Bluewater Killer: A Serial Murder Mystery Set In Florida and the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 1)

by Charles Dougherty

  He listened instead to J.-P., telling him to call as soon as he got the message. "I have news of Dani!" The excitement was plain in his voice. As he placed the call, Phillip felt guilty that he had turned off the phone last night.

  "Phillip! I got a call just a couple of hours ago from the U.S. Coast Guard. The Rescue Coordination Center in Miami has received notification that Dani's Personal Locator Beacon was activated, just a few hours ago."

  "That's good news, J.-P. Where is she? Why did it take them so long to call?" They both knew the Search and Rescue routine. When one of the satellite beacons was activated, an earth station passed the information to a search and rescue coordination center within seconds, and a position for the beacon was established within a few minutes. When a beacon was activated, the search and rescue center would telephone the listed contacts in the registration database, as a way to verify that there was an actual emergency before starting a search.

  "The position was 12 degrees, 59 minutes north, 61 degrees, 15 minutes west -- on the south coast of Bequia. From the position and the altitude, they think it's ashore somewhere. It's also not moving. It doesn't appear that she's in the water. There was some fumbling with the dispatch; I guess Dani hadn't updated her registration in a while. They had the wrong phone number for me. The Coast Guard was about to put out a bulletin on her when they finally reached me. I told them I would call you in Bequia-- to hold off, and then I got your voice mail. I was just about to call them back. They may have already started something by now."

  "Okay, J.-P. I still have the radio direction finder that we used with those cheap tracking beacons, back when we used to put them in our shipments. It's perfect for this job -- those little beacons we had used the same frequency as everything else, 121.5 megahertz. That's what the search and rescue teams use on their final approach if they can't get a visual. Just call the Coast Guard back and tell them I'm looking. They probably wouldn't send out a chopper anyway. I'm guessing they'd give this to the locals in Bequia. Probably should let them do that, just in case. I'll get ashore as quickly as I can. I can go to see customs after I deal with this; I don't think they'll give me any grief, if I explain. Let me go. I'll call you back soon. This is good news."

  "Thanks, Phillip," J.-P. said, but Phillip had already disconnected.

  Phillip slugged down a cup of coffee as he unpacked the RDF and put fresh batteries in it. As an afterthought, he replaced the batteries in his handheld GPS, too. He looked at the chart of Bequia, already spread out on the chart table, and plotted the position that J.-P. had given him. It was close to the Paget Farm community dock. It would be faster to take the dinghy around there than it would be to go ashore, find a taxi, and negotiate the mountain roads going over the ridgeline that formed the backbone of the island. Moreover, the dinghy would give him more mobility, if he needed to search the southern coastline. The position fix was only accurate within about a mile; the search and rescue folks figured that with the 121.5-megahertz homing signal and the RDF, that was good enough.

  He tossed his clearance paperwork, the GPS, and the RDF into a canvas briefcase. He also included his handheld marine VHF radio. He went up on deck and launched the dinghy. Dawn was breaking as he got under way, helping him to negotiate his run to the west along the south shore of the harbor. The island of Bequia was shaped sort of like a backwards "C," with the opening facing west, and the lower, southern, arm much longer than the northern one. It was a peninsula, tipped by several small islands. The harbor where he was anchored was in the middle of the "C." To get to the location of the beacon, he needed to go out, around the tip of the southern peninsula, and double back along the south shore of the island. It was a distance of a few miles. In the dinghy, with its shallow draft, he was able to cut through the islands, avoiding the longer trip around the westernmost tip of land. After about 15 minutes, he had turned back to the east and was running along the south shore, past the airport. Half-way between the east end of the runway and the Paget Farms dock, he throttled back to idle speed and turned on his GPS. While it went through its startup sequence, looking for satellites, he took the RDF out and did a 360-degree sweep. He found no signal, which didn't really surprise him. If the beacon was indeed ashore, the craggy terrain could well block the line of sight from the RDF to the beacon. The GPS beeped. He looked down at the screen. This was the place. He did another careful sweep with the RDF, focusing his attention on the water between the shore and the string of islands a few hundred yards distant. Nothing. He put the outboard in gear and idled along shore, keeping the RDF aimed at the high water mark a hundred yards away. It was light enough now that he could visually scan the shoreline. He made two passes between the west end of the runway and the Paget Farms dock, still without finding any sign of Dani or her PLB.

