by John Molloy
Henry had sympathy for this man who sounded as if he had failed the only real test of his career. “What are your personal thoughts on the case? It’s not easy after all these years but you are seemingly pointing the finger at Tukola.”
“My personal belief never mattered because the detectives from France and Holland took over the investigation which lasted for four months. They were convinced it was a local man who killed her, but the same man, their main suspect, is working not far from here, married with four children and was never in trouble before that or since. I believe Tukola somehow brought her to his launch and this is where she was killed and her body thrown over into the lagoon. Part of Tukola’s alibi was that he spent the night on the launch as he intended to sail next day, but there was a hurricane warning which delayed him sailing and that is why he was around for questioning when the body was found. If he had sailed as planned we might never have got to question him or ever found her body.”
“Where did he sail to, and what island is he resident on now?”
“I’m sorry I cannot help you as to his whereabouts since he left here. Six months after the girl’s killing he sold the hotel and casino and was never heard of again around these islands.”
“Could we trace the sale of the hotel to a particular bank account? That might give us a lead.”
“After the hotel was sold I was given instructions and also the French police on the island, to send a file on this killing, now naming Tukola as chief suspect, to all Dutch and French authorities in the Caribbean. We tried at that time to trace him through his bank but came up with a numbered account in Caracas in Venezuela.”
“Why did they change their mind about who they thought the killer might be?”
“A girl went missing on a small remote island and her body was found by fishermen a day after she went missing. It was the same type of killing and the launch belonging to Tukola was in the harbor the day she went missing. The island‘s called Marie-Galante. It’s a French administered island. Unfortunately, the French police didn’t conduct a search of Tukola’s launch or carry out forensics; they believed it was not relevant at the time.”
Henry took note of Kerstin who had remained silent throughout this exchange.
“Kerstin, would you with your knowledge of the islands venture an educated guess as to where he might have settled?”
“I think if he is using Caracas in Venezuela for banking he must be somewhere near there, because he’d surely have to visit on occasion, and if a launch is his chosen transport, I’d suspect he’s not far from the Venezuelan coast. Naturally, I’d rule out any island under French or Dutch control, so that considerably reduces the amount of island hopping we will have to do.”
Van Dijk commended her on her summing up. “I hope to God you do catch him Henry. And I sincerely wish I could go with you.”
Kerstin glanced at Henry, “we have a bit of sailing ahead of us yet.”
They thanked the police officer for all his help. He gave them a phone number to contact him at any time if they thought there was anything he could do for them.
They arrived back on the yacht and opted to spend the rest of the day on board. Henry was still trying to come to terms with the knowledge that Tukola, albeit many years ago, had killed again. He credited himself for guessing that Tukola had indeed chosen the Caribbean as the place to operate, but any self-satisfaction quickly evaporated when he realized that the killer could still be active and could potentially strike at any time.
“Kerstin, my dear,” he said with a noticeable urgency in his voice, “from now on we need to stay fully focused on finding this monster. I know after all this time he might not even be alive, but with the possibility of young girl’s lives’ at stake, the importance of our quest has just risen to a whole new level.”
“I totally agree Henry. If he’s out there we need to find him and stop him at all costs.”
The next morning Henry decided to have a quick swim while Kerstin was below deck scanning through the charts. Minutes’ later, dripping wet and shaking his hair from his eyes he joined her at the chart table.
She pointed to the islands south of them and put a little mark on tiny St. Christopher (St Kitts) and the even tinier neighboring island of Nevis. “I think these two are so small and insignificant we could give them a miss and head straight for Antigua.”
“They are rather small and I suppose there’s not enough business there for his criminal activity. But could we just call on our way to Antigua; you know a short stop?”
“You’re right, it won’t be much off our course, half a day’s sailing and a brief stop will be nice. Henry, what do you think of Montserrat? Personally, I believe after the devastating volcanic eruption in 1995, if he was ever there, he’d have left like most of the other inhabitant did.”
“I’d agree, so I think we could safely give it a miss.”
“Ok, Henry, it’s your turn to do the navigation.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, you can do it.”
Nervously, he moved the parallel rules around until he was satisfied with a course to St. Christopher, and penciled in a line. He ran the rule to the compass rose and wrote down the course. “There now, I think we have no more business here, so I we should heave up and go. What do you say Kerstin?”
“Yes, so I’ll start up the engines and get ready to heave up.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
They were underway within ten minutes and outside the harbor caught a fresh westerly that gave the Amber Witch eight knots under full sail. Henry wrote up the log while Kerstin settled her on a straight smooth course; lying over to billowing canvas the ever-willing yacht showed what a sea hound she was. They were on their course at nine thirty hours so averaging eight knots they would be outside Basseterre at approx. eighteen thirty hours allowing a bit of extra time in case the wind might not hold as it was. They took turns at the wheel relishing in the invigorating wind and spray as she hurled her way through the slight chop with the salty backwash whipping along her deck.
At fifteen hundred hours Henry shouted, “land ahoy.”
