Touching the Sun: A Harry Beck Thriller (The Bahamas Series Book 1)

by Len Maynard

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘Jack’s gone.’

  ‘Gone as in got away?’

  ‘Gone as in dead.’

  ‘Good riddance.’

  He was curiously still, not moving in his seat.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘A ricochet got me.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  I crouched down next to him. His hands were clamped over his stomach. As I tried to look, to assess the damage, he turned away. ‘I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. Get back on Jack’s boat and we’ll take them back to Watt’s Cay.’

  ‘Alan, don’t be ridiculous. You’re in no condition to pilot this boat anywhere. You need medical attention.’

  ‘In the middle of the ocean?’

  ‘Just let me see how bad it is.’

  ‘Sometimes, Harry, you’re bloody hard work. I heard you tell Billie and Sam to call for medical assistance for Julius. They’ll send a helicopter to Watt’s Cay. They can take a look at me when we get there. Now, will you do me a favor and climb back on board Jack’s boat and follow me back there?’

  ‘Okay, if you’re sure there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘I’m fine. As I said, it’s just a scratch, but it stings like hell, so if you could move your ass quickly it would be much appreciated.’

  Our eyes met. I smiled at him and he smiled back.

  Something happened in that moment; something unspoken and very profound. There was a fundamental shift in my perception of Alan Lancaster. I wanted him as a friend.

  I needed him as a brother.

  I climbed back on board Jack’s boat, untied the lines, and started the engine. I heard the roar of the Princess’s twin MTU engines as Alan started her, and then we were heading back to Watt’s Cay.

  I followed Alan at a steady ten knots. If he’d had a mind to he could have opened out the throttle of the Princess and left me cold, but I knew he wouldn’t do it. Not this time. The look we had exchanged told me everything I needed to know about him, and I knew, at last, I could trust him.

  66

  Three helicopters had landed on Watt’s Cay; one, an air ambulance in its usual red and white livery, and the other two belonged to the police.

  We pulled in on either side of the jetty. I climbed from Jack’s boat and tied her up, half expecting Alan to emerge from the cockpit of the Princess. When after a full minute he still hadn’t shown, I boarded the Princess and made my way to the cockpit.

  Alan was in his seat but slumped over the controls, a puddle of blood beneath his seat. I rushed up to him and pushed him back. He was barely breathing, and for the first time I got a look at his wound. The bullet from Jack’s machine pistol had ricocheted and entered Alan’s stomach just above the waistband of his chinos, tearing a ragged hole. The chinos were crimson, as was his shirt. God knew how much blood he had lost, but I felt for his pulse and it was hardly there.

  I could do nothing for him. The wound was still leaking blood, and if it was allowed to go on much longer, Alan would be dead.

  I rushed ashore and up towards the house. Halfway along the path I met two medics carrying Julius on a stretcher. He had an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, but his eyes were open wide. He pulled the mask off as I reached him.

  ‘Jack?’ he said.

  ‘Shark bait.’

  He smiled. ‘Good, Harry; the world’s a better place without him.’

  ‘But Alan’s hurt. Badly hurt.’

  A third medic was following behind the stretcher carrying a large medical kit, Stevie beside him, her arm in a sling.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she said.

  ‘Alan’s been shot.’

  ‘Another one?’ the medic said incredulously. He looked about twelve years old.

  I grabbed his sleeve. ‘You need to come with me. Bring your kit.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m only authorized…’

  ‘A man’s dying. Do you want his death on your conscience, just because you don’t have the necessary paperwork?’

  He hesitated for a moment, indecision fluttering in his eyes, and then he said. ‘Okay. Show me.’

  As soon as we reached the Princess the medic went to work, taking Alan’s blood pressure, sticking a cannula into a vein in his wrist, and connecting a saline drip. He handed me the polythene drip bag. ‘Hold this. I need to call this in. We’ve only just made it in time. Another five minutes and we’d have needed a body bag.’

