"She's shooting for leaving the Chesapeake in November, but I'm probably still going to be stuck here in Miami. She's looking for crew. Want to take a two-week trip?"
"Wish we could, but that's prime time for us. We're booked solid from late October all the way through Easter this year."
"That's great; good for you. You two have worked hard for that."
"Well, the business is finally picking up; now we're starting to think we should schedule some time off, just so we can enjoy this life in paradise."
"We need to come about to get around the cape," Dani interrupted, watching the shoreline coming up on their starboard bow.
"I'll let you go," Paul said. "Good talking with you."
"Thanks, Paul," Phillip said.
"Give our best to Connie." Dani disconnected the call and stuck the phone in the pocket of her shorts. "Ready, about!"
****
"I don't like it, Jane."
"Bill, he's not the friend you think he is."
"You think because you're a shrink you know more about my relationship with him than I do."
"That's not at all what I meant; I …"
"I know you don't like him, Jane, but I do. Don't try to push your feelings about him off on me. I agreed to go along with you guys but I still feel like I'm betraying him."
"I can understand that. I'm sorry I didn't express myself clearly."
Bill held his tongue for a few seconds. "Okay. I'm just on edge; I've never been accused of murder before."
They were silent for a moment, both realizing they had been perilously close to a screaming argument, which was foreign to their relationship. Jane had written a vague response to David Cardile, thanking him for his concern but giving nothing away, and Bill had updated his blog to reflect a fictitious side-trip to Marigot, St. Lucia, to explain the gap in their itinerary.
They had left St. Lucia at the time they had originally planned, but the stop in Marin wasn't on their original agenda. According to Bill's previous post, they should already be in St. Pierre. If the killer was indeed following along, he would be wondering where they were. They had worked out a plausible, fictitious schedule that would put them in St. Pierre tonight. They would idle away a day and a night there before moving on to Portsmouth, Dominica, at least according to Bill's blog post.
"It's kind of Phillip and Sandrine to take us in like this," Jane said, hoping to put the friction behind them.
"Yes, it is. Don't you wonder a little about Phillip, though? He seems awfully young to be retired."
"You really should read Bluewater Killer. Sorry I left it on Vengeance. Maybe Sandrine has a copy. He's kind of the hero of the story, but he's a bit mysterious even so."
"He said something about that last night."
"Reading between the lines in that book, it almost sounds like he and Dani's father were in the arms business."
"That tracks."
"What do you mean? Tracks with what?"
"While you and Sandrine were talking, I asked Liz who this guy Clarence is. She was pretty vague, but I got the impression he's a mercenary of sorts."
"I don't much like the sound of that, Bill. A mercenary? That's unsavory."
"Liz wouldn't say much. Mercenary is my word, not hers. She just said he was a 'good guy,' and that he was a government contractor of some kind."
They dropped the topic when they heard Sandrine pull into the driveway. She had gone into the office for a couple of hours to arrange for some time off to show them around the island while the others were setting their trap in St. Pierre.
****
The killer sat in the shade of an awning, watching as Vengeance executed a series of perfectly coordinated tacks coming into the broad bay that led to the waterfront in St. Pierre. He was only mildly curious as to where they had been; it really didn't matter. He had used the extra time to become familiar with the town. In walking around, he had found an Internet café where he stopped to check his email. He had noticed an English language sign in the window of the café advertising online customs clearance before he went in. That had prompted him to ask the girl behind the register if it was possible to determine whether his friend's yacht had arrived.
"But of course," she said, misunderstanding him. "Just go down to the end of the jetty; you should be seeing them if they are here."
"I didn't see them, but I'm not entirely sure what their boat looks like. Is it possible for you to check the records to see if they're here?"
"You have the name they call the yacht?"
"Vengeance. It's U.S. flagged."
She reached under the counter and took out a three-ring binder. Setting it on the counter, she opened it and flipped a few pages.
