will make them think Hans is there with me, which is exactly what we want.”

  The rest of the ride to Jamestown was uneventful, and they soon pulled into the circular driveway of the small house that contained the German consular offices. The place wasn’t a full-blown Consulate. The Consul himself resided in Barbados.

  Anna got out and walked to the door, which had been unlocked at nine o’clock. Before opening it she turned to watch Rodney drive off. No sooner had he left than a policeman on a motorcycle went past, then turned round and stopped outside the gate. He stared at her and she knew she’d been recognized.

  Rodney picked up Hans as arranged. The beetle even managed to get all the way up to the reservoir without difficulty.

  “I think I’ll try the trail from Leeward tomorrow morning and aim to get here about ten,” said Rodney. “If I don’t turn up, it will mean the police have taken over and I’m a prisoner.”

  Hans consulted the survey map he’d brought along. “There’s a footpath shown here. I guess that’s it.”

  “Probably. But the map’s not very accurate. Anyway, I’d better go. Good luck.”

  “Take care.” Hans hitched on his backpack and thought how lucky it was that the hotel had some camping gear. As he headed east along the edge of the reservoir toward the escarpment, the air became very humid, so he stopped for a break and sat in the shade with his shirt off. At least there was no hurry.

  On the way back to the main road Rodney was sweating, not from the heat, but from the expectation that he might come face-to-face with a police jeep round the next corner. After he reached the end of The Track and had turned onto the blacktop, he debated what to do when he arrived at Saddles, where he was supposed to return the beetle to Norton Grinder. After some thought, he decided to ask Grinder to take him to the end of the hotel driveway in the car. By doing that, he wouldn’t attract attention while walking through the village. He could then go the rest of the way to the house on foot. As he drove along, he wondered how much he could trust the store man. He’d known him for years but only superficially. However, the village community was pretty close-knit and it was unlikely that anyone would snitch to the authorities. Relations with the police had deteriorated since the popular Constable Richards had been transferred to Jamestown and replaced by a surly bastard.

  Norton Grinder recognized the sound of his car as it pulled into the store parking area, and went outside to meet it. He stuck his head through the open window. “What’s all the fuss at Leeward?”

  “Don’t know, but I have to get back.” Rodney opened the car door. “Can you give me a ride through the village?”

  Norton Grinder locked up the store, then turned the sign on the door so it showed “Back in 5 minutes.”

  “How do you know there’s a fuss up there anyway?” Rodney asked.

  “Truckload of cops turned into the drive a while back,” Norton Grinder replied as they pulled away. “They’re still there.”

  Rodney wondered how much to tell him, and decided on a little deception in case the store man got questioned. “The police think Peter Calluna murdered someone. The only problem is they can’t find the body.”

  “That’s a load of crap. They are good people at Leeward.”

  “Exactly,” replied Rodney.

  A few minutes later they pulled up at the end of the driveway, and Rodney got out of the car.

  “Well, good luck.” Norton Grinder looked up at him. “And tell Calluna that if he needs anything from the store, just let me know. I’ve got all sorts of odd things tucked away.”

  This reminded Rodney of something Hans had said on the way to the reservoir. “No walkie-talkies I suppose?”

  “You’re out of luck there.” The store man scratched the side of his nose. “But I think there’s a pair at the TV shop in town. Want me to get ’em? I’ve got to go in this afternoon.”

  “You’re a friend for life,” said Rodney, and got out of the car.

  As he began the fifteen-minute walk to the house, he thought again about not giving himself up, but his wife would probably be pretty scared by this time. Ten minutes later he approached the front door where there was a uniformed thug with a submachine gun.

  “Hey, boy! Who the fuck are you?” The man glared malevolently.

  “The gardener.”

  The policeman poked him in the stomach with the gun barrel. Rodney was getting scared.

  “Get inside! Move!”

  Rodney found out later that when the police had arrived, they simply drove up to the front door and walked in, guns at the ready. Half a dozen men came down the path from the sugar canes, then everyone, including Rodney’s wife Muriel, had been rounded up and taken to the dining room.

  Chief Xavier Green was about to address the jittery gathering when the door crashed open and a policeman pushed Rodney into the room. The Chief immediately thumped his fist on the table. It was a large fist and made a loud noise. Everyone stopped talking instantly. He said there had been two murders nearby, and all those presently in the building were being held under guard as material witnesses until further notice. Charges were also pending, and questioning would start in a few days. Peter demanded to know who had been killed and where they had been found. Green smashed his fist on the table again and told him to shut up. Everyone remained in the dining room all day. In the evening, a proper dinner was prepared and the police were fed at the same time. The only ones allowed out of the building were Bobbie and Neil when they went for a short swim in the pool. They had been taken out of school after lunch by the police constable in Saddles.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Wednesday, September 19, Umbrella Mountain, St. Barbe’s

  In spite of the bravado that Hans had exuded when discussing the escapade to the mountain and his intention to confront the bear-like beast, he was not at ease when darkness fell on Tuesday evening. The idea of sleeping in an enclosed cave, as Rodney had suggested, didn’t appeal to him one little bit. Besides, it might be the animal’s lair. In the end, he set up his camp at the base of a large tree near the top of the escarpment. The solid trunk protected his rear, and he piled up some brush to form a small enclave in front of him. The effect was more psychological than anything else as the boughs
were no significant barrier.

