The Atlas Murders

by John Molloy

  Henry was surprised how a piece of jewelry could be so recognizable.

  “Would you be prepared to buy it? If you did I will walk out of here with a rare form of jewelry-based amnesia!”

  “It would have to be severe amnesia before I could commit myself to taking it into my possession. I will offer you two thirds of the market value, and you must realize one band of three stones is missing. Where did they go to?”

  Henry told him some of the story and where the part went. He concluded that some Panamanian jeweler probably had it made up into rings.

  “I will give you half a million U.S. Dollars and have the money transferred to a bank, preferably a Cayman Island bank; they ask fewer questions.”

  Henry stood up and shook hands.

  “It’s a deal and here is my bank account number. It’s your local branch.”

  The old man walked around the desk and wrote down the bank number, he showed the bracelet to Henry one more time and smiling, put it into his pocket.

  “Will you trust me to transfer the money? It will be in your account before noon tomorrow.”

  Nodding, Henry smiled and thought, he’s so dishonest he’d steal from his own mother. But then again, I don’t really have other options and it’s a small island and Geller wouldn’t want to bring attention to himself by cheating me.

  “It’s a pleasure doing business with you Mr. Geller,” he lied.

  Henry had a bit of time before going to meet Monty at noon. He bought a daily paper and sat under a sun shade sipping coffee, the newspaper had no major happenings of note in this millennium year. He folded the paper and lost himself watching the day-to-day life of the beautifully laid-back island. There were the housewives in their colorful dresses carrying baskets of fresh produce sauntering in and out of the shops and stalls exchanging local gossip. The young girls moved with a grace and style. In stark contrast were the invariably obese tourists as they waddled in small groups, clicking their cameras at anything that moved; their wide brimmed sunhats shading pink, sunburnt faces. Most came from the cruise ships that docked daily and seemingly only cater for the newlywed and the nearly dead. He amused himself as he imagined a ship full of dithering old people, and then his smug grin suddenly left his face when he realized his own puppy days were long gone.

  He tilted his panama and straightened his sun shades, got up and headed to meet Monty.

  Monty was standing outside the police station talking to a middle-aged man dressed in casual denims and blue t-shirt. He had a cloth cap pulled over a dark tanned face with a mane of brown hair down his neck. Henry thought this was a real action man; long of leg and as lean as a hungry dog. His arms were strong and rippled with muscle.

  “Good day Henry, this is my friend Scott Everard.”

  “Pleased to meet you Scott. I’m sure Monty has told you why I wanted to meet you.”

  He spoke with a very proper, upper-class accent, Oxford or Cambridge, thought Henry and a colonial fortune to boot, I bet.

  “Why yes old man, you’re in the market for a yacht I believe. We have a bit to discuss before we go looking, you do much sailing?”

  “Actually, it’s quite a number of years since I did a bit of sailing and that was in the merchant marine.”

  “Had any yacht experience?”

  “Well yes, I did sail from Havana to Georgetown some years back on a twenty five footer.”

  Scott tipped up the peak of his cap and blinked at Henry.

  “That’s something, but let me see, you’re still young enough to learn.”

  The three men laughed.

  “Come with me Henry, we’re off have some lunch and we can talk further. I’ll be seeing you later Monty,” he said as he marched off with Henry in tow.

  “There’s a nice little place round the corner here, serves the best lobster in the Caribbean and believe me. I’ve been to every island as near as damn it.”

  As they talked, they savored the delicious lobster, followed by desert and coffee. Scott enquired about the price he wanted to pay, the size of yacht, the type of sailing and maximum length of time he would be spending at sea. All in all, Scott left nothing to chance. As an experienced yachtsman he knew exactly what would suit his client.

  With lunch over, they walked the short distance to the harbor. Scott Everard pointed out a number of craft that were for sale and the price the owners were expecting. He also dismissed the ones he knew as unsuitable. They went on board three of the yachts and to Henry’s inexperienced eyes they all looked the same. However, Scott Everard was able to point out the deficiency and short comings of two of the vessels. They stood on the harbor and looked out over the vista of beautiful boats gleaming under a bright sun, with dazzling shimmers like tiny mirrors reflecting off the turquoise water. Scott Everard stood contemplative and silent; he took off his sun shades and wiped them with his handkerchief. He stretched out his hand with the glasses glinting pointing to the boat yard.

  “There Henry, there’s one that I believe will fit the bill.”

  There were six boats high and dry being painted and refitted. Henry noticed how much bigger they looked out of the water. Scott Everard walked straight to a yacht that was once bright blue but now had her paint work sanded and her bare timbers were light brown and the caulking where it had been replaced was diamond white. He stood under her shadow and inspected the condition of her planking. He had a small pocket knife with a sharp pointed spike and he used this to poke the timber.

  “She’s as solid as the day she was built. She’s a reliable and sturdy craft.

  At that moment a woman appeared from behind the stern carrying a paint pot and brush. Her blonde hair was tied up in a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore tattered denim shorts and a paint spattered white blouse tied round her middle. Her skin was the color of burnt honey and her sparkling blue eyes shone with the luminosity of a Norse Goddess. She laid down the brush and paint.

