"What are you struggling with?" Liz asked. "I know that look."
"Putting the pieces together. He never lost his cool; didn't try to fight or defend himself. He wanted to disengage and escape, but it wasn't like he panicked. Every move was controlled. He's done this before, whoever he is."
"You think he's the killer?" Liz asked.
"Most likely, unless Fitzgerald's managed to piss off Delta Force or something. This guy must operate solo -- no sign of anybody else around."
"We can assume that for now," Marie agreed. "Where do we go from here?"
"You mean literally? Or what's our next step?" Dani asked.
"Well, both, but I was thinking in terms of next step."
"He's probably done for the night," Phillip said, "and that means done for St. Pierre, I think."
"So you think we should continue following the itinerary?" Liz asked. "What about the Fitzgeralds?"
"Those are good questions. What's the next planned stop on his blog post?"
"Portsmouth," Liz said.
"Dominica?"
She nodded.
"We could go on there and see what happens," Marie said.
"You're too quiet," Liz said, looking at Dani.
"I'm thinking we're under a term charter."
"What's that mean?" Marie asked.
"Without getting mired in admiralty law, it means Vengeance belongs to the Fitzgeralds for the duration of the charter. We shouldn't take her anywhere without their permission. There are some exceptions, but none that I think would excuse us from including them in the decision."
"Okay, fair enough," Phillip said, "but where do you think that leaves us?"
"My guess is they'll want to go to Dominica; that was Bill's main objective when they booked the charter."
"Right," Liz said, "but we do need to talk it over with them before we decide."
"One more thing," Dani said.
"What's that?" Phillip asked.
"We need to keep up appearances. If this guy is as organized as he seems to be, he's probably watching us. You and Marie need to be the Fitzgeralds for a while longer. Who knows what he might do if he figures out this was a setup?"
The other three were silent for several beats. "I hadn't thought of that," Marie said.
"Neither had I," Phillip added, looking sheepish.
"So let's consider that he's somewhere keeping an eye on us, contemplating his next move. He has to figure his gizmo, whatever it is, is compromised. I caught him in the act of planting it, so he won't trust it. I figure it has to be a listening device; it's just too small to be anything else. That means he didn't gain anything from this caper, but we have to wonder why he wanted to eavesdrop on us."
"Could be a tracking device," Marie said.
"It's possible," Phillip agreed, "but unless he's hooked up with some serious espionage group, it's too small. The commercially available ones are bigger than that."
"We need to get the device to Clarence, along with the business card. Then we'll know. Since we surprised a prowler aboard last night, it would be entirely reasonable for me to go to the police station," Dani said.
"You want to make a report?" Marie asked, eyebrows raised.
"No. It's a good cover for us to drop off the device and the card at the police station like Clarence suggested; it won't surprise the killer if he sees me go in there. In that respect, he did us a favor of sorts. Before I go, you need to fill Clarence in, but he can probably pull his team now."
"Okay, good so far," Phillip said. "What else?"
"If we're right about the Fitzgeralds wanting to go to Dominica, we'll need to work out a way for the two of you to change places with them without being observed. I'm thinking Sandrine could drive them up this way later this morning. Liz and I will book a taxi tour of the island for the four of us, leaving and returning here in St. Pierre, and we'll meet them somewhere out of the way to make the switch."
"Sounds good, if that's what they want to do," Phillip said. "Clarence can handle the taxi tour from here; that way there's no opportunity for the killer to bribe information out of some local operator, and we can just give the card and the gizmo to his driver. That saves you stopping at the police station."
"After the tour, we'll spend the night at anchor here and make an early departure for Dominica in the morning," Dani said.
"That sets you up to leave Martinique," Marie said, "but what about security for the Fitzgeralds in Dominica?"
"If that's the way it plays out, we'll call Sharktooth."
"Who?" Marie asked.
"He's an associate of ours from Dominica. He and Clarence go way back," Phillip explained.