  He tied the dinghy to the rickety dock and scrambled ashore, canvas briefcase in one hand and RDF in the other. There were three men loading up their open fishing boat. Phillip greeted them and told them what he was looking for. One of them volunteered an opinion. "If this lady, she come ashore here, we know 'bout it. Not so many people lives here, like Port Elizabeth."

  Phillip thanked him, sure that he was correct, but that didn't explain the PLB signal. The fishermen all agreed with that assessment, but couldn't offer any further insight, beyond the obvious thoughts that the beacon itself had washed ashore, or that the lady had lost it, perhaps. They climbed aboard their boat, and Phillip set off up the hill, RDF in hand. As he swept the hillside with the RDF, he thought about what the men had said. The problem with their suggestions was that the PLB required manual activation, unlike the bigger units designed for marine and aircraft use, which were automatically triggered, in the one case by immersion and in the other by impact. Somebody had triggered it. He hoped that somebody was Dani; that would mean that she was alive and conscious, or had been a few hours ago, anyway.

  He was walking to the west along the rocky road that paralleled the coastline, methodically sweeping the uphill side, where all the little houses were, with his RDF. The sun was up over the ridgeline to the east, beginning to warm the ground, baking the water out of the soil, increasing the humidity. Phillip was wiping the first beads of perspiration from his eyes with his left hand, when the RDF let out squawk. There was only one house that it could be; the hillside was thinly populated. He folded the RDF, put it in his canvas briefcase, and turned to climb the steep path to the front porch. He could hear the children long before he was close enough to call out a "Hello, good morning," to let the folks know he was coming. He didn't want his knock on the door to startle anybody, figuring that visitors were scarce.

  His greeting had just faded when the door opened and a handsome, solidly built young woman came out onto the porch, a child on her hip and two more following in her wake. "Good morning," she said.

  ""Excuse my disturbing you," Phillip said. He explained what he was about.

  The woman frowned and shook her head, turning to look back through the open door into the house. "Timothy," she called. "Timothy, come here, please."

  She turned back to Phillip and smiled, shyly. "Timothy my oldest. He know 'bout this t'ing, mebbe."

  Timothy soon appeared, followed by two boys, obviously his younger brothers. One had the PLB in his hand, the lights still blinking.

  "Talk to the man, Timothy," the woman said. "He axe 'bout the t'ing you find."

  Fear was plain on Timothy's face as he took the PLB from his brother's hand and extended it to Phillip. "My name is Phillip, Timothy," Phillip said.

  Phillip gently took the device from the boy, and told him what it was. He explained to him how the RDF sensed where the beacon was, and he put the RDF in Timothy's hand showing him how to hold it. Phillip walked a few yards away, and Timothy swung the RDF back and forth, the way Phillip had shown him. His eyes lit up as it squawked when he aimed it at Phillip, who was holding the PLB. Phillip told him about Dani, and how her parents were worried. Timothy's shoulders relaxed as he began to understand. He
volunteered that the PLB had been with a life vest, and dispatched the smaller of the two brothers to retrieve it. He showed Phillip the rip, and the pouch where the PLB had been, and explained sheepishly that he had pulled the black tab, like the cartoon showed. "But no lightnin' come, Mistah Phillip," he concluded.

  That brought a smile to Phillip's face.

  "Timothy, you have done an important thing this morning, by telling me all about how you found this. It may help us to save this young woman's life. Thank you for being such a good person. I need to keep the PLB, but there is a reward for you, for finding it and giving it to me, as long as your mother approves." All eyes turned to the woman with the baby on her hip. She smiled and nodded.

