Murder on the Island

by Daisy White

  Soon she was lost in Bermudian military history, having discovered an intriguing little paperback dedicated to Fort St Catherine. Constructed from stone in 1614, it had been upgraded throughout the years, and now boasted tunnels, ramparts and towers.

  The paperback was smudged and the few photographs were black and white and of poor quality, but Chloe suddenly knew exactly why she had picked it out. She had visited the fort with Dre. Closing her eyes, she could see her thirteen-year-old self racing across the drawbridge, hair flying out in the wind. She could hear Dre adopting a stern, schoolteacher tone and telling her they were here to learn, not mess about. But later, her grandmother had delved in her bag and produced sandwiches and juices, which they had eaten on the beach below the fort.

  She had found a dead fish washed up on the beach, she recalled. Flabby, grey and dull-eyed, it had laid on the rocks below the ramparts. Dre had been just as interested, prodding it with her foot, suggesting it might have died of natural causes, pondering on whether it was a grey snapper or some other type of fish.

  Chloe’s own mother wouldn’t have gone within metres of a dead fish. Or anywhere near a fort. But Dre’s fierce interest in just about everything had spurred Chloe on, widened her horizons on those brief trips, and left her with memories to mull over. Dre had also taught her respect for culture and the people who had lived long ago.

  When Chloe woke the next morning, she was lying on her back, clutching the paperback, her bed strewn with books, and the torch, having inched its way into the bed covers, was digging into her back.

  Ailsa, clearly desperate for the gossip, came round first thing, with a home-made rum cake, which she informed Chloe was ‘the real thing’.

  It smelled heavenly. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday. It was chaotic all day, and I just wanted to get to bed early,’ Chloe told her, accepting the gift graciously and providing a few titbits of gossip in exchange for the cake. ‘I’m just going out to check on the yard. Antoine should be here by now, but I can’t hear him.’

  ‘You don’t look like you slept well either,’ Ailsa said beadily, her black eyes raking Chloe’s crumpled face and messy hair. ‘That’s all right, I’ve got Cheryl and Jordan coming over today to do a few repairs to my roof. See you later!’ Ailsa called, departing at speed.

  Chloe made another cup of coffee, scraped her hair back into a ponytail, and went bleary-eyed out into the garden. She felt, despite her penchant for gossip, or maybe because she was so blatant about it, that Ailsa could be trusted. The woman had shown her nothing but kindness since she moved in.

  Cheryl was Ailsa’s daughter, who lived and worked in Hamilton, and Jordan was her seventeen-year-old grandson. His twin, Alfie, was at boarding school in the UK, having won a prestigious cricket scholarship at the age of fourteen. Chloe had already briefly met and liked Cheryl, and seen numerous photos of the two boys.

  At least her new mobile phone had arrived, and she had set it up earlier, leaving it to charge. Now it beeped in her pockets and she glanced down and smiled at the text.

  ‘Antoine! I didn’t think you were here.’ She leant against the gate in relief, not entirely sure why she had been so worried, except that she was still feeling her way through the ragged nightmares that had dogged her sleep. Too many dead bodies and the smell of stale blood, that she just couldn’t forget, had resulted in her staying awake reading the history book until three in the morning.

  ‘I’m fine, and the animals are all done now. You don’t look so good today, Mrs C… I’m not being rude, but you had such a shock, maybe you should take it easy this morning. You know, chill with a coffee or something.’

  He was so earnest and kind that she laughed. ‘I’ll be okay, but thank you. Did you win your football match?’

  ‘Yeah, we thrashed them. Anyway, we’ve got two rides today,’ Antoine informed her. He was grooming a leggy black horse with a pretty white stripe on its forehead. ‘One was a last-minute booking, and I’ve had another three parties in for tomorrow. I hate to say it, but murder is good for business, Mrs C.’

