Bill laughed. "I don't believe that for a minute. So are there any secrets to the sport you can pass on, Dani?"
"Not really, except you shouldn't confuse fighting with sport. There's only one goal in fighting, and that's to incapacitate the other person as fast as you can. I don't like the idea of fighting as a sport; I think that's sick. Boxing and mixed martial arts, especially. They're perversions. I think paying people to hurt each other so other people can watch them is the lowest form of entertainment ever devised. Liz and I were just messing around a minute ago, letting off steam. You won't see moves like that in a real fight; fighting is about killing the other person before they kill you. That's it; that's the big secret."
"Hey, look!" Liz said, jumping to her feet and shading her eyes against the glare with a hand. "Here comes Sharktooth!"
****
The killer was in the cockpit of his plain, white fiberglass boat, his feet up on the seat and a book propped against his knees as he watched the late arrivals. Several of the water taxi drivers had stopped by during the last hour offering to take him on tours tomorrow. One man had left him a brochure describing the sights along the Indian River as it meandered through a pristine mangrove swamp. Another flyer extolled the beauty of the reefs to be seen on snorkeling expeditions up the coast to the north. He had been polite but blunt with the men, explaining that he intended to just relax for a while. He was perturbed by the way most of them seemed to take that as an invitation to hang on to the side of his boat and converse at length; he'd never been anywhere less conducive to maintaining his anonymity.
He lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes as he saw a big ketch rounding Rollo Head, the hill that stood at the south entrance to Prince Rupert Bay, the harbor off Portsmouth. As he focused the glasses, he saw it was Vengeance and that she was towing one of the brightly painted water taxis. He wondered about that; maybe the water taxi had run out of gas. As they came closer, he recognized the water taxi as the one with the dried shark's jaws affixed to its foredeck like a hood ornament. The jaws had caught his eye earlier; they were big enough for a man to pass through them. Then he had noticed the man at the tiller; as big as he was, that shark couldn't have eaten him, at least not in one bite.
Aside from being a giant, the man was memorable for his hair. The killer had become accustomed to seeing all sorts of people wearing dreadlocks, but he'd never seen a bald-headed Rasta man with dreads to his waist until he had spotted this man earlier in the day.
Sharktooth was the name emblazoned in yellow, foot-high letters on the green side of the 24-foot, outboard-powered boat. He had noticed that when the boat had no passengers, the driver let it drift through the anchorage. The other water taxis would congregate around it to visit with him unless they had fares aboard. The boat called Sharktooth didn't appear to do much business; he seldom saw it with anyone other than the giant aboard. The killer had asked one of his visitors about that earlier.
"Oh," the man had replied, "tha's Sharktooth; he the president of our association. He don' carry many folks, unless he know 'em. He keep things runnin' smooth-like for the res' of us."
"So his name's Sharktooth? I thought that was the name of his boat."
"Is both, mon. He name, an' he boat name."
"That must be a nickname; what's his real name?"
"Sharktooth don' tell anybody; nobody know anyt'ing but Sharktooth. Tha's what he like to be call, an' is bes' to keep that mon happy, see."
"He's got a temper, then, I guess?"
"No, mon. He very easy-goin'. Never get angry. Sometime he get vex wit' people, they jus' gone."
"You mean he makes them disappear?"
"Mebbe so." The handheld marine radio on the seat beside the driver squawked, and he picked it up, answering in a rapid patois that the killer couldn't follow. "Nice to meet you, mon. Mus' go; my wife, she have my dinner ready. Welcome to Dominica; enjoy yo' visit to our beautiful islan'."
The killer decided Sharktooth must be friends with the two women who ran Vengeance. He hoped the man wouldn't get in his way. He didn't want to leave a body in Dominica; especially not the body of a well-known local. This place was already making him nervous because of his inability to maintain a low profile. Now it appeared that Vengeance had some connection to the local boss man.