"Ah!" she said, and pursed her lips as she ran a finger down the page. She looked up at him and shook her head. "Sorry."
"Could they have checked in somewhere else?"
"Yes, certainly. There are many places, but only this one in St. Pierre."
"Can you look in the computer?"
She shook her head. "Not this one; it only allows to enter the data and print the form. Only the customs officials can do what you say."
"Thanks so much for checking. You've been a big help." He gave her his best lady-killer smile, watching her face light up. "Good afternoon," he had said, as he turned and took a step toward the door.
"Sir?"
He turned, smiling again, noticing the look on her face as she raised her eyes to his. "Yes?"
"Do you have a cell phone?"
"Yes, I do. Why?"
"If you give to me the number, I will make the call to you when your friends come." She picked up one of the business cards for the Internet café and flipped it over, sliding it across the counter toward him as she handed him a pen. "Call me Véronique," she said, giving him a coy look, head down, peering up to emphasize her big, soulful brown eyes, which she considered her best feature.
He wrote the number of his prepaid, throw-away phone on the back of the card and returned it to her.
"And what are you called, sir?"
"Bill," he had said on a whim, pulling the card back and printing "Bill Fitzgerald" under the number. He smiled at the memory, hoping that she would call and that he could find time to dally with her.
Lost in his memory of the attractive young woman, he was startled as Vengeance coasted by a few boat-lengths away. He studied her with intense interest as he watched the two women who handled her with such skill while the Fitzgeralds lounged in the cockpit. They would be expecting a murder here; he knew he had conditioned them for that, but he had a different plan for this stop. He would need to board Vengeance while they were here.
He had seen Fitzgerald's new blog post this morning, but he discounted their story of going to Marigot. He knew Fitzgerald had been arrested; he had watched from one of the beach-front hotels across the bay from the timeshare condos, enjoying every minute of the show.
He had not stayed around to see Fitzgerald released, but he had expected that once the police asked the bartender to identify him, they would have to release him. His intention had been to rattle Fitzgerald, not to see him put away for murder. It was far too early in the game for that. He had solidly established that someone was following Fitzgerald, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. He planned to resume that pattern soon, but it wouldn't do to be predictable. By now, both Fitzgerald and the police would have no doubt as to the pattern of the killings, and would react accordingly.
He had verified that the deaths had made the news in Martinique, and he suspected the French police here would be much better organized than the police in the less wealthy islands. This was, after all, a part of the European Union; he was no longer in an underdeveloped country. Given the greater resources available to law enforcement here, it was at least possible, if not likely, that the police would be waiting in ambush for him. The notion brought a smile to his face. The police would be disappointed, because tonight, he wouldn't kill. He would begin setting up for the next p
hase of his project instead, and no one would know he was even here.
His thoughts were interrupted by the rattle of anchor chain as Vengeance coasted to a stop a couple of hundred yards up the beach. The water in the harbor was a hundred feet deep until just a few yards from the low tide line, so visiting yachts anchored on the narrow, shallow shelf that paralleled the shore, just a few boat-lengths off the black sand beach. Having Vengeance so close suited his purpose well. He didn't have a clear view of her; there were other yachts blocking his line of sight, but that didn't matter. He saw Fitzgerald was at the helm, and his wife stood on the foredeck, chatting with one of the two women who ran the boat. He saw just enough of Jane to realize she was getting a tan; it looked good on her, with that dark red hair. He'd always thought she was too pale. He smiled at the thought of having her to himself soon.
Chapter 18
The crew of Vengeance passed a quiet night under the watchful eye of Our Lady of Safe Harbor, her shrine high up on the hillside south of town. Dani was up early, sitting in the cockpit, watching the town of St. Pierre come to life. As she took her first sip of coffee, a whisper of offshore breeze carried the mouth-watering scent of baking bread from the town. The aroma made her impatient for Liz to wake up and start breakfast, although they had no big plans for the day.