  The sound of a snapping branch startled Hans from a light sleep. He grabbed his flashlight with one hand and the shotgun with the other, and saw something move in the light beam. It was shapeless against the darkness beyond, though it was unquestionably furry. Then all hell broke loose. There was a frightful scream and a bloodcurdling bellow from straight in front of his enclave. In his terror, Hans dropped the flashlight and fired the shotgun accidentally. The noise made his ears ring, and when he shone the light again there was nothing to see or hear. Still shaking, he sat on the ground with the tree at his back and the twelve-bore beside him. Sleep was out of the question.

  With tropical suddenness, daylight arrived. The whole rain forest came alive with bird song, some melodic and some raucous. Hans made badly needed coffee with hot water from a vacuum flask, and drank it with his breakfast. He planned his next moves while eating. The first item on the agenda was to find Rodney’s cave and see if the animal lived there. If he could summon enough courage, it might be worth going inside for a quick inspection, so he re-packed his gear and made his way along the bottom of the escarpment. Rodney had said that the cavern was only about fifteen feet deep, and based on that assumption his strategy was simple. He would fire both barrels into the entrance, reload, and wait. At that range the twelve-bore was deadly for most animals, especially with the heavy shot in the shells that Peter Calluna had given him.

  The cave entrance was near the southwestern end of the escarpment and on a direct route to the reservoir. It took another twenty minutes to get there. The hole in the rock face was about ten feet high and three feet wide, and located at the top of a short slope of loose gravel. Hans dumped his backpack and took half a dozen shells from a side pocket. As quietly as possible he started to scramble upwards, wincing as he dislodged the occasional loose stone, which clattered noisily down the slope below him. When he was about ten feet from the entrance, he stopped. His nostrils were assailed by a nauseating, putrid, animal stench. It didn’t take a genius to guess its source.

  The gun jerked into his shoulder as he fired both barrels in quick succession. A fine cloud of dust emanated from the cave, but nothing else happened. He decided to fire just one more shot to be on the safe side, and reloaded. The explosion shattered the silence, then he opened the gun and the still smoking empty shell ejected with a thunk. He reloaded yet again, snapped on the safety, turned on his flashlight, took a deep breath, and entered the cave.

  Rodney had mentioned that it was in the form of a short narrow passage, dimly lit through the entrance. He said nothing about steel beams reinforcing the roof and walls. They looked quite new, and had been painted a dark gray, possibly for protection against rust. The torch beam picked out what looked like a roof fall at the far end, which was odd since the back wall was also reinforced. Hans took in all this from just inside the entrance, almost gagging at the stench of the place.

  Step by step he advanced toward the pile of rocks. The cave floor consisted of loose gravel and soil, and he shone the light on the ground to make sure he didn’t trip over any hidden obstacles. A few feet from the rocks, the beam fell on a small square of thin cardboard, lodged against the left hand wall. Curious, Hans put down the gun and picked it up, shaking off the dirt. It resembled a miniature record sleeve with something inside it. He stuffed it in his shirt pocket, and turned his attention to the rock pile, which was definitely not natural. Holding the torch in one hand, he started to lift off boulders with the other. He worked from one side to utilize the light from the cave entrance. After a few minutes he was about to give up, thinking the rocks were the result of the reinforcing activities, when his hand felt something smooth and cold. Metal. He brushed the dust from the rounded corner of a heavy steel box. A sharp blow with a stone produced a hollow sound. This was really something. It looked like a large safe. Maybe it contained some clue as to what was happening on the island. Without any warning, the light from outside the cave was blocked out. Hans knew instinctively that it was the occupant.

  Frightened beyond imagination, his actions became automatic. Seemingly in slow motion, he picked up the shotgun from the floor and turned the flashlight toward the entrance. The beam shone on a face so terrible and so evil that for a second he was almost mesmerized. It looked like a cross between a bear and a big cat. Its long snout ended in a black nose with flaring nostrils. With its lips curled into a snarl, Hans could see the three inch canines, ready to rip and tear into flesh. The eyes glowed deep red in the light of the torch, and saliva foamed down its jowls. Hans needed both hands to operate the gun so had no option but to drop the flashlight. Its bulb shattered, and for an eternity the cave was pitch dark. He raised the twelve-bore to his shoulder and pulled both triggers at once. The concussion in the confined space completely deafened him, but the weapon did its job, or so it seemed. Daylight flooded through the entrance as if nothing had happened.

