Jack Ryder Mystery Series: Vol 4-6

by Willow Rose

  I put the article down on the small table between us. "She might not be a relative at all."

  Emily took the newspaper. There was a picture of the woman on the cover, taken as she was brought out of the courtroom. It was not a very good one. The woman was covering her face with her arms as she was escorted through the crowd. It was hard to tell what she looked like. Next to it was a big school picture of the blonde girl who had been killed. Emily read the article and bit her lips. Then she put the paper down again. Our eyes met across the room.

  "You think she might be worth a try?" she asked.

  I shrugged. "Anything would be worth a try right about now. I have no other suggestions, do you?"

  She glanced at the photo, then looked back up at me.

  "Okay."

  "Okay, what?" I asked.

  She stood up.

  "Okay, we go see her. Tomorrow."

  I rose to my feet too. "That's a deal."

  I looked at my watch. It was getting late. I would have to get up early and make some calls to find out how to get inside the prison.

  "Now, I say we go down to the restaurant and get some dinner. They have grouper tonight."

  Emily sat on the bed and grabbed the remote.

  "You go," she said. "I’m staying here. There's a show I really want to watch. I'll eat later."

  I grabbed the remote as she lifted it with the intention of turning on the TV, so I couldn't protest, the way she always did. I looked into her deep brown eyes that I had loved so much since she was just a young kid.

  "What?" she asked, annoyed.

  I shook my head.

  "You're not fooling me. We had a deal, Emily. When we left, I told you I wanted to see you eat on this trip and, so far, you've hardly eaten anything. You're coming with me. And you're eating something."

  Emily opened her mouth to protest, but I stopped her by lifting my finger. My mom had told me to stop trying to be Emily's friend and act like a dad instead, so this was me trying to act like a dad. I was sick of her excuses and her sneaky ways of trying to get out of eating, making up one silly lie after another.

  "It wasn't a request. It was an order."

  Emily gave me a look, then rolled her eyes, but she still followed me downstairs to the hotel's restaurant. She only had a salad, but I told the waiter to put chicken on it and watched her eat each and every bite, telling her she could go as slowly as she liked, but we weren't leaving till she finished the entire thing. So, she did. Reluctantly and while cursing me under her breath, but she did. She ate it all, and I watched her like a hawk all night, making sure she didn't go to the bathroom and throw it all up. If she did go in there, I listened intently, and she knew I would hear it.

  She was not fooling me anymore.

  Chapter 4

  Nassau, Bahamas, October 2018

  Her Majesty's Prisons it said on the large green sign outside the tall fence. Behind it was a bunker-like building located outside of Nassau. I had often heard stories about how the prisons in the Bahamas were crowded and held a lot more inmates than they were designed for and that most criminals who came to serve time usually came out a lot more hardcore criminal than when they entered. I had also heard they didn't have separate prisons for women and men and the living conditions were often described as inhumane. Before coming today, I had read an article in a local paper just this morning telling me that there had been several recommendations to build a new prison. Unfortunately, those had not been heard and then the journalist added that It now appears likely that before a new prison is built in The Bahamas, the sky will probably fall and there will be no need for a new prison anymore.

  I showed my ID and badge at the entrance, exploiting the fact that I was a police officer myself, even though I wasn't here on duty. It still worked. The guy behind the glass window looked at it, then at Emily by my side.

  "She's my daughter," I said.

  He gave me a confused glare.

  "Adopted," I added.

  He nodded and smiled widely the way many Bahamians did.

  "I see."

  "We made arrangements to see a prisoner, Sofia Rojas," I added and looked at my watch. I had called earlier this morning and made sure we could see her. To my surprise, it was a lot easier than I had anticipated.

