by Don Prichard
It had been a long time since she’d had the nightmare about the man wrenching her screaming and flailing off the jungle floor. It had returned last night after setting foot on Philippine soil. The thought of seeing that monster at the wedding in two days shriveled her insides. Turned her stomach inside out so that she couldn’t eat. “Jet lag,” she told Crystal. She tried to hang onto the image of Jake Chalmers as the man in Crystal’s photo, but the grip of the brute’s fingers squeezing her arm in the nightmare was far more real than the flat two dimensions of Crystal’s photograph.
She didn’t know how to reconcile the two.
Thank goodness for the appointment with Detective Lee this afternoon. His request to interview her about what had happened three years ago was unnerving since she had no memory of the events, but at least the meeting was another handy excuse for bowing out of the trip with the twins and Crystal to Salonga Prison.
The detective was sober of face and quick of mind. A bit younger than she, a bit shorter, neither by much. Dressed in a sports jacket and tie in spite of the sun hammering the tops of heads like nails. She was grateful for the air conditioning of the cafe they walked to.
Lee placed a manila folder on the table and they ordered tea. “Thank you for meeting with me, Judge Eriksson. I'm hoping you can help with some open cases I have from 1982.”
“I’m glad to help.” Surely he knew about her memory loss, but she was curious to hear what he would reveal about its circumstances.
“We found you with two dead men aboard a stolen yacht, the Cameron’s Castle. Can you tell me about that?”
“I have no memory of it. Neither of the yacht nor of the two dead men.”
Lee withdrew a photograph from the manila folder and slid it toward her. “Does this help?”
The photo was of a beautiful yacht at a distance. Cameron’s Castle identified it across its stern. When she shook her head, Lee showed her pictures of the interior. “I’m sorry, detective, I don’t recognize any of it.” She handed the photos back.
“May I show you the two dead men?”
“Certainly.” Photographs of corpses were common enough in the criminal cases she handled. She moved aside her tea as the waitress set it down, and Lee slid a photo to her. A Filipino man of small stature, glasses askew, hands plastered over a bloody shirt at his stomach. She shook her head, slid it back to Lee.
The next photo showed a large man, eyes open, mouth in a grimace, at least a dozen scars carved on his face. A pool of shiny red blood beneath his neck and head reflected the flash of the camera. Eve leaped to her feet, air knotting her windpipe in a loud gasp. She shoved back from the table. Her chair toppled with a rattling crash behind her. Tea flooded the tabletop and slopped onto Detective Lee.
He stood, swiping at his lap area with a paper napkin. “Are you okay?” He picked up the photo and flapped tea off it. “You recognize him?”
Eve couldn’t control the sobs that tangled her throat. Her chest heaved like a blacksmith’s bellows. When at last she quelled the shuddering breaths, she righted her chair and flopped into it. The waitress sopped up the spill with a cotton towel and replaced their teas. “I’m sorry.” Eve lowered her eyes. “About your clothes.” When they left, he’d probably look like he’d wet his pants.
Lee pshawed and sat down gingerly. “I take it you recognized him.” He held up the photo, now wrinkled from its baptism.
Eve turned her head away. “He’s …” She swallowed, forced herself to look at the photo. “Only from my nightmares.”
“Not from the yacht? Or the island?”
“No.” Was the man Jacob Chalmers? He couldn’t be. Jake Chalmers was the man in Crystal’s photo.
“What happens in your nightmares?”
She suppressed a whimper. “I’m hiding in the jungle, and he finds me. Grabs my arm. I scream and … wake up.”
“So you remember being in a jungle?”
“Only in my dream.”
“Tell me about the island.”
She shook her head. “No memories.”
He pulled more photos out of the manila folder, slid one across to her. “Recognize him?”
This one was a police photo. Another Filipino man. “No.” Nor did she remember the second Filipino man in a similar kind of photo.
At the third photo, she drew in a quick breath. It was the same bearded man as in Crystal’s photograph. The man in her fantasy with the two-edged sword. The Protector. “Crystal showed me a photo of him, said he was Jacob Chalmers.”