  Despite his ridiculously youthful appearance he certainly knew his job. He pressed a sterile swab against Alan’s wound. ‘Hold this here. Keep applying pressure. There’s too much bleeding.’

  I did as I was told, holding the saline bag with one hand and pressing down on the swab with the other. While I did this he got on his radio.

  ‘They’re holding the helicopter until we can get him aboard. We need to get him to the hospital as soon as we can,’ he said as he came off the radio. ‘Two medics are coming down to give us a hand getting him there.’

  Minutes later the two stretcher carriers arrived, and together we got Alan off the Princess and onto the stretcher.

  Stevie met us at the door of the helicopter. ‘Is he going to be all right?’ she said, though there was an unusual coldness in her eyes. Stevie wasn’t the forgiving type, and Alan would have to do a lot to convince her he was worth saving.

  ‘I don’t know. He’s lost a lot of blood, and God knows what damage the bullet’s done to his insides.’ I rubbed the back of my hand across my lips. They were dry, parched. ‘Jesus Christ, Stevie, he told me he was okay; said it was just a scratch. I let him bring the boat back to the Cay. I just don’t know how he had the strength to do it; he’s lost so much blood. I never should have left him alone like that.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself, Harry. This was always going to end up badly. I just thank God it’s not you on the stretcher. At least then any tears might have been justified.’

  I made to get into the helicopter. The depth of my emotions was surprising me, and although some of it would be through shock, pumped up adrenaline, there was no doubting there was a lot of relief as well, relief that perhaps – no make that probably – Alan was innocent in all this.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going, buddy?’ one of the medics said.

  ‘The hospital. You’ve got two of my friends in there.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘No can do. Authorized personnel only. Besides, there’s no room.’

  ‘And,’ the other stretcher carrier said, ‘Assistant Commissioner Brooks is waiting up at the house to talk to you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Harry, I’ll keep you posted,’ Stevie said.

  ‘You’re going to the hospital? I didn’t think your wound was that bad?’

  ‘Billie insisted. She said I needed to go and get it checked out. Don’t sweat it. With me there at least you’ll be kept in the loop.’

  I watched her climb aboard, and then backed away as the rotor began to turn. Moments later the helicopter was airborne and wheeling back across Watt’s Cay, heading towards Nassau and the Princess Margaret Hospital.

  I watched it fly for a few seconds, and then wearily made my way up to the house.

  67

  Chaos had arrived at Watt’s Cay.

  Police were everywhere. Floodlights had been set up and switched on to combat the dwindling evening light. Through the lounge window I could see crime officers, dressed in white coveralls, combing every inch of the room, and the grounds around the house were teaming with more officers. It was slightly alarming, but at the same time strangely reassuring to see that so many were armed. I counted at least eight of them, and they looked like they were prepared for a small war.

  I told one of them who I was.

  ‘The lounge is off limits,’ he said. ‘They’re conducting interviews in the sunroom at the back. You can go straight through. Before you do though….’ He spread his arms.

  I got the message and stood there, arms stretched out, legs wide apart while he patted
me down, checking for any weapon I might be carrying. Finally, he let me through.

  Brooks was in the sunroom, as well as two detectives who he introduced as Inspector Grant and Sergeant Cooper. They were both black and, in their shorts and tee shirts, were much more informally dressed than Brooks himself.

  Assistant Commissioner Brooks, like me, was a white Bahamian, and he was standing in the corner of the sunroom, dressed in an immaculate blue serge uniform. Billie and Sam were sitting on a cane couch, watching him with something like amusement in their eyes. I looked through the french doors that connected the sunroom to the lounge and saw that Kim’s body had been removed, but there was a white taped outline and a scorch mark on the wooden floor to show where she had fallen.

  I could feel Brooks’s eyes boring into my back. He had the demeanor of a European policeman, precise, deliberate in his questioning, and relentless when he thought he was on to something.

  I tore my gaze away from the outline and turned to face him. He was in his forties, good-looking in a thirties-film-star kind of way. His dark hair was slicked back and a thin neatly trimmed moustache hugged his top lip. The dark eyes, though, were sharp and incisive.

