by Daisy White
He smiled reassuringly at her. ‘I feel like I might be able to help when the police get back to interview you, so I’m happy to stay.’
‘Are you one of the Bartlett Apartments developers?’ Ailsa asked him suddenly, her mouth pursed with apparent disapproval.
‘In a way… I only joined recently, and as one of the investors, so not an actual developer myself,’ Jonas said warily. ‘I have a gallery in Dockyard, and I’ve been spending more time in Bermuda so…’
Ailsa cut across his explanations. ‘Well you get back and tell them none of us want to sell, and they can stop bothering us or I’ll be sending the police round to them, next.’
‘I’m sorry, I had no idea…’ Confusion flickered across Jonas’ face. ‘I had no idea you’d already been approached.’
‘You want to get your facts straight,’ Ailsa told him. ‘We’ve been hassled for the last two years. Dre told them no, straight out, but they just kept upping the offer. Money isn’t everything, and it isn’t easy to get a place of your own round here.’ She glared at him, eyes narrowed, lips still pursed with disapproval.
Jonas picked up his suit jacket and moved towards the door, briefly dropping a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. ‘I’m very sorry for what happened, Chloe, and Ailsa, I had no idea everyone had already been approached for land sales. Again, I apologise. I’ll leave you in peace, but here’s my card in case you need to contact me.’
Ailsa watched him walk out of the door, his demeanour still cool and calm. Turning back to her neighbour, her face was alive with emotion, she said fiercely, ‘Another bloodsucker. Don’t worry, Chloe, we’ve got your back. You let me know if he comes round again and I’ll sort him out. We’re not having any developers take our land!’
Her neighbour must be well into her seventies, and she was barely five feet tall, but her black eyes were sharp and bright as a bird’s. As an ally she was clearly formidable and Chloe thought she wouldn’t like her as an enemy.
‘It’s true, and I’m sure Dre wouldn’t have liked to see any of this line of coast developed either.’ She pursed her lips, clearly inviting further comment.
But Chloe, unable to drag her mind away from the murdered man, merely smiled fondly at her. Her sudden defensiveness of their homes was somehow endearing, but she made a note to check on the development at a later date. She didn’t want anything to potentially threaten her new-found home.
A clatter of hooves made her turn back to the window. Antoine arrived back with his ride. She was still struggling with that floating, nauseous feeling that goes with shock. That poor man with all the blood… She hardly noticed that Jonas had dropped his business card in the wooden box by her (currently disconnected) telephone. ‘Sorry, Ailsa, but I need to go out and speak to Antoine… I’ve just remembered I left Goldie in her stable with her saddle and bridle still on.’
‘Of course. You go and do what you need to. I’ll see myself out later. I expect the police officers will want drinks when they come back up to interview you, so I’ll get everything organised. There are all those constables, and the inspector from the Serious Crime Unit, not to mention those others that came with him…’
‘Thank you but please don’t worry. I can manage, honestly. Shall I pop over later and we can have a chat?’ Chloe was exhausted suddenly, her nerves still jangling at the thought of speaking to the police. There was bound to be an interview, perhaps even down at the station. In Devonshire Parish maybe? She couldn’t remember where the nearest police station was, but clearly a murder would be treated with the utmost importance.
‘If you’re sure…’ Ailsa was transparently reluctant to leave such a prime spot, but good manners demanded it. ‘I’ll do some scones for later then – proper ones with some early raspberries in.’
Chloe was already halfway up the garden path, pursued by half a dozen chickens. ‘See you later, and thank you again, Ailsa.’
Antoine, his handsome face serious, was talking to a man in uniform next to the wooden gate that led to the trail. A blue minibus was waiting on the drive to ferry the guests back to their hotel.
‘Chloe! Josonne says you found a dead man!’ Antoine hurried towards her, his arms full of tack. The minibus driver was shepherding the guests back to his vehicle.
Obviously intrigued by the drama, the tourists weren’t moving very fast. Several were taking photos of the police vehicles and the first responders. Bermuda Fire and Rescue had also sent a crew, and their truck was parked near the top of the sandy path.