  ‘That’s horrible,’ Chloe told him. She leant on the stable door and stroked the horse’s nose. ‘This is Jupiter, isn’t it? I must learn all their names properly. I was also thinking I might get a dog when I’ve settled in. Do you know if there’s a local rescue centre near here?’

  He sent her a piercing look. ‘Yes, there’s the SPCA on Valley Road in Paget… You mean like a guard dog? You worried about security after you found the body?’

  ‘No. Well yes, it was awful and I feel so bad for that man. He was a talented artist apparently. The police inspector…’

  ‘Finn. He’s the Chief Inspector of the Serious Crime Unit. Really nice guy and very professional. I play football with a couple of his nephews.’

  ‘Right, Finn.’ Chloe wondered why he hadn’t used his full title when he introduced himself. ‘Well he seemed very professional. He sent me a text earlier to check everything was okay. Wasn’t that kind of him?’

  ‘Very. You made a good impression on someone, Mrs C?’ His grin made his eyes sparkle and she pretended not to notice the mischief in his face. Matchmaking could definitely wait.

  She was curious about Finn though. ‘It turns out we went to school together.’

  ‘You maybe remember his wife, Ellie, then? She would have been the same age.’

  ‘No.’ Chloe shook her head. ‘I don’t remember Finn either. It was only because he saw an old photo when he was here yesterday that we worked it out from the dates.’

  Antoine bit his lip. ‘His wife was really nice. It was so sad when she was killed. I mean, how do you deal with something like that?’ He shook his head.

  ‘You mean she was murdered?’ Chloe was horrified.

  ‘No! Of course not. She was run off the road, and went over the edge near Shelly Bay. It was an accident, but still, really bad.’

  ‘That’s awful. Was it recent?’ Chloe was thinking of Finn’s professional concern and his calm management of the first responders.

  ‘Four years ago now. He just carried on working. Josonne says he’s one of the best too. He’s been on a few jobs where the inspector’s been involved, and in joint training sessions. He said he never gets rattled, just gets the job done.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know. I mean, so I didn’t put my foot in it asking after his family or anything,’ Chloe told him. Antoine was so sweet, and clearly not enjoying relaying this kind of gossip. She found she was already thinking of him as a friend and not just an employee.

  ‘It’s fine. He’s got a son, Daniel, but I think he works abroad. Really sad,’ he repeated soberly.

  ‘Yes.’ Chloe went back inside, horrified by Finn’s tragic story. She made another coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, laptop open, for a quick catch-up with her friends.

  Alexa emailed back, and wanted to come straight over, but Chloe dissuaded her. Her friend had three kids and a husband who worked shifts. It would cause chaos to their family.

  Maria, Chloe’s other best friend, was a wedding planner and her email was littered with exclamation marks and her usual extravagant wording. Chloe smiled, replying and suggesting Maria and her wife, Mandy, might visit in the autumn, when she was more settled.

  An email from Mark via his solicitors urged her to access the online portal and sign the last of the divorce paperwork. She ignored it. Later, maybe tomorrow she would make herself sit down and deal with her divorce, but not now. Not when she felt jittery and emotional.

  She glanced through the online news pages relating to the murder, wincing at pictures of Matthew’s parents, and trying to relate the dark, brooding publicity photos of the crumpled body she had discovered. Matthew had been a good-looking man, with intense green eyes and a bony, interesting face.

  Pictures of his work showed that the intensity seemed to have translated itself onto canvas. They weren’t to her taste, but there was obviously a huge amount of talent and skill that was now wasted.
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  Almost without thinking she googled the three shapes and added Matthew’s name. Nothing. She studied his work again. No triangles or squares.

  She shut the computer with a snap, suddenly tired again and her head ached from staring at the screen. The sun was still shining, and she couldn’t bring Matthew back to life or catch the perpetrator, so she might as well be thankful she was alive and get on with her day.

  And that meant getting stuck into those brown folders piled high on her desk. Chloe poured herself some iced water, and carried her glass over to the desk.