He watched as Vengeance moved through the anchorage at idle speed, approaching an unoccupied mooring ball three boats in front of him. That was good; they would only be about a hundred yards away, and the three boats between them were sister ships to his, chartered from the same bareboat company. Only the names painted in two-inch script on either side of the bow differentiated them. Their dinghies were identical to his as well, the only difference being the inventory numbers painted in black letters on the inside surface of the white fiberglass. At least he had that much cover. He watched as Sharktooth went up to the bow of Vengeance with a boat hook in hand to pick up the mooring. The little blonde who had given him the still-sore knot on his head was at the helm, handling the big boat with the sure skill born of long practice. He went below to fix his dinner and think about his next step.
****
Cardile sat at the table, his laptop open in front of him. He'd just finished dinner, and he had discovered he could pick up the Wi-Fi signal from one of the beach bars. He opened his email program and waited for it to retrieve his messages, musing over the strange email he had gotten earlier in the day from Jane. He was not surprised she had rebuffed his offer to join her, but beyond that, the message had been devoid of any information.
She hadn't said Bill had been released, nor had she mentioned that they were going on to Dominica. She must have known he would already have that information from the blog. He wondered why she didn't mention it, unless she and Bill were not speaking and she didn't know about the latest blog post. That was a possibility, although it would be unusual based on what he knew about them. Of course, they were in an unusual situation.
Besides finding Jane's response odd, it was puzzling that he hadn't heard from Bill. Surely, Jane would have told him David had written. Then he began to wonder if the calls the receptionist had mentioned last night when he called the Mango Tree to check for messages had been from Bill. The timing was right, but he thought Bill would have left his name and number. David began to wonder if Bill had found out about the affair; that could explain their abnormal behavior. Although if Bill knew or suspected and wanted to confront David, why would he not have called again today? The receptionist had volunteered when he called in just now that there were no calls today from 'that mon, he call yesterday.'
If Bill had somehow found out, that could spoil Cardile's plans; he'd been depending on Jane's need to hide the affair from Bill as a source of leverage over the next few days. Seeing that there were no new emails, he closed the email program and opened the file containing the latest chapter in his manuscript. Trying to write would settle his mind; it usually bored him to the point of sleep within a few minutes.
Chapter 23
The killer sat in the cockpit pretending to read while keeping an eye on the morning's activity aboard Vengeance. As they were finishing breakfast, Sharktooth had brought his boat alongside, holding onto Vengeance's toe rail and chatting with the three women while Fitzgerald went below. The man had a deep melodious voice; the killer couldn't make out what he was saying, but the smooth rumble resonated across the hundred yards of water. Fitzgerald returned to the cockpit, a lightly loaded backpack in his hand. He kissed his wife on the cheek, said something to the two blondes, and climbed down into Sharktooth's boat. Sharktooth pull-started the 80 horsepower outboard with no apparent effort, and the two men left, waving as they headed for the mouth of the Indian River. The killer contemplated what the chances were of the three women staying aboard. He could cope with that; it wasn't ideal for him, but he was confident he could handle them and do what he needed to do. The bigger problem was all the traffic in the anchorage. Too many people were about; water taxis and dinghies were zipping f
rom place to place as people called across the water to neighboring boats, coordinating their plans for the day.
He knew things would soon quiet down. Yesterday, the people from the yachts had gone ashore or out on dive boats by mid-morning, leaving most of the yachts unoccupied. He had also noticed that the patrol boat made only a couple of cursory trips through the anchorage, spending most of the day tied up to a ramshackle dock in front of one of the beach bars a quarter of a mile away. The crowd was already thinning out this morning; these yachting people seemed to have similar schedules, rising early and starting their daily activities before it got too hot.
He saw one of the blondes pull Vengeance's dinghy alongside and climb down into it. He thought she was the one who had hit him the other night in St. Pierre; her short hair was wavy, and a golden blond. The other one's hair had a reddish cast, and she wore it pulled back into a bun most of the time. He had been studying them in his spare time. He thought from her behavior that the one with the wavy hair was the captain -- Dani, the girl in St. Pierre had called her. He wouldn't go out of his way, but if he got the chance, he had a score to settle with her. The swelling had gone down, but the knot was still tender. The one with her hair in the bun climbed into the dinghy and the two of them stood, holding onto the side of Vengeance, talking with Jane.
