by Cathy Ace
I pulled open the bi-fold double doors, and Bud spun round.
He looked flushed, and blurted out, “I couldn’t tell you, Cait, because I was specifically ordered to not tell you. I can’t believe Jack told Sheila…he said she wormed it out of him. Which I have to say is a worry, though I reckon Sheila’s able to be discreet. Which isn’t to say I don’t think you can be. Oh heck, this is all coming out wrong. Look, I’m so sorry, Cait. I love you. I trust you. I wouldn’t have told you what I have, now, if I didn’t. And I need you to trust me. Please don’t let this come between us? I have a duty. Orders. There are lines I just can’t cross. And I’m always terrified that you knowing something you’re not supposed to might end in disaster, somehow. I never want you to be in danger because of my work. That’s why Jan…you know…it’s why Jan died. Because of my work.”
I knew.
And in that moment, I understood with absolute clarity how difficult it must have been for Bud to make the decisions he’d made. And why he’d done what he’d done. I reached out to him, held him, and told him so. We both cried in each others’ arms for a few moments, then we just swayed, clinging together in the middle of the room – until we both acknowledged that we needed to break apart to be able to blow our noses.
Despite the heat, and our general dishevelment and sweatiness, we snuggled on the wicker sofa, as best we could.
I finally said, “You’re really good at lying, Bud. I didn’t notice that anything was even a little bit off. You’re so much better at deception than I had any idea you could be.”
Bud squeezed me. “Thank you. I think.”
“Look, I get it that there’s a lot you can’t tell me, but I have to say that when I imagined you doing work for CSIS, and whatever other organizations you’ve liaised with over the years, I’d pictured you in a sort of strategic planning role, you know – working out how intelligence could be gathered, how resources should be used, that sort of thing. A bit like M in the Bond films…not the Ralph Fiennes M in the new ones, but the original Ms, when Connery and Moore were Bond. But you haven’t been doing just that, have you? You’ve been using skills on me that you’ve honed through training and experience in operations where you’ve had to hide things from people – maybe even hiding who you really are.” Bud didn’t respond. At all. So I pressed on. “And that’s a revelation to me. I know how you’re motivated by justice, how you’re fantastic at command and control operations – but I hadn’t realized you were also capable of such deception. It’s going to take me a while to come to terms with that.”
“I wish I could say I’ve never been less than truthful with you, Cait, but you know I have. That said, I promise I’ve only done it with regard to work, and on orders. Which is something that doesn’t touch the core of me – of us. I have to compartmentalize. I’ve always had to. You understand that, don’t you?”
I nodded, struggling with the concept. It’s not something I’ve ever been good at. I’m very much an all-or-nothing kind of person. Which has been a bit of a problem, on occasion. “I do, Bud. I do understand,” I said, trying to.
We sat in silence for a while, and – to shut up those annoying voices in my head – I focused on Freddie Burkinshaw again.
Bud looked surprised when I asked, “So do you think your secret reason for being here is connected in some way with Freddie’s death?”
He shifted on the sofa, looked deep into my eyes. “Are you sure this is really what you want to talk about, Cait?” I nodded. He sighed. “Okay then, yes, I do. But I don’t know how, exactly. I fear it’s too much of a coincidence for there to be no connection at all.”
I recalled what he’d said when we’d seen the body. “You questioned why on earth anyone would want to kill a harmless octogenarian, Bud. Well, clearly Freddie’s more than I thought he was – he’s linked, somehow, to these sensitive papers. So, can you be open with me about the manner of his death, at least? Tell me what you honestly think?”
Bud nodded. “When you left us all in the dining room just now, I explained to Jack and John that I was going to continue to be as open with you about our mission as possible – without divulging any classified information. You’ll have to trust me to tread that line, my darling. I’ll tell you as much as I can. Sheila will be in the same position. But we’ve all agreed that Lottie can’t be brought into our circle of trust. Which’ll make for some difficult situations. We’re basically asking you and Sheila to be as deceitful as we three are, but without the benefit of all the training we’ve been given, and all the experience we’ve had.”
