Murder On Mustique

by Glenconner Anne

  My gaze drifts upwards to another photo tacked to the wall. It’s a close-up of a woman, her features beautiful in the guttering light. The last time we met was twenty years ago. But how did a photo of Lily’s mother, Emily Calder, end up on the Aqua Dream, two decades after she died?

  54

  NILE CAN JUST make out the police launch from the deck of the Aqua Dream. Lily is steering into the oncoming waves, but the vessel looks like a matchbox, tossed upwards by every swell. She and Wesley will have to manage alone, the distance between them too great for signals. He remains in the shadow of the wheelhouse, until he catches sight of the speedboat again, drifting on a tow rope, too far away to read the name on its prow. Nile can’t understand why it hasn’t been winched aboard, to protect it from storm damage, unless the owner ran out of time before conditions worsened.

  The detective’s mind brims with theories as he edges towards the boat’s living quarters. All of his main suspects are on Mustique right now, yet he’s certain one of them is linked to the Aqua Dream. The idea slips from Nile’s head when he hears a phone ringing. It’s coming from the dining room he saw on his last visit, but now the curtains are tightly closed.

  He’s bending down to peer through a gap in the fabric when someone shoves him forward so hard, his tall form hits the railing. He tries to grab it, but wild laughter sounds in his ears as he plunges overboard. The waves echo like an orchestra playing every note off key, his mouth filled with sea-water as his life jacket bears him to the surface, the water cold enough to numb his mind. He can see the Aqua Dream, with light spilling from its portholes, and the tiny outline of the police launch, before everything vanishes. He’s trapped inside a giant washing machine, unable to breathe. Memories arrive when the water spits him out again. He recalls losing his virginity to a village girl at fourteen, Lyron running across the beach, his father trapped in his rocking chair. When the water finally leaves him floating on his back, the Aqua Dream is further away. He’ll have to swim against the waves, but the next breaker is already crashing over his head.

  55

  I CAN’T HEAR anything except the anchor chain screaming with metal fatigue as the boat faces the storm’s assault. I’m still certain another man is on board, but he may not have realised I’ve escaped from the cabin. When I flick the lighter on again there’s a box in the desk. It contains a pack of cigarettes and a palm-sized metal container that clinks when I pick it up. My anxiety rises again when I find half a dozen bullets inside. My hands are trembling when I drop them into my pocket. If the men who brought me here are armed, the odds are stacked against me, and the one I locked inside the cabin is coming round. I can hear him hammering on the locked door, his voice rising to a bellow.

  Panic makes me scrabble in the drawer again, but there’s nothing useful. The door flies open before I finish, so I hide the paperweight under my arm, covered by the torn fabric of my dress. I can’t make out the man’s features, light flooding in from the corridor, but his dull laughter reaches me when he flicks on a desk light then flops down on the chair, perfectly at home. His voice is a rough London drawl when he finally speaks, coarsened by a lifetime’s cigarettes.

  ‘You’re stronger than I thought. I never expected a lady like you to fight tooth and nail.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Daniel Kellerman; you can call me Dan, if you like.’

  ‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’

  ‘Only very recently.’ His laughter sounds like oil gurgling down a drain. ‘You and I don’t move in the same circles. We’ve just been at one party together.’

  ‘Take me back to shore, immediately.’

  ‘That can’t happen, I’m afraid.’ His face is full of mock-sympathy. ‘The boss man only wanted you shaken up, to stop you looking for the killer. You should have stayed in the cabin, then we’d have dumped you back on the beach tomorrow, no harm done. But now it’s gone too far.’

  ‘The police are looking for me.’

  ‘Not any more.’ He lights a cigarette, then inhales a long drag. His long face and collar-length blond hair still strike me as familiar, but I can’t place him. ‘Do you want to know what happened to your detective friend?’

  ‘Solomon Nile?’

  ‘It was a case of man overboard. He picked a bad night for a swim, didn’t he?’

