"So she's their suspect, then?" Liz asked, her voice rising.
"Cedric said they wouldn't commit to that. Without a positive identification in person, they're considering her a person of interest. That's all he could get out of them."
"Then where could she be?"
"Nobody knows. Cedric said they seemed unconcerned about her whereabouts, but he's insisted that they start a search for her. He's worried that the witness met with foul play and that whoever's behind it may be looking for Dani."
"This makes no sense, Phillip."
"Cedric agrees. The whole 'white woman in dinghy' story sounds like nonsense, tailor-made to focus suspicion on Dani while the killer got away."
"What about this supposed eyewitness?"
"A fisherman. He said he was fishing among the anchored boats when he saw the dinghy go by. The victim was in knee-deep water, and she ran the dinghy up to him, jumped out and stabbed him, got in the dinghy and roared away. At least that's what Cedric pieced together."
"And now he's nowhere to be found? The witness, I mean."
"Right," Phillip said. "Did you learn anything in your snooping around?"
"Yes, I did. And based on what you just told me, I'm really worried about Dani." Liz told Phillip about her conversation with Margaret at the fruit stand. "And she's not the only one who heard about the mystery men from Herbie. He told the bartender about them, too. If Herbie saw something that got him killed, that witness is probably dead, too. I don't want to think about Dani ... "
"Buck up, Liz," Phillip said. "You know she can take care of herself."
"But where is she?"
"If you're right, she knows she's in danger, so she's probably staying out of sight until she figures out what's going on. Going back to Vengeance would be dangerous for her, obviously."
"But she knows I'm here; why hasn't she called me, or gotten word to me?"
"You know her as well as I do, Liz. She may be watching from a distance, and she wants you to do just what you're doing. She might be thinking that if you knew she was all right, you'd blow her cover by accident."
"She'd know I'm frantic, Phillip. That's really cold. She wouldn't do that. Not to me. Do you think?"
"Come on, Liz. We're talking about Dani here. You know what she's capable of, and she wouldn't want to put you at risk, either."
"Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but I think she's in over her head; maybe they're holding her somewhere."
"Who would be holding her, Liz?"
"I don't know. The cops, the killers. I can't believe she wouldn't get in touch with one of us if she could."
Liz held the phone; she could hear Phillip moving, breathing, but he didn't break the silence. After what seemed an eternity, he asked, "What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to shower, have a nice dinner, and turn in early. I'll set a clock for midnight and go up on the foredeck with the night vision glasses and see if I spot any mysterious activity on the beach."
"Be careful. If you see anything — "
"I'll call before I do anything. But I think it's too soon after the killing, anyway. Tomorrow, I'm going grocery shopping at that store in Gros Islet."
"The one that lady at the fruit stand told you about?"
"Yes. Let me know if Cedric learns anything else."
"Sure, I will. You be careful. You want some help?"
"Not now. I think my behavior is consistent with what anyone might expect — worrying, asking questions, and so on. But if reinforcements start showing up, who knows what that might precipitate?"
"That's a good point. You think you're being watched?"
"I have to assume that I am. If somebody's looking for Dani, they're bound to notice what happens on Vengeance. I'll be okay; thanks for everything, and stay in touch. Give my best to Sandrine." Liz listened to Phillip's goodbye and disconnected the call.
Chapter 8
Detective Constable Lucas spotted the woman aboard the yacht as the patrol boat he had commandeered pulled out into Rodney Bay. She was a tiny figure, her white clothing stood out against the dark, varnished wood. As they drew closer, he could see that she sat in the cockpit, her back to him. She appeared to be drinking something from a mug, which she placed on a table in front of her.
As he watched, she put her left elbow on the rim of the cockpit and twisted, looking over her shoulder toward the patrol boat. When they were within 50 meters of the yacht, the driver slowed the patrol boat, and the woman stood and stepped out onto the yacht's side deck.
