Gardens of the Queen

by Nicholas Harvey

  Instead of returning to the road through the front of the property they chose the rear that backed onto Seven Mile Beach. Slipping their shoes off they left though the gate to the white sand beach and walked to the pathway by the cemetery that led back to West Bay road. From there they walked briskly back to Fosters, dripping with sweat by the time they reached their car. Mikhail had already come to a conclusion, hence the search they just performed, but his disciplined character forced him to be on time to his meeting with Whittaker where he’d verify his suspicion. He was sure the hard drive was not in the cases.

  Chapter 55

  Detective Whittaker entered the reception area of the Royal Cayman Islands Police Services central police station on Elgin Avenue. Mikhail Gurov was standing to one side, arms folded, sternly observing all movement in the room, waiting for him. Before Roy could greet the man he was straight to business.

  “Where are my cases, Detective?”

  Roy halted in front of the Russian and smiled politely, refusing to be baited by his ill manner, “All in good time sir, perhaps you would follow me and we’ll discuss a few items first?”

  Without waiting for his response, Roy turned and walked to the door and held it open. Mikhail hesitated but decided to follow without further protest. Roy directed them into a small interview room with four chairs around a table. “Please, have a seat,” he offered calmly.

  Taking the chair, Mikhail insisted, “Hopefully this will not take long, the Republic of Cuba would like their property back. I assure you they are eager to have it returned.”

  The detective took his time getting settled before responding, “They may well be sir.” He returned the Russian’s cold, blank stare with a warm smile, “But to be clear, you are here on a visitor’s visa as a Russian citizen, you do not hold diplomatic status or immunity as no paperwork was filed before your arrival and your tie to the Cuban government is a document stating you are authorised to receive any items recovered from the Cuban-registered and owned plane that crashed in our waters. That appear accurate to you, Mr. Gurov?”

  Mikhail held Roy’s stare for an eternity without changing expression. He finally responded but didn’t look away, “This is all correct, which is why I agreed to this delay. Perhaps you can hurry up with your questions so we can expedite this process as my return was expected today.”

  Roy smiled a little wider as though he appreciated the Russian’s position. “Absolutely.”

  He carefully opened his notebook and took a pen from his shirt pocket, taking his time again. “So, according to you, Carlos Rojas, a young lad from Cuba, was the pilot of the plane?”

  “According to the Republic of Cuba he was, I am relaying what they tell me,” Mikhail corrected.

  “I see, so you don’t know this Rojas fellow or anything about him?” Roy probed.

  “Only what they provided in a report.”

  “Okay, anything in this report that may help us find Rojas? He is still unaccounted for,” Roy continued.

  Although he was more familiar with being the interrogator, Mikhail was well aware of interview techniques and could tell Whittaker was setting him up for something but he wasn’t sure exactly what. His whole presence on the island was a lie from the beginning so there was a string of details the detective may have found suspicious or conflicting. All he could do was follow along, not say too much, and think quickly.

  “I would share the report with you, Detective, but it is the property of the Republic of Cuba, so without their permission I’m afraid I cannot.”

  Roy noted he didn’t answer the question. “I understand. But you’re confident he was acting alone?”

  “I am confident my contact with the Republic of Cuba tells me he was acting alone,” Mikhail replied without hesitation.

  “Perhaps then, you can tell me why you’re looking for Regina Sydney Bodden, a Caymanian citizen?” Roy hit him with the key question and studied the man’s face and posture, looking for any tells or indications.

  There it is, Mikhail thought, remaining expressionless and answering promptly, “She’s been dating Rojas for over a year, we thought she may know something; he flew to her home country after all.”

  Not a single quiver, tic, tensing, relaxing, nothing. This guy is really good, Roy realised. “You don’t think that would have been pertinent information, contained in the report I presume, that would have been useful for our investigation? Not to mention we frown upon individuals conducting interrogations with our citizens.”

  “I assure you there was no interrogation, I simply asked some questions. But more to the point detective, can you account for the girl’s whereabouts in the past three days? She is a Caymanian citizen after all,” Mikhail fired back.

  Roy kept the volleys flying, “We do not track our citizens Mr. Gurov, we are a free country after all, but for the record we show Miss Bodden exiting Cayman several months ago on a flight to Florida, where she goes to university.”

  “We identified Miss Bodden entering Cuba earlier this week and her whereabouts appear undetermined,” Mikhail countered.

  Roy stopped smiling. “So when you say you’re confident Rojas was acting alone that is in fact not true, you suspect Miss Bodden of involvement?”

  “As I said, my contact with the Republic of Cuba tells me he was acting alone, I suspect nothing and no one,” Mikhail deftly deflected.

  “So you’re a marine biologist on a visitor’s visa to our beautiful island, asking questions around town about one of our citizens and choosing not to share key information that may assist our investigation of a very suspicious plane crash in our waters? That about sum it up?” Roy threw everything at the Russian to see if the man would give anything away.

  Mikhail’s mouth turned at the corners in a hint of a smile. “You have my assurance I will not ask your people any more questions, Detective. May I retrieve the cases now?”