  Phillip reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He opened it, and withdrew a crisp $100 E.C. bank note, handing it to Timothy, whose eyes got very big as he thought about the things that he could do with that money. This was far better than selling a life vest back to the men on the snorkel tour catamarans.

  Phillip, in a hurry to call J.-P., repeated his thanks and bade them a good morning as he turned back down the hill and returned to his dinghy. Once he was under way again, he called J.-P. He had to run at idle speed to hear J.-P. over the noise of the outboard, but he wasn't in a particular hurry. He would still get back to Kayak Spirit in time to have breakfast before customs opened.

  "This is disappointing, Phillip," J.-P. said. "I was so sure that you would find her…"

  Phillip could hear the emotion choking his friend's voice. "Yes, it is disappointing, but it's still progress, J.-P. Most likely, Dani had the vest and the PLB when she left Sea Serpent. We don't know how long it drifted, but it hasn't moved very far since the Morris folks saw her in the Tobago Cays. I think everything points to her being in the area, here. There's not a lot of geography to cover, nor a lot of people, between here and the Cays. Keep the faith. We'll find her," Phillip said, as much for his own benefit as for J.-P.'s. "I'll call tonight."

  "Yes. I'll talk to you then." J.-P. still sounded dejected as he hung up the phone.

  ****

  Phillip was sitting in the open-air restaurant where Front Street in Port Elizabeth came to an uncertain end. The first impression was that it turned into a parking lot; then again, maybe it was a beach. It was hard to say. The proprietress had taken his order, and he could hear the cook back in the kitchen, singing gospel songs as she worked. Mrs. Walker, the proprietress, was stocking shelves in the little grocery store that adjoined her restaurant. Phillip was relaxing with a cold beer after another morning of polishing bronze fittings on Kayak Spirit. He had eaten breakfast and checked in with the authorities, going back to the boat and tinkering to pass the time until people began to come out for lunch. There was a bar just a few steps down the beach where the yachting crowd gathered, but he thought that he would save that for later. Perhaps he would go there for the happy hour, when most of the yachties would show up for the cheap, potent rum punch. Meanwhile, he was enjoying being in Mrs. Walker's place. It felt like home, and she seemed almost like a favorite aunt. She was older than Phillip -- not old enough to be his mother, he thought, but then he realized that she probably was that old; she just didn't look it. They had always had a special feeling for one another, although neither could characterize it clearly.

  There was a couple in the opposite corner of the room engaged in an intense argument about which of them was to blame for their ill-conceived decision to come to Bequia. They were the only other people in the place, and given that they were almost yelling, Phillip couldn't help overhearing. They had just come from Saint Vincent, on the ferry. The woman was berating her husband about the experience thus far, complaining about the heat, the filth, and the crowded, dirty, noisy ferryboat. "And this place, it's not even air-conditioned. And that black woman who seated us acts like she owns the place," she ranted. New York, Phillip thought, listening to the accent.

  "She does," Mrs. Walker said, softly, smiling, as she put Phillip's lunch down in front of him. "They surely are vexed. Wait until they find out that they have to wade down the beach to get to their hotel."

  "And it's not air-conditioned, either," Phillip said, with a smile. Mrs. Walker chuckled quietly, shaking her head.

  "Miss!" The man at the other table was snapping his fingers, looking pointedly at Mrs. Walker.

  She ignored him, pulling out a chair from Phillip's table. "May I join you?" she asked.

  "Please," Phillip said, half rising from his seat as she settled her tall, statuesque frame. He studied the high cheekbones and the finely drawn features of her chocolate-brown face, taking in the green eyes and the long, straight, black hair, streaked now with just enough gray to show that she wasn't vain enough to dye it. She and Phillip had known one another for a long time, although he had never known her given name. Her husband, Lowell, had been an associate of his in Phillip's early days in the islands. Even Lowell had called her Mrs. Walker. Lowell had passed away a few years ago, and Mrs. Walker continued to run her little businesses, although she didn't need the income, because what else was there for a respectable widow to do, in Bequia? She was still a striking woman, Phillip thought. She must have been stunning when she was young, an amalgam of the best of the diverse gene pool that was Bequia. The bone structure in her face and the straight, black hair came from the nearly extinct Caribs, her skin from Africa, and her green eyes were pure leprechaun. No doubt, there was more beneath the surface.