  When I rush to the porthole, waves are swirling like a rollercoaster, and the yacht is perilously close to the rocks, but the sight of Mustique so close by gives me strength. I have to play for time, until I can find my way back.

  56

  NILE’S ANGER PROPELS him forward. The waves dash in one direction, then the next; he will only beat them by being single-minded. His goal is to reach the Aqua Dream by any means possible. He waits for a lull between waves, then swims at a steady crawl until the next surge knocks him back. His progress is slow, but the yacht grows bigger with each attempt, lit up like a beacon.

  Nile’s mind is playing tricks, the past calling to him again as he kicks through the water. The woman who died appears in his mind again, giving her brittle smile, willing him to stay alive. Her expression tells him that one pointless death is better than two, and he realises she’ll stay in his memory forever, because he cares about his job. He’s not prepared to give up.

  Another surge knocks Nile off course, his mind clicking back to the duty he has to fulfil. He can drown in memories, or go on fighting. He sucks in a long breath, then swims at his fastest crawl. It takes forever to reach that metal rung again and he’s almost too weak to climb aboard. He hides behind the Aqua Dream’s wheelhouse until his breathing steadies, but the ocean’s chill has seeped into his bones, making him shiver, despite the warm night air. The yacht is still rocking from side to side, making every movement a challenge. Instinct makes him reach for his gun, but when he pulls it out, water gushes from the barrel. His training course never explained if it can be fired wet, but it’s a useful prop. If the crewmen are unarmed the sight of it might panic them enough to drop their guard.

  Nile is about to stand up when a shadow passes his hiding place. It’s a man with back turned, dressed in dark clothes. He pauses by the handrail with his hood raised, watching the storm. The figure stands there for a long time. Nile sees him disappear down a stairwell, so he follows, without making a sound. His heart is in his mouth when he finds himself in a narrow corridor.

  The hooded man waits outside a door at the end of the passageway, his body language strained as voices drift towards him. He seems transfixed by the sound. His head is cocked towards the door like he can’t bear to miss a single word.

  57

  I’M STANDING WITH my back against the wall, still clutching the paperweight against my side. It still feels like my only chance of staying alive is to keep him talking long enough to weaken his defences.

  ‘The boss won’t like this,’ he says. ‘He hates getting his hands dirty.’

  ‘Tell me who it is, please. If you plan to kill me, I’ll take it to my grave.’

  The man grins. ‘Maybe you can guess. He keeps saying he wants to turn over a new leaf; he’s staying off the booze and party drugs, but seeing is believing. The guy’s an addict. He’s still got a thing for pretty girls, and boys for that matter.’

  ‘Why are you working for him?’

  ‘We’re old friends. I met him years ago, when life was easier.’ The man grins widely. ‘I’ve enjoyed our chat, but orders are orders. Killing a mature lady or a child is never fun, so I want to get it over.’

  ‘Haven’t you noticed we’re drifting close to shore? We’ll soon hit the rocks by Honor Bay. You chose the most dangerous place to drop anchor.’

  The man glances out of the porthole and panic crosses his face, but his body language is changing. He intends to kill me before steering the yacht to safety. When he straightens up, something shiny sticks out of his pocket – the silver handle of a gun. Words spill from my mouth as I buy myself another minute.

  ‘Tell me about the coral first, pl
ease. It’s fascinated me from the start. Why did he leave those pieces in the victim’s properties?’

  ‘The boss hates the coral regeneration and those involved in it. The signs he carved are Obeah symbols; that voodoo shit fascinates him.’ Kellerman smiles again, a gold tooth glinting in the dim light. ‘He’s got a chip on his shoulder like the Grand Canyon. By the time he’s finished on Mustique there’ll be no one left.’

  A face suddenly appears in my mind, making me gasp out loud. Kellerman’s face blanks as he pulls the gun from his pocket, but a sudden swell makes the boat roll; I grab the paperweight and heft it against the underside of his jaw, leaving him stunned. His grip weakens for a moment, allowing me to grab the gun.

