by Rae Vine
“How did she die?”
Ty shook her head. “They’re keeping it under wraps for now. But I do know—and please keep this to yourself—she had strangulation marks around her neck. But she also had a head injury. It’s not conclusive as to what the actual cause of death was.”
“But who did this to her? Do you have any suspects?”
“We don’t know, honey. I’m only passing on the limited information I have.”
Emma felt her chest tighten as she stared blankly at Ty. If they had no suspects, then he was still out there. It was time to prepare herself for the worst outcome.
Ty gave her hand one last squeeze before letting it go. “There are nasty, vile and dangerous people in this world. It’s a small minority, but they exist. Thankfully, we don’t have a lot of bad stuff happening here. But it does happen, and when it does, it scares everyone to death. How could it happen here? In such a beautiful place? The thing is, bad people will do what they want because they want to, often because they couldn’t stop themselves, and usually because they took the chance and think they can get away with it. That’s just the nature of people. This poor girl must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She got up to go. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else. That is if you still want to know.”
Emma nodded her head and stood up. “I do. Only because it might lead to clues about my sister. The two disappearances are similar, wouldn’t you agree?” She couldn’t divulge that she knew about the party and that the two girls had been at the same mansion at the same time. Carter’s ominous words rang in her ears. Don’t go around making accusations.
“I’m keeping my ears to the ground on any information that might come up regarding your sister.”
“Thank you,” said Emma. She wondered if Carter was getting impatient waiting for her. But what also worried her in the back of her mind was his desire to remain hidden.
Why would he want to hide from the police?
“Sorry I wasn’t at home before.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ty, she paused with her hand on the door handle. “This is the first chance I’ve had to come here.”
“I thought you came earlier?” She held her breath. If Ty hadn’t come by earlier, then who had? And why?
“Get some rest, Emma. Don’t let this ugly situation wear you down.”
Ty left and took with her the only safety net that Emma had. She had no idea who else knew she was here, or why they might want to speak to her. The only police officer she had contact with was Ty.
Maybe Ty and Carter were the only people she could trust on the entire island. She was reminded of home, of the familiar and safe world she was used to, of her tiny cramped apartment and her job and her friends. She hankered for it; she longed to return and have life be the way it had been before Stacy’s disappearance.
As soon as Ty left Emma rushed to Stacy’s room, pulling the door wide open. She was desperate to speak to Carter again but the room was empty and white net curtains billowed gently through the open window.
Chapter 8
She awoke from another uncomfortable night racked by hours of insomnia. Overwhelming tiredness drenched her bones and lack of sleep made her miserable.
She’d avoided seeing Cindy last night, and she hadn’t heard Gregory return to the apartment either.
Yesterday had been a long day and when Ty had gone and Carter had vanished, she had watched TV for a short while. But the continuing speculation surrounding the death of the girl made her more depressed. She’d made herself a quick sandwich and then retired to her room. In this way she had avoided Cindy and Gregory. She sensed it was safer to keep all her interactions with Ty and Queenie to herself.
But once again, sleep had eluded her. She had tossed and turned in bed, trying to focus on Queenie’s story but she drew a blank each time she tried to imagine her sister might be involved in anything that sinister.
She had gone through her sister’s cupboards again but had found nothing that gave her any indication that Stacy was involved in anything out of the ordinary. It had to be something else, something obvious that she had overlooked.
This was partly the reason she kept Carter as close as she dared—she sensed that he was after something, and this was the only reason he kept showing up wherever she went. But she also felt that he knew things.
Carter had been outside the mansion in Starling Bay for a reason. And if she discovered what that was she might be a step closer to figuring out not only who he was but, more importantly, what might have happened to Stacy.
He was a valuable connection but she knew she had to be wary around him and stay sharp. She had to be alert—even though she still found it hard to believe he could ever harm her.
This morning, still reeling from the events of yesterday, she decided to stay at home. She had no plans to visit the police station and Ty knew how to get hold of her if new information came to light. As for Carter, he always had a way of finding her.
When she heard Cindy leave for work, she crept up to Cindy’s room and quietly opened the door. No sign of Gregory. She breathed a sigh of relief and rushed to bolt the front door then made sure the windows were closed.
Feeling safer, she pulled out Stacy’s laptop and switched it on. She had planned to search online for information. Talking to people had gotten her no nearer to the truth. Conducting online research might yield better results.
Memories of Stacy blended to the back of her mind as she kept the vision of her sister blocked out—to dwell on Stacy meant having to confront what might have happened to her. With her disappearance now heading into the second week, statistically—if the facts were to be believed—the chances of seeing her sister alive again didn’t look too good. A week or so after someone went missing was usually the time when a gruesome discovery was reported on the news; usually a body, or pieces of it. Emma had yet to come across a case where a missing person had been found safe and well. But she prayed each day that in Stacy’s case, the outcome would be different.