"I think that's as far as we can get until the rest of the world wakes up. I'm going to try to get a little rest," Dani said, standing up and stretching.
****
The killer sat staring across the water at Vengeance, a makeshift icepack pressed to the throbbing lump on the side of his head where the blonde had hit him. He was glad he had sensed her presence in time to avoid the full force of the blow; she might have knocked him unconscious. That would have put an abrupt end to the game.
He couldn't trust anything he might pick up on the listening device, now. They might not find it; but he didn't know how long she had been watching him before she decided to attack. It was possible she had seen him affix it to the underside of the table. He had been unable to pick up a signal from it since he got back, but it was sound activated, and he could see there was no one in the cockpit aboard Vengeance. There were lights on below deck so they must be awake, but if they were talking quietly in the main cabin, they wouldn't trigger it. He was prepared to write off the listening device; it had been a last minute idea anyway.
His primary objective had been to plant a satellite tracking device on the boat, which he had accomplished before he climbed into the cockpit. The waterproof tracker was about the size of a pack of cigarettes and would broadcast its position every 60 minutes for the next month. Pulling himself up the anchor chain, he had fastened the tracker securely on top of the bowsprit, hidden from view by the structure that held the rollers for the chain. It wouldn't be noticed by a person aboard the boat, but it still had an adequate view of the sky to send and receive signals. He could now determine the vessel's whereabouts from any PC with Internet access; he no longer had to rely on Fitzgerald's blog.
When the other yachts began leaving at dawn, he would depart with them and head for Dominica to wait for Vengeance. He was pleased with his decision to rent this yacht in St. Lucia; he had been worried about paperwork, but his fictitious sailing resume and the large cash payment up front had been sufficient to satisfy the rental agent. Now he had freedom of movement and a place to stay out of sight. The boat, bearing the markings of the world's biggest bareboat charter fleet, wouldn't attract any attention. There were seven others just like it in St. Pierre when he arrived, and he was confident there would be more in Portsmouth, Dominica.
****
Bill sat in the back seat of the small car as Sandrine dodged the potholes in the road that skirted the Baie de Fort-de-France. She and Jane were chattering away, but he couldn't quite follow their conversation. Jane wanted to practice her rusty French, but Sandrine insisted on using this opportunity to further her grasp of colloquial American English. They had reached a compromise yesterday, with Sandrine speaking English, critiqued on the fly by Jane in English. Jane spoke French with interlinear coaching from Sandrine, also in French. Both women were talkative, so the exchanges were continuous, punctuated by periodic bursts of laughter. Bill had given up trying to follow what they were saying.
Between the rumble of the tires on the road surface and the whine of the engine, the confusing mixture of French and English the women were speaking was even less comprehensible than it had been yesterday. He had spent most of yesterday writing, stopping every so often to try calling David. He hadn't discussed that with Jane, knowing she wouldn't approve, but he had thought talking with David co
uldn't do any harm now that the trap was already set in St. Pierre.
He had called several times during the day, never finding David in his room. The hotel operator had offered to take a message, but Bill, remembering Phillip's comment about the lack of privacy in Bequia, had declined to leave his name, simply saying he would call back. The last time he had tried, it had been almost midnight; the operator had told him the switchboard would be closed from midnight until 8 a.m.
Before he had a chance to try to reach David this morning, Phillip had called and filled the three of them in on last night's activities and their current thinking. After a quick consultation while Sandrine chatted with the others, he and Jane had decided they might as well rejoin Vengeance and go to Dominica. The only real alternative would be to cancel their plans and go back to the States, which neither wanted to do. Dani and Phillip had said they should be reasonably safe, particularly in the Portsmouth area. There were relatively few visitors there, so it would be hard for an outsider to do anything unnoticed. Bill had been focused on their decision at the time, not really processing the rest of the information Phillip had shared.
