Bluewater Jailbird: The Tenth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 10)

by Charles Dougherty

"It's Sylvia's game. I do not have a better idea."

  "Hmm," Phillip said. "Neither do I. I'll get the phone and ask Sandrine about the passports. I'm meeting her for lunch in a few minutes."

  "Tell her I said hello," Liz said.

  "Yes, please, and from me," Marie added. She disconnected the call.

  Rising from her seat, Marie reached into the pocket of her shorts and took out an inexpensive cellphone. She pushed it across the table to Liz. "Prepaid, with a local SIM. As close as we can get to anonymous."

  "Thanks," Liz said. "I'm surprised you had time."

  "I passed the store while I was following someone."

  "Someone besides Lucas?"

  Marie nodded. "A woman. She looked Hispanic, with very dark skin and short, black hair. Striking, almost pretty, but … At first, I thought she was tall, but then I saw the five-inch heels."

  "Five-inch heels?" Liz asked, shaking her head.

  "Not only that, but they were bright red, with gold trim on the heels."

  "Sounds like a tart," Liz said.

  "Especially with the tight designer jeans," Marie said.

  "Why were you following her?"

  "I thought she was watching our detective."

  "Was she?"

  "Yes, but I think she was just a petty thief."

  "Why?" Liz asked, frowning.

  "When she saw him leave in the boat, she broke into his car and took his briefcase."

  "How do you know it was his car?"

  "I can recognize an unmarked police car. It is what you call a survival skill in my work."

  "Where did she go after she stole his briefcase?"

  "A bus to Castries turned around in the driveway as she was walking out to the road. She caught it. I think it does not mean anything for us."

  Liz considered that for a moment and nodded, finally. "I want to keep an eye on that grocery store for a while and see if there's any sign of the six men that go with the passports."

  "Yes. That is a good thing to do," Marie said. "I will go there now."

  "I was going to do it," Liz said.

  "No. You have been there yesterday. They may recognize you, up close, even with the change to your hair and clothes. Besides, it is what I am good for doing."

  "Okay," Liz said. "Call if you need me."

  "Ah, yes. Good you are reminding me. I programmed my number in your new phone, but you must call me now so I capture your new number."

  Liz opened the directory on the phone Marie had given her and called the single number that appeared. Marie nodded as her phone vibrated. She added the calling number to her directory and marked it "Sylvia."

  "I am going now. You must put in the other numbers you may need, like Phillip, and maybe others, yes?"

  "Yes, thanks. I will. Do you want lunch before you go?"

  "No. I will find something near the store. This gives me some cover for staying around there. Au revoir."

  "Au revoir."

  Chapter 13

  "Detective Constable, I don' have the authority to take the patrol boat outside our waters. Only if we in hot pursuit. Then I could."

  Lucas scowled at the man. "But we're in hot pursuit. There may be a killer on that yacht, and she's escaping. She doesn't — "

  "No, mon. Hot pursuit mean we been seein' the boat; don' mean we t'ink mebbe the boat out there somewhere. We be in French waters in a minute or two. We mus' turn aroun' now."

  "You don't think maybe we missed them somehow?" Lucas asked.

  They had run the patrol boat at high speed in a zigzag pattern as they crossed the twenty miles of open water between St. Lucia and Martinique's south coast. The day was clear, the seas, calm. Lucas was sure they couldn't have missed seeing a vessel the size of Vengeance, but turning around would be admitting defeat.

  "You say they been gone for 'bout two hours?" The man at the wheel asked.

  Lucas looked at his watch. "Almost three."

  "They gone, mon," the officer said, swinging the boat in a wide arc and heading back toward the north end of St. Lucia. "Boat like that one, they done be in Ste. Anne by now. They make the trip in mebbe two hours, two and a half, at mos'."

  They bounced along in silence for a few minutes, Lucas biting at a piece of loose skin on his thumb.

  "You know them from before?" the man driving the boat asked.

  "The women? No," Lucas said, his voice raised to overcome the engine noise. "Before what?"

  "Before now, before the killin'."

  Lucas shook his head, frowning and turning to look at the man. "Why?"

