‘They thought you were dead,’ he said defensively.
Michael leapt forward, grabbing Miles’ hair and jamming the cold barrel of the gun into his eye.
‘Oh, I am dead, Miles,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been dead for twenty years. And now you’re going to join me in hell.’
‘Can you go any faster?’ shouted Philip, desperately trying to hang on to the side of the boat. The weather was filthy and waves were splashing over the bows so that he was ankle deep in water. At first the captain had refused to bring him across to Angel Cay from the White Sands resort, but he had relented when Philip had given him a thousand dollars in cash.
‘Boat only does thirty knots,’ said the old sailor.
‘This is an emergency,’ Philip pleaded, fumbling another note out from his pocket. The captain reached over, took the money, then turned back to his wheel.
Twelve long minutes later, the boat finally thumped up against Angel Cay’s jetty and Philip vaulted up and hit the ground running towards the house. His rugby training was a long time behind him, and at forty-seven his legs felt like lead as they pounded through the sand. But adrenalin and fear pushed him on through the rain, the wind whipping his jacket away from his body. Sasha had said she had thought something was wrong on the island, but now Philip knew there was. As soon as he’d hung up from Sasha, he’d called Nassau’s Central Detective Unit and asked to be put through to Detective Inspector Carlton, only to be told that there was no officer of that name.
‘At the station?’ asked Philip.
‘In any of our divisions, sir,’ said the officer on the line. ‘The Bahamas is not a big place.’
Confused, Philip had said he understood Carlton was in charge of investigating the discovery of a body on Angel Cay. He was put through to the Great Exumas police station in George Town only to be asked, ‘Is this a hoax?’ Nobody had heard of a dead body on Angel Cay. There was no police investigation and as far as they knew, no foreign surveyors on the island.
Philip was panting when he reached the house. He pushed through the front door and almost ran into Grace Ashford and Alex Doyle.
‘Who the hell are you?’ said Alex.
For a moment Philip couldn’t speak, he was breathing so hard. He bent over, hands on his knees.
‘My name is Phil Bettany,’ he gasped. ‘I’m . . . Sasha’s friend.’
‘Is she with you?’ asked Grace.
Phil looked at her anxiously. ‘What, you mean you haven’t see her? She arrived here over an hour ago. I spoke to her – she was in this house.’
Alex shook his head.‘There’s no one else in the house. We assumed she hadn’t got here yet.’
‘Shit,’ whispered Phil, a sinking feeling in his stomach. ‘Who else is on the island?’
‘Just Miles. And that caretaker who met us off the plane,’ said Alex.‘But you haven’t told us what’s going on. Is something wrong?’
‘Listen, I know why you’re here,’ Philip said urgently. ‘Sasha told me all about that night on the beach twenty years ago. Finding the body. Leaving the body, all of it.’
He saw Alex and Grace exchange a troubled glance.
‘But what’s that got to do with us?’ said Alex.
Philip pulled a face. ‘Sasha was told the police got involved after finding a body dug up by the Fairmont Hotels site surveyors. Alex, I told you, I know.’
Grace’s cheeks flushed.‘We are going to speak to the police. We’re going to tell them everything we know. Two officers are coming here tomorrow.’
‘No, they’re not. The police don’t know about any body dug up on Angel Cay. I just spoke to them.’
Alex frowned. ‘That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It wouldn’t surprise me if only one or two officers knew about this. Miles has his fixers on it, crisis-managing it. He wants to keep this as quiet as he can.’
‘Maybe, but there’s something else,’ said Phil. ‘Sasha said that Michael Marshall, the guy who brought you all here, is the boy you found on the beach.’
‘The dead boy?’ said Alex incredulously.
Phil nodded. ‘That night in 1990, Sasha had sex with him. Apparently this afternoon she found a photo of Marshall and she recognised him. Same face, same tattoo on his hip.’
‘A coincidence, surely?’ said Grace, looking from Philip to Alex. ‘I mean, it has to be, doesn’t it?’
It was clear from their faces that they all felt it wasn’t.
‘You know, I never actually saw that boy’s face,’ said Grace. ‘Just his head facing down into the sand when we found him. All those times I’ve thought of him, it’s just a projection, a guess what he might have looked like. And anyway, I’ve never even met this Michael Marshall.’
‘What about you?’ asked Phil, turning to Alex.
‘I met Michael a couple of times; he helped out when I was in the clinic that time, but he’s never looked familiar. That said, when I saw him in 1990, it was dark, I was drunk, high. It was a long time ago.’ He threw up his hands. ‘I guess it’s possible, but it’s so crazy, isn’t it?’
Philip felt a growing sense of unease. Something weird is going on, Sasha had said. From the pale expressions of Grace and Alex, he knew they felt it too.
‘Let’s go and find Miles,’ said Alex. ‘He disappeared twenty minutes ago. Maybe he went to meet Sasha.’
‘I’ll call the police,’ said Grace, walking over to the phone.
