Angel of Darkness

by Christopher Nicole

  Behind the generator shed, and feeding into it, was the oil storage tank. This had a 5,000 gallon capacity, and filling it was Anna’s greatest expense, as it involved getting a tanker up from Nassau and then running a supply line from the harbour up to the tank. However, this only needing doing every couple of years, and at the moment the sight gauge was showing well over half full.

  Next to the tank were the fresh water filters, through which the supply from the cistern was piped to the various houses. These were very necessary, as although Tommy cleaned them out every couple of days, almost immediately green scum and algae started to gather.

  From the shed, which was on the same ridge as the house, some twenty feet above sea level, she looked down through the coconut-tree fringe on to the beach, a long curve of the whitest possible sand. Beyond was the green, shading to blue, of the lagoon; and beyond that the reef, only visible because of the ripple of surf; and beyond the reef the far deeper blue of the deep-water passage, which dropped to several hundred fathoms within half a mile of the shore. Today, there was not a ship to be seen. The nearest land out there, Abaco, was more than forty miles away.

  She followed the path, which led to the other side of the ridge before dividing, one branch leading down to the dock, the other through the trees. Here she came first to the Rawlings’ house, empty at the moment as Desirée was up at the main house and Tommy at the dock; then the gardeners’ house, again empty as they had already started work. Leaving these behind, she entered the orchard (not organized to any plan), where fruit trees grew in profusion, from huge sapodillas, laden with succulent fruit, to equally luscious mangoes, and then limes, lemons and oranges, a blaze of green and yellow. The bananas and plantains formed a separate grove, their stems drooping beneath the weight of the fruit, while the avocado plants, equally heavily laden, were no less luxurious in the number and size of their fruit. And there were always the watermelon vines littering the earth, the rugby-football-like gourds punctuating their progress, lying in wait to trip unwary feet. The island was so opulent in fruit she regularly sent the surplus to the produce centre on Eleuthera, simply to get rid of it; as most other people, whether on the mainland or the adjacent islands, were doing the same thing, there was little financial return.

  The situation was different in the vegetable patch, which came next. The soil gathered in depressions in the coral rock that comprised the island, and the vegetables needed constant care to survive the ravages of the thousands of insects that sought to devour them. Indeed, Anna had known nothing about agriculture when she first came here, so to get the best results she had had to both learn and use her natural common sense, and persuade her gardeners to do the same. The Bahamian attitude was that as half of each crop was certain to be lost, it was a waste of time trying to prevent such acts of nature. But Anna had taught them how to support the tomato vines – their chief crop – in order to prevent them trailing on the ground to provide sustenance for the caterpillars, as well as to use sprays. Now they watched her approach with both pleasure and apprehension – she could be critical – and with genuine warmth at having her back.

  ‘Man, is good to see you, boss,’ said Elias, the head gardener.

  ‘It’s good to be back.’ She greeted the two younger men. ‘All well?’

  ‘Oh, yes, ma’am.’ He gestured around himself with considerable pride. ‘We going to have one good crop.’

  ‘I can see that. Well done.’

  They glowed.

  ‘Now, what about the cistern?’

  ‘Oh, that nearly full, ma’am. We had plenty rain.’

  ‘Excellent. Let’s have a look.’

  She led him along the path to the area where the hens were. It was not actually a run, as there was no enclosure beyond a wire fence to prevent the fowls from straying too far. When she first came to the island, it had been infested with what were known as chicken snakes, a variety of the constrictor family, growing to about six feet long. These did not necessarily live off chickens – there hadn’t been any – but feasted on rats, raided birds’ nests, and indeed devoured any living creature that wandered within their grasp. She and Tommy had rapidly got rid of them, and now she had a flock of some fifty hens and a cockerel, who kept her table supplied with eggs and occasionally meat, though most of their meat was bought in Spanish Wells.