He waited, his excitement building. This could be the break he needed. Jane stood up and handed a large canvas tote bag over the rail, and his heart sank as he thought she would follow. The women exchanged a few more words, and then Dani started the outboard. Jane stood in Vengeance's cockpit, waving as the dinghy motored away toward town. His spirits lifted.
He forced himself to sit and watch as people continued to leave their yachts and go off in the water taxis. Every time a new water taxi approached, his anxiety built; he worried that one would pick Jane up, although that didn't make sense to him. She had gone below at some point; she didn't appear to be waiting for anyone. He checked his watch; there had been no small boat traffic for 15 minutes. Fitzgerald and the blondes had both given the appearance of leaving for extended visits ashore, and Jane was alone on Vengeance. He went below and gathered his supplies; this was the perfect opportunity for him to strike.
****
"That's beautiful, Maureen," Liz said, studying the primitive seascape, trying to decipher the signature. "The colors are perfect; I could swear I'm looking at a sunset from the beach in Prince Rupert Bay, not a painting in your gallery. Who's the artist? Did you do this?"
Maureen and Liz shared a passion for painting, although their styles were distinctly different. Liz rendered boats under sail with striking realism, while Maureen's work was more avant-garde. They were walking through Maureen's gallery on the outskirts of Portsmouth.
After Maureen had greeted them, Dani had excused herself to stand on the front porch and call Phillip. She wanted to let him know they had arrived in Dominica as planned and that they had connected with Sharktooth. She was hoping for news from Clarence and Paul, as well.
"You won't believe it if I tell you," Maureen said.
"Well, try me."
"My better half painted that."
Liz's jaw dropped. She raised a hand to her chin and shook her head, disbelief written broad across her face.
"He did, girl," Maureen said, laughing.
"I had no idea he had that kind of talent."
"Neither did I. I don't think he had any idea, either. He just sat down one afternoon and did it; didn't take him any time, much."
"What did I miss?" Dani asked, dropping the satellite phone into Liz's big canvas tote bag on the counter by the door as she entered the gallery.
"Look at this," Liz said, taking her arm and marching her over to stand in front of the painting.
"A sunset," Dani said. "With the afterglow of a green flash. Looks like the view from the anchorage, I think."
"Isn't it amazing?"
Dani screwed her face up, squinting at the painting from several different angles, moving from side to side.
"Well?" Liz prompted.
"It's a little out of focus, don't you think?"
Liz and Maureen laughed.
Dani's face flushed. "What? What's funny?"
"You, girl," Maureen said. "A little out of focus."
That provoked a new round of laughter from the two of them.
"Well, it is," Dani said, crossing her arms and turning to face them, the muscles in her jaw jumping. "I mean, I can tell what it is by the colors and the shapes, but …"
"That's the whole point," Liz said. "That's what it's about."
"I like your paintings better; I have to look hard to make sure they're not photographs."
"You sure you didn't study engineering at university instead of finance?" Liz teased.
"You know I would have, except for my mother's family's business. We've talked about that. Why?"
"You're so literal, Dani, so black and white."
"Well, I just don't see why an artist wouldn't want to paint a crisp, clear picture."
"Think of it as poetry; this gives you just enough information to evoke that scene. It's perfectly clear in your mind's eye, isn't it? Or you wouldn't have recognized what it was instantly."
"I suppose there's something to that. I hope I haven't offended you, Maureen. You know I don't have refined taste when it comes to art." Dani forced herself to relax, letting her arms drop to her sides.
"I didn't even paint it; I can't take offense. But I wouldn't anyway. Everybody looks at art and sees something different; that's part of the magic, Dani. You don't have to like it; it's just there."
"So who did paint it? I thought most of the paintings in here were yours."