  "Miss, I've been calling you," said the man from New York, approaching the table, his face red with his annoyance.

  Mrs. Walker ignored him. "Phillip, what brings you to our little island?" she asked, still not looking at the man.

  "Excuse me," the man broke in, "What do we have to do to get service in this place?"

  "Sit down and behave yourself," Mrs. Walker said, in her best Queen's English, like a schoolteacher addressing an unruly child. "If you quiet down and stop acting so vexed, perhaps the waitress will think you want to order, instead of just making fools of yourselves." She fixed him in the glare of those emerald green eyes, staring at him until he could no longer hold her gaze. He walked quietly back to the table and said something to his companion in a soft tone. Her face turned red in response to whatever he said to her, but she held her tongue. After a few more minutes, they both got up, gathered their luggage, and left.

  "I wonder where they're going now." Phillip said.

  "Back to New York, we can hope," Mrs. Walker said. "You never answered me, Phillip."

  "Sorry. I was distracted," he said, and proceeded to tell her why he was in Bequia. He showed her the pictures.

  "May I keep these for a little while, Phillip?"

  "Of course. As long as you like."

  "I'll show them around a bit this afternoon. I have some nice pork chops for dinner this evening, if you plan to eat ashore. Maybe I’ll have some information for you by then."

  "I wouldn't miss your pork chops for anything. See you about eight?" He got up to go as she smiled and nodded pleasantly at him. Phillip wondered again, as he walked to the dinghy dock, how old she was. He knew Lowell had been in his early eighties when he died a few years ago. She might be a little bit younger than Lowell, but she still must be well into her eighties by now. Phillip found her energy an inspiration. He hoped that he would age as well as she had.

  ****

  Phillip had finished a bowl of conch chowder, and he was about to cut into a juicy looking pork chop when Mrs. Walker joined him. He had taken another set of his pictures to the happy hour at the bar down the beach, and socialized with the crowd of boaters there, but to no avail. He was enjoying the peaceful ambience of Mrs. Walker's after the raucous bunch at the other place.

  "Is the meal to your liking, Phillip?"

  "Yes, Ma'am. It's perfect," he said.

  "I'm pleased that you are enjoying it. I have some information, but I'm afraid it won't be especially helpful." She explained that Sea Serpent had spent a good bit of time in Bequia ove
r the past few years, and the skipper was known to most of the folks who did business with visiting yachts. He was remembered because he was a loner, and more than one person had remarked that he talked to himself. He had kept company for a while a couple of years ago with a woman who had been working as a waitress at one of the resort hotels.

  "She was what we used to call a 'loose woman,'" Mrs. Walker said. "She came here from Kingstown, Saint Vincent, and she worked most of that winter, until the man on Sea Serpent left for Grenada. Some people think she went with him; some think she went somewhere else. She had told one of the other women at work that she was going to Grenada with him and live on Sea Serpent for the hurricane season. Then she planned to come back and work at the hotel again, but no one ever heard from her after she left. Sea Serpent came back after hurricane season. She spent a few weeks in the harbor, and the man was seen in the usual places, but he had no one with him, Phillip. I have the woman's name, and as much information as the folks at the hotel knew from her employment." She put a manila envelope down, placing it to the side of Phillip's food. "It’s all in here with your pictures. I hope this helps you to find Mr. Berger's daughter. He is such a fine gentleman; Lowell thought the world of him. Please be sure to pass along my best wishes when you talk with him."

  They talked about the old days while Phillip finished his dinner, recalling how Lowell had entertained Phillip when they weren't working, teaching him to fish like the locals. After coffee and desert, he went back to Kayak Spirit.