Lucas moved to the side of the patrol boat closest to the yacht. The driver stopped inches away from the yacht's gleaming white side, and Lucas said, "Good morning, ma'am."
"Good morning," the woman said.
"I'm Detective Constable Lucas, of the Royal St. Lucia Police Force. I'd like to talk with you about your friend, Ms. Berger. May I come aboard?"
"Yes, of course," the woman said. "I'm Liz Chirac."
"Yes, I guessed that from the paperwork," Lucas said, as he climbed onto the pneumatic tube of the patrol boat and grasped the lifelines of the yacht.
The woman hooked her left hand behind his right upper arm and grasped his wrist with her right hand, steadying him as he swung first one leg and then the other over the lifelines. "Thank you," he said. "I'm not used to boats."
She nodded. "I see that. Let's go back to the cockpit where we can sit down and talk." She gestured to her right, toward the back of the boat, waiting for him to move. Sensing his reluctance to turn his back to her, she said, "Please, go ahead. I'll be right behind you."
Frustrated that she was trying to wrest control of the situation from him already, Lucas forced himself to comply. Even though he didn't expect this to be an adversarial encounter, letting the subject of an interview take the initiative went against his instincts. He stepped over the low rail into the cockpit and turned to offer her his hand, thinking that helping her into the cockpit would let him reassert some authority.
He was surprised to see that she had ducked under the furled sail and was stepping into the cockpit from the other side. By the time he recovered, she was sitting on the opposite side of the cockpit, her arms resting on the table.
"Please, Detective, have a seat. I was just finishing my coffee, if you don't mind."
"Not at all," he said, irritated by her composure. This wasn't going at all the way he had envisioned.
"How long will this take?" she asked.
"Why? Are you in a hurry?"
"Quite the contrary, Detective. I have a number of questions for you. I asked about the time because I could make more coffee if you think we'll be a while. Would you like some?"
"No, thank you," he said, in a gruff tone. "I'm here to ask you some questions."
"Fair enough," she said. "Would you like to go first? Or should I?"
"I'm investigating a murder, Ms. Chirac," he said, pausing to let the gravity of that register. To his chagrin, she spoke as soon as he finished.
"Yes," she said. "I'm aware of that. Herbert Watson's murder. Where is my partner, Dani Berger?" Her green eyes flashed in the morning sun with such intensity that he flinched from her stare.
"Why do you ask me?" He let his irritation creep into his tone of voice.
"Because you took her away and she hasn't been seen or heard from since."
"I didn't take her away. Two uniformed officers escorted her to be questioned."
"Did you question her? Or did you lose her like you lost your eyewitness?"
"I ... " Lucas paused as the impact of her second question registered. "What do you know about that?"
Those green eyes were burning right into his forehead. He felt the beads of sweat forming from their focused heat.
"Answer me, first," she said, lifting the coffee mug to her mouth without dropping her gaze.
"I did question her, but she was released. How do you know about the witness?"
"Did you look for any other white women with dinghies? Or did you ju
st grab the first one you saw?"
Lucas swallowed, hard, and hesitated, remembering the power of silence. To his chagrin, he heard himself ask, "Where are you getting your information?"
She shook her head. "That's confidential, I'm afraid. Where did she go after you released her?"
"I don't know. I — "
"You don't know? You think she killed Herbert Watson. You can't find your eyewitness, so you can't charge her, and you had to let her go. You expect me to believe that you didn't arrange to keep an eye on her? You kept her passport, so she couldn't leave the island, but you would have had her followed. Don't play me for a fool, Detective."
Lucas was angry, now. "Tell me what you did with Derek Mitchum, Ms. Chirac."
"Derek Mitchum? Who's he?" A frown furrowed her brow as she looked away.
"Where is he, Ms. Chirac? Don't you play me for a fool, either."
"I have no idea what you mean, Detective. I don't know any Derek Mitchum."
"His testimony would convict your friend Danielle Berger of murder. You show up, and shortly after that, he disappears, Ms. Chirac."