  “Good afternoon Kerstin,” exclaimed the smiling Everard, as he rubbed his hand over the yacht’s smooth hull.

  “Good job you’ve done here, Kerstin, did you have any help?”

  The youthful forty year old smiled, showing dazzling white even teeth; her full red lips perfectly framed her sensuous mouth.

  “My helper has got a berth on an English yacht and she’s sailing for the Pacific tomorrow. Everything is done here except for the painting. We should have her back in the water in a few days.”

  Scott Everard turned to Henry who was looking at the propeller and rudder.

  “My friend Henry is interested in buying a yacht to do a bit of sailing around the islands.”

  He stretched out a hand. “Pleased to meet you Kerstin, I’m Henry Carter.”

  Her grip was firm and her eye contact true and straight as she quickly sized up the man standing before her. Honest and solid, were her initial thoughts.

  “You can come and see the inside, just follow me,” she said in an educated English middle-class accent.

  Henry climbed the ladder behind her and whoa, he thought, what a sight, her ‘stern’s’ stretching the denim material of her shorts to near bursting point!

  The deck and hand rails were gleaming after a new coat of varnish. Down below everything was spotless. With the aroma of freshly applied varnish gently pervading his nostrils, the short voyage with Roy and Maud seemed only like yesterday.

  Kerstin’s voice carried up from the engine room. “It’s a twenty five horse power Volvo and it’s just had an overhaul, so have the pumps. She carries eighty gallons of diesel and one hundred and fifty gallons of fresh water.”

  They went back on deck and Kerstin listed off all the attributes of her beloved boat that had also been her home for the past three years.

  “She’s forty five feet long, beam nine feet, draft six feet, she is built of Honduras mahogany planking with oak frames, and teak on marine plywood. She’s a dream to sail and comfortable even in moderately bad weather. She has a spare set of sails and of course, all the char
ts for the Caribbean.”

  Kerstin then showed off her navigation equipment: radar, depth sounder, V.H.F radio, G.P.S. and normal radio receiver.

  Henry couldn’t help but be impressed with the pristine condition of all the equipment, which included, lifesaving equipment and firefighting gear. She also carried an EPIRB distress beacon.

  Scott Everard was at the chart table fingering the dividers and lost in thought, he glanced up at the barometer and gave the bulkhead a little knock. “Weather is going to be good for a time yet.” He turned sharply as if coming back to reality from a dream. “So Henry, how about we first go and discuss the important part - the money?”

  When she came back to the cabin, Henry smiled at Kerstin and thanked her for showing them around the yacht.

  “It was my pleasure and I hope you’ll go ahead with the purchase, we need a kind owner and captain.”

  On leaving the boatyard, Henry looked back to steal another quick glimpse of the compact, sleek marine creation that was going to be his home and small world for some months to come.

  “What do you say Henry? Do you think she suits your needs? Personally, I would think so, she’s a fine craft and well maintained.”

  They looked back down at the blonde girl, busy with her paint brush and the gloss of a new blue livery increasing with every stroke.

  “Yes, I like her very much, and even with my limited knowledge of sailing and boats she still looks in perfect condition and big enough for what I want.”

  Scott Everard took off at a brisk step. “Good, my dear man. All we have to do now is to try and get her at the best price possible. They’re looking for seventy-thousand U.S. dollars, so I think we should offer sixty-five; you leave the horse trading to me. It’ll come in below your budget, but you will have some more expense with insurance and of course stores.”

  Henry wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “When will you know about the sale?”

  “The people that own her have gone back home to the England. But I’ll call them when I get back to the office and try to do the deal. Can you have a money draft to send to their bank?”

  “Yes, I have an account here in the local bank and I can do the transfer as soon as you need.”

  “Scott Everard whistled a happy little tune. Very efficient, that’s the way I like to do business. This should run quickly and smoothly. You go and have a little siesta and I’ll have word for you in a couple of hours. Here’s my office now and here’s my phone number,” he said, handing Henry a business card. Call me in a couple of hours.”

  “Good luck with the deal, I’ll see you later.”

  Henry felt elated as he tucked the card into his shirt pocket.

  After a shower and the briefest of siestas, Henry made his way back to the police station. Monty wasn’t around but the orderly who brought in the coffee on his last visit, was. “I’m sorry my chief constable is not here but can I help you?”

  “Yes maybe you could.”

  He took out the faded photo that Martha had given him and handed it to her.

  ”Would it be possible with your equipment to enlarge this photograph and perhaps make it clearer?”

  “Yes, follow me. I think I can improve it,”

  She went into a room with three computers and scanners and printers.

  “Sit here Henry. I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. You know your name is legendry around here even after all those years. You are like Wyatt Earp and the O.K. Corral the way you arrested that dangerous murderer. They say you drew your gun and stuck it behind his ear and told him don’t move or I’ll blow your head off. Is that true?”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s how it happened.”

  “Nothing like that ever happens around here now,” she sighed.

  She looked at the screen and clicked the inbox. Here’s a picture. I think it’s for you Henry, I’ll print off some copies.”