  Slightly nervously, she began to tackle the mountain of paperwork marked Beachside Stables. There were six faded, brown folders, with dog-eared invoices tumbling out of every one.

  The first folder was stuffed full of old invoices, scraps of paper with handwritten notes, and scrawled pages of bookings. Most of the dates were from two years ago. Chloe flicked through, noting an abundance of trail-ride bookings, especially from the Royal Majestic Hotel.

  By the time she arrived at the last file, which was also stuffed with invoices, the dates were more recent. Bookings had dropped right off, she noticed with alarm. Was that because Dre had been unable to keep up with the business, or because demand simply wasn’t there anymore?

  The most recent, coupled with the handwritten bookings log, showed that the stables had been only just breaking even for the last couple of years. Since January this year, the bookings were right down, and certainly not enough money was coming in to cover the invoices.

  There was a red-stamped final demand from the feed merchant and it was a similar story for the farrier, and the vet. Perhaps Dre had simply not been able to cope in her final months, but these would need paying immediately.

  Chloe carefully totted up the amount. It came to nearly two thousand dollars. She could cover that from her personal savings, but should she continue to shore up the stables? Why had the Royal Majestic Hotel stopped using Beachside Stables?

  None of the recent invoices had ‘PAID’ stamps on them, and most of them were final demands. Puzzling her way through the accounts book, she pushed her glasses onto the top of her head and rubbed her eyes. The figures were tiny, and in places almost illegible, but it seemed that all the previous hotel bookings had stopped completely. The income simply didn’t meet the outgoings.

  The other animals would still need feed, vaccinations, and for the horses, there were also bills from the saddler, the cash and carry and the garden centre. Chloe finally pushed her chair back, and ran her hands through her hair in despair. This was a business in crisis.

  Did Antoine realise his job was on the line? His salary seemed to be paid every month from the tiny amount of money that Dre had left, but that was dwindling fast. If she didn’t do something fast she might end up accepting Jonas’ offer.

  The thought made her sit bolt upright. She couldn’t sell this place. She was happier here than she had ever been and if she needed to fight to keep it then she would. Surely she must have some business skills she could use?

  The thought of selling the horses, including gentle Goldie, of telling Antoine his job was going, was inconceivable. Not to mention Dre had trusted her with her home and animals, her neighbours had welcomed her as one of their own… No way would she let everyone down.

  Her own savings, combined with Dre’s, were just enough to keep the stables afloat for another month. During that time she would write a new business plan and find out if she could drum up more bookings, speak to Antoine and make new contacts. Possibly she could even get a bank loan if she could show an increase in clients.

  With this in mind, she decided to combine exploring the island with saving her business and making those all-important new contacts. The fact that her place of interest today was the Royal Naval Dockyard, meant that she could also stop in at the new art gallery. It would mean spending what little cash she had changed up to bring with her, but Chloe felt it would be worthwhile, and the bus was inexpensive and safe.

  Anyway, she told herself she would probably have popped over to the gallery, even if she hadn’t just discovered the body of one of their artists. She would thank Jonas for being so kind that day.

  Her last task before she left was to ring the SPCA about a dog. Again, money would be needed to look after a new pet, but in light of recent events, she thought a guard dog was essential. The woman who answered the phone introduced herself as Helen, and was brisk and friendly. Yes, they had several dogs who might suit Chloe. They would need to do a home visit and there was paperwork to be filled in. Could she pop over sometime tomorrow to discuss it?

  Chloe said she could, and felt a rush of excitement as she finished her call. She would need to drop into the pet store she had seen next to the garden centre, and get food, a bed, a collar… She had always loved animals, and now she seemed to be acquiring more by the day.

  Without her own vehicle, she took the very efficient public transport, and studied her new island home from the dusty windows of a large pink bus. The beaches, the multicoloured towns and villages stretched along every road, dotted along the coast, huddled under hills and perched on the very tops of rocky outcrops.