"I see, now. So he's your missing eyewitness. Derek Mitchum. I didn't know his name. And you think I had something to do with his disappearance?"
"You see what I mean, Ms. Chirac. It looks suspicious, don't you agree?"
"It looks suspiciously like you're clutching at straws, Detective. You'd better find my partner, or I think things will get uncomfortable for you. Where did you last see her?"
"I told you, she was questioned and released."
"You can avoid my questions if you wish. Where did you last see Derek Mitchum?" she asked.
"This interview is over, Ms. Chirac. If you hear from Ms. Berger, tell her to get in touch with me. She's in big trouble." Lucas stood and motioned for the patrol boat to come alongside.
"She's not the only one, Detective," the woman said, taking another sip of her coffee as he scrambled to the side deck.
Lucas struggled to control his fury as he stepped over the lifelines. Planting his right foot on the pneumatic tube of the patrol boat, he caught the toe of his left shoe on the lifeline. He yelped in surprise and pitched forward, falling into the patrol boat as it roared away, the woman's rich peals of laughter echoing in his ears.
****
As Liz walked to the grocery store in Gros Islet from the marina where she had left the dinghy, she thought about Lucas's visit. She had wondered how long it would be before the police came to see her. If they didn't know where Dani was, it was reasonable that they would think she might be in touch with her friend.
It wasn't her nature to be as disagreeable as she had been with the Detective Constable, but the man's manner had annoyed her. While she wasn't pleased that she had been so abrupt with him, she recognized that she'd provoked him into giving away more information than he had gotten from her. She smiled at the thought. Dani would have been proud of her.
She now had a name for the fisherman who had supposedly witnessed the murder. And Lucas had said that his testimony would convict Dani. That statement, coupled with his attitude, told her that the witness had been more specific than just identifying the killer as a "white woman in a dinghy." He must have pointed them directly at Dani. Lucas had gone beyond referring to her as a person of interest when he described the effect the man's testimony would have.
She considered that Lucas could have been deliberately misleading her. After a moment's thought, she rejected the idea. He wasn't self-possessed enough to bring off that kind of deception. That must mean that this Derek Mitchum had in fact been prepared to identify Dani as the killer.
Liz found herself at the highway outside the marina gate. She could see the grocery store a couple of blocks away. Now that she knew the fisherman's name, she would visit the fuel dock where most of the fishermen gathered to offload their catch. It was on her way back out to the anchorage. For now, she needed to concentrate on crossing the busy road without getting run over.
She didn't plan to do any more than buy a few groceries, but she wanted to see the store. There was a chance that the East Indian owner might be there, and she could at least get a look at him. She smiled at the islanders' subtle race consciousness.
When the British had abolished slavery in 1833, they had been surprised to discover that their former slaves weren't interested in working for them for wages. At the height of their imperial power, the problem had been solved by importing indentured servants from their other colonies.
Many people from India had come to the islands that way. The freed slaves had focused on agriculture and fishing to make a living. The Indians, when they had fulfilled the terms of their indentures, had turned to commerce.
As a result, many shops and businesses in the islands were owned by people of Indian ancestry. While there was little racial animosity and a great deal of cross-cultural exchange, the lines of race had remained mostly intact in the post-colonial era.
Liz paused across the street from the grocery store, studying what amounted to a small compound bounded by the paved side road across the front and unpaved roads on either side.
She couldn't tell how far back the property extended, but to one side of the grocery store, three young men were busy washing and cleaning a fleet of small, relatively new cars. An older man supervised, occasionally looking across the street at Liz.
She walked a few steps farther along the paved road and stopped at a snack bar that had a few tables under an awning. Buying a bottle of cold water and a salt fish patty, she sat down and pretended to make a grocery list as she studied the building.
She saw that the older man was no longer watching her, and decided that his curiosity was idle, rather than watchful. The store building itself was two stories. From what she could see through the open windows, people lived upstairs. There was a balcony down one side of the second floor where laundry hung, drying in the morning breeze.