‘Who’s Josonne?’ she said vaguely. ‘I did. Oh God, it was so awful, and Goldie was so good to bring me home, but then I left her in her stable with all her tack on and just ran. I realised I didn’t have a phone and…’ Tears threatened and Chloe, suddenly aware of her attentive audience, stopped talking.
‘Hey, don’t worry. Goldie’s fine. I’ve rubbed her down and given her a drink. Are you okay? Why don’t you go back inside?’ Antoine suggested, peering anxiously at her. The other young man had followed him, and Chloe saw he wore the smart uniform of Bermuda Fire and Rescue.
She sniffed, and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, while both men watched with concern. ‘I’m fine, honestly. Probably just shock,’ she managed, smiling weakly at them.
‘So very lucky we didn’t go down that way.’ A tall athletic woman dressed in what looked like pink beach pyjamas, patted Chloe’s shoulder. ‘Such a horrible thing to happen, sweetie, but don’t worry, the police are here now. We saw another officer go down there just nearby, didn’t we, Noah?’ She nudged her husband.
Her soft American accent and genuine concern made Chloe tear up again, but she smiled awkwardly, managing to control her emotions.
Noah, who clearly hadn’t applied enough sunscreen and was turning a raw red around his nose and cheekbones, patted Chloe on the arm. ‘The main thing is to let the emergency services get on with their job.’
‘Noah was with the NYPD before he retired,’ the wife said, ‘and once you’ve been in law enforcement, you stay part of the family.’
Chloe could certainly see the stocky man as part of the police force. He had a calmness that was totally different to Jonas’ icy charm. This man had an air of having seen battle and dealt with the casualties. He was now quietly urging his fellow tourists towards the waiting bus.
‘Bus is ready here, guys, if you want to move right along. Let’s get ourselves out the way and let these people do their job.’
The bus driver was getting impatient, and waved his thanks to the retired cop. The door finally slammed behind them, and navigated round the emergency vehicles before bumping away down the drive.
‘Josonne is my cousin. I told him all about you,’ Antoine explained, finally introducing the man standing with him. ‘He’s with the Bermuda Fire and Rescue Service, as you can see.’
Josonne nodded and smiled at Chloe. Like his cousin, his good looks were further highlighted by a large dollop of genuine charm. ‘The police will want to ask you some questions, I’m afraid, Mrs C. Do you feel up to talking now?’
Chloe glared at Antoine for passing on the ‘Mrs C’ thing, but was feeling too weak and shaken to correct Josonne. ‘Why are you here though? I mean, sorry but I thought the BFRS attended fires.’
‘We do, but we also had a report come in that a vehicle had come off the road, and this address was given.’
Chloe stared at him, confused. ‘But there hasn’t been a traffic accident. I mean, I never saw anything…’
Josonne nodded. ‘Well we responded to that call, and arrived around the same time as the police. All 911 calls go straight to police dispatch and they send out the appropriate service. Our call came in ten minutes before the report of a body found. BFRS provides emergency medical response as well, so we stuck around in case we could help.’
A crowd of onlookers followed the police inspector up the hill. He smiled at Chloe and exchanged a few quick words with Josonne, who nodded soberly, smile vanishing, his face now etched with worry
.
‘I’m Inspector Finn Harlow. You must be Mrs Canton. I’m sorry you haven’t had a great welcome back to Bermuda. Can we go inside and have a chat?’ He was a big man, with dark-brown eyes, and close-shaven grey hair. With his size and athleticism, he reminded Chloe of a rugby player. His dark skin showed a sheen of sweat from the climb up the trail.
But he had an easy, polite manner which subconsciously soothed her nerves. She was soon explaining how she came to find the body, and he was nodding and taking notes. From time to time his colleagues would peer around the door, and he would gently excuse himself, before returning to her interview.
‘Did you see anyone else on the trail this morning? Any walkers, or vehicles at this end?’ the Inspector prodded.