Alone with his thoughts in the back seat of the car, he had been recalling those other parts of their conversation. Now he was just as glad he had not been able to reach David. While he couldn't believe his friend could be involved in the string of killings, he was a little shaken at the other things Phillip had learned about him, especially after the girl in St. Pierre had looked at David's picture and couldn't rule him out as the man who was passing himself off as Bill Fitzgerald. He remembered the tormented look in Jane's eyes when Phillip had been reciting what they knew so far. He wondered again about the source of friction between her and David, resolving that he would try harder to get her to discuss her dislike for the man once they were back aboard Vengeance.
Chapter 21
An hour after their departure, Vengeance was rolling along on a beam reach, entering the open stretch of water between Martinique and Dominica. Liz was below, trying to catch up on the sleep she had missed last night. Bill had the helm and Jane was sunning herself on the downwind side of the cockpit; it was a bit rough and the spray was flying up forward, rendering her favorite perch on the bowsprit unattractive. Dani blinked, rubbing her raw-looking, bloodshot eyes.
"Go take a nap," Bill said. "I'll call if anything changes. You've got to be exhausted."
Dani stood up and scanned the horizon; there were no other vessels in sight and the nearest point of land was several miles behind them. She thought about it for a moment and then looked at Bill. "You sure you're comfortable with that?"
He grinned and nodded. "No problem; she feels perfectly balanced, the wind's nice and steady, and there's not much way for me to get in trouble. Don't worry; I'll yell if anything happens. We've got a long day ahead of us and it's my fault you and Liz didn't get any sleep night before last. I know you two were on guard last night, too. It'll be okay. Go for it."
"It's not your fault; it was my idea to try to draw him out."
"You know what I mean; you need to rest. The tricky part will be when we make landfall on Dominica, right?"
"That's so; the big headland you can just barely make out through the haze up there is Scott's Head. It's on the southwest tip of Dominica, even though it looks like a separate island from this far away. We should be there in around four hours if we hold this course and speed; I could use a little sleep before then."
"Jane and I will be okay; we'll wake you when we get there."
"It's usually pretty rough around there; you probably won't have to wake me up." Dani took a plastic whistle on a lanyard out of her pocket and handed it to him. "If you need me, just blow this. It's way better than yelling; Liz and I use it all the time."
He took the whistle and draped it around his neck as Dani went below. She turned when she was part of the way down the ladder and said, "Thanks."
"Sweet dreams," Jane said, rolling over onto her back and reaching for the spray bottle of sunscreen.
"I thought you were asleep," Bill said in a soft voice a moment after Dani disappeared from sight.
"Just thinking, I guess."
"I've been needing to talk with you," Bill said.
"What's on your mind? Talk to me." Jane rolled to her side and propped herself on an elbow.
"Things have seemed tense between us for the last few days. I'm just …," he paused, searching for words.
Jane chuckled ruefully. "We've been pretty shaken up ever since St. Lucia."
"That's so, for sure. But ever since we ran into David in Bequia, I've felt like he, ah … I don't know …"
Jane pushed herself to a sitting position and faced him, studying the play of emotions on his face. She held her tongue, waves of guilt washing over her as she searched for the strength to do what she knew was right and fair. Before she could say anything, he broke the silence again.
"I've had a lot of time to think over the last few days. All the things Phillip and Dani discovered make me question how much I really know about him. I have to admit there's reason for some suspicion. I didn't know as much about his history with that book as you do; now you've got me wondering about this whole story of the agent. You think he made that up as an excuse to meet us in Bequia? And why would he do that, anyway?"
"I don't know, Bill. I've known the man for seven, no, make that eight years. The book's been 'almost finished' all that time, and he was forever quoting what the agent told him. His story's never changed; honestly, I think it's just a line he uses to impress undergrad women. He's spun it out for so long he probably believes it himself. I've even wondered if he wrote that manuscript or if he stole it. I'm not sure there's anything recent in it beyond what he's gotten from you. I looked through his … never mind. I know he's your friend. I shouldn't …"
"Shouldn't what?"
Jane shook her head, rubbing at a tear as she tried to hide her face by looking out over the horizon.