Lee didn’t confirm it. “Do you remember him?”
“No. Is that who he is?” Please say yes.
Lee stared at her. She didn’t flinch.
Finally he nodded.
She’d been holding her breath. She released it with a hearty sigh through her nostrils. “Who is the other man? The scarred one?”
“He goes by Jojo. Does that ring a bell?”
“No.” She wet her lips. “What happened on the yacht with him and the other man?”
“We think they got into an argument and managed to kill each other.” Lee flicked a glance at the scar on her forehead. “And almost you. Probably killed the first mate and owners of the yacht too.”
He pushed the police photos of the other two Filipino men back into her view. “Let’s talk about these. Witnesses say they were part of the crew on the yacht.”
Her heartbeat doubled. “Witnesses?”
He pulled out two more photos and held them up. An old lady and a younger Crystal. Both were horribly bedraggled. Hair disheveled, clothing ragged, skeleton-thin with haggard faces. Her breath punched out of her lungs.
“Recognize them?”
Her voice wobbled. “Crystal, my ward. And … I’m guessing, Betty Parker?” She took the photo of the old lady and examined it. This was the multi-millionaire who left her all that money?
“They say you witnessed this man’s death.” Lee tapped the police photo on her right.
“No.” Alarm buzzed over her face like an electric razor. “Or if I did, I don’t remember it.” When Lee said nothing, she squared her shoulders. “How did he die?”
“He fell. From a long ways up. From the top of a tree. Landed in a crunch that folded him like an accordion.”
Her lower lip jerked in a spasm. “Did I … did I push him?”
“You’re the only witness.”
“I don’t remember.” Horror pushed her stomach into her throat. “I don’t remember,” she whispered.
Lee stabbed the other photo with the same finger. “Jacob Chalmers killed this man.”
She felt her eyes widen, her sight jump from the second photo to Lee’s eyes. “Any witnesses?”
“He confessed to it.”
Confessed. Her shoulders slumped.
Crystal had told her why Jake killed the man. “He was protecting me,” Eve said to Lee. She believed it now. It was no longer a question, but a declaration solid in her heart. Jake Chalmers was her Protector.
She sat up straight. “Jake … and Crystal. They’re in my memory—even though I don’t remember them.” Lee frowned, and she tried again to explain the conundrum. “I recognized them in my memory. When they popped into my mind, I knew I knew them. I just didn’t know how. Or who they were.” She faltered.
“Like you remembered Jojo from your nightmare.”
“Yes!”
Lee slipped all the photos back into his folder. “Anything or anyone else from your memory you can’t explain?”
“No. Only those two. But Jake … someone’s defending him, right? Is his case ready for court?”
“He has competent lawyers, yes. A judge, no.”
“His trial is being delayed?”
“For three years so far. He is waiting on the Just Judge.” Lee pointed heavenward. “The earthly judge demands a ransom Jake refuses to pay.”
Eve’s brow furrowed, smoothed as comprehension dawned. “The judge wants a bribe. What’s his name? I will gladly confront him, judge t
o judge.”
“An American making such an accusation, judge-to-judge or not, will only make things worse for Jake.”
“And you, a police officer, can’t do anything about the judge?”
“I would if I could, but there is no proof. Only tradition, and a government that practices it as well.”
“It’s not right!” she spat out. Lee made no reply, and they sat quietly, staring at the table, sipping their teas. At last, she asked, “Do you think he’s guilty?”
“No more than you are guilty.” He corrected himself. “Than you may be guilty.”
She ducked her head. All these years she’d pointed her finger at Jake, labeled him a murderer, when the same accusation could be leveled at her. She could be in prison. No attorney career recovered. No promotion to judgeship. No Crystal. Everything a loss.
But she wasn’t in prison. Because there was no witness.
Jake was in prison. Because there was no witness.
Her.
She couldn’t testify to say it was self-defense and Jake had been protecting her.
Because she couldn’t remember.
She didn’t look up when Lee thanked her and said he had to be on his way. Didn’t raise her head because tears would have spilled down her cheeks.