She felt a pin prick of pain inside her chest each living, breathing moment. It reminded her why she was here. Not that she ever forgot the reason. But sometimes for a second or so her mind would focus on a thing of beauty, such as the sea or a flower or something else that made her temporarily forget, in that moment, that paradise wasn’t what it seemed.
Settling down against on Stacy’s bed, Emma began her search by looking at the recent news in Bermuda. She went back as far as a month ago and discovered that no US politician had visited the island.
However, Richard Clements, a possible presidential candidate for the next US election, had been here and quickly she began to look for other articles about him. She discovered that he had made his fortune in software by the time he had turned thirty. Now a fifty-nine year old multi-millionaire, he wasn’t a politician, but he was an extremely ambitious man and he had his eyes on the next presidency. He’d recently vacationed on the island and had come alone, a fact that she found odd, given the numerous photos she’d seen of Clements smiling with his highly maintained wife.
According to news reports he’d left the island a week ago but there had been no mention of the Starling Bay party even though she had looked online through various newspapers. It made her wonder if he’d been present at the party at all? She only had rumors to go on and nobody had actually told her that Richard Clements had been at that party.
It was almost as if the party hadn’t taken place. Numerous other lesser events had been covered: a garden show, the opening of a new restaurant in Paget Parish, a Wild and Wet Party in Royal Naval Dockyard. But no mention of this magnificent party in Starling Bay.
She was convinced that Richard Clements had been at the same party as Stacy and Queenie. He had to have been the ‘US politician’ that everyone referred to—maybe they got the wording wrong and meant the US presidential candidate?
It was too much of a coincidence for Gregory and Queenie to mention and besides there had be
en no other political figure in the news lately. It had to be him.
She looked at his picture again; he was clean, chiselled and well to do as was to be expected. Married and with an adult son and daughter, Richard Clements looked squeaky clean. Even if he’d been at Starling Bay that night, she couldn’t understand why?
Prostitutes and politicians.
What was it Blake Cartwright had said? It was a party for well to do people in Bermuda. Judges, barristers and government officials. Who would host a party that had both politicians and prostitutes on the guest list and why would someone like Richard Clements, with so much riding on his reputation, put his career aspirations at risk by attending?
She couldn’t work out what Stacy and Cindy had been doing there either, unless they had become involved in or had unwittingly stumbled across an unsavory situation or group of people by accident. Her mind came up with many different alternatives, none of which satisfactorily convinced her of their validity.
The more answers the sought, the more the questions bubbled up and once more she found herself getting nowhere.
She couldn’t see any connection between Richard Clements and Stacy, or the dead girl.
Unless…
Unless something had taken place that night and had gone badly wrong. Something involving the girl, or Stacy, or both, and Stacy had been the lucky one to get away alive. Or had she? Emma knew she was clutching at straws here. Just because another body hadn’t turned up didn’t mean that Stacy was still alive.
She flicked though the online news reports, not just from Bermudian sources but also from England as well as in the US. There was no mention anywhere of Clements and Starling Bay.
Perhaps she was going about it the wrong way.
Chapter 9
The bodyguard, a large, thick-bodied tank of a man was summoned in. “Tell me the news is good?” The man asked.
The bodyguard’s jaw tensed. They hadn’t been able to locate the girl and the body of the other one had been discovered.
“We’re still looking, sir.”
“How hard can it be? You’ve seen what she looks like. Now go and find her.”
“Yes sir.”
The man watched the bodyguard slip away. He slid a slim finger along his bottom lip and considered his options, which weren’t many, given the timeframe. He could lie low and hope this whole sorry mess would blow over in time. He didn’t want too many skeletons in his past and it wouldn’t do for anyone to discover this latest incident. He had too much at stake. He didn’t like to base his reputation and his future on hope.
Hope and luck were not the things that had gotten him this far. Maybe he just had to get these over-paid and over-built idiots to look harder. How difficult could it be? This was a small island, and he couldn’t understand why these fucktards couldn’t find the girl in such a small place.
They should have caught her that night but she’d slipped away. Once this was over he’d have to make sure he hired better security.
It had been a flimsy, stupid mistake and unfortunately he’d let his dick get in the way. Just like last time.
Something happened to him when they fought back. He didn’t like it when they did that. He liked rough sex but when she’d hit him he’d lost it. It wasn’t as if he was going to kill her. He just wanted to see the fear up close, in that intimate moment. He wanted to know what it felt like to have her life in his hands.
He’d have let go of his hands around her neck eventually but he’d been caught up in the desperation in her eyes, now shiny with tears. It was the sheer look of terror on her face that gave him a bigger high than the sex act itself. But she’d grabbed her bag and smacked it into the side of his face, hitting him hard when he’d least expected it. A desperate measure for a desperate life.
That was when it had all gone so wrong. If that other bitch hadn’t been around he’d be completely in the clear. But until then he had a ticking time bomb on his hands. His men had to get to her before she opened her mouth. He had too much at stake to lose it all now.