  He looked at the latest version of Tukola; he had aged quite a bit; older looking than he thought. He noticed the scar over his eye was still noticeable and his dead, remorseless eyes now stared out under white bushy eyebrows.

  She scanned the photo Martha had given him and enlarged and enhanced it.

  “Now what do you think?”

  “Great! that’s wonderful.”

  He could make out the name of the old building in the background, ‘The Grenville Hotel.’ He examined newly enhanced image; Alicia looked beautiful and Juan had a keen and eager face.

  She printed three copies for him.

  “Will that be enough for you?”

  “Yes thank you, I’m indebted to you for your help. However, there’s one more thing; can you do an internet search for The Grenville Hotel?”

  She typed in the name and carefully studied the search results on several leading search engines. “Sorry Henry, no luck,” she announced solemnly. “It’s an old photograph so perhaps the hotel’s changed its name at some point, or maybe it’s no longer in business.”

  Perhaps you’re right, but thank you for trying.”

  She placed copies of the photographs into a large envelope and handed it to him.

  “It’s been my pleasure and anything more I can do for you please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you again.”

  He strolled back towards the boatyard and stood looking down on the yacht; the painting was coming along nicely. The work day was ended and Kerstin wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He noticed the vessel’s name on the side had been sanded over but was still on the mahogany name plate on her stern: “Amber Witch” he said it over again; it had a soft poetic ring to it, just so serene and wonderful, he thought. Yes, she’ll be mine. I need a good crew hand, someone I can trust and a good companion, who must be experienced with navigation and chart work. Maybe Scott will know of someone that would suit. There’s surely plenty of yachting people around the island.

  He was anxious to know what Scott Everard had to report, so he headed for his office. The door of the shabby office was open. He was sitting at a cluttered desk, clicking away on his computer.

  “Come in, will be with you in a minute, and sit there.”

  Henry moved a sheaf of papers from a rickety old chair and sat down he took in his surroundings: cracked ceiling with strips of white paint curled and flaking, torn wallpaper hanging on the walls, and a window with net curtains so dirty they were blocking out the light.

  “Sorry old boy, I was just returning an email to the owners and confirming the purchase. I had a bit of haggling but managed to get her for sixty-eight thousand. Believe me Henry, she’s cheap at that and these superb, Alfred Mylne designed yachts are scarce.”

  He stood up and shook Henry’s hand.

  “Congrats old boy, you’re now a yacht owner,”

  He took out a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label and taking two glasses out of a drawer he poured two stiff drinks..

  “Here’s to safe and good sailing,” he said, before knocking back the scotch in one go.

  Henry couldn’t contain his joy.

  “When will I actually own her?”

  “As soon as you send a bank draft to the account number I have here. I will get a peace commissioner to witness the signing over of her papers to you. It’s too late now but I’ll see you in the bank at ten thirty in the morning. You can also draw out some cash to pay my fees if that’s ok with you. I prefer to work in cash; you know how it is, not wanting too many people knowing your business.”

  Henry laid the glass back on the cluttered desk. He could feel the warm glow in his stomach, his head was feeling a little light. “How much are your fees?

  “Normally, I charge five percent but will we say two grand. Is that fine with you?”

  “That’s alright with me. Now, what about hiring a good crew member?”

  “You have the best crew hand in the business; all you have to do is ask her, she’ll be expecting it anyway. I mean the beautiful Kerstin. She knows that boat inside out. I’ll go with you if you’re too
shy and sign her on.”

  “That would be great, but if she decided to sign up, what wage should I pay her?”

  “You can work that one out between yourselves.”

  The business in the bank was concluded and the boat was now Henry’s.

  Back at the boatyard they met Kerstin as she was just finishing the painting.

  “I’m just knocking off for a coffee break, follow me on board. Coffee for both?”

  “Yes please came the unanimous response.”

  “How did the purchase go? Has the Witch got a new owner?”

  “Yes,” chirruped Scott Everard, “you can congratulate Henry. He just signed up an hour ago.”

  “She leant across the table and kissed Henry on the cheek. “Congratulations and happy sailing.”

  “Thanks Kerstin, I appreciate your good wish very much.”

  “I’ll have her ready to go back in the water tomorrow afternoon, if that’s ok with my new owner.”

  Henry thought for a minute before he realized she was alluding to him.

  “Yes, that’s quite all right with me. I’ll be here to help you if you say the time.”

  “You need not be around the boatyard; I will organize her lift back into the water.”

  Scott Everard gulped his coffee as if he needed it badly. Henry thought he might have been celebrating the sale with the remainder of the Johnny Walker.

  “Kerstin, Henry is looking to crew the Witch. But I’ll let him ask you himself, although I think he’s a little awkward with girls he doesn’t know.”

  Henry placed his coffee mug on the table and looked straight at Kerstin.

  “Would you like to stay on and sail with me? I don’t know for how long but we’ll be going to most of the islands.”

  “Of course, I’d love to. I’ve become attached to the Witch and I know all her whims and little quirks which are few and easy to handle.”