Chapter 66
Eve peered out the window of the limousine Jake had sent for the wedding party and guests. In spite of her reluctance to attend the ceremony, she’d gotten caught up in the excitement of the moment. Dainty Filipina hairdressers had styled her, Crystal’s, and Dana’s hair into elaborate arrangements and insisted on applying their makeup as well. She feared they’d turn out looking like plastic dolls, so was pleased when the unique beauty of each was brought out instead. Dana was the radiant bride, Crystal the buoyant maiden, and Eve the elegant … well, judge.
Brett, Bentley, and his parents were in a separate limousine ahead of them so the groom could make his exit without seeing the bride. Both the groom and his best man, Brett, wore their Army formal blue mess uniforms. In contrast, Dana had selected attire that would be comfortable in the blazing heat and humidity. Foregoing fashionably massive shoulder pads and sleeves, she chose a gown with spaghetti straps that topped a deeply scalloped V-neck. From her waist to her toes, lace graced the sheath with tiny rhinestones that shone in the late morning light as if she had stepped from a sun-drawn chariot. Crystal, also dressed for comfort, wore a bright yellow, spaghetti-strapped gown that flowed to her ankles and swirled like a golden mist around her slender body when she walked.
Eve opted to forego spaghetti straps since every dress she tried on with them insisted on showing off the opulence of her bosom. Not exactly what she wanted to feature to the hungry eyes of prisoners, and especially not to the man who reportedly was in love with her and had last seen her three years ago in as disheveled a state as Crystal and Betty had been in Lee’s photos. Instead, she wore a soft emerald, full-length dress with a high, wide-scooped neck that ended in fashionable puffy sleeves halfway to her elbows. She was pleased to see the groom’s mother was similarly dressed, with a touch more glamour. As she should be.
Eve still balked at the idea of holding the wedding at the prison, but the warden refused to allow Jake to leave. If he was to walk Dana down the aisle, it had to be at Salonga. Jake, the warden, Detective Lee—all three insisted it was safe with all the new security hardware. The prisoners would be locked in their cells, with only a few handpicked men from Jake’s group permitted to help at the reception.
The road to the prison was newly paved. From a distance, the prison appeared a strangely shifting gray blur against a greening landscape that Jake had told Crystal was once a swamp but now agricultural fields. Closer up, Eve discovered the moving parts of the prison were canopy gently flapping above five circular concrete pods. On the wide arc of the concrete apron at the front gate, pots of tropical trees, ferns and flowers surrounded a small arrangement of rattan chairs for guests. The gate’s black iron bars were hidden behind an arch draped with white cloth and made festive with colorful flowers. On each side of it, at full attention, stood three National Policemen in dress uniform. Everyone in the car, even the driver, murmured in admiration. Dana beamed.
The first limousine deposited its passengers at the apron, and Bentley escorted his mother and father to chairs on the front right side of an aisle already dressed in red carpet. He and Brett then took their places under the arch, where a Filipino man, presumably the preacher, joined them.
The bride’s car pulled up next. “Your turn, Mom,” Crystal whispered. A prison guard opened the car door, and Eve stepped out into the heat-borne fragrance of tropical flowers. The warden awaited her, and she greeted him, glad she had been forewarned he was her escort. He too was in full uniform, but between his eye patch and grim visage, he looked more the part of an usher to hell than the host of a wedding facility. She took his arm and matched her step to his down the red carpet to the set of two chairs on the left second row. Jake would be sitting in front of her. Her throat felt as if it were stuffed with a 500-pound bale of cotton muffling her heartbeat. She sat, and then the warden next to her on the aisle.
Detective Lee was one of the three National Police standing to the left of the draped arch. His almond-shaped eyes were round, staring at her with frank admiration. The bale of cotton in her throat poofed away, and the tension in her shoulders with it. She smiled at him, and the stern line of a soldier’s mouth at attention swept into a reciprocal smile.
Emboldened, she tipped her head and spoke to Mendoza. “I’m sorry I missed the tour of your new prison yesterday.” She had been wallowing in self-pity and excused herself from joining the twins and Crystal. “I heard many compliments on it.”