Chloe shook her head. ‘No… I did stop to look at a derelict building on the trail just before I found… him. I thought I might have seen a shadow at the window, but it would have been impossible to say if it was actually a person, or just a trick of the light.’
‘Ahh yes, Tranquility House. It used to be the home of a romance writer. Serena Gibbons?’ He raised an eyebrow, but Chloe shook her head again. ‘She achieved moderate fame, mostly in the US, I believe.’
‘What happened to her?’ Chloe asked, interested in spite of herself.
‘Oh, she used the island as a writing retreat, but she died in 1993, and the estate has been derelict ever since. We’ll take a look at the house all the same.’
Another officer, who took careful notes throughout, was politely introduced, but Chloe instantly forgot his name. She was very grateful that she hadn’t been taken down to the police station, and was instead able to sit in her own kitchen and relay what had happened.
‘Do you know who he was? The dead man, I mean,’ Chloe asked finally, when she had contributed all she could.
‘We do. His name was Matthew Georgias. He was twenty-four and worked as an artist. There are a great many creatives on the island, and many galleries. It seems to be something in the air. Anyway, Matthew was part of a selection of up-and-coming artists who are currently exhibiting at the new art gallery in Clocktower Mall.’
He gave her an enquiring look, and Chloe shook her head. ‘I know the mall, but I haven’t had a chance to get up to Dockyard yet. In fact, I’d just decided to spend a couple of weeks playing tourist and revisiting all the places I remember. Does Matthew have family?’
‘His parents live in Minnesota and have been notified. This is not the sort of thing that happens regularly in Bermuda. Of course there is crime, as there is everywhere in the world, but this type of violent incident isn’t common. In fact, last year we had no murders on the island at all.’
He was trying to reassure her, and she managed to smile back. ‘Thank you. I… Can I ask you something about the body?’
‘Of course.’
‘I thought… and I may have been confused because I was pretty terrified… I thought he had shapes carved in his forehead. Is that correct?’ She had been looking down at her hands, twisting the ring on her thumb, but she looked up now and met his steady gaze.
‘It is correct. Again, I’m sorry you had to find him.’
‘Is there a significance to the markings?’ Chloe asked. She wasn’t quite sure what she was pushing for, but her imagination was conjuring up ritual killings and nightmares at the moment.
He paused, clearly giving her question careful thought. ‘Our team are down there now, and once the autopsy has been done we will know more. It may be that the markings are significant, or it may be an expression of the perpetrator’s anger. At this stage, we are just gathering as much evidence as possible.’
‘Of course. Sorry.’
‘Nothing to be sorry for. Now, I would definitely visit the art gallery. I’m not an art collector myself, but I can appreciate the talent exhibited there. The grand opening was only two months ago.’ He sighed. ‘The highlight of the night was the sale of Matthew Georgias’ largest canvas. It was a stunning piece of work – a life-size figure merged into a beach and sea setting. I’m sure there’s a technical way of describing it, but as I say, I wouldn’t know. It was called The Painted Lady and it sold for twenty thousand dollars.’
Relieved at the change in subject, Chloe scuttled quickly down this new conversational path. ‘Wow! Was he a well-known artist, then? Sorry, I’m afraid my own knowledge of the art world is a bit limited,’ she added humbly.
Finn smiled. ‘So is mine, to be honest. I think he has a following in the US, and his style is very distinctive. Jonas, that’s the owner of the gallery, will be devastated to have his best talent snatched away from him.’
Chloe blinked, her eyes going to the wooden box and the business card. ‘That wouldn’t be Jonas Aliente would it?’
4
‘Yes, do you know him?’
‘I bumped into him this morning. He was coming to visit, and I came tearing up from the stables in a total panic. He was very good, and called 911 for me.’
‘Did he?’ The inspector sent her an unreadable look, his thick brows drawn for a moment. Then his eyes wandered towards her framed photographs and he grinned. ‘Merry Bay Primary. How old were you in that picture?’
‘I would have been around six,’ she told him, grateful for the continued change in subject, but slightly puzzled.