Of course if he’d managed to keep his dick in his pants that evening he might not be in this mess.
But it wasn’t something he exercised much control over and he’d been in trouble for it before.
Chapter 10
Ainsley McDermott was nothing if not thorough. Except that covering yet another flower show didn’t light much of a fire under her butt.
She’d covered a similar event a few weeks ago in St. Georges Parish and she imagined it would be as riveting as having her toenails pulled out.
But this new story…she’d watched the news coverage on the body of the dead prostitute and she smelled a story. Only Royston Ming had been chosen to report on that particular piece and she’d had to make do with covering the flower show instead. It wasn’t fair. Ming got all the juicy work and she’d been sidelined to boring and mundane.
Nothing of any significance happened here much. But she’d also had her eye on one of the candidates for the US presidential election who had visited the island a week before.
So when not one, but two interesting events occurred almost simultaneously, Ainsley McDermott took notice. And she didn’t share her observations with anyone else. Least of all Royston Ming.
Meaty projects were few and far between here on the island and only four months into the job, Ainsley was looking to move to New York and find something better.
Reporting jobs were hard to come by, and the industry was dying anyway. But she loved her job. Or the idea of it. The island was too quiet, too small and too perfect for anything worthwhile to report on.
She hadn’t worked hard during her time at college only to be defeated at the end by the internet and its dominance over real-time reporting; a phenomenon that had not only shaped the way people now communicated and connected with one another, but gave an interconnectedness to humans around the globe, shrinking the world by virtue of the connectivity it gave to all. A connectivity that continued to wreak havoc in her industry and now shaped her working world.
She sat back on her chair and threw the rest of her half-eaten sandwich away. Richard Clements, she thought as she tapped her fingers on the table. Let’s see what else we can find on you.
She’d already been reading up about him and knew that his visit to the island had been a short one. He’d left almost a week before the dead prostitute had been discovered.
Was there a link? Or was she merely being fanciful?
There hadn’t been much mention of what he’d done here. The usual rounds of golf at St Georges, a few dinners with friends. He was seen with Sedgewick Cartwright and the other business leaders. Another photo showed him at a luncheon with a group of judges and there were other photos of him with a group of businessmen.
So much for a vacation.
The man had good contacts, given that he didn’t live here. She’d been unable to stop herself from looking into him further. When she needed to take a break from writing up the weekly Events column of the small newspaper she worked for she often dug deeper.
And that was when she found out that this so called presidential hopeful didn’t come with a completely clean slate. There had been speculation about a few affairs he’d had on the side but this was from way back. Other than that, she couldn’t find anything on him. So far. Maybe she needed to go deeper, and then she might uncover something else to go on.
The main story for now was the discovery of the dead prostitute’s body. Every once in a while something heinous happened, something that peeled away at the fabric of this outwardly idyllic slice of paradise. Crime did happen, and firearms and drug crime was up year on year, but it was nothing major, nothing that the police and government couldn’t keep away from the news headlines. The tourist industry was huge and one of the island’s main ways of earning income.
It wouldn’t do to scare away potential visitors with news about the goings on here. For things did go on. Terrible crimes were committed every once in a while, just as they
were everywhere else.
People were still people, no matter whether they lived in the Bronx in the US, or Tucker’s Town in Bermuda.
There was always a subset of human beings who had base instincts and, given half a chance, would find ways of acting on them.
She was convinced that there was a story here. If only she could piece it together. Maybe it would come to nothing in the end, and maybe the flower show might end up being the only real story that had a foundation in fact.
She’d been known to get carried away with an idea about a story only to discover that there was nothing to report.
Was this the case here?
Chapter 11
She’d fallen asleep on the bed and when she awoke in the morning, it was to find herself hugging Stacy’s laptop.
Emma had succumbed to her overwhelming state of exhaustion, both mental and physical, and even a night hugging a laptop hadn’t ruined her sleep.
She had dreamt too. Sordid dreams of prostitutes on the run in back alleys and of herself being surrounded by bats. She had no idea where the bats came from, but she was sure the visions of prostitutes had been fuelled by the research she’d done yesterday.
There wasn’t much visible prostitution on the island but, according what she had uncovered, it still existed. It was hidden well.
The best person to give her a first hand opinion would be Queenie. If she could uncover where she worked, who she worked for, she might be able to get an insight into this world. She had to do something and spending another day in the apartment wasn’t it. The clock was ticking, and the hours slipping hopelessly by. Each second that passed put Stacy’s life further into danger.
That’s if she was still alive.
She couldn’t rely on people like Ty anymore. The police’s attention would be on the murder investigation. It was up to her to figure out her own leads. But she was out of her depth.
She resolved not to lie in bed sinking into further despair and climbed out of bed. She called Queenie, thinking it would be better to plan ahead and arrange to meet for she foresaw resistance on the girl’s part. And she had information regarding Courtney’s death. But she only got her voicemail and decided against leaving a message.