  ‘Sit in that chair, you fool. Give me your keys.’

  He still looks shocked when I train the gun between his eyes, even though I’ve never fired a pistol in my life. There are voices in the corridor, but the weapon has restored my confidence. It only takes me a minute to back away, then lock up my second assailant. The corridor is empty when I get outside, and I can’t help smiling when I hear my first attacker, still howling to be set free.

  58

  NILE HOLDS THE man by his throat as he drags him on deck, his other hand pressed over his mouth. It takes effort to keep the guy down after his long swim; he’s twisting away, forcing him to draw his gun.

  ‘Stay there, or I’ll use this,’ Nile says. ‘I’ve had plenty of training.’

  The man is just a shape in the dark; there’s no glimmer of starlight to help identify his enemy. Nile’s tempted to pull the trigger after his own brush with death, but his sense of justice prevents it. The man’s features are obscured by his hooded top, and the guy seems determined not to speak.

  ‘What made you do it?’ Nile asks. ‘Enjoy your freedom, you’ll never leave jail.’

  The man lashes out, but Nile hits him with the butt of his gun, ignoring the boat’s rocking. Sea-water floods the deck, and the wind’s scream sounds furious as it whistles through the rigging. He couldn’t care less if the bastard’s washed overboard because new footsteps are running across the deck, then there’s a sudden report of gunfire. Shock makes Nile lurch forward, trying to dodge the next bullet, but the blood spattering at his feet isn’t his own. The man he was fighting lies face down, moaning, as more red liquid splashes onto the deck.

  59

  THE BULLET’S REPORT is still ringing in my ears, but the fight continues, ten metres away. The man I shot has staggered to his feet, with blood dripping from his arm. Solomon Nile is wrestling with him, but I can’t help him yet. The two men’s bodies are locked so close, I’m terrified my next bullet might hit Solomon by mistake. There’s another deafening sound as a bullet fires, but this time the weapon isn’t mine. Solomon’s tall form collapses onto his assailant, and his attacker’s strength finally expires. When his arm goes limp I pluck the gun from his hand, then hurl it overboard along with my own, before either can do more damage.

  I can’t see the man’s face, but I know who he is. The office downstairs gave me enough clues, leaving me shocked to my core.

  Solomon is already staggering to his feet, but the other man stays prone on deck, even though high waves keep crashing overboard. I grab a piece of rope and tie his hands behind his back, leaving him face down. Solomon’s welfare matters far more now.

  Solomon is slumped against the wheelhouse, arms at his sides. There’s so little light I can’t see the full extent of his injury, but panic hits me when I see blood welling from his right side.

  ‘Are you in pain?’

  His eyes are out of focus. ‘Let’s get back to Mustique, Lady Vee. Those men should be in cells.’

  ‘They soon will be. Help’s on its way.’

  I can see two boats edging closer. Lily is waving frantically from the police launch, with Wesley at her side, and there’s an old trawler from Mustique’s fishing fleet, but it may be too late. Solomon’s bleeding so heavily I can tell he’s slipping away, his face vacant with shock.

  ‘I’m going to put pressure on your wound, Solomon. It’ll hurt, so feel free to swear.’

  He gasps for breath when I cover the opening with my hands. The pressure must be agonising, but he’s gazing at the middle distance, glassy-eyed.

  ‘Talk to me, please. Don’t go to sleep.’

  His lips curve into a smile. ‘Lily kissed me earlier, on the beach.’

  ‘Sensible girl, she’ll do that again, if we ever get back to shore.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Lady Vee. The storm’s over. Can’t you tell?’

  The young man’s face blanks before he slips out of reach.

  60

  NILE FIGHTS TO stay awake, but there’s a lead weight on his chest. Lady Vee is leaning over him, whispering words he can’t follow. He can only feel the sea’s cold in his bones. It’s a shock when Lyron looms into view, his face tense as he drags him to his feet.

  ‘Try and walk, Sol. You’re too big to carry.’