He stood up and made his way over, examining the date on the print. ‘No way, I bet we were in the same class, Mrs Canton!’ he said.
‘Make it Chloe. Really? You went there too?’ she said, relaxing. He put his notebook away, still looking at her photos, and Chloe had the impression that his warm, genial persona disguised a rapier brain. She was good at reading people normally, and he seemed very genuine.
‘Only if you call me Finn. Yes, and judging by the date we must be the same age. I knew Dre really well. My nieces and nephews all learnt to ride with her. She was a force of nature, and she talked about you a lot.’ He put the photograph frame down and stood leaning against the table, broad shoulders blocking the light from the window. ‘Do you think you’ll keep the riding stables going?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ Chloe told him, ‘I don’t know anything about horses, and I haven’t had a chance to look at the business paperwork yet. It was something I was going to settle down to this afternoon. I don’t even know if the business makes any profit yet!’
‘Plenty of time. I’d just settle in first. I’m really sorry again, that this had to happen. I know I said it before, but we really don’t often have this kind of trouble on the island, so don’t let this colour your first impressions of your new home.’ Finn pressed his business card into her hand. ‘If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me, and we will be in touch with a few more questions as the investigation progresses, I’m afraid.’
Chloe thanked him, added his card to her growing collection, and watched him walk back through the garden, to the yard, the chickens misguidedly running behind him. Police and rescue vehicles were still much in evidence, and official blue tape now barred the entrance to the trail. She could just see a white tent erected further down the cliffside, and wondered if some vital piece of evidence had been discovered.
The crowd of onlookers had doubled, and many were taking photos, but all she wanted was a long hot shower.
The day dragged on, and Chloe’s drive was patrolled by uniformed officers, who guarded the entrance to the trail from eager onlookers and a string of journalists.
She stayed indoors, making drinks and loading trays with biscuits for the emergency services workers. Antoine had turned the horses and goats out in the furthest paddock, to keep them away from the chaos. When she looked out of the window an hour later, three of the horses were lined up along the fence, watching the commotion, and the goats were back in the yard.
Finally, by six that evening, her home was quiet again. Antoine had done the evening stables routine and gone to play in a football match. The trail remained sealed off, but the police had gone.
Restles
s and troubled, Chloe sat down and opened her laptop, then closed it again. Part of her wanted to share the horrors of the day. But her best friend Alexa would be concerned for Chloe’s safety, and many of her other friends would be eager for the gossip.
Now darkness had fallen she was jumping at every imagined footfall outside. Each gust of wind rattled the windows with invisible hands. Guilt niggled her as she pushed aside the paperwork she had intended to start on. Tomorrow. She would be more focused tomorrow. The murder, horrific as it was, clearly had nothing to do with her. But the shapes carved into the man’s forehead bothered her. What kind of person did that?
Chloe picked up a bottle of Rescue Remedy from her kitchen counter and shook some drops into a glass of water. If this didn’t work she figured a measure of rum would go down a treat.
A memory of Inspector Finn Harlow’s massive, comforting presence and his professional manner further soothed her nerves.
Before she went to bed that night, she went around the whole house twice, locking and bolting everything, doors and windows. She even hauled a couple of chairs in front of both doors. From feeling confident and fearless this morning, she now felt like a snail creeping back into its shell, hiding from the world.
Luckily, she’d brought two huge boxes of books from her previous home, and Dre had left her a whole wall of shelving crammed with mysteries, romances, biographies and histories. Chloe selected a sizeable stack and went to bed with a black torch, which she felt was heavy enough to double as a weapon. She kept one wary eye on the front door.
She picked up and discarded a few books, lingering over two romance novels by Serena Gibbons; His Last Lie and Second Chance for Love. She wouldn’t have pegged her grandmother as a romance fan, she thought, smiling at the thought of Dre sitting up in bed in this very room, flicking the pages, devouring the stories. The cover art was faded and very dated, with beautiful heroines and handsome beaus, but she wasn’t in the mood for love and happy ever after.