  The guy nodded eagerly and let us in. We were taken to a barren room with only two chairs, which I wasn't sure would be able to hold us and not break. Still, we sat down and waited, Emily tapping her foot nervously on the dirty floor. The stench in the prison was unbearable, and the guard leading us inside had offered us dust masks, but we refused. If the inmates and guards could survive breathing this air for years, maybe even decades, then we could endure it for a few hours. On our way inside, I saw human waste being taken out in large garbage bags; some of it even leaked onto the floor not far from where we were standing. The stench that seemed to cover the entire place wasn't only coming from the waste, but also from the generous applications of raw disinfectants poured on the floor everywhere. These were terrible conditions, not only for the inmates but also the guards. What was worse was the few who were in there who hadn't even been to trial yet. I remember reading about a guy who had been forgotten in this exact Bahamian prison for nine years, accused of a crime he didn't commit. Illegal immigrants that no one knew what to do about were rotting up in there. It was unbearable to think about.

  The door opened, and two guards showed up, holding a woman between them. She was in chains and didn't look up at us.

  I stood up. The guards let go of her, then one of them left, and the other stood by the door.

  Emily gasped when the woman slowly lifted her head. She had been beaten terribly, and her right eye and cheek were completely swollen.

  "Oh, dear Lord," I said.

  I looked at Emily, wondering if this was too much for her. Maybe I shouldn't have brought her here. I could have come by myself first.

  I gave the woman my chair and helped her sit down. She looked up at me and tried to smile.

  "Are you Sofia Rojas?" I asked and, as her eyes met mine, I was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sadness.

  Her eyes, they were a true copy of my dear friend and partner Lisa's. It was just like looking at Emily's mom again.

  Chapter 5

  Nassau, Bahamas, October 2018

  Emily stared at Sofia, unable to take her eyes off her. I held my breath, thinking this had to be overwhelming for her, wondering how she would react. Right now, she was sitting in front of a woman who looked exactly like her mother. She was her true spitting image.

  I could hardly believe it.

  "Show her the picture," I said to Emily.

  Cautiously, Emily held out a picture of her and her mother when she was just five-years-old toward Sofia and put it in her hands so she could look at it. Sofia stared at it, her hands shaking. Then she looked up at Emily with her head tilted slightly.

  "This is Emily," I said and pointed at my daughter, then down at the girl in the picture. "And this is her mother, Lisa."

  Sofia looked at the picture, then up at Emily again, a tear escaping her eye. Then she smiled and reached over to touch Emily's cheek.

  "We think you might be related," I said. "I mean, you must be. You look just like her. Her grandparents’ names were Valentina Rojas and Augustin Rojas. Do you know them?"

  The woman looked up at me, then shook her head.

  "But your name is also Rojas, and you look so much alike it's uncanny. Could you be a cousin maybe?"

  The woman shook her head again.

  "But certainly, you two must be related somehow," I said. "We’ve come here to find Emily's family, and we think you might be it."

  Sofia answered with a shrug. I looked at the guard behind me, then back at her.

  "Don't you understand English?"

  Sofia nodded. I looked at the guard again, my eyes pleading for his help. But he remained cold faced. I returned to Sofia.

  "We thought that maybe you could help us find mor
e of Emily's family?" I asked. "Please? Do you have any family here? A mother and a father? Children maybe?"

  Sofia turned her head away and stared emptily at the wall next to her while shaking her head.

  "You shouldn't have come," she said with a sniffle. I could tell her swollen lip hurt when she spoke. "Go back to where you came from."

  Sofia rose to her feet and turned to address the guard. "I'd like to go now."

  "But…but we…"

  I protested, but it didn't matter. The guard knocked on the door, and it was opened from the outside. I always hated the feeling of being at someone else's mercy this way, and them deciding when I left and whether I did. I had a slightly claustrophobic feeling growing inside of me until the door opened and the other guard came inside.

  They grabbed Sofia by the shoulders and escorted her out. I sighed and looked at Emily with a shrug.

  "I'm sorry, sweetie."