  Nile manages to reach the rail, where the sea is smoother than before. His father’s old trawler waits below, proving that Lyron set out straight after he got his phone message. Someone helps him down to the boat, but next time he’s conscious, Lyron is pressing a wad of cloth against his side and shock has been replaced by pain. It feels like a branding iron is buried inside his ribcage, and his brother looks terrified.

  ‘You’ll be okay, Ly.’

  ‘Don’t waste your strength, just breathe, slow and steady.’

  ‘Look after Dad for me. Make sure he’s comfortable.’

  ‘Stop it, Sol. We’ll get you patched up.’

  Nile hears his brother and Winston Layton agreeing to leave the two members of the gang locked up on board until tomorrow, as he drifts into unconsciousness. If the storm finishes them, it’s no great loss.

  His eyes open again when Lady Vee is lowered on board. The look on her face is triumphant, even though her tattered dress is stained with blood. Next he sees the shadowy figure who shot him. Nile’s curiosity cuts through his pain. The killer looks anonymous, dressed in dark jeans, his hooded top still hiding his face.

  ‘Isn’t it time you revealed yourself, Phillip?’ Lady Vee hisses. ‘I guessed it was you ages ago.’

  When the moon shines overhead she pulls back the man’s hood, exposing features that were once judged perfect by Hollywood. Starlight has bleached every scrap of colour from his face and Phillip Everard no longer looks like a film star. He’s just an old man, with eyes full of rage.

  61

  I ONLY NOTICE my ragged state when Lily helps me off the boat as the storm continues to howl. Last night’s party dress is in tatters, oil smeared down my forearm, my bare feet covered in grime. Laughter escapes from my lips when I think of Princess Margaret. She set a high standard for her ladies-in-waiting, expecting us to be perfectly attired. I look like a castaway as the dawn light rises, desperate for the first sight of home. Lily’s eyes are brimming; the last twenty-four hours must have been hell for her too. It’s only when my feet are on dry land that she throws her arms around me.

  ‘Thank God you’re alive, Vee. We’re going to the medical centre right now.’

  ‘No need, darling. It can wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’re covered in bruises. What did those bastards do to you?’

  ‘Nothing serious.’ I don’t want to share details yet, she’s dealt with enough misery.

  ‘Tell me who the killer is, Vee. He was on the boat just now, wasn’t he?’

  Lily looks stunned when she hears the truth, and anger hits me for the first time. The man was a charlatan, he deceived every one of us for years, but what was his intention? I push the thought aside, as my hip throbs, glad to grip Lily’s hand. Soon someone arrives with a buggy and we’re carried to the medical centre, then Lily finds a wheelchair and pushes me towards the entrance, where Wesley Gilbert is emerging. My butler looks dishevelled, just as he did when he chased into the Fortinis’ villa looking
for his sister, but this time he risked his life for my sake. His voice is unusually gentle when he crouches beside me.

  ‘I’m glad you survived your adventure, Lady Vee. You had me worried.’

  I touch his shoulder. ‘Have I told you how incredibly lucky I am to have you taking care of me?’

  ‘Not long ago,’ he replies, his stern face softening. ‘It’s always good to hear.’

  ‘How’s Solomon?’ I ask.

  ‘Alive, but he’s lost some blood. That bullet went straight through his side. The doctor’s working on him right now.’

  Wesley hurries away to speak to Nile’s brother before I can ask another question. There’s no point in going indoors while Dr Pakefield is busy, so we sit outside, allowing me to catch my breath. I could be imagining it, but the storm’s ferocity seems to have faded by a fraction. Mustique has been caught in a whirlwind for almost an entire week, ever since Amanda Fortini went missing, even though Storm Cristobal only made land last night. Trees have been torn apart, a corrugated-iron roof panel dumped in a flowerbed, the sound of birdsong muted. The creatures must be afraid that the dreadful wind may return, and I too am struggling to believe the violence has ended. Lily sits on a bench beside me, shading her eyes from the early morning sun.