I managed a half-chuckle. “Sheila’s a natural. It wasn’t until Jack let the cat out of the bag that I could see she knew what was going on. She’s good. And I can be, too. I promise. I haven’t warmed to Lottie, as you know, so won’t feel compelled to share anything with her you don’t want me to. Just be clear about what I can and can’t divulge, and I’ll stick to your rules.” Bud’s eyebrows rose. I shoved him. Playfully. “Don’t do that. I can follow rules. I know it’s not one of my natural strengths, but I can apply myself.”
Bud kissed me.
“Right then,” I continued, feeling a little better, “do you really think Freddie killed himself, or do you believe he was murdered?”
The genuine smile that spread across Bud’s face warmed my heart. “Honestly, I wish I had a proper answer to that one for you. See, I’m concerned that our presence here, the sensitivity of the situation, and the…ambiguity…of Freddie’s connection with it, might have led him to take his own life for some reason. But I’m equally concerned that an unknown party could have got wind of what’s going on and might have taken action to prevent what we see as a successful outcome. I’ve already heard through channels that the autopsy will be rushed through, and we’ll be given sight of the findings. That might clarify matters. But, while we wait for that, Jack, John, and I must press on, hoping our mission isn’t compromised.”
I gave some thought to his words. “You know I don’t think it was suicide, but now that idea seems less…well ‘appealing’ isn’t the right word, but you know what I’m trying to say. Despite that giant key being found in his pocket, I’m still not convinced Freddie was suicidal. But what do I know? I’m really beginning to question the belief I’ve always had in my ability to judge people; if I was wrong about all of you, maybe I was wrong about Freddie, too.” I had to say the words out loud, not just hear them banging about inside my head.
Bud’s brow furrowed. “I knew that was where you’d be with this, Cait, and I need you to understand that your skills are still the best I’ve ever seen. It’s not that you failed at something, you just didn’t try. You didn’t see our deception because you weren’t looking for it. But know this – when you are looking for it, you always hit the nail on the head. And I agree with your observations and instincts about Freddie. When we were at the scene, I had to try to manage the situation until John, Jack, and I had a chance to confer. Whatever you’d said on that staircase, I would have taken the opposite point of view, just so there was a balance being struck whenever the topic was raised in front of other people – including the cops. But, in all honesty, I’m with you; I suspect that someone, somehow managed to kill Freddie then lock him into that room, making it look like suicide.”
I felt relieved. “And, if that’s the case, do you think the motive for his murder was connected to your situation?”
Bud shrugged. “That I don’t know. I hope not, because that could mean…well, a lot of things I don’t want to be true. But…” I waited. “I think it unlikely there’d be anyone beyond those interested in our situation who’d want to kill him. It just seems like…”
“…too much of a coincidence,” I said. We shared a smile. I felt a little spark of excitement. “I could be of real help to you all, couldn’t I? I could work on this as though I know nothing about your secret case. I could do what I do – profile the victim to try to work out how he might have become a victim.”
>
“If he really was a victim,” said Bud warily.
“Rather than hang about and wait for the autopsy results – which might be completely inconclusive in any case – I could start now, and assume murder.”
Bud smiled. “Yes, Wife, you could do that. By all means. And maybe Sheila could lend a hand.”
“Maybe even Lottie, if she wants. Because that would keep her out of your hair, wouldn’t it?”
“It would. Just so long as you treat our mission as completely off limits, as far as Lottie’s concerned.”
“And you ‘boys’ could get on with your search for these mysterious papers, regardless of Freddie’s death.”
“We could indeed.”
“Do you have any idea at all where they might be? How did Freddie come to be connected with them?” I could tell by Bud’s expression that he was calculating what he could and couldn’t tell me. I didn’t want him to worry so jumped in with: “Okay, let’s not start there – let’s start with what you can tell me about Freddie…his life and so forth. Or can you point me in a direction where I could find out?”