  We were escorted out through the hallways, and Emily held her nose as we walked by one-man-cells with at least three or more prisoners in each of them. Some were sleeping on cardboard boxes, others eating while their cellmate relieved himself in what looked like a bucket in the corner. A rat greeted us as we turned a corner and Emily shrieked. I grabbed her hand in mine and kept it there till we reached the exit. I don't think I ever felt more relieved than when the gates were opened, and I once again smelled the fresh air.

  "Remind me never to commit a crime while we're in the Bahamas," Emily said as we walked to our car.

  "I am sorry, though," I said when we got inside. "I really thought she would talk to us."

  "Maybe she didn't dare to?" Emily asked. "She looked scared."

  I started the car. "I had really hoped we could get her to talk," I repeated and drove onto the road.

  Driving in the Bahamas was somewhat of an accomplishment since the Bahamians drove crazily like their lives depended on them reaching their destination on time. It didn't fit very well with their laid-back attitude toward everything else, but you had to really keep an eye on each and every car in the street and be ready to blow the horn at any given moment. Sometimes, they simply honked because they saw someone they knew; sometimes, it was because they were happy, and other times, it was just to let you know they were coming around a corner. On top of it all, they drove on the left side of the road, which I was getting quite good at after a few days on the roads here. At least I thought so myself. I’m not so sure Emily shared that opinion as she would often shriek or scream while riding with me.

  "It's okay, Jack," she said. "At least we found her. We actually found someone I was related to."

  "I just wish we didn't have to find her in that awful place," I said.

  Emily stared at the picture of her mother in her hand and then put it back in her pocket with a deep sigh.

  "Let's go grab some ice cream," I said. "Like we used to when you were younger. Do you remember that?"

  Emily gave me a look. I saw something in her eyes that I didn't know how to interpret. There was a fight going on inside of her. It was like the child in her wanted to eat that ice cream with me, really wanted to enjoy it, but the other part, the anorexic part told her she couldn't do it.

  "Come on," I said. "One little ice cream won't hurt you."

  I knew I was treading on dangerous water here since, so far, I had only been able to get her to eat salad and fruit for breakfast. This would be a big step for her, one I wasn't sure she was ready to take yet. I was scared to be pushing her too much, but at the same time, I had to try. If I didn't ask, I would never get an answer, right? What if she said yes?

  "I…I don't know Jack," she said and turned to look out the window.

  I exhaled, a little disappointed. I put my hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Emily. Maybe later, okay?"

  She nodded but didn't look at me. I heard a light sniffle and wondered if she was crying.

  Chapter 6

  Nassau, Bahamas, October 2018

  It was happening again. The itch was back. The figure sitting in the car with the motor still running felt it while watching a group of locally well-known hookers standing outside the casino sharing a cigarette. The figure liked to watch the hookers, to see them waddle around in their misery.

  But this individual wasn't there for the hookers. They weren't this person's targets. This person needed something else, something more shocking, more dangerous to satisfy the urgent demand that was growing inside.

  The figure in the car pressed the accelerator down and soared past the girls into the night, whispering that they could count themselves lucky that they weren't the right type.

  The car then drove through Nassau, slowly cruising past all the tourists by the cruise ships with the window open. The person was smiling at the sweet young girls in their summer dresses.

  And that was when she showed up.

  She was blonde and petite, and in good shape, not more than sixteen would be a good guess. Just got off the ship, walking with two of her friends toward town. They stopped for a few seconds and looked at all the tourist crap people were trying to sell them, but didn’t buy any of it.

  The car kept a distance but still close enough to watch their every move as they entered the Hard Rock Café. The person then parked the car and waited.

  Chapter 7

  Nassau, Bahamas, October 2018

  Nancy Elkington laughed lightly at her friend's joke. She was looking forward to getting back on dry land after many hours on the cruise ship. She was getting sick of people and eat till you drop buffets, not to mention overcrowded swimming pools. She was ready to get back on land and go shopping.

  Nancy was so grateful that her parents had decided to let her take her two best friends with her on this trip since it would only have ended in total boredom without Melinda and Maria. At sixteen, the last thing you wanted to do was to hang out all day and night with your boring parents. And this afternoon, as the cruise ship docked in Nassau, her parents had told them they could go out and shop on their own, just the three girls. But they had to promise to stick together all the time.

