by John Molloy
She stood up and switched on a light and started taking the dinner plates to wash.
“I won’t say I didn’t meet some men who wanted to stay in a lasting relationship, even after hearing of my dysfunctional ovaries, but I didn’t find them suitable. The latest affair was Scott, the man who helped you purchase the yacht. We were close for a six month period as we sailed on a chartered yacht around the islands. It turned out Scott was a secret drinker and we nearly had a bad accident one night when he was on watch. He fell asleep and we ran aground on a sand bank. We were lucky to re-float her without any serious damage. You see Henry, she was a 750,000 dollar yacht, and the owners weren’t too pleased, so Scott was paid off in our next port of call. I tried to help him get off the bottle. Then he told me about his experience in the 1979 Fastnet yacht race; they were battered by force ten winds and eventually the yacht sank and they were adrift in the life raft for 24 hours before being picked up by an Irish trawler. He lost his nerve after this and took to the bottle. He didn’t sail for some years. Then I met him and tried to get him back on track and persuaded him to join the yacht with me, he did but secretly went back on the drink. Then after the incident of the grounding he hasn’t been back to sea again. He’s happier ashore and is eking out a living selling and chartering boats, but even if he’d stayed sober and had a decent job, I would never have stayed with him. All things considered, he just wasn’t my type, so I was glad to call it a day.”
She stopped still and held a plate in her hand tilting her head to listen.
“I think the wind has dropped we’re not making any headway.”
Henry went up on deck and looked up at the sails hanging loose; the sea was flat calm. A lighthouse was flashing astern and he saw a moon pushing over the lip of ocean, her orange dome casting a river of pale gold. He felt a thrill at the beauty of such a scene. Yes, he thought, a painted ship upon a painted ocean.
Kerstin came to stand alongside him; her closeness was almost intoxicating as she held his hand. “It’s so beautiful, I feel privileged to be witness to such a wonderful scene.”
Henry squeezed her hand.
“I’m so happy it feels immoral. It’s like no one should be as happy as this.”
She rested her head against him.
“You deserve all the happiness you can get and I’m so pleased for you because you’re making me happy.”
The wind picked up at around zero two hundred on Henry’s watch, and she lay over to starboard gliding swan-like through the sparkling water. They were at the entrance to Santo Domingo before noon and sailed up the Ozama River, tying up at the quay near the center of the old city.
“I’m official guide. I’ve been around this city on a few occasions, so allow me.”
Henry followed her below and giving her a playful slap on her voluptuous rear he said, “I’m in your capable hands; we’ll lunch ashore if it’s ok with you?”
She was changing out of her shorts and t-shirt. “Perfectly my dear, I know a very nice place not too far from here.”
As they steered a brisk course, walking up to the town, Kerstin related some of the colorful history of Santo Domingo.
“This is the oldest city in the new western world. It was headquarters for Columbus’s men and the settlers that followed. They settled here and governed the whole island including Haiti at the time. Now, here we are in Columbus Square so we’ll have lunch in one of the eateries lining the square.”
It was idyllic sitting under the sunshade eating fresh shellfish, washing it down with chilled beer. Henry took in the splendor of the old Spanish style buildings, and the people of all colors and creed; some shopping and others sitting relaxed under the colorful sunshades eating or sipping drinks. The tourists were easily recognizable with their sunshades and cameras. The local men were dressed in immaculate light colored clothing, the women in large hats and loose, light cheerfully colored dresses.
Henry looked at her child-like, not wanting anything to disturb this tranquil transom of time. After a while, they finished their beers and were ready to explore further.
“We’ll leave the business of our search until tomorrow if you agree?”
“Fine with me, I have a lot to show you and the day is still young.”
They moved on through Columbus Square and visited the cathedral. The exterior was impressive but the interior was absolutely magnificent. They walked in silence into the building, down the nave and up to the altar. They both instinctively knelt down and prayed and a peace that was tangible seemed to envelope them in a comforting embrace. Kerstin turned to find Henry facing her; his clear blue eyes delved her very soul and her eyes reflected the somber azure hues.
Getting to their feet, she held his hand and they walked around gazing at statues hanging on the walls. The stations of Christ’s crucifixion were laid out in story type pictures. The big colored lead glass windows depicting scenes from the bible threw kaleidoscope color along the floor and pews. Henry turned back at the door to look down the nave and view the great altar again. He spoke silently to Shirley and Katherine. Please help me. I know you are looking down, your love is all around this holy place.
Outside Kerstin noticed the quite resolve and a calmness drift over Henry as though something divine had touched him.
“Did you experience a feeling of peace? I felt I was being carried up with the light and I could look down. It was like I was a roaming spirit.”
Henry held her hand.
“For me it was like a spiritual journey that took me back to my youth in such a short time. Thank you Kerstin for bringing me here.”
She took charge again.
“We’ll have a coffee if you like before we move on to our next sightseeing venue.”
While waiting for their coffee and sweet cakes to arrive, Henry took from his pocket book the photo Martha had given him of Alicia and her son. He had told Kerstin about this part of his life and now just to refresh their memory, they would be keeping a lookout for any building resembling the one in the photo. It was likely that The Grenville Hotel might have changed names after all these years, but the building itself was unique and its exterior probably wouldn’t have changed much.