‘Good idea,’ said Phil, following Alex, who was already at the door. ‘And tell them to hurry.’
Miles was frightened. The sky was dark grey and the rain was getting harder. It was hurricane season this time of year in the Bahamas and a storm was definitely on its way. But it wasn’t the weather that was scaring him; it was his chances of living to see it.
‘So you intend to just kill me? Is that your masterplan?’ he shouted over the wind. ‘Why drag yourself up from West Virginia only to have yourself thrown back in jail for my murder?’
‘The police aren’t going to think I killed you, Miles. They’re going to think it was Alex Doyle, Sasha Sinclair and your sister.’
Miles laughed bitterly. ‘Why?’
‘Because they’re the only ones on this island. Carlton, Benny the caretaker, they’re my people.’ He laughed. ‘Carlton’s an ex-mercenary I’ve sometimes used for strong-arm work. I have to say, they’ve really thrown themelves into their roles.And when you’re found dead, Miles, the natural suspects will be your dear friends. All of them have motive. Grace hates you; so does Sasha after that nasty stitch-up with Simon Assad. And there’s bad blood between you and Alex too. His rejection of your Vegas residency plan, the mugging – which I was behind, incidentally. Benny will find your body. He’ll call the police, who will naturally suspect the island’s vengeful house guests. Meanwhile, I’ve got five guests at the Nassau Ashford prepared to vouch that they saw me in the hotel at the time of your murder.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Which is going to be at roughly six thirty p.m.’
He levelled the gun, using his other hand to steady himself. Miles had the crazy notion that he looked like Dirty Harry.
‘Why? What the fuck are you doing this for, Michael?’ he shouted desperately. ‘Do you want money? I can get you millions in cash, jewels, whatever you need!’
‘I don’t want your money,’ spat Michael. ‘But I want you to pay.’
At the edge of the mangrove, Alex stopped suddenly. He was walking in front of Philip and had seen Miles and Michael on the beach before him. Crouching down quickly in the bushes, he instructed Philip to do the same. They could see Michael standing over Miles, pointing down at him, his body turned away from them.
‘Shit, I think he’s got a gun,’ Alex whispered.
The two men stayed low in the undergrowth. Between them and the boathouse was a hundred feet of sand and scrub, completely open ground.
Alex felt his palms sweating. He knew instantly they were all in danger, Miles more immediately, but would Marshall stop with him?
> ‘What are we going to do?’ he said.
He hoped Grace had called the police but wondered how long it would take them to arrive – if they could get here at all in this awful weather.
Philip puffed out his cheeks lightly. ‘I could tackle him from behind but he could fire at Miles before we got halfway to the boathouse. He could fire at us too, for that matter.’
‘Tackle him?’ hissed Alex incredulously. ‘Who are you? The SAS?’
He watched Philip’s eyes scan the ground around him. Then he crawled across and picked up a small rock the size of a squash ball.
Alex looked at him cynically. ‘You are kidding me?’ he hissed.
‘Nope,’ said Philip, moving into a crouch.
‘Tell me you’re a good shot.’
‘As well as my rugby, I was in the England Under-Eighteen cricket team,’ he said.
‘Under eighteen?’ said Alex. ‘I hope you’ve kept in practice.’
Knowing he had no time to argue, Phil stood up and threw the rock. It sliced through the air in a perfect arc, hitting Michael Marshall on the back of the neck. He slumped forward, the gun going off with a bang.
‘Fuck me,’ whispered Alex. ‘Great shot!’ But Philip wasn’t listening; he was already sprinting across the open ground. In a flying leap he landed on top of Michael, forcing his arm across the lawyer’s throat. Without stopping to think of the danger, Alex followed him, struggling for speed across the cold, wet sand.
‘Where’s Sasha?’ shouted Philip. ‘Tell us!’
‘Fuck you,’ growled Michael.
Alex spotted Michael’s gun a few feet away from him on the beach. He scrambled over to it, pausing for a moment before he picked it up, heavy, menacing in his hand.
He pointed it at Michael as Philip repeated his question.
Michael hesitated.
The gun felt alien in Alex’s grip but he kept his hand steady. ‘You’ve got three seconds to tell us. Be quick, I was almost sectioned once, no telling what I’ll do. One, two, thr—’
‘At Nelson’s old place.’ Michael winced.
‘Miles, get some rope from the boathouse,’ said Alex.
Miles struggled to his feet and obediently followed his instructions. Philip bound Michael’s arms and legs together and the three men lifted him into the boathouse, where a third length of rope tied him to a cast-iron table.
‘That should keep him quiet,’ said Alex. ‘Now let’s get back to Grace.’
‘No, we have to find Sasha,’ said Philip urgently. He pulled his phone out and handed it to Alex. ‘Call Grace, make sure she’s OK.’
Alex nodded with anxiety. If Michael’s men had even touched her, he would kill them.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked when she answered.