  "Where do you want to go first?" Melinda asked and looked at the map that the cruise ship had provided for them.

  Men were yelling at them, asking if they wanted a taxi or a rickshaw to help them get across town, but the girls just waved at them dismissively and continued on foot.

  "How stupid do they think we are?" Maria said.

  "I know, right?" Melinda agreed. "Getting in a car with one of them just screams, rape me."

  They passed a bunch of souvenir stands and stopped to look at some wooden sculptures, but then regretted it because the lady selling them wouldn't leave them alone and kept slinging prices at them.

  "I’m hungry. There’s a Hard Rock," Nancy said, spotting the sign in the distance. "Let's go eat there."

  They all agreed and rushed on, leaving the woman in the stand disappointed. The girls laughed and swirled in their light summer dresses, enjoying the fact that they were able to wear them in October. Nancy hoped to get a good tan before the trip was over. Just enough to make them jealous back home.

  As they spotted the café and started to cross the street, Nancy got the feeling that someone was watching her and turned to look. There was a group of people coming up behind her. They were obviously Americans, she could hear, and she breathed, relieved.

  "Come on, Nance," Melinda yelled and grabbed her hand. The three of them hurried inside the café and ordered burgers while looking at the exhibit of famous artists’ jackets and guitars and stuff like that. Nancy thought it was cool and took pictures of a pink cowboy hat that the sign said Madonna had worn while shooting a music video. Once the burgers were devoured, the girls decided it was time to go sightseeing, and they walked outside and into the street. As Nancy was about to cross it, she felt like she was being watched once again and paused. She looked up a small quaint street behind them. There were flags hanging from the windows in all colors.

  "What's wrong?" Melinda sa
id.

  Nancy looked around her. There were lots of people in the streets, tourists mostly, and cars driving by, some playing loud music from open windows. In the background towered the big cruise ships like mountains.

  "I don't know. I just keep having this feeling…"

  "Well, stop it," Maria said and pulled her arm. "We're on vacation. We're supposed to have fun, remember?"

  Chapter 8

  Bahamas, July 1982

  "Could you give me the dress over there?"

  The girl looked at the woman standing in front of her, then brought her the white dress on the hanger. The woman smiled and tousled her hair.

  "Thank you."

  The girl watched in awe while the woman put on the dress. She still believed she looked like an angel, even though the girl's cheek was sore from this morning's punches when she burned her toast; the girl couldn't help admiring her. She liked making the woman happy. If she did, the woman would smile and sometimes even sing. And then she wouldn't yell or even hit like she did when she was angry.

  The girl had been at the house for five years now, and it didn't take her long to find out that The White Lady made the rules. Her husband traveled a lot—often to other houses they owned, the girl had been told—and never really cared much about what happened back at the house in the Bahamas. Meanwhile, The White Lady had taught the girl to understand English and trained her to cook and clean for her and help her out wherever it was needed. And ever since baby Dylan came too, shortly after the girl did, there had been a lot to do. The girl wasn't the only helper around the house, and she had learned that several of the women took care of the baby since The White Lady was way too busy to do it herself.

  The girl's job was mostly to help out where she could, especially help Carla in the kitchen, and then play with the boy. Since The White Lady didn't care for him playing with other children, she often had the girl entertain him. When it was time for him to start school, The White Lady said she didn't want him to go to a real school and be with other children. She was afraid of the diseases he would meet, of the children and teachers and of how inferior the schools were. The girl overheard her tell the husband those things—one day when he was actually there—and since he didn't mind much what happened anyway, baby Dylan—who was no longer a baby, but an annoying five-year-old—began his homeschooling. Often, the girl would sit in the corner and listen in as his private teacher spoke, and that was how she learned how to read and write, which was more than you could say about Dylan, who never really listened much and would rather play with his trucks or go in the pool.