  The fowls fluttered and pecked and clucked over the considerable area allotted to them, paying scant attention to either the humans or the dogs, for Jupiter and Juno had been taught from their smallest puppyhood that the fowls were inviolate, and had thus formed the opinion that the fluttering creatures were somehow sinister and to be avoided. They never ventured into chicken territory unless accompanied by their mistress, and always, as now, slunk through it at her heels.

  Beyond the hens, at the north-eastern end of the island, was the catchment area. This consisted of a large sheet of concrete – very nearly the size of a football pitch, sloping from north-east down to south-west and thus facing the prevailing weather – into which the rain poured and cascaded down to flow through gutters into the cistern. This was roofed to keep off bird droppings and drifting leaves, and fenced to discourage any living creatures who might be intent on inadvertent suicide.

  But even so, it had to be carefully tended. Anna stood on the lip and looked down into the water. At its highest, as after one of the violent rainstorms that were not uncommon, it was six feet deep, and now was at the five-foot marker.

  She inhaled the slightly acrid tang. ‘Looks good and smells good. How are we off for chlorine?’

  ‘Oh, we got plenty, boss. Tommy did bring up some drums last week.’

  ‘Well done, Elias. Carry on.’ She went down the rocks to the beach, followed by the dogs, took off her sandals, and walked home along the sand while they frolicked in the shallows. All hers. And when she came back from this last mission, all tensions would be behind her.

  *

  Hamilton got to work immediately, making the rounds of the airlines; there weren’t too many. Bahamasair had flights to the mainland, so he started with them, although obviously Anna would only be using the States as a staging post to pick up an international flight. ‘Mrs Bartley asked me to check and make sure her reservation for next Thursday is in order,’ he explained.

  The girl riffled through several sheets of paper. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t seem to have a booking for Mrs Bartley.’

  ‘You know who Mrs Bartley is?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. She flies with us regularly. Would you like me to make a booking? Thursday, you say. Where would she be going? Miami?’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Hamilton replied. ‘She must have made a mistake. I’m dining with her tonight. I’ll ask her about it then.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  He tried Pan Am, and drew a blank there as well. There were a couple of local charter firms, but if she was using one of them he was sunk, although they too would only run to the mainland or one of the other islands in the group. That left BOAC. It was a forlorn hope, because he had been told that Anna Fehrbach was persona non grata in Great Britain, and the British carrier operated only on the route to London out of Nassau, at least when going north-east.

  But he believed in being thorough, and was taken completely by surprise when the clerk, in this instance a man, said, ‘Oh, yes, sir. Mrs Bartley’s booking is in order. It’s in first class.’

  ‘Ah,’ Hamilton said. ‘Thank you. She wanted to confirm the time.’

  ‘The flight departs at eighteen hundred. That is, six o’clock. She should check in by five thirty.’

  ‘That sounds OK. And when will it land?’

  ‘It will refuel at Gander. That’s in Newfoundland. Depending on weather conditions, it may also have to refuel at Shannon. But it should certainly land at Heathrow – that’s the new London airport, you know – by noon on Friday.’

  ‘Thank you. That sounds just right. I need to return next week myself. What have you got available?’

&
nbsp; ‘On Thursday?’ He checked his lists. ‘There are some seats available. But I’m afraid first class is fully booked.’

  ‘Actually, Friday would suit me better.’ It would be too risky to travel on the same flight.

  ‘Friday.’ He checked another list. ‘There are first-class seats available on Friday.’

  ‘And I assume there is only one flight a day?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Outgoing the route is London, Hamilton, Nassau, overnight in Kingston, then Bridgetown. Ingoing it’s Bridgetown, Kingston, Nassau, overnight in flight, refuel at Gander, then London.’

  ‘Very good. Would you book me on the Friday evening flight?’

  He paid for the ticket, returned to the hotel, went to his room, and called London. ‘The lady leaves Nassau at six p.m. on Thursday, flying BOAC, touching down Heathrow around noon on Friday.’