Once everyone was up, she and Liz would launch the dinghy and go ashore. They had decided to go to the Internet café where they could clear in with French customs using a computer terminal. Since Sandrine had already handled their official arrival, this was only for the benefit of anyone who might be watching for them based on the blog posts. The process here was informal and she wouldn't have to show any papers in order to get a stamped, printed clearance form via the automated system. It had occurred to her last night as she talked with Phillip that someone might have made arrangements with a staff member at the Internet café to watch for Vengeance, since the blog had listed St. Pierre as their first port of call after leaving St. Lucia, so they opted to make it easy for their stalker.
Dani took another sip of coffee, looking out to the west as the edge of shadow from the mountains behind the town crept ever closer to the beach. Sunrise had been an hour ago, but the sun was still behind the ridge to the east of town, leaving the town and the anchorage in deep shadow. As the sun climbed higher, the edge of the mountains' shadows crawled to the east, approaching the anchorage and then the town. St. Pierre wouldn't be in direct sunlight until near midday. Dani found this morning gloom depressing every time they anchored here, especially coupled with the gruesome history of St. Pierre.
Hearing the soft creak of oars, she turned to watch a nearby fisherman as he rowed through the harbor just outside the line of anchored yachts. He was tossing handfuls of dry grass into the water, watching it drift to see which way the currents ran as he contemplated where to set his net. After a couple of minutes, he stood up, bending to grasp the piled netting that took up most of the room in the 30-foot boat. With a smooth heave, he began feeding the net over the side, careful not to make noise that might scare his quarry.
"Good morning," Phillip said, breaking the spell as he stepped into the cockpit. "Rest well?"
"Fine, thanks, and you?"
"Slept like the dead … what are you laughing at?"
"A Mickey Mouse baseball cap?"
"Yeah, well, I don't like it much, but that's what Bill said he wore, so …"
"Morning," Marie interrupted. "Liz is up; she said she'd have coffee ready in a few minutes." She settled onto the cockpit seat next to Dani, looked at Phillip, and laughed. "Nice hat; where'd you get that?"
He glowered and mumbled, "Disney World. Where else?"
She was gazing over his shoulder, studying the town. "This is a grim place. Looks like some of the pictures of European cities right after World War II. New-looking buildings mixed in with bombed-out ruins. What's the story?"
"You haven't been here long enough to hear about Mount Pelée?" Dani asked.
Marie shook her head. "No, only a few months, and for most of that, I was off-island."
"That's Mount Pelée." Dani pointed to the north at the conical, grass covered mountain, its truncated top hidden in a cloud. "It erupted in 1902 and completely wiped out the town. Before that, St. Pierre was called the 'Paris of the West Indies.' This was a major trading port; the city was incredibly wealthy. It even had an 800-seat opera house. The volcano rumbled for a few days, but nobody thought much of it. A few people were worried, but the politicians calmed everybody down; didn't want business to suffer. Finally, it blew. Within three minutes, 30,000 people died. This harbor was full of ships, and they were all destroyed except one. One person survived in town."
"No wonder it's spooky-looking. How did one person survive? That sounds like there must be a story behind it."
"He was a prisoner, locked in a dungeon. Everything around him was destroyed, but his cell is still standing. Looks like a tomb, but it kept him alive. There's a good volcano museum in town; you should go sometime."
"Oh, I will. Sounds fascinating."
"Macabre is more like it," Liz said, balancing a tray with a carafe of coffee and three mugs on it as she joined them. "There were so many dead that they never even buried most of them — they're still turning up bones every so often when somebody disturbs the ground." She topped up Dani's coffee and filled the three mugs, passing them around.
"That's macabre, all right," Marie said, taking a mug.
"Smell that bakery," Phillip said, inhaling with gusto as he took a steaming cup.
Liz glanced at her watch. "We slept in this morning. It's late enough for us to clear in already. If it sounds good, I'll go ashore with Dani, and while she takes care of the paperwork, I'll get us some fresh, hot pastries for breakfast."