Kerstin put her head out of the cabin and shouted over the wind, “is it on our port bow?”
“No; it’s dead ahead.”
She went and checked their position and came back on deck with two mugs of coffee, she handed one to Henry and stood out to the side of the deck to view the position of the land ahead. “We’re just a little north east of our course, making about ten degrees leeway; so alter course ten degrees to starboard.”
“Ten to degrees to starboard,” he repeated, “right on course now.”
Kerstin looked up at the sky and judged the clouds as they were being driven along by the wind. Taking a sip of the hot coffee she shouted to Henry, “she’s bearing up better now; keep the land on her port bow. I think by the drift of those clouds we’re not going to have this wind for long.” She handed him a cookie and then went below and put on a light sweater as the spray with the wind was making conditions a little cool.
She relieved Henry at sixteen hundred hours. He went along the deck checking the ropes and halyards to see they were all taut and secure. He came back and reported all ok.
“What’s this St. Kitts like, is it a very popular tourist destination?”
She leaned over giving the wheel a couple of spokes to port.
“It’s a few years since I was there and that was only for a couple of days, so I don’t really know that much about the place. I know it’s not commercialized as the larger islands but I have a suspicion it runs a sophisticated finance and corporate offshore business. However, I briefly overheard this in a club through an alcoholic haze so we’ll take it as hearsay until we find out for sure!”
“That’s the kind of thing this Tukola could be mixed up in, but he wouldn’t have to be resident there to be running his business through it.”
“Henry, I’m not that well versed in business acumen so I’m afraid I can’t be of much he
lp there.”
“Oops,” he shouted as the vessel took a lashing of sea and a heavy spray across her deck and cabin. “I better close that cabin hatch.”
He went below and pulled the hatch over him, then, stripping off his wet clothing he had a shower.
He lay down for a short nap, and how long he slept he wasn’t sure but the yacht’s motion woke him. The yacht was back almost on an even keel and the swish of the sea along her side was slower and softer. He looked at the clock on the bulkhead; it was seventeen hundred hours, so he went on deck, and sure enough the wind had dropped. They were abeam of land and traveling at about four knots. Kerstin had put the vessel on automatic and was waving to a passing yacht.
She turned to Henry, “wind dropped but I think we should still get in before dark. I’ll check our position although I can see the entrance to Basseterre with the binoculars.”
The island looked beautiful and Henry knew how Christopher Columbus must have felt as he discovered these beautiful islands. He could see the white sandy beaches with their waving palm trees below the rich verdure, climbing in gradual slopes against the delft blue sky.
“We should be in the harbor at sixteen thirty, good reckoning by you I must say.”
Henry was chuffed with his first success at navigation, “thank you.”
They dropped the anchor and decided not to venture ashore until morning; they reckoned their business wouldn’t take long and they’d soon be underway to Antigua. They both dived in for a swim and Henry remarked as they stood dripping on deck how few yachts were anchored here.
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
Kerstin looked around in the fading light and saw the small lights coming on around the harbor, both ashore and on the small flotilla at anchor. “It’s not a hugely popular place I reckon. I can’t rightly remember what the shore life was like.”
Henry finished drying and started down to the little galley to prepare the food.
“Any ideas for dinner?”
“Not really, I’ll leave it to you.”
Henry was beginning to improve his culinary skills and a commendable meal was served. Over dinner they decided the next day’s itinerary.
The morning brought the sea birds gliding across the bountiful lagoon diving in white splashes and surfacing with their silvery haul; their short sharp screeches the only sound in this tranquil little spot. They rowed ashore on the mirrored surface of the sheltered harbor, the light wake rippling like polished brass. On their walk from the dock they watched the men carrying nets heading down to the shoreline where some small boats were pulled up on the sandy beach. They came to the market and saw native women in colorful loose dress and generous lengths of fabric woven around their heads, hanging down their backs. The women worked patiently and silent beneath the canopies setting up their stalls arrayed with fruits and vegetables, fabrics, pottery, leather goods and an assortment of everyday household items.
Kerstin stood admiring the fruit.
“Remind me to stock up with fruit and vegetables later on.”
Henry bought two bananas and handed one to Kerstin.
“The pineapples look delicious; I’ll certainly remind you to include a few of them.”
The first hotel they came to was open and the earliest guests were emerging with cameras and sunhats coming out from the shaded interior into the bright sunlight they reached into their bags for sunglasses. Kerstin and Henry bade them good morning as they walked past into the hotel lobby. She asked the young girl at the desk for a phone directory and ordered two coffees. Sitting at a low table they quickly found the Ts. in the small book of names, and not too surprised, there was no Tukola.
After coffee they went to the local police station, a duty lady police officer showed them into the senior policeman’s office. The officer listened to Henry’s story, and although sympathetic to their mission, he didn’t have any further useful information for them. Henry asked him about the island’s offshore banking sector.