"What did you start to say? You looked through his … what?"
"Bill, you know I love you, don't you?"
"Yes, of course." He glanced up at the sails, feeling the motion of Vengeance, conscious that the boat felt like a living thing beneath his hands, demanding, responding, almost like a woman. "I love you, too. What's this about looking through his …"
"Bill, it was my junior year; he was my English prof, and I … he …"
Bill's face went pale; his knees were suddenly weak. He fell back into the helmsman's seat, steering by instinct to keep the sails full as he grasped what Jane was trying to tell him. He looked over at her. "So it was like that?"
She curled into a fetal position, her hands covering her face as she sobbed. She gradually got control of herself, sitting up again. "That's why I've never liked him, Bill. Don't make it worse, please. I hate myself enough as it is. I've been weak … I couldn't …" seeing the hurt look on his face, the clenched jaws and the trembling chin, she put her face in her hands and sobbed again.
Beneath his hurt feelings, Bill felt a wellspring of empathy, imagining how difficult this must have been for her, and what she must have gone through all this time. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't matter; of course it matters. But Jane, I love you. You're a wonderful wife, and, Jesus, that was a long time ago. I'm sorry I didn't know … what I must have put you through."
He reached for her with his left arm, keeping his right hand on the helm, but she backed away from him.
"Jane?"
She took a deep breath, gazing at the endless horizon to the west. She steeled herself, knowing there would never be a right time.
"I couldn't stop with him, Bill. I was too afraid of what he might do, that he'd lose it, and everything would come out in the open … I was weak, and stupid … I'm sorry, Bill, you deserve better." She stared off into the distant emptiness, tears pouring down her cheeks, her shoulders heaving as she gave in to uncontrolled sobs.
Bill sat, stunned, as he deciphered the hidden message in her last s
tatement. "You can't mean …"
She realized the cockpit suddenly felt crowded; she needed space. The seas had moderated as they got farther from the north end of Martinique; the bowsprit looked tenable now.
"I'm so, so sorry," she bawled as she rose to her feet. She cast a look of longing at her shaken husband and stepped onto the windward side deck, shuffling forward like a sleepwalker. She crawled out onto the small platform on the bowsprit and folded herself into a sitting position, her feet dangling just above the waves, the wind in her face.
****
The killer sat in an open-air bar on the beach in Portsmouth, Dominica, nursing an ice-cold bottle of Kubuli, the local beer. He booted up his laptop to sign on to the bar's complimentary Wi-Fi. While he waited on the computer, he looked out over the anchorage where his nondescript boat was tied to a mooring ball. The anchorage stretched for over two miles, from the dock at Fort Shirley all the way around past Glanvillia and beyond. Most of the visiting yachts were clustered in the northwestern corner, near where the beach bars were.
One of the water taxi drivers had come by to collect the fee for the mooring shortly after the killer's arrival. The man had explained that petty theft from anchored boats was an occasional problem. He said the organization to which he belonged ran volunteer security patrols, concentrating on the area where the rental moorings and most of the anchored yachts were. The water taxi operator had stressed that the expense of the patrols was defrayed by voluntary contributions from visitors; the killer had added twenty dollars to the amount of the mooring fee, asking if it was an appropriate amount.
"Whatever you wish to contribute will help a great deal. Mostly, it goes to buy gasoline. We donate our time, and sometimes the use of our boats. We want people to feel safe here; if they feel okay leaving their boats here, then they stay and spend money for tours and diving expeditions, you see."
The killer clicked on the bookmarked web address for the service that sold the tracking device and logged in with the unit code and password for the tracker he had affixed to Vengeance. In a matter of seconds, he was looking at a map showing the north end of Martinique and the surrounding waters. There were three position plots with time stamps displayed: one in the harbor at St. Pierre, one just off the northwest corner of the island, and the most recent, only a few minutes old, about ten miles out in the Martinique Channel. Vengeance was coming his way.
Bluewater Stalker: The Sixth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 6) Page 14