‘Just wondering where the hell you are. Is everything OK?’
‘We’ve got Miles, he’s fine. Have you called the police?’
‘It took some persuading, but they’re on their way.’
‘Have you seen Sasha or the detective?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Now lock yourself in your bedroom.’
‘Alex, what’s going on?’
‘Please. Just do it,’ he pleaded.
The three men ran around the beach path and through a stretch of mangrove towards the caretaker’s cottage. Philip asked Alex to give him the gun, which he did willingly. The rain was lashing down on to the island and their hair and clothes were soaked. Seeing the staff buildings, they stopped behind a bike shed.
‘What the fuck do we do now?’ asked Miles, wiping the rain from his face with his sleeve.
‘You knock on the door and wait for Benny to answer,’ said Philip calmly.
‘I’m not doing that! He might be with Carlton. He might have a gun. He could kill me.’
Philip frowned. ‘I’ve got a gun and I’ll fire it at you if you don’t bloody knock at that door.’
Seeing he had no choice, Miles puffed out his cheeks and walked up to the cottage’s front door. Alex and Philip crept closer around a thick line of trees until they were just ten feet from the cottage. The light was poor, which Alex hoped would keep them hidden from view.
After a minute, the detective answered. ‘Mr Ashford,’ he said, looking ruffled.
‘I was wondering if you’d seen my sister.’
‘No,’ said Carlton, ‘and I have some very important calls to make.’
‘I’m worried about her, Detective,’ said Miles quickly. ‘And I’ve just found something up at the house I need to show you. I think it might be important.’
Carlton looked dubious, but he nodded. ‘OK, but make it quick,’ he said, wiping the rain from his forehead.
He stepped outside on to the path and Miles led him to just a few feet from the line of trees. Philip jumped forward, pointing the gun at him, but Carlton was a professional; he ducked and spun around, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket as he turned. Miles, who was standing right next to him, slammed his fist into the man’s ear. It was a pathetic punch, but enough to make Carlton stumble. Carlton threw a punch which landed squarely on Miles’ jaw, but the scuffle had given Philip enough time to push the muzzle of the gun against Carlton’s temple.
‘Fucking hell, Phil.’ Alex whistled.
Phil grunted. ‘I’m glad two years at Sandhurst came to some use.’
They marched the fake detective back into the house.
‘Any more of your little friends on the island?’ asked Miles, regaining his bluster.
Carlton shook his head as Alex removed his gun from his pocket and bound his wrists with a length of washing line he had found in the kitchen.
‘Miles, you watch him. Alex, help me look for Sasha.’
At the back of the kitchen was a washroom. Alex flung open the door and saw Sasha, slumped on the floor.
‘Phil!’ he shouted.
She was unconscious, but she was still breathing, although her skin was cold. Phil ran in and cradled her in his arms.
Alex heard his mobile ring. ‘Grace?’
‘Tell me what’s going on, Alex,’ she said.‘The George Town police have just called. The sea’s rough but they’re on their way and someone should be here in thirty minutes.’
He left the other two and ran for the door. The only place he wanted to be was by her side. ‘I’m coming,’ he panted as he ran through the rain. ‘I’m coming to get you.’
78
Sasha could only vaguely remember what had happened. There was a jumble of images on Angel Cay: Phil’s concerned face, some uniformed policemen, an air ambulance on the beach. Then she had woken up here, in a private room at Nassau’s Princess Margaret Hospital. Philip had filled in the gaps. Michael Marshall had been arrested by the real Royal Bahamian police and thrown into a real prison cell, as had his conspirators, although none of them were talking. Sasha shivered at the thought of how close she had come to death. It was actually lucky that Detective Carlton – or whoever he was – was a trained killer: the pressure he’d applied to her neck had been just enough to knock her out, rather than break her neck. Her head and throat were still throbbing and her entire body felt bruised from where she’d been dragged to Nelson’s house. But I’m alive, she thought, feeling emotion swell. That’s enough for me right now.
She heard movement in the doorway and looked up, hoping it would be Philip, but flinched as she saw Miles standing there. A memory of the last time they had met flashed before her – another hospital, another time she’d rather forget.
‘Hi, Sasha,’ he said quietly. He looked pale in the fluorescent light. He came and sat on the wooden chair beside her bed, his eyes cast down. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’ve felt better. What about you?’ she said, pointing at his bruised jaw.
He shrugged. ‘Listen, if there’s anything you need . . . The jet can take you anywhere you want, an extended holiday to recover, whatever. ’
‘Miles, look at me,’ she said.
Reluctantly, his eyes sli
d up to hers.
‘I don’t need anything from you. It’s enough that it’s over.’
She had expected to see the usual arrogant pout, but Miles looked different. Smaller somehow. She couldn’t believe the great Miles Ashford had learnt any humility after facing death – facing his past. But there was something she hadn’t seen before in his face. Vulnerability, perhaps?
Kiss Heaven Goodbye Page 63