Mendoza turned his head to give her a stiff stare. “I admit I was surprised since your fiancé designed it and supervised its construction.”
The ice on his words shoved the cotton bale back into her throat. She rankled at the designation of Jake as her fiancé, but the fixation of Mendoza’s flesh-sunken visible eye on her eyes quelled any thought of correcting him.
The revelation that Jake truly was responsible for the new prison astonished her. She’d figured his letters to Crystal about it were just one more way to dazzle a foolish child. After all, who had ever heard of a prisoner having that kind of freedom, much less cooperation, from the warden of his prison?
A choir began singing Wagner’s Bridal Chorus, and she turned her head from side-to-side seeking its source. The voices were all male with no instrumentation, sung in English with a Filipino accent. The song’s power caught at her heart.
“Prisoners,” the warden muttered, “behind the gate.”
The nuptial arch and line of National Police all but hid the front gate, but once she knew the choir’s location, she spied the men standing in back of the iron bars. Bentley stepped forward and his parents rose, as did the warden. Apparently they knew the cue. She joined them in standing and turning to gaze down the carpeted aisle.
Crystal, flowers artfully gracing her hair, hands clasping a simple bouquet of the same blossoms, floated like a moonbeam down the aisle. Her gown swirled in gentle folds about her legs, revealing dainty, sandaled feet with each step. A smile devoid of self-consciousness but dispensing joy like petals tossed upon the audience completed the picture of utter ebullience.
Eve inhaled a muffled sniffle. Thank you, Lord, for giving me the heart to bring Crystal to the wedding. She followed Crystal’s journey all the way to the arch, where she entered and stopped in place opposite Brett. When Crystal’s eyes landed on the young man, she grinned and shot him a wicked little wink.
Why, that little flirt! It was all Eve could do not to laugh out loud.
Standing between Brett and Crystal, Bentley suddenly stiffened, his eyes widening, his gaze fixed on the back of the aisle. Eve pivoted, smiling in anticipation of the loveliness that would grace Dana’s appearance. The bride, like her bridesmaid, was also adorned with flowers, but all of her blossoms
were white. They shone in her ginger-red hair like a halo, and cascaded from her hands in a bouquet that feathered like froth in a waterfall against the glittering rhinestones of her gown.
A whimper of awe escaped Eve’s mouth at the picture of purity Dana presented. Next to Eve, the warden emitted a guttural huff of admiration.
Before Dana started down the aisle, her escort stepped into view, and she slipped her arm into his, tipped her head back, and smiled up at him. Eve frowned. Instead of Jake, an officer in a Marine Corps mess dress uniform was accompanying Dana. Where was the father of the bride?
Disappointment clamped Eve’s mouth shut, and she glared at the big shot standing next to her. Mendoza must have forced Jake to watch from inside the prison. She shifted to one foot, sorely tempted to kick the warden in the shins.
Chapter 67
Whoever the man escorting Dana was, he had Eve’s heart thumping into a rapid pitter-patter. She’d always been a sucker for a man in uniform, and this dude, as Crystal would say, was definitely rad.
He was in his mid-forties, tall, with a clean-shaven face bronzed by the sun, and a smile as broad as his shoulders. Definitely handsome in the formal military attire, with its black jacket, brass buttons, and gold braid at the ends of the sleeves. The jacket cut away to reveal a wide, red cummerbund over a white shirt, with more color added by a line of miniature medals across the jacket’s left breast. The trousers, also black, featured a red and gold stripe on the outside of each leg. The same stripe encircled the white barracks cap he wore, and gold braid decorated its black bill. Above the bill, a silver and gold emblem of an eagle atop a globe and anchor identified the man as a member of the U.S. Marine Corps. Honestly, it was hard to keep her eyes off him.
“First time in three years I see him without a beard.” Mendoza peered up at her, evidently aware of the focus of her gaze.
She felt her cheeks go hot. Had she been gawking? “Who is he?” was on the tip of her tongue when the answer hit her.