  The driver shrugged. "They been in and out of Rodney Bay a lot. We know the boat. The people in the office t'ink they nice ladies; they don' believe that one kill Watson."

  "But Derek Mitchum saw her do it," Lucas said.

  "So he say," the driver said. "Mebbe he did; mebbe not. Mitchum always lookin' for easy money."

  "Are you saying somebody paid him to say that?"

  The driver shrugged and didn't answer.

  "Well," Lucas asked, "if she didn't do it, who did?"

  "I don' know, mon. But Watson, he a big man. Not jus' big, either. Strong man, lotsa muscle. He love the ladies, but not many men willing to cross that mon. That gal, she ain't half his size. Hard to believe she get the better of him. She stab he in the back, mebbe?"

  "No, in the chest," Lucas said.

  "So he see her comin'." The driver shook his head. "Me, I t'ink more likely Mitchum do it, mebbe. Then decide to blame the lady."

  "Why Mitchum?" Lucas asked, raising his eyebrows and giving the man a hard look.

  "You know Watson, he always messin' wit' the ladies?"

  "Yes. So what?"

  "And the ladies, they all like Watson." The man shook his head, a smile of admiration on his face. "Ain't no lady want to kill him, 'cept mebbe love him to death. Lady mebbe kill him by wear him out in the bed, mon. Not stab he."

  "But why would Mitchum have killed him?" Lucas asked.

  "Mitchum got a wife?"

  "Yeah. I guess she's his wife. Big, rough lookin' woman that lives with him in Marigot. Not the kind of woman I picture Watson being interested in."

  "Ol' Watson, he weren't never too particular. He always say all the ladies deserve some love, an' if you don' cull none, you don' miss none."

  Lucas chewed at the hangnail again, letting a few seconds pass.

  "Or mebbe a girlfrien'. You check on that Detective?"

  "What?"

  "Say mebbe Mitchum have a girlfrien', an' she get it on wit' Watson."

  "Do you know something you're not telling me?"

  "Not me, mon. Jus' tryin' to help out, come up wit' some new ideas for you. I don' t'ink them gal on Vengeance did it. They been comin' here every few weeks for years, bringin' they charter guests. They friendly ladies; mos' folks 'roun' here know them an' like them."

  "Maybe it was a lover's quarrel, then," Lucas said.

  "I don' t'ink so, mon. If them gals was foolin' aroun' word woulda spread. 'Specially if they was foolin' aroun' wit' Watson. Stuff like that don' stay secret, mon. You know that. Besides, them ladies, they got more class than to mess wit' trash like Watson."

  Lucas was quiet for a moment. "Do me a favor?" he asked.

  "What's that?"

  "Ask around about Mitchum having a girlfriend. The people 'round here more likely to talk to you than to me. They know you."

  "Yeah, mon. I can do that."

  "Good. How long before we'll be back to the marina?"

  "Five minutes. Why? You in a hurry? I could take you somewhere else, mebbe."

  "No, thanks. My car's at the marina. I'm going to drive down to Marigot and see if anybody down there knows anything about Watson. Maybe somebody would know if he was messin' with Mitchum's woman. If Mitchum did it, that would explain why he's disappeared."

  They passed the rest of the boat ride in silence. When they reached the patrol boat's slip, Lucas thanked the driver and wasted no time getting to his car.


  "Shit!" he muttered, looking at the smashed window on the passenger side. He took out his keys and opened the driver's door, reaching across into the passenger-side footwell for his briefcase. A ripple of panic ran up his spine when he didn't find the bulging leather satchel where he had the case files.

  He reached around and unlocked the back door on the driver's side, checking the back seat. Not finding the case, he slammed the back door and forced himself to think. He knew he didn't take the briefcase with him when he went into the customs office. He had asked for copies of Vengeance's clearance documents while he was there. When the female officer had handed them to him, he had turned to put them in the case file and realized that he'd left it in the car, in his briefcase.

  Forcing himself to sit down behind the wheel, he made a careful search of the front of the car, checking under the seats, but he knew what the broken window meant. He resigned himself to the paperwork that he knew would be ahead of him.