  The bus driver trundled carefully along the narrow roads, and each turn revealed breathtaking views, or some point of historical interest. As it moved slowly through the parishes of Southampton and Sandys, Chloe drank in the mirror-like bays of the coastline, and on the other side, onion fields, majestic cedars and peaceful loquat woods.

  Here and there, the dips in the road revealed farms with neatly planted red-earth fields, and on the shore side, rusty remains of half-submerged wrecks. Chloe slipped on her sunglasses and pulled out her maps, trying to trace the journey, to reacquaint herself with her home.

  As she drew nearer to her destination she spotted luxury condos and apartments peeping out of foliage on their own islands. Small, white bobbing yachts and cruisers were moored along the bays. She allowed the colour and warmth to flood her senses, relaxing properly for the first time since the discovery of the body. It was tragic, but apart from finding the body, the murder didn’t touch her personally. There was nothing she could do or could have done, to help the dead man.

  Something she did remember from childhood was the sense of community that bonded the island’s residents. Regular busgoers were greeted with a ‘Good morning’ as they boarded the bus, and often people would get on, laden with children and shopping bags, calling a cheery ‘Nice day everyone!’ to the whole bus. However, snatches of gossip that she caught were all about the murder.

  It couldn’t be more different from riding the Tube on her way to meetings in London. As a copywriter for a large advertising agency, she had been lucky that mostly she had worked from home, but a couple of times a week she was summoned to meetings, and fought her way through the inefficient, crowded London public transport system. Just now, it seemed far in the past, wispy grey memories eliminated by the bright sun.

  Dockyard was the very last stop, on the western tip of Bermuda in Ireland Island (north), Sandys Parish. Chloe smiled to herself as she drank in the half-remembered limestone buildings. Perched on the clifftop was the magnificent former Commissioner’s House, which dated from the 1820s and was the first ever cast-iron house in the world.

  Little half-remembered facts and snippets of historical information floated up from Chloe’s brain as she wandered across the stone roads and pavements. The Royal Navy had finally left Dockyard in 1951, but it wasn’t until the seventies and eighties that the current transformation had begun. Many of the towering derelict workshop areas were now converted into thriving independent shops. There was an ice-cream shop, boutiques, eateries and a glassworks surrounding the marina.

  Two huge cruise ships were in dock and the terminals at Heritage and King’s Wharf swarmed with a colourful tidal wave of recently disembarked tourists. It seemed that trade was thriving, as every shop was crammed, and every eatery had queues stretching out the doors.

  The renovation was ongo
ing, and Chloe soon found herself drawn to the former Victualling Yard, where it was possible to peek through storm-damaged doors, into the half derelict Victorian buildings.

  Some of the roofs had gaping holes, and massive rusting iron machinery was suspended precariously from upper levels. As she walked slowly across the broken pavements, and peered into dark interiors, she couldn’t help but notice the man.

  Emerging from behind a group of tourists, he was wearing shorts and an England rugby sweatshirt and carried a small sports bag. Ignoring Chloe, he gave a quick look to either side, hopped over the No Entry barrier, and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

  Chloe frowned after him. Perhaps he was an employee… But no, there was something furtive about his movements, and she was fairly sure she had seen him earlier, near the bus stop at the end of her drive. She remembered the shadow flitting behind the cracked window at Tranquility House… Surely it must be coincidence. Her nerves were shot to bits and she was jumping at ghosts, she told herself sternly.

  But all the same, she shivered and walked to the corner. Leaning casually on the red barrier, she was just another tourist scanning the majestic buildings. She simply couldn’t see where the man had vanished to. More rusting machinery and a pile of industrial rubbish blocked the way into the warehouse.

  Chloe sipped her water, considering, then pulled out her phone and pretended to be photographing the panoramic view back across the yard as the man stepped out from behind the rubbish.

  His movements still quick and furtive, he walked briskly down to the barrier, and put a hand down to vault over. Chloe, swinging her camera across to get the vista, managed to snap him as he joined a bustling hungry crowd gathering outside the Frog and Onion Pub.