“Now that I can do, and I’m happy to do it to the extent I’m able. But how about we do this as a group – Lottie included. She might even have picked up on some insights we men don’t have – for example, I’ve no idea what she was talking about when she mentioned that Italian neighbor and some sort of land ownership dispute. That might turn out to be something we can look into, while you also use it as a focus for your investigation. Maybe we three guys can come up with some way of introducing what we know about Freddie into the group conversation, and I can always fill you in once Lottie believes she’s being included. But let’s make sure it’s a private conversation, not something we do in a public place. I tell you what – I’m guessing a shower and clean-up is in your future, so why don’t you get going with all that? I’ll sort out a few things with the two J’s; it’s kind of a pain the two of them being named Jack and John, but they don’t get to use their real names all the time, so it’s nice when they can do it, you know?”
I didn’t know, and I felt I didn’t really want to know. Instead, the idea of having clean, non-sweaty, not-lank hair beckoned, and I gave myself over to the luxury of a long, hot shower with 10CC singing Dreadlock Holiday in my head.
Dinner and a Few Deaths
Sheila had proved she possessed superpowers by arranging for a restaurant situated just along the coast to deliver food to the Captain’s Lookout estate, so we could all eat in the dining room to talk about Freddie Burkinshaw’s death in private. Lottie was the only one not terribly impressed by this arrangement, but she had little choice but to put up with the majority’s decision. I didn’t feel at all guilty that we were keeping her in the dark about our real reasons for not wanting to have our discussions in a restaurant. To be fair to her, as she helped me set the table, she told me she recognized it might be insensitive to discuss the death of a well-known local resident in a public eatery.
Sheila had ordered a pretty wide variety of dishes, and we all managed to fill our plates with something we fancied. After my earlier upset, I felt the need for comfort food, so was especially delighted that there were some spicy patties, mounds of rice and beans, plus some goat curry; the three foods I feared I’d become addicted to over the previous few weeks, though I suspected they would never taste the same anywhere else in the world.
We raided the stock of wine and beer in the sideboard and fridge, and we all sat eating for a while, trying to have a normal conversation. The topic of the weather was front and center, of course, and I think we managed to describe rain in about fifty different ways, before Lottie raised the inevitable issue of Freddie Burkinshaw. I was glad she was the one who did it, because it saved me a job.
“Has anyone heard any more about Freddie’s death?” she asked, innocently enough.
All five of us seemed to inhale at the same time, but it was Jack who answered.
“I don’t think we can expect to hear much more from the authorities; we’re just visitors here. I guess they’d be in touch with Amelia, if anyone at all. Did Freddie mention family to anyone? He loved his little habit of cornering one person for a while and monopolizing them, Lottie,” he explained, “though he didn’t do much of that last night, because he had two new audience members for what I reckon were his standard stories. I know I heard him tell you guys a few he also told Sheila and myself on our first night with him. Had you and Cait heard everything three times, Bud?”
Bud and I exchanged a knowing glance. “You betcha,” said Bud. “His ‘How I Used to Party with Ian Fleming and Noël Coward’ stories were the first he told us. You guys, too –” he nodded toward Jack and Sheila – “and you guys last night, I know.” He winked at John. “But he didn’t mention family to me at all. Did he to you, Cait?”
I shook my head. “He said he’d never married, so I assumed no children – though that’s not necessarily the case. I don’t recall any mention of siblings.”
“Well he can’t have said anything about siblings then,” said Lottie, picking at a lobster claw, “because you wouldn’t have forgotten – not with that memory thing you do.”
I glared at John; he was the only one who could have told Lottie about my eidetic memory. I was aware that everyone else at the table knew, but Lottie? I prefer to choose for myself who to tell, because as soon as anyone finds out about it they’re tempted to treat me like some sort of performing animal, which annoys the heck out of me.