  Starting the car, he decided to stay with his plan. He pulled out of the parking lot and turned right onto the main road, heading for Marigot. As he drove, he occupied himself with compiling a mental catalog of what was in the case file that had been stolen, as well as trying to remember what else might have been taken.

  ****

  "Good afternoon," the woman in the snack bar greeted Marie.

  "Good afternoon," Marie said. "I smell the colombo. Is it ready for an early lunch?"

  "Yes, of course. Have a seat anywhere. You are visiting from Martinique?"

  "Yes. How do you know this?"

  "You say columbo."

  "Yes? I say this wrong?"

  "No, no. But here we call it curry."

  "Ah, but of course. It is the English influence, no?"

  "I t'ink so. Today is goat, cabrít. This will be all right for you?"

  "Yes, certainly. The smell, it is wonderful."

  The woman smiled. "Would you like something to drink with that?"

  "You have fruit juice?"

  "Passion fruit. Is that okay?"

  "It is perfect."

  "Have a seat, and I'll bring it right out."

  Marie chose a seat that afforded a clear view of Lanjwani's grocery store on the other side of the road. She was no sooner settled than the woman returned with a large bowl of steaming curry and a moisture-beaded glass of juice.

  Putting them on the table in front of Marie, she said, "rice is coming," and went back to the tiny kitchen.

  Marie took a sip of the juice and savored the aroma of the curried goat. As she put her glass back on the table, the woman returned with a large plate of white rice and stainless steel tableware wrapped in a paper napkin.

  "You need anyt'ing else? Some hot sauce, mebbe?"

  Marie took a small taste of the brown curry on the tines of her fork, being careful not to burn her tongue. She shook her head and smiled at the woman.

  "It is perfect as it is," she said. "You made this, no?"

  "Right here in my little kitchen, fresh this morning. My husband, he butcher the goat last night. Is okay? Not too spicy?"

  "No. It is how I like, exactly."

  "Good. Enjoy," the woman said, watching as Marie spooned some of the curry over the rice and mixed it up. "You live in Martinique?"

  "For a little time, now, yes. Why?"

  "You don't act like a tourist, but you sound French."

  "My accent, you mean?"

  "Not so much that. Jus' the way you say t'ings. I don' get many people here 'cept locals, anyway. Thank you for coming in."

  "I could not pass it by, with the smell," Marie said, smacking her lips.

  "What brings you to St. Lucia?"

  "I am here on a boat. I sailed over with a friend."

  "So, you are in the marina? Or anchored?"

  "Yes," Marie said, avoiding her question and frowning slightly, looking confused. "The boat belongs to some different friends, a man and his wife, but they let us use it."

  "Most people on boats, they only go to the mall or Castries, if they leave the marina compound at all. Only one other lady from the marina been here recently. She was lookin' for the grocery store."

  "Grocery store?" Marie asked. "There is a grocery store here?"

  "Only a small one, over there by the car rental place."

  "I would think some people from boats might come here to rent the cars, and stop for a meal with you."

  "Oh, Samir takes the cars to them at the marina."

  "Samir?"

  "He runs the car rental for Mr. Lanjwani."

  "Oh," Marie said, lifting a forkful of food to her mouth.

  "Samir, he Lanjwani's wife's brother."

  "Ah. I came this way looking for the hardware store; someone at the marina said they might have the part we need for the boat, to change the oil. We bring all the groceries we need with us from Martinique."

  "Oh. Well, you see the hardware store, right across the street, then."

  "Of course," Marie said. "But I smell the colombo ... uh, the curry, you say. And I must have some."

  "The last lady from the marina, she lookin' for an apartment for her friend."

  Marie put another forkful of food in her mouth and chewed, not saying anything.

  In a moment, the woman said, "Lanjwani, he rent out the upstairs, but he full up right now wit' the foreign men."

  "Interesting. This woman, did she say why her friend was coming here?"

  "No, she didn't." The woman laughed.

  "I do not say it right?" Marie asked.

  "Oh, no. Sorry, I wasn't laughin' at you. I jus' thought it was funny, 'cause Samir, he ask the same t'ing."

  "About her friend?"