"You on a boat?"
Liz looked up to see the big woman who appeared to run the snack bar smiling down at her. "Yes, why?" she asked.
"No reason; jus' you look like you on a boat. Grocery shoppin'? I see you checkin' out the store over there."
"Yes. Someone suggested it; they said the prices were better than the supermarket by the mall."
"Mm-hmm. Lanjwani been here long time. Prices fair. He give credit, too, when people's down on they luck."
"Lanjwani? Is he the owner?"
"Tha's right. Him an' he wife, they work in that store. Her brothers, they rent the cars. But Mr. Lanjwani, he own the car business."
"It sounds like they're good neighbors," Liz said, having noticed that the woman had modest living quarters in the back of the snack bar. "Do the Lanjwanis live upstairs over the store?"
"Oh, no," the woman said. "Firs' when they come here, they do. But tha's when I was a child. They been gettin' rich long time. They got a big place, fine house, back behind the store."
"I see. So they must rent out that apartment upstairs. My friend may be interested, if they have a vacancy."
"Mm. Nice place, I t'ink, but your frien' mus' keep lookin'. They got some men livin' up there, all the time now. Used to be a local family, but Lanjwani, he say he need the space for some business people from away. He help the people move out, though."
Liz nodded.
"I can ask aroun' for your frien', if you wish," the woman said.
"I'll let you know," Liz said. "I'm not sure if she's coming to St. Lucia or not. She's been talking about it, but you know how some people can't make up their minds."
"Mm-hmm. Well, you jus' let me know. My name Clara, an' you always find me here. I live in the back."
"Thanks, Clara. I'm Liz. Guess I'd better go see about some groceries." Liz took a last swallow of water and stood up, giving Clara a nod as she walked across the road to the grocery store.
****
Hamid Lanjwani sat at his cluttered desk, working through his ledger. He was annoyed when his cellphone rang. Glanci
ng at the display, he saw that it was Samir.
"Why are you calling me?" he snapped, as he answered the phone. "You're supposed to be cleaning the automobiles."
"Yes, emir, but I thought that you should know this, please."
"Know what?"
"The woman from the boat, she just went into the store."
"What? Which woman? The one the police took?"
"No, it's the other one. She had breakfast at the snackette and was talking to the woman there, looking at the store. Then she got up and went inside."
Hamid whirled to the bank of video monitors on the wall behind him, scanning the screens until he spotted the woman in the aisle of canned goods. The vantage point of the camera resulted in a distorted image, making her head and upper torso look too big in proportion to the rest of her body.
He watched as she picked up a can of tomatoes and read the label. She returned the can to the shelf and picked up another brand, scrutinizing it as well.
Nodding to herself, she put it in her handbasket and picked up three more cans of the same brand. She crossed them off her list and moved to the aisle along the wall where the refrigerated case held fresh vegetables.
Pausing, she turned to study the display of boneless salt fish fillets on the endcap. She picked up a package and dropped it in the basket and moved on to the vegetables.
"She's just buying food," Hamid said. "When she leaves, follow her and see if she goes anywhere besides her boat. And see if the woman at the snackette has anything to say about her while you wait."
"Yes, emir."
Chapter 9
Detective Constable Lucas sat in the open-air bar at the timeshare condo development eating his lunch. He didn't make a habit of eating in such expensive places, but from here, he could keep an eye on the yacht, Vengeance.
He was still angry about the way the Chirac woman treated him; she was a match for Berger in terms of temperament. Now that he'd revealed his suspicions to her, he worried that watching her might not be productive. If she had any contact with Berger, she'd try to keep it hidden. Nevertheless, he was here. Chirac was the only lead he had, and it was time for lunch. It appeared that no one was aboard the boat; he hoped that his team had spotted her when she went ashore. Maybe he had upset her enough so that she would contact Berger.
Bluewater Jailbird: The Tenth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 10) Page 6