  ‘Take a seat, Mr. Beck,’ he said. To Sam and Billie he said, ‘That will be all for now. Constable?’ he called. A young police constable entered the room. ‘Show Ms. Martinez and Mr. Goldberg the way out. We won’t need them again tonight.’

  As I sat down on the couch, he said, ‘Carnage seems to follow you around like a stray dog, doesn’t it, Mr. Beck? I take it Mr. Dylan won’t be joining us?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Because?’

  ‘He’s dead. He fell off his boat. Sharks.’

  ‘Sharks.’ He digested this piece of information. ‘That’s a shame. I have a warrant for his arrest. A waste of paper.’ He produced the warrant from his pocket and ceremoniously tore it in half. ‘Tell me, Mr. Beck, are there any other criminals we might be after who you would like to feed to the sharks? You could probably halve my workload.’ His sarcasm was heavy and unwelcome.

  ‘We were fighting. He fell. It was an accident.’

  ‘And Mrs. Weaver? Was that, too, an accident?’

  ‘Jack shot her with the flare gun,’ I said.

  He raised his eyebrows at that. ‘Really? I was under the impression that they were lovers.’

  ‘They were.’

  ‘So why would Mr. Dylan shoot his lover in the face with a flare gun?’

  ‘He was trying to shoot me. Kim got in the way.’

  The eyebrows climbed higher. ‘How?’ he said.

  ‘Deliberately. She was trying to protect me.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that Mrs. Weaver deliberately put herself between yourself and a crazed lunatic with a flare gun to protect you? Why would she do that?’

  ‘We were lovers too. Albeit a long time ago.’

  The eyebrows slid back down. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘So, when we locate the flare gun and test it for fingerprints, we’re going to find Jack Dylan’s. Is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘I would expect so.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, thoughtfully nodding his head. ‘I’m sure you would.’ He suddenly clapped his hands together. ‘But I’m doing Inspector Grant and Sergeant Cooper here a disservice. They’ve been assigned to this case, and it should be them asking the questions, not me. But if they don’t mind I should like to sit in. Inspector?’

  ‘No problem, sir,’ he said gruffly.

  The young police constable returned, pulled up a chair, and took out his notebook.

  It was Cooper’s turn to speak. ‘Ms. Martinez told us about the other house on the island where Dylan and Weaver were keeping trafficked children. We sent a team over to it, and indeed that was the case. They found the children, all safe and sound now, along with a young woman, Ms. Elena Aldama, who is wanted in several states on mainland America on charges ranging from credit card fraud to murder.’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Brooks butted in. I got the impression he was a man in love with his own voice, and had a well-developed sense of his own importance. ‘It seems she dispatched her boyfriend with a carving knife when she found he’d been sleeping with her best friend. And then Ms. Aldama hurled a flask of sulfuric acid at her best friend’s face, but let her live…not that I imagine the poor girl wanted to after that. I saw the photographs they took after the attack. The girl is blind and horribly scarred for life.’ He gave a theatrical shudder.

  I remembered vividly Elena holding the shotgun on me and thinking she would never use it. Another great judgment call, Harry. I thanked God now it wasn’t loaded.

  ‘Sorry, Sergeant. I interrupted you,’ Brooks said. ‘Please continue.’

  Cooper managed a tight smile, and was about to continue when Grant said, ‘So, Mr. Beck. Would you mind telling me now just what has been going on here?’

  Cooper made a noise of frustration and wheeled away, walking across to the window and staring out, his foot tapping an impatient tattoo on the wooden floor.

  I glanced at my wristwatch. It was a little after eight. I had a feeling I was in for a long night.

  68

  Two hours later I’d more or less finished the story. It would have been quicker if Grant and Cooper hadn’t kept interrupting me with searching questions, trying to make me explain parts of the story I wanted to gloss over. They were a good team and effective inquisitors, and I could see why they had been assigned the case, but I held my nerve, and only gave them the answers I wanted them to have.