“I know very little about the banks and financial business on the island; only that it is our biggest asset and generates ninety percent of our annual income. From what I hear the accounts of these big corporate companies are very secret because I believe they are mostly tax free. I’ll phone a few banks and see if they are able to help. I’ll explain your situation and we’ll just have to hope for the best. Wait here and I’ll have coffee sent in while I address this matter.”
Moments later a girl came in with a tray and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted around the room.
After about twenty minutes the officer came back and sat at his desk.
“I’ve spoken to manager of one of the largest banks on the island. He explained that client confidentiality was their top priority. However, when he learned of the nature of your mission, with some reluctance, he searched their computer records. These showed that your man had dealings with the bank involving large sums of money, but because it was conducted anonymously via his numbered account in Caracas, the manager wasn’t able to give further information such as an address.
Henry looked disappointed as he thanked him for his help and they bade him good day.
Kerstin blinked in the bright sunlight, “it’s disappointing but if we look on the bright side, we know he’s surely somewhere in the Caribbean.”
They sailed next morning before a fresh westerly breeze and made good a course to St. Johns, Antigua. They dropped anchor in the harbor in late afternoon after making an uneventful and speedy passage. Next morning they went ashore and did their searches, ending up in the police station, but came away with nothing to add to their portfolio of clues. Before leaving the building, they left a photograph and description with the Antiguan police.
Kerstin decided to stock the larder and bought some fresh meat and fish, she also included some packs of beer and when she came to the wine she turned to Henry who had been unusually quite since leaving the police station. “You say you know a bit about wine, so you can help me choose.”
They headed back fully loaded and packed away their stores before going to the chart table and deciding on their next port of call. Henry pointed to Guadeloupe and turned to Kerstin who was fiddling with a pair of dividers. “French territory; not much point do you think we should give it a miss?”
She tipped Dominica with the point of the dividers.
“Yes, I think all the French and Dutch islands will be no go areas for him, so we could call in to here,” she queried, pointing to Dominica. Then she hesitated. “However, it’s not an island that would attract his type. It’s still a bit primitive with little tourism, not really commercial enough I would think.”
Henry agreed and as he studied the chart. “So where to next Kerstin?”
“I think St. Lucia, which is much more developed would be a good choice.”
He ran his hand across his chin. “I’m in your capable hands, so with my newly acquired skills, is it all right if I set a course for the island.”
She handed him the dividers.
“Yes do, and I’ll drum up a bit of lunch in a minute.”
“It’s a short run,” he said, measuring the distance, “about eighty five miles to Castries, the capital.”
“Ok, lay off the course and if we sail early tomorrow, we just might get in before dark, but even if we run a bit late it’s an easy enough harbor to sail into.”
They turned in early that night because they had decided to sail before sunrise. Henry woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
Kerstin banged the bulkhead.
“Get yourself up, breakfast’s ready.”
After a light breakfast of cereals and fruit, Kerstin readied herself on deck and Henry started the engine; they were soon bidding farewell to the island. After losing the coast of Antigua they made good headway as they sailed in turn past Guadalupe, then Dominica. When they reached the coastal waters of the French administered island of Martinique, they lost the wind as they came under the lee of the island, and at
thirteen hundred hours, Kerstin decided to give her a bit of engine, mainly to keep her out from the shore. The sun was relentlessly hot and the sails hung limp on the masts. Henry steered with a few easy spokes of the wheel. They were hugging the coast and he was looking across his port, side enjoying the view of the picturesque coastline; the sandy beaches and waving king palms set beneath a lush verdure of rich tropical greens.
The first appearance was like a dark shadow creeping up from the horizon, away to starboard. It enveloped the bright blue of the sky like spilled ink. “Kerstin!” he called out. She was below, but recognizing the urgency in his voice, she came hurrying on deck where she saw at a glance the darkness as it blotted out the sun.
“A norther” she shouted, “starboard helm, steer off the land.”
She disappeared below and came back up with life jackets and safety harnesses. After they quickly put on the life jackets, she fastened Henry’s line to a ring bolt on deck and as she went to haul down the sails, she shouted back to him, “give her full ahead as much as she’ll take.” Kerstin then battened down the hatch to the accommodation and went to stand with Henry at the wheel. “This is what’s called a norther; it won’t last long but it will blow like hell for about ten minutes or so; the wind will be gusting northwards, hence the name.”
She checked the dinghy’s lashings and looked around deck to see if there was anything loose that might break away. White caps rapidly formed on the big seas coming from the east and with a shriek of wind the Amber Witch lay over on her starboard side as she felt the weight of raging water. Kerstin clipped on her harness to a bolt. They couldn’t keep the vessel’s head up to the sea and wind and she began to fall off, lying broadside to the big combers which seemed to have been conjured from nowhere by some magicians hand. The yacht rolled over in the trough as a big wave swamped her; driving her under the foaming sea as she wallowed, rising slowly up onto a monstrous white cap. The wind had now backed round to true north and blew like demented banshees whipping the tops off the seas in a frenzy of confusion. The next big wave covered them both as they held on for dear life, trying to see if the boat was still intact through the salt water obscuring their vision.