  Roy leaned back, studying the Russian. The man appeared to be enjoying this. Roy had interviewed a lot of people, it came with the job; occasionally he came across fast thinkers that could twist and turn, artfully lying, but never had he questioned someone that seemed to enjoy the challenge. He knew Mikhail was too nimble to give anything much away but at least it was now clear that his frail cover was blown and the police would be watching him.

  “Sure. Follow me, we have them in another building.” Roy rose to leave.

  Whittaker wasn’t the sort of man to have personal grievances or missions against suspects; the facts were the facts and they separated the guilty from innocent. He wasn’t the judge, his job was to provide the proof either way. But in this case he had to admit, it would feel good to put handcuffs on this guy.

  Chapter 56

  Sydney pulled the edge of the curtain back and peeked outside towards the car park of the yacht club. There were four jetties extending from the land into the marina with berths separated by short piers on either side like a ladder. Each berth fitted two boats except the third jetty which had longer piers to accommodate bigger boats such as the Rum Runner. The bathrooms were at the top of the first jetty so she had to walk almost the entire length of the car park to reach the building. She couldn’t see anyone along her jetty but further up the car park was a small group of tourists unloading from a tour boat that had just returned from Stingray City. She’d been watching for half an hour now and this was the quietest it had been. She really needed to go.

  “I’m going,” she said to Carlos and opened the deck door slowly and checked around again. He moved over to the window to keep an eye on her.

  She’d found a baseball cap on the boat which she now pulled down low to hide her face as she briskly strode up the jetty. She was a little self-conscious wearing a hat with ‘World’s Best Hooker’ emblazoned on the front next to a logo of a fishing hook, but she hadn’t been spoilt for choice. Her nerves felt like tightly stretched violin strings ready to scream at the slightest touch. She checked up at the gate leading to the car park and scanned around again; the tou
rists were filtering to their cars, excitedly recounting their trip, otherwise all was clear. Through the gate she walked to the far side of the car park away from the marina and broke into a jog towards the buildings to her right about two hundred yards away.

  Sydney caught something moving quickly in the corner of her eye to her right from behind a parked car. She instinctively flinched and broke into a sprint but what ever it was dove for her feet and she leapt over it like she was clearing hurdles in track back at school. It was a toss up who was more scared, the cat or Sydney, but they both kept moving at full speed in their respective directions with hearts racing. Realising a girl at full sprint across the car park was probably drawing attention, she eased down to a jog and looked back at the cat now sitting under another car licking its paw like nothing had happened. Bullshit, she thought, you were more scared than I was.

  She slowed to a walk as she reached the bathrooms and looked for the ladies’ room sign. This side was the men’s of course, which meant she had to walk further around to the other side. She glanced over her shoulder before turning the corner at the building and when she turned back, exiting the men’s room was a young man. Quickly looking down, she skirted around him and kept going but could sense he’d stopped and was watching her.

  “Sydney? That you?” came the voice behind her.

  There was no time to think; she reacted purely from instinct as adrenaline spiked again and her heart raced.

  “Yo no hablo inglés,” she blurted and ducked into the ladies room, rushed into a stall and locked the door behind her. She stood absolutely still and listened. Silence. She’d looked away so quickly she hadn’t registered a face but the person had appeared to be around her age so she presumed it was a classmate from school or a friend of Thomas’s. She was out of breath and trying desperately not to breathe heavily, each lungful drawn in and exhaled sounded like an echoing torrent of noise amongst the stillness. She heard a foot shuffle outside. Was he waiting for her? She held her breath. Finally she heard footsteps, starting slowly but getting quieter, as the person walked away. She let out her breath in a surge of air and relief and quickly sat down, her urgent need to pee returning rapidly.

  Joshua Ebanks worked in the boat repair yard behind the marina where their bathroom was suffering a plumbing problem. He ambled back towards work mulling over what just took place. He’d been on the same track-and-field team as Sydney Bodden at John Gray High School, although it had been a few years since he’d seen her. It was a fleeting look as they’d passed by and he didn’t get a good look at her face with a baseball cap on but that walk and her lean, athletic build sure looked familiar. He took out his mobile phone and opened Facebook. Looking in his friends list he found Sydney Bodden and went to her page. He paused and thought a moment, studying a few of the pictures. Going back to her timeline he typed, ‘Ran into your twin at the yacht club! Made me think of you. How are you doing?’ He chuckled and hit send.

  Chapter 57

  Whittaker led the Russian out the main office building to a smaller structure at the far end of a yard where the police parked their vehicles. They entered a secure room with benches around the perimeter, an open area large enough for several vehicles in the centre and a roll-up door leading from the yard. The sign on the door read ‘CSI No Unauthorised Persons’. Spread across the floor were the remains of the seaplane. The cases were set on the benches and laid open with the contents inside.

  “Everything has been examined by our team and returned as they were found to each case. Here’s a list of the contents contained in each one,” Roy handed some paperwork to Mikhail, who was eyeing the wreckage.