  In the end I said, ‘I have a question for you.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘What happened yesterday? Why weren’t Reynolds and his squad at the warehouse when Jerry Carr and I went to rescue his sister?’

  Brooks stepped in again, fielding the question effortlessly, almost as if he’d been waiting for me to ask it and had prepared the answer in advance.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Reynolds that yourself. But you might find it difficult, as nothing has been seen or heard from the inspector since yesterday afternoon when he left the station.’

  ‘So you knew nothing of his idea to provide an armed squad to back us up? He told me you had approved the plan.’

  ‘I assure you, Mr. Beck, I knew nothing of Reynolds’ plan, if indeed he ever had one. We are conducting an internal investigation into Hector Reynolds’s role in this matter, the results of which will be made public in due course. In the meantime I’ve issued a warrant for his arrest.’

  ‘What you’re saying is that Reynolds set us up.’

  He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘That would seem the most likely scenario.’

  ‘Can we move on?’ Grant said, obviously irritated by Brooks’ presence and his constant interruptions. ‘Where is the flash drive now?’

  I fished it from my pocket and handed it across to him.

  ‘May I?’ Brooks held out his hand.

  Grant scowled but passed it to him.

  Brooks looked pleased. He held the black plastic device between his finger and thumb and stared at it for a moment. ‘So, this is the McGuffin,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry?’ Grant and Cooper said, almost in unison.

  ‘You see, they don’t know their Hitchcock, Mr. Beck.’

  ‘I’m not big into films myself,’ I said.

  Grant and Cooper just looked bemused.

  ‘Well, the late, great Alfred Hitchcock would have called this flash drive a McGuffin, a random object of desire, the quest for which drives people to murder and treachery in the plots of so many of his films; and those, I might add, of many other directors.’

  I really couldn’t care less. It was getting late and I was tired. I needed to be horizontal and asleep. Eight hours, no less. I’d sleep on the Princess tonight. There was a double bed in the Princess’s main bedroom, and at that moment it was calling me.

  I watched as Brooks slipped the flash drive into the top pocket of his
uniform jacket.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Cooper said. ‘Shouldn’t we be turning that over to forensics?’

  Brooks looked at him sharply. ‘And that’s exactly what I intend to do, Sergeant. I appreciate the urgency of this case, even if you don’t.’

  ‘I think what Cooper means, sir, is that the chain of evidence…’

  Brooks held his hand up to stop him. ‘I do not need a lecture about evidence chains, Inspector, or anything else for that matter. I shall drop this in to the forensic department myself, and I will stress the need for urgency in processing it. I’m in a position to expedite the matter. You’re not. Is that clear?’

  Grant shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Cooper just looked furious.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Grant said.

  ‘Have we finished here?’ I said hopefully. ‘Because I’m bloody tired and I need to sleep.’

  Cooper and Grant exchanged looks. ‘Yes,’ Grant said. ‘That will be all for tonight. But when you’re back in Freeport you’ll have to come in to the station and make a formal statement. When is that likely to be?’

  ‘I’ll be heading back there tomorrow,’ I said.

  ‘Tomorrow will be fine,’ Grant said.

  ‘Right, I think that will be all for tonight,’ Brooks said. ‘Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Beck.’ He smiled; it wasn’t pretty. It looked like he had indigestion. ‘It’s going to be interesting reading through the transcripts of the interviews we’ve already conducted with Ms. Martinez, Mr. Goldberg, Mr. Flood, and Ms. Bailey. I may even look in on Mr. Lancaster at the hospital in Nassau if he’s well enough. It will be interesting to see how all your stories compare.’ He walked to the door.

  ‘What about the boat coming in from Florida to pick up the children?’ I said.

  ‘You need not concern yourself with that, Mr. Beck. That will be dealt with. They won’t reach Watt’s Cay.’

  He walked out into the night.

  Grant and Cooper followed him. Grant paused at the door. ‘Goodnight, Mr. Beck,’ he said. ‘I’ll be expecting you at the station tomorrow.’