"Sounds great to me," Marie said.
Phillip nodded.
Dani drained her mug in one gulp and stood up. "I'll get the dinghy ready while you finish your coffee. I'm starved."
****
The killer watched the four people aboard Vengeance as he ate his breakfast. He still couldn't see them clearly, but he didn't need to. He just wanted to know when they left the boat; he was hoping they planned an all-day excursion. He didn't need to be aboard Vengeance for long, and he had noticed the harbor had emptied by late morning yesterday. Several of the cruising yachts were already getting under way, and he knew the dive boats and excursion boats would be going out soon as well, giving him an opportunity to board Vengeance unobserved.
He saw one of the blond women on Vengeance climb into the dinghy and bring it around to their boarding ladder, where she picked up the other blonde. They looked enough alike so he couldn't tell them apart; he wondered if they were sisters. The first one in the dinghy bent to start the outboard, and they motored over to the town dock. He glanced at his watch; it was early. Maybe they were going to clear in and come back for the Fitzgeralds. If not, he would just have to find another way to get aboard Vengeance.
The two women split up as they stepped from the dock to the pavement. He lifted his camera and watched as one of them went into a bakery, while the other continued walking in the direction of the Internet café he had visited yesterday.
Distracted for a moment by the memory of the flirtatious Véronique, he realized he had lost sight of the woman from Vengeance when she turned a corner. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the cell phone and checked to make certain it was turned on. He wondered if the girl from the Internet café would call. He hoped she would; she was attractive enough to warrant his attention. He could use a little diversion unrelated to his mission. He was thinking about how to work in some time with her when the phone vibrated in his hand, startling him. Before he could react, it emitted a strident ringing sound.
He pressed the connect button as he raised the phone to his ear. "Good morning, Véronique."
"Bonjour! How do you know I call you?"
"I've been hoping, dreaming that you would call, ever since yesterday."
He heard an embarrassed giggle, then, "Mister Fitzgerald?"
"It's Bill, please."
Another giggle, and "Okay, Bill. Your friend, she is at the computer right now. You wish for me to give her the cell phone?"
"No, no. My friend is actually a passenger on the yacht; the woman there is the captain, I'm sure."
"Yes. That is so. Dani. She is here some times before now; I know her a little bit."
"Véronique, please don't mention me to her; I want to surprise my friend, so don't tell the captain about me, okay?"
"Yes, of course. I will do as you wish."
"Thank you," the killer said, with relief.
"It is nothing."
As he was about to hang up, he heard her say, "Bill?"
"Yes?"
"It would be nice to see you again."
"I'll call you after I meet my friend. Perhaps we can do something together."
"I would like that very much. Until later, then?"
"Yes, later. Thank you, and good-bye."
He hung up the phone, annoyed with himself for his lapse in judgment. He cursed the impulse that had led him to flirt with the girl yesterday, and even worse, to give her Fitzgerald's name. He popped the back off the cell phone and removed the battery, exposing the SIM card. Using a fingernail, he slipped the SIM card out of the phone. He put the phone and the SIM in separate pockets; he would dispose of them the next time he went out. The phone had become a liability.
Pondering his situation, he decided his mistake was not too serious. The worst that could happen would be that Véronique might tell the woman, Dani, that Bill Fitzgerald was looking for them. That would unsettle them, which was all to the good. He just needed to stay out of sight and make sure Véronique had no chance to point him out to the Fitzgeralds; that could precipitate a premature end to the game.
Feeling in control again, he returned to his surveillance of Vengeance, watching as Jane, wearing a skimpy bikini, unrolled a pad on the foredeck and sat down on it. She applied a liberal amount of sunscreen before she stretched out, writhing like a cat as she settled on her stomach, tossing her thick auburn hair forward so it wouldn't shade her neck and shoulders. Bill was not in sight; the killer supposed he was below deck, writing another 'learned' dissertation about killers.
Bluewater Stalker: The Sixth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 6) Page 12