“I will not forget the name of the hotel and I have a good memory for buildings. If I ever see it, I will recognize it immediately,” she said, before devouring a delicious cream cake.
The next stop was the historic Alcazar de Colon. Henry was thrilled at the sight of such a colorful building. Kerstin did her tour guide duties: “It was built for Columbus’s son Diego in about 1505. He became the colony’s governor in 1509. It is a magnificent structure built from coral limestone. It was built on the Italian Renaissance style. The building played host to such historic persons as Cortes, Ponce de Leon, and Balboa.”
As they moved through the rooms and open air loggias they admired the period tapestries and sixteenth century furniture with priceless paintings beckoning from every wall. They sat relaxed looking over the Ozama River luxuriating in the coolness of the shaded balcony of stone columns.
The shadows were long as they walked back through the shaded streets among playing children and chaotic traffic. They next visited the Columbus Lighthouse built in 1992 to commemorate his five hundredth anniversary.
Henry followed dutifully, as she walked past noisy stalls and bustling shoppers.
“At last, here we are,” she announce, “you can rest your tired body and I’ll order a refreshing drink.” She came back to the table which was under a balcony and caught a slight breeze from the sea, holding two large glasses of chilled beer with dew trickling down the frosted amber glass.
“Just what the doctor ordered,” he pronounced as he lifted the glass and took a long sip of the cooling liquid.
“Never was a drink so appreciated.”
The dinner was again delicious. There followed an evening of music and dancing which carried through to midnight. Henry held her covetously and whispered, “where to now my lovely tour guide?”
The taxi dropped them at the Conde De Hotel, and a large size bed with air conditioning lent extra somnolence to a sound sleep.
Henry woke to a bright sunshine creeping under the drapes, he stood admiring the sleeping beauty as she lay naked hugging a pillow. Her blonde mop spread across her face. He ordered breakfast and while showering he mentally went over the day’s tasks. He could do with an aspirin, he thought, but he’d soldier on. The previous day seemed like something one could only dream; he looked hard at himself in the fogged mirror and said, “Is this really happening?”
Then a smiling face appeared beside his.
“Yes, it is really happening.”
He felt her arms enfolding him and her naked body pressed against his wet skin.
A loud knock on the door halted the little tryst.
“That’s the breakfast I ordered while you were asleep.”
She pinched his bottom.
“It’ll have to wait, go let him in.”
After breakfast Henry got the telephone directories for the Dominican Republic and Haiti from hotel’s front desk.
“Now my dear,” he handed one to Kerstin. “Haiti for you and Dominican for me.”
They scanned through the Ts but there was no Tukola listed in either directory so they decide it was time to go into town and do the other checks.
They donned their sun hats and headed out into the bright sunshine. The police station was a short walk away and Henry produced his photo of Tukola and explained his mission to the chief constable on duty.
“No, I never heard of anyone of that name since I took up duty here 25 years ago, but if you give me your contact details I will keep the picture and ask my colleagues if they’ve come across him.
Henry thanked the officer and got directions to the company’s registration office where they also drew a blank. They then decided to have lunch.
After a light lunch in a nearby restaurant, coffee was served as they discussed their next trip. Kerstin agreed with Henry that giving the U.S. islands a miss would be a good idea. They both thought that the chances of him trying to get residence on in U.S. territory would be remote.
“I think we should make St. Martin our next call. We can do some of the other smaller islands from there and make our way down the chain.”
“Yes my dear Kerstin, I’m in your capable hands. Do we have all the charts for those islands?”
“Good to see your nautical awareness. Yes, I checked we have all the necessary charts for the whole island chain right down to Trinidad.”
“Great!” Let’s go back to the Amber Witch; that is if you haven’t anything else in mind?”
Kerstin put a hand on his arm as they walked from the restaurant.
“No, I haven’t anything else in mind. We’ll make preparations so we can sail first thing in the morning.”
Back on the yacht they checked the water and fuel; they decided to top up both as the smaller islands they were going to might not have very good facilities. The run south of Puerto Rico would be a couple of days and then it would be literally island hopping from there on.
Chapter Thirty-Six
They sailed early next day and favorable winds brought them south of Puerto Rico on the second day. The only shipping other than a few yachts like themselves was a U.S. Coast Guard vessel from Puerto Rico which circled them a few times but did not ask them to stop. They were on deck relaxing under a sun shade. Kerstin was reading and took little notice of the probing vessel. Henry stood up and walked to the rail with the binoculars watching the coast guard circling around them. “What do they want? I suppose they think we’re smugglers; typical American paranoid attitude.”
Kerstin looked up from her book.
“Sit and don’t take any heed of them. They do that to all the ships and yachts that pass close to the island. They will have noted our name and course and where we’re registered because that’s their job.”
“It’s just as well they haven’t many islands or it would be a nightmare sailing near them.”