"Well, they are. The sculptures and tapestries are from different people, but this is the only painting that's not my work."
"Take a guess, Dani," Liz prompted. "Who's the least likely person you can think of to paint something like that?"
"Phillip," Dani responded without hesitation.
Maureen and Liz burst into fits of laughter again.
"Well, he is," Dani said, feeling the flush rise from her neck to her cheeks again as she crossed her arms.
"You're right, but he didn't paint this," Liz said. The artist is just as unlikely, though."
"Sharktooth," Maureen said, taking pity on Dani.
"Sharktooth?!" Dani said, her inflection shrill and rising. She began to laugh as hard as Liz and Maureen had, clutching her sides and bending over.
"Whassup?" boomed a rich, bass voice from just outside the door.
"What I miss, ladies?" the artist under discussion asked as he and Bill Fitzgerald walked into the gallery.
"We were just admiring your painting. It's beautiful, Sharktooth."
"Um," the big man said, looking down at the floor and clasping his hands in a fig leaf position. "I thought …"
"I'm sorry," Maureen said. "I know you didn't …"
"It's okay," he said. "I jus' don' wan' the fellas to know. Okay for my frien's here, but I don' t'ink I wan' you to tell Phillip, please."
"Sharktooth, it's wonderful. You should be proud; I wish I could paint like that," Liz said.
"But yo' paintin's like pictures, Liz. I can't do that; mine fuzzy-like."
"It's just different. I can't paint like you did there, where just the colors and the vague shapes tell everything. I have to put in all that detail to get my point across; you do it with just a few strokes. It's a different gift."
"Yeah?"
"I told you that," Maureen said. "You believe me now?"
"Mebbe so."
"I don't understand much about art, but I took one look at it and knew I was seeing a sunset from Prince Rupert Bay, and that I'd just seen a green flash," Dani offered.
"Yeah?" His tone was more enthusiastic, now.
"Is it for sale?" Bill asked.
"For sale?" Sharktooth repeated, not believing he'd heard correctly. "You mean, you want to buy it?"
"If it's for sale an
d I can afford the price, yes."
'Um, I don' know, Bill. I don' t'ink about sell the picture when I paint. I paint because I see the sunset in my head an' it make me feel good. I paint it 'cause I wan' to keep the feelin', see."
"I do see. I understand completely. It makes me feel good, too. If you change your mind, though, let me know, okay? Don't go selling it to somebody else."
"I t'ink about it. It make me happy that you like it, anyhow."
They stood in silence for a moment, admiring Sharktooth's work.
Maureen finally said, "Mr. Fitzgerald, Sharktooth and I would like to invite the four of you to come to our house for dinner this evening, if your wife is agreeable to that."
"It's Bill, please, and I'm sure she will be delighted."
"Should we get back to the boat?" Dani asked. "I know she wanted some time to rest; you think she's had long enough?"
"Sure. I'm beat, anyway. Sharktooth set a blistering pace hiking through the rainforest. If we go now, maybe I can get a little nap in before we come back."
"What time's dinner, Maureen?" Liz asked.
"Whenever you get here will be fine."
"Can we bring anything?"
"Jus' yo'selves," Sharktooth said.
****
"Jane?" Bill called, as the dinghy nudged Vengeance.
There was no answer.
"Probably asleep," he said. "I don't think she slept at all well last night."
"That's what she said this morning," Liz agreed. "Should we let her sleep?"
"No, then she'll be up all night."
They scrambled into the cockpit, and Bill went below to their stateroom.
"Jane?" he called almost yelling.
"Everything okay?" Liz asked, surprised at his tone. She and Dani followed him to the stateroom, hesitating at the threshold.
Bill turned toward them, his face ashen. "She's gone."
Dani turned and rushed to the front of the main cabin, throwing open the door to the forward head and then the forward stateroom she and Liz shared when they had guests aboard. "Not up here," she called.
Bluewater Stalker: The Sixth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 6) Page 16