“Don’t worry, Cait,” said Lottie, “I’m not going to test you by asking what day of the week it was on the fifteenth of July 1927, or anything like that. I know you don’t like people discovering you have a photographic memory – John told me – but I do think it must be a bit weird to be able to do all that stuff.”
“It’s not weird at all,” I snapped, “I’m just able to recollect things I’ve read, or heard, or experienced in some way or another. I can’t ‘do’ dates, nor count how many matches you might hurl across the floor. Not my skill set.” I knew I sounded grumpy – because I was. I poked a piece of spicy beef patty into my mouth and almost choked – I should have taken a small bite, not gone for the whole thing.
By the time I’d recovered, and Bud had retaken his seat after bringing me water and telling me to “breathe through your nose” goodness knows how many times, Lottie had demolished her lobster and was eyeing up the box containing the patties. I knew I couldn’t eat another, but that didn’t stop me from taking one before she could get her mitts on it. She helped herself to some of the fragrant goat curry instead, and we all fell back into silent eating-mode.
“Freddie wasn’t short of female companionship, by all accounts,” volunteered Sheila. “Amelia and I spoke about it at breakfast one morning, though she didn’t mention any children.”
“I wonder who’ll get this place, then,” said Lottie – something I knew we were all thinking. “Maybe the documents he lodged with his legal representative included a last will and testament. If he’d gone as far as writing up his wishes for his funeral, as Amelia said he did, it follows that he’d have written a will, don’t you think?”
We all nodded our agreement.
“I hope he leaves something for Amelia and Tarone,” said Sheila, sounding sad. “They could do with something to help them in the future. Tarone was telling me that he needs all the money he earns here to help him afford the costs associated with his athletic endeavors.”
“That can’t be very much,” snorted John. “I mean, shoes and stuff like that, but what other costs can there be?”
“Training costs, gym fees,” said Bud.
“Transport to venues here, and maybe on other Caribbean islands,” offered Jack.
“Physiotherapy? Other medical treatments,” I said.
“Maybe a nutritionist?” volunteered Lottie.
John raised his hands in submission. “Okay, okay, I clearly know nothing about such things. I get it
. Both he and Amelia will need something to tide them over until they can replace this source of income, and somehow fund a place to live, too. Yes, I agree, I hope Freddie left them something – and I hope his affairs were in order, so probate doesn’t take forever.”
“That’s what happened with Sheila’s sister,” said Jack.
Sheila’s lips clamped into a thin line at her husband’s comment, and I was puzzled.
“I didn’t know you had a sister, Sheila,” I said. “And I had no idea you’d lost one. I’m so sorry. Was that recent?”
Sheila smiled – too brightly. “Oh no, don’t worry about it. It’s all so far behind me now. Yes, I had a sister, but she died – oh, how many years is it now? Time passes so quickly, doesn’t it? It was 1989, a long time ago. Lots of water under lots of bridges since then.” She was gabbling. Not like Sheila; Sheila is the personification of common sense.
“She was here for Christmas. That’s when it happened,” said Jack, sadly. “Not here, here…she was staying in Montego Bay, wasn’t she, Sheila?”
Sheila nodded silently. For all that she’d said the loss was far from fresh, I could tell she wasn’t seeing the food she was looking at on her plate.
“Terrible thing,” continued Jack, “scooter accident. Never even made it to the hospital.” He reached for his wife’s hand.
Sheila sighed. “Yes. Dreadful.” She sighed again, then dragged her attention away from her deep-fried okra. “As Jack said, there was a real mess with Wendy’s estate. Hadn’t thought of writing a will, of course, because she was only in her twenties. I did what I could.”
“I guess Wendy thought she was too young to plan for that sort of thing,” said Jack quietly, smiling at Sheila as he patted her hand. “It was a nightmare just getting the body repatriated, wasn’t it?” Sheila nodded. “That’s the only other time Sheila’s been to this island, and she had to come alone because I couldn’t get away from work, so I’m glad we’re here together, now. Though, of course, Freddie’s death isn’t…ideal.”