  ‘No, no, Hamilton. You have made a mistake. The lady is not allowed entry into the British Isles.’

  ‘Then I presume she will be travelling under an assumed name.’ Or at least, he thought, landing under one, as the ticket is booked in her real name.

  There was a brief silence. ‘You are sure of this?’

  ‘I am sure she will be on that flight.’

  ‘Very good, Hamilton. We will take it from here.’

  ‘I shall be returning the next day.’

  ‘Excellent. Report to the house and you will receive your fee.’

  ‘And my expenses. These have been considerable.’

  ‘And your expenses.’ The voice sounded tired.

  ‘When will you take action?’

  ‘As soon as it is practical to do so.’

  ‘I would not like it to be done before I get there.’

  ‘Hamilton, your part in this operation is completed.’

  ‘I would like to be there when she is taken. I think I deserve that.’

  ‘As well as your fee? And your expenses?’

  ‘I know what she is capable of.’

  ‘So you said before. But we, also, know what she is capable of. Her record speaks for itself.’

  ‘I have actually seen her at work. Have you, or any of our people, done that?’

  ‘All those who have are no longer with us. I find your claim hard to believe.’

  ‘She trusts me. Which is another reason why I can be of help.’

  ‘You have fallen into the trap,’ the voice said, ‘which is apparently a usual occurrence where she is concerned, of becoming fascinated by this woman. All right, Hamilton, I will see if you can be fitted into the operation, when it takes place; as you say, you may be useful. I will expect you to report by Saturday afternoon.’

  The phone went dead. Hamilton had a great sense of anticipatory excitement.

  *

  Anna said goodbye to Tommy on the Rawson Square dock, while the taxi driver loaded her two suitcases into the boot of his car; she had no idea how long she was going to be away, and was taking several changes of clothing. Her sable coat was draped over her arm.

  ‘So. I will see you, Tommy. Maybe in a couple of weeks. I’ll call you.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He retained hold of her hand a moment longer than usual. ‘You take care.’

  He had never said that before, and he had been unusually serious on the trip down from the cay. She wondered if Desirée had overheard anything of her conversation with her parents the previous week. ‘I’ll try to, Tommy,’ she said, and got into the taxi.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Bartley,’ Charles said brightly. ‘Welcome back.’

  ‘It’s only for one night, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. You with us for dinner?’

  ‘Of course. Tell me, is Mr Hamilton still around?’

  ‘No, ma’am. He checked out last Saturday.’

  ‘Oh? He had said he was leaving this week. Have you any idea where he went?’

  ‘Well, now, ma’am, that’s a funny thing. He ain’t left Nassau, just changed hotels. He ever complain to you about the food or the service?’

  ‘Who could ever complain about your food or service, Charles? He must have run out of money. You’re not the cheapest hotel in Nassau.’

  Charles looked sceptical, while she went to her room for a bath before dinner. She thought she could decipher Hamilton’s strange behaviour: he wanted to avoid being associated with her while there was a murder investigation going on. He had certainly been in a highly nervous state.

  But as he had also seemed to be keen on getting closer to her, and knew she would be here tonight, she half expected him to turn up during the evening. He didn’t, and when she was having her coffee and brandy in the lounge after dinner she asked Charles, ‘Last week there was some fuss going on about a dead body being found on Love Beach. I swam on that beach, with some friends, oh, must be two years ago now. The thought of finding a body there . . . ugh! Has anything been found out about what happened?’

  ‘Oh, yes ma’am. They got the boys what did it.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Well, they did be seen drinking with the man Bonpart that same night, and they was all drunk. And they find a knife on the beach close by the body, with one of they prints on it, so it seem they had a fight, and Bonpart got killed.’

  ‘Have they confessed?’

  ‘Well, ma’am, they telling some fantastic story about they was on the beach and they was attacked by a white woman.’