“You should be on board sailing close to Key West coming from the south. They follow you and nearly always tell you to stop. Then they board and conduct a thorough search and a check of all the papers and passports of everyone on board. I suppose it’s a lot to do with drugs and the illegal people smuggling, but there are so much traffic, literally hundreds of big launches and yachts coming and going in those waters, so it must be an impossible job to check them all.”
It was early afternoon when they dropped the anchor at the yacht club in Simpson Bay. Kerstin decided not to go into the inner lagoon as they would only be staying a couple of days. She opened a bottle of Merlot and poured two large glasses.
“To our safe passage,” she toasted, and clinked Henry’s glass.
“I must fill you in on St. Martin,” she announce, sipping her wine and once again relishing her role as official tour guide. “Firstly, it’s divided between the French and Dutch. It has, like all these Caribbean islands a mixed history. So I’ll just skip the bit about how at just 37 square miles it became to be the smallest partitioned piece of land on earth. Now, the border although it does officially exist, the two parts are governed separately there are no border crossings as such; one part is St. Maarten, the other St. Martin. St. Maarten, the section we’re in now is Dutch but they all generally speak English. Simple! Would you like to venture ashore after our little tipple?”
Henry rubbed his day old stubble.
“A shave and shower and I’m ready.”
There were a number of yachts in the Bay Lagoon and lots of tourists about. They enjoyed light refreshment at an open air café. Like most Caribbean islands the pace of life was pedestrian and many of the laid-back, smiling people wore colorful clothes and carefree expressions. Kerstin went into the café and enquired where the nearest police station was. A minute later she came back to the table with the information she wanted.
“It’s in Philipsburg which is a decent walk away. It will do us good to stretch our legs.”
Philipsburg retained some of its old colonial style buildings of sturdy stone weathered brick and had stood stoically through a century of hurricane winds, rain and under relentless tropical sun. The police station was situated along the main street and easy to find. A duty sergeant showed them to a waiting room.
After a short wait a senior officer called them into his office. He introduced himself with a strong handshake and a loud baritone voice, “Carsten Van Dijk, senior police officer for the Dutch section of St. Maarten.”
Henry came to the point quickly and the big blonde Dutchman graying at the temples, listened with a noticeable look of concern. Then Van Dijk laid his arms on his desk and leaned over to engage the two. “What you have related to me is most disturbing and when I think back to…” he stopped and stared vacantly, “yes, it was 1968, I’m sure. We had a girl killed by someone I believe to be a very evil man.”
Kerstin showed him the photo of the now older Tukola.
He looked as though he’d seen a ghost. Then he stood up and walked out of the room, turning back he said, “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Henry’s voice seemed to falter a little, “what do you think has upset him?”
“I don’t know but I’m sure he has had some kind of serious confrontation with our man. He was visibly shaken when he saw the photograph.”
The door swung open and Van Dijk had a folder in his hand which he placed on the desk
“It’s all in English, you can read through and I’ll sit and wait until you finish.”
As they were reading, several photographs fell from the folder on to the desk. They were stunned as they looked at images of a young girl’s corpse; she was a Caribbean native, the photos showed fish hooks arranged around her face and body. Her mouth and orifices were stuffed with her torn clothing the bruises around her neck were consistent with a savage and sustained strangling. Henry had se
en enough. He looked at Van Dijk whose stoic expression hid the sense of failure and disappointment at they not being able to solve the only murder on the island in a hundred years.
“He’s our man. Did he take anything from the body?”
“Yes, if you could call it that; the maniac cut off a piece of her genitals.”
“That is his trade mark officer; he collected this type of sickening trophy from all of his victims.”
Henry looked at the next page and saw she was only fourteen years old. It also stated in the autopsy report how her neck was broken from what could be termed sustained manual pressure. Kerstin sat dumb trying to take in what she had just seen and heard.
“How did Tukola become a suspect, was he living on the island at the time?” Henry visualized him not being too far away, perhaps the owner of some big hotel or plantation.
Van Dijk pulled his chair close into the desk. “Hadar Tukola was well known on this side of the island, he owned a large hotel and casino. Tourism was only in its infancy back then so any large investor was treated like royalty. He naturally employed a large number of the local people and paid good wages. Business was constant and growing, but money to him seemed to be no object. He could spend large amounts on extensions and refurbishment; he also owned a large launch which he usually anchored in the lagoon when he was here.”
Henry interrupted him, “what do you mean, when he was here?”
“I was coming to that; you see, he only visited on occasions and would stay maybe two or three weeks at a time. It was during one of these visits the young girl was killed. Her mother worked for Tukola in the hotel. She was an accomplished chef. She sometimes brought her young daughter with her to work, she would help out around the hotel doing the rooms and cleaning. We found out that she also helped in Tukola’s private suite. Her mother worked late the night of the murder and didn’t report her missing until the next day. But even with extensive searches her body was not found for five days, by which time a lot of evidence was lost. Tukola with a number of his staff were brought in for questioning, and I noticed on the back of his wrist two deep scratches that had actually become infected. We had detectives flown in from France and Holland to assist in the investigation. They questioned Tukola as well as about fifty staff, but nothing showed as to her whereabouts after she left the hotel, supposedly, at ten o’clock that night. His henchmen gave Tukola a concrete alibi.”