  Reluctantly turning away from the plane, Mikhail systematically read each item and inspected the matching case contents, verifying the inventory. Roy waited patiently while the man checked every single item regardless of how meaningless or small. When he was done he turned to Roy. “You confirm this is everything removed from the seaplane and the surrounding area?”

  “Yes sir, this is it. Were you expecting something else?”

  Mikhail ignored the question. “We will arrange for the items to be collected as soon as possible.”

  Roy looked surprised. “I thought you were in a big hurry to get these back to the Republic of Cuba?”

  Mikhail folded his copies of the inventory and put them in his back pocket. “I need to arrange a vehicle to move them.”

  Roy smiled. “I’ll be happy to deliver them to your hotel, where are you staying on the island?”

  Mikhail lied, “We’re not, we’re staying on our research vessel.”

  “No problem then, I’ll have a van deliver them to the dock and a marine unit can take them out to your boat.” Roy took out his mobile phone to start making arrangements.

  “Please, delivery to the dock is adequate, we have a skiff we use to go back and forth,” Mikhail quickly added; he had no intention of letting Whittaker snoop around the trawler – the customs and immigration guys were enough.

  Roy paused before dialling his mobile. “Fair enough, I’ll get a van pulled around now.”

  While Roy called dispatch and organised a van, Mikhail closed all the cases and carried them to the roll-up door. Each time he walked beside the wreckage he scanned it intently and took a slightly different path. Two minutes later a vehicle could be heard outside and the door went up. A constable helped Mikhail load the cases and arranged where to drop them at the steps in the harbour that led down to the water. Before Roy pulled the door down behind them he stopped Mikhail.

  “Mr. Gurov, now you have the cargo returned may I ask how much longer you’ll be staying on the island?”

  Mikhail half turned but didn’t face him. “Aren’t we still missing something, Detective?”

  “As I said, that’s everything we pulled from the plane and we have to wait for the Air Accidents Investigation Branch from the UK to examine the plane itself; they’ll be here in a few days but that will take weeks to complete.” Roy replied.

  “You’re forgetting Rojas, Detective – you have, as of yet, failed to recover the pilot.” He turned the rest of the way and stared at Roy to punctuate the failure.

  Roy nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t wait around, bodies can take a while to show up and often never do. All kinds of ways they get carried off; as a marine biologist you would know that better than I.”

  Mikhail paused, deciding his next play. “Tomorrow, Detective, I expect we’ll leave tomorrow.” With that he turned and walked away.

  Roy called after him, “Guess we’ll see you when you come back to do your research then?”

  Mikhail faltered a moment but then continued across the yard without answering.

  Roy almost chuckled as he closed the roll-up door and secured it. Taking out his mobile he dialled a number. “Spalding? It’s Whittaker, do me a favour, find where Mr. Mikhail Gurov is staying on the island please. It’ll be on Seven Mile Beach, odds are the Marriott, everyone from off island knows the Marriott. Thanks.”

  He hung up and dialled another number. “Judge, it’s Detective Whittaker, would you happen to be in George Town this afternoon? You are? Perfect. Can I trouble you for a small favour?”

  Chapter 58

  Pavlo hit the space bar on his laptop as the screen went into sleep mode and it woke back up, displaying an array of scrolling windows and data. He needed waking up, he thought; this was as tedious as surveillance could get. Stuck inside this stinking hot, smelly boat that constantly reminded him of puking even when it wasn’t rolling around, staring at his computer program and listening to the police scanner. The excitement from the Royal Cayman Islands Police Service today was two cars bumping into each other in George Town, a small group of drunks being escorted back to their cruise ship and early this morning a bicycle reported stolen in West Bay. According to a later report the owner had found said bicycle.

  The Russian Foreign Intelligence Service’s scanning software trolled the worldwide web for hits on any keywords Pavlo asked it to.
Yesterday he’d churned through hits on existing articles from the names he’d supplied as search keywords. Bodden, as one of the original families on the island returned an unmanageable number of articles, but filtering down to Thomas and Regina Sydney had reduced it to a couple of hours of checking. The bulk of the Internet references was from Sydney’s track-and-field success in high school and subsequently university in Miami. Thomas came up from two years ago in a flood of news about a German U-boat discovery off the coast of Cayman. Mikhail had added AJ Bailey and Reg Moore to the search keywords that morning, which brought up many of the same articles. None of them had had much activity in the past week – a couple of social media posts on Mermaid Divers’ and Pearl Divers’ business pages, all innocuous pictures tagging happy customers and drawing comments about their dives.

  He sat back and sipped his lukewarm coffee, the fifth cup of the day, and contemplated another cigarette, the daily count he chose to ignore once it surpassed ‘too many’. The laptop dinged an alert. Pavlo leaned in and clicked on the recent Internet hit from his keywords. The program opened a new window showing the activity while not letting the website know it was being seen or allowing a cookie. Someone had recently posted something on Sydney Bodden’s Facebook timeline.

  “Shit!” Pavlo exclaimed at the first decent lead in two days. Fumbling for his mobile he excitedly texted Mikhail with a screenshot of the post.