  Terrified that the thing would return, Hans rushed outside, hoping or dreading, he wasn’t sure which, to see the wounded or dead monster lying in front of him. There was nothing. The scree slope was deserted and his backpack lay undisturbed where he had left it. He bent forward to inspect the ground for blood from a wound, but again there was nothing. Only a trace of the foul odor from the animal’s body was evidence that it had been there. Hans went to the backpack, found some more shells and reloaded the gun.

  “That was just too close for comfort,” he said aloud. “It’s time to leave.”

  As he hoisted the pack to his shoulders, he became aware that the forest was completely and utterly silent. Then, to his horror, he realized he was still deaf from the gunshot in the cave. He would be in trouble if his hearing didn’t come back.

  Glancing at his watch, Hans saw that it was time to go to the reservoir and look for Rodney. If he failed to show up at the rendezvous, he resolved to head for the hotel. He had no intention of spending another night on Umbrella Mountain, but if Leeward was occupied by the police, what else could he do? Take things one step at a time, he told himself as he moved off along the bottom of the escarpment.

  Sweating profusely, he arrived at the reservoir an hour and a half later, and was relieved to find that his hearing was beginning to come back. A quick wash followed by a cooling rest in the shade, and he was ready to head along the path on the northern side of the body of water. He figured from the map that Rodney would come that way, since the trail from Leeward supposedly connected halfway along. If he had managed to get away from the hotel, the gardener would surely meet up with him. But by half past twelve, it was obvious he’d been kidding himself—Rodney wasn’t coming. While it seemed highly probable that the police had detained everyone at Leeward, Hans considered it essential to find out more about the situation and inform Anna. The only way to do this would be to talk to someone inside the building.

  By two o’clock, he came to a place where the rain forest ended abruptly, and gave way to sugar canes. Hans presumed that this path led to where the bodies of the Seakers had been found, in which case there would probably be guards in the vicinity. A short way ahead of his present position the path forked and widened, one track leading to the hotel and the other to the house next door. He recalled that an elderly lady lived there. It might not be the best strategy to ask her for help, but he would likely get a view of the hotel from the place where the canes adjoined her property. He would probably be able to see if there were any police around with the aid of his binoculars.

  Twenty minutes later, Hans carefully parted the canes on the edge of Mrs. Robinson’s huge back lawn. The footpath had swung to the left away from the hotel some fifty feet before it ended at the grass. As a result, he was obliged to force his way to the boundary fence between the two properties to get a good view. This barrier stopped when it reached the canes, and he gingerly peered round the last post.

  The sun was blazing down on the gardens and no one was visible. He examined the pool and the bar with his binoculars. A man was serving drinks, b
ut it wasn’t Peter Calluna. Two uniformed police sat on stools with glasses in front of them. This didn’t surprise him. He hoped to see someone at a window, but had no luck. Then he thought he heard distant high-pitched voices. Moving the field of vision back to the pool, he saw two small figures in swimsuits. There was no question about it, one was Bobbie and one was Neil. A police guard had left the bar and was standing watching them.

  Hans guessed quite a few people were being held in the hotel, obviously including the Callunas, Rodney, his wife, and the children. But he would have to talk to someone to find out why, and if anyone had escaped before police had arrived. As far as he could see, the only way to do this was to actually enter the building. A big factor in favor of this strategy was that the guards at the hotel would be expecting someone to try and break out, but would not be on the lookout for anyone breaking in.

  Hans would make his move after dark, of course, and with three hours to go before sunset, he had plenty of time to plan a safe entrance and exit. The first thing to do was to sketch out the general layout of Leeward, and make up his mind whose room to visit. Hans put his hand into his shirt pocket to get a ballpoint pen, and in doing so felt the cardboard sleeve, forgotten since he had found it in the cave. He slid out the contents. It was a 3½ inch computer diskette.

  Thursday, September 20, Leeward Estate Hotel

  For the second night running, Jon Moresby couldn’t sleep. He was missing Josie terribly, and also worrying about her safety. Despite the fact that it was after midnight and already Thursday morning, the hotel was noisy with people stomping up and down the stairs. A visit to the bar would be a satisfactory solution. After dinner, everyone had been told they had the run of the building, so it was unlikely he would be turned back. He was about to put on his pants and shirt when the door opened and a man entered, quickly and quietly shutting it behind him. For a second Jon thought it was a guard, then he saw it was Hans.