  ‘What, all three of them?’

  ‘That is exactly it, ma’am. They saying this woman beat them all up, and in the fight Bonpart get killed. One woman, mind, and three men. And the knife belong to the men.’

  ‘So the police didn’t believe them?’

  ‘They saying the police been laughing all the way to the court.’

  ‘So what will happen to them?’

  ‘Well, they was obviously so drunk they can’t remember what happen, so they going be charged with manslaughter.’

  ‘Thank you, Charles. That was very interesting. Well, I’m off to bed.’

  *

  Next morning she went to the bank and changed a hundred Bahamian pounds into sterling. She was also carrying a thousand dollars in US currency left over from her last job, as she was planning to present the picture of an American hedonist who spent her days shopping and her nights dancing and drinking; if she needed more, Jerry would have to provide it. Then she had a leisurely lunch before getting ready for her departure. She no longer possessed any warm clothing, but she would be wearing slacks on the plane, and when she landed she would have her coat. As she had no idea how tight London customs were, she strapped on her Walther and her spare clip; if she needed more ammunition, Jerry would have to find it.

  In her shoulder bag she packed a very sober grey dress and low-heeled shoes for her arrival, then had a trial run, securing her hair in a tight bun before putting on the spectacles and adding a severe grey felt hat; she had left her sable hat on the cay, as it was far too conspicuous. This was, in fact, an outfit she had successfully used before, when she’d wanted to conceal her natural glamour. Then she surveyed herself in the mirror, the Kelly passport held before her. Her picture was identical, presenting someone who looked like a rather grim schoolmistress, even if there was no disguise that could diminish the essential beauty of her face – or the value of her coat.

  Satisfied, she changed into slacks and a shirt, packed the hat, glasses and dress in her shoulder bag, together with her false passport, then let her hair down, put on her jewellery and dark glasses, and rang for someone to collect her luggage.

  ‘Will we see you again soon, ma’am?’ Charles asked, as he ushered her to her taxi.

  ‘I sincerely hope so, Charles,’ Anna said. And she meant it.

  THE WATCHERS

  Having told Hamilton she was leaving on Thursday (she wondered if that had been careless?), Anna half expected to find him at the airport. But he was not there. For all his blandishments, he had apparently decided that he no longer wished to be seen in her company – perhaps
because of gutless fear of somehow being involved in the Love Beach incident. Or maybe it was due to an equally gutless terror of getting too close to a woman capable of such ruthlessly decisive action when threatened. Or, most likely, to sheer schoolboy pique at her refusal to have sex with him, especially after the way she had teased him on the beach; or annoyance at her refusal to invite him to her home. Ships that pass in the night, she thought. Which was a pity; she had found him such an attractive man.

  Anyway, if he was an ambitious reporter, which she had decided was the most likely scenario, she was well rid of him.

  She stowed her coat and bag in the overhead locker, and discovered that she was seated next to an elderly lady who had a passion for conversation. Anna listened politely, smiling appreciatively from time to time (at least it occupied her mind), enjoyed a half bottle of wine with her dinner and slept as heavily as she usually did – despite the constant rumbling from beside her – but, with all the other passengers, had to wake up and disembark at Gander in the middle of the night, so the aircraft could refuel.

  ‘Beastly nuisance, isn’t it?’ said a man with a little moustache, sitting beside her in the transit lounge – seizing the opportunity presented by her travelling companion’s departure for the toilet.

  Anna decided it was time to switch accents, or he might just wonder why she joined the foreign passports line when they landed. ‘Ah’m happy as long as it gets us theah,’ she pointed out.

  ‘You from the States?’

  ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘Do much flying?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘And this is your first visit to England?’

  ‘Ah guess so. Ma folks come from Ireland.’

  He gave up, and they were soon on board and she was asleep again, this time to be awakened by the stewardess with breakfast. ‘We’ll be down in half an hour,’ she said.