  "Mm-hmm. About her frien'. 'Bout her, too. He come over here not long after she lef' the store, askin' all kind of questions 'bout her. Strange man."

  "Does he come visiting often? Why would he care about the woman's friend?"

  The woman shook her head. "No. Sometime, he come to get food. Mos' mornin', he come get a salt fish patty for breakfas', but I don' see today. Usually, he watchin' them men clean the cars, but he ain't aroun' today. I don' know why he ask about her frien'. Ask 'bout her, too."

  Marie had been watching the windows above the grocery store while she ate. Several times, a male figure had passed by the open windows, but the light wasn't good enough for her to tell whether it was one man, or different men. She glanced at her watch, realizing that she'd been here 20 minutes.

  The proprietress had kept up a constant stream of chatter, giving out more information than Marie had hoped to gain, but her unwavering presence made Marie uncomfortable. "I must go; my friend will worry. How much do I owe you?"

  "Seven dollars, E.C."

  Marie took a $10 E.C. note from her wallet and handed it to the woman. "Keep the change," she said. "The curry, it is wonderful. I will tell the others in the marina to come here."

  The big woman grinned, flashing large, straight, immaculate teeth. "You are ver' kind. I am happy you like. I hope you come back."

  "The next time I come this way I will," Marie said, standing and walking to the curb. She waited for a few seconds for a break in the traffic and walked across the road to the hardware store.

  ****

  "This woman at that snack bar, she would not leave me, and she talk, talk, talk." Marie and Liz sat sipping coffee at the table in Kayak Spirit's saloon.

  "She was a friendly person," Liz said. "She answered my questions about Lanjwani without any hesitation."

  "Yes, I would think so. She did not give me a chance to ask questions. She told me more than I would have thought to ask."

  "Really? And I thought it was just my skill at interrogation."

  "You asked her many questions?"

  "I suppose."

  "Direct questions? About Lanjwani?"

  "Yes, of course. Why?"

  Marie shook her head. "You must learn to be ... how is it, the word that means asking questions that are around the topic you seek?"

&nbs
p; "Circumspect?" Liz said.

  "Yes. That is the word I look for. Circumspect."

  "Why?"

  "Because a woman like that, she will talk to anyone."

  "I don't understand what you mean, Marie."

  "The man, Samir, he saw you there, I think."

  "Possibly," Liz said.

  "Almost by sure. After you left, he asked the woman about you."

  "She told you that? Did you — "

  "No. I did not ask her. She remembered you, all of the questions you asked. Someone like us, we are not like her other customers, yes?"

  "Well, okay, but — "

  "This Samir, he was her regular customer, maybe like a friend. Every day he comes. He eats the salt fish patty for breakfast."

  "She told you that without your asking?"

  "You must learn. A person like this woman, she must keep talking. She tells everybody everything. She remembered all that you asked her, even about the apartment for your friend."

  Liz's face fell, her forehead wrinkled with worry. She shook her head.

  "I do not tell you this to make you feel bad. I tell you so that you will be more careful, more circumspect."

  "Okay," Liz said. "You think she told Samir I was asking about them?"

  "Oh, yes. She told me as much."

  "But won't she remember you, just like she remembered me?"

  "For certain, she will. The difference is, I ask her nothing. I compliment her cooking, and I listen and act interested. Maybe a little bit, I encourage her to talk about one thing, or another." Marie went on to describe the details of her conversation with the woman.

  "But she will still remember you. If someone from Lanjwani's comes and asks her, she will tell them about you."

  "Yes. But she will tell them I was on a boat. I was surprised that there was a grocery store. When she told me about the car rentals, I said that the people from the boats must come there to get cars. That is when she said his name. 'Samir takes the cars to the marina,' she said. I shrug and say 'Samir?' and she tell me all about it. I don't act interested in him. I act interested in the hardware store. This is what she will tell them, if they ask. They will think nothing of it, most likely. You see how I was different?"

  "Yes. And I thought I was so smart."

  "You were brave. You did not do badly, but you provoked them. It is why we know what we know now. It is fine to do that, but you must know you are doing that, so you are ready."