by Blair Howard
“Could be,” Kate said, “but somehow I don’t think so. I think there was more to Gabby than meets the eye, a whole lot more, and we need to find out exactly what it—what she was. So who’s next on the list?”
“That would be Evander Martan, but….” I looked at my watch. “It’s almost noon, and that woman has left a nasty taste in my mouth. We need to get lunch. I wonder if they have anything here.”
They did. It was something even I had not come across before, not even on the exalted heights of Lookout Mountain. The dining-room table had been laid out buffet-style with a meal fit for the gods: conch salad, conch fritters, smoked salmon, crab cakes, stuffed chicken Normandy, fried lobster tail, Seafood Newburg; there was even a carving station with a chef handing out roast turkey, roast beef, and, the pièce de résistance, cold roast pheasant. Where the hell that had come from, and at what cost, I had no idea. I tell you, I’ve been to some fancy lunches, but that one had them all beat.
I got myself a plate—well, a platter—loaded it up, and went into the conservatory to call Amanda. She took the call poolside, asked me how it was going, told me she missed me and couldn’t wait until dinner to see me. Nice, but I felt kinda dismal; it was, after all, only my second day of married life. What a hell of a way to spend a honeymoon.
I disconnected and sat there by myself picking at an assortment of conch, crab, pheasant, lobster…. Oh hell, I’m going to regret this later.
I set the plate aside, cradled a pint of icy pink lemonade between my palms, and stared out the picture window at a view that money just couldn’t buy: the rolling fairways and the ocean just beyond. I’ve got to try to find time to get the old man out on the course. It’s beautiful….
It was at that point that the door opened, and Tommy Quinn stuck his head inside.
“Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but we have Carriere outside. What do you want us to do with him?”
“Bring him in; I’ll see him right after Moore. Where was he?”
“He was out on his boat. Fishing charter. We grabbed him as soon as he docked. He ain’t a happy man.”
“Okay. Give me fifteen minutes with Moore, and then let’s have him in Leo’s office. And… well, we need to get the fingerprinting done. Now that everyone’s here, can you get that started?”
“Yes, of course. If they’re all here it shouldn’t take more than an hour. What do you want me to do with the scans when I’m finished?”
“You need to get with Ms. Patel and have her send you her scans of the latent prints from the scene, and then get both sets to Tim. He’ll process everything and run comparisons. That good?”
He nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll get right on it.”
I took a bathroom break, did what needed to be done, then washed my hands and face in icy water and headed back out for what I was sure would be another confrontational interview.
Chapter 10
Sunday November 13, 11:55am
Victor Moore didn’t seem surprised when I found him in the dining room and asked him to accompany me to Leo Martan’s office. In fact, I got the distinct impression he was expecting it.
Even sitting in front of the desk, he looked uncomfortable. I watched him. He looked at me, and then quickly looked away. He looked at Kate; same reaction.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Moore?” I asked.
“No,” he answered, just a little too sharply. “I’m simply wondering why I’m here.”
“You’re here,” I said, “because the word is that you were having an affair with Gabrielle Martan. Were you?”
He smiled. “Is that what they’re saying. I’m not surprised. No. I wasn’t having an affair with her.”
“So tell us. What was your relationship with Ms. Gabrielle?” I asked.
“I was… her protector? I don’t know. I’ve been here, with Mr. Martan, for more than eighteen years. She was only seven then. I’ve looked after the family all that time. We were close, in a way. It’s hard to explain: not brotherly; certainly not romantically. I was very fond of her…. No, I loved her. Oh, not like that,” he said when he saw the look Kate was giving him. “Look, I was more of a father to that kid than Martan ever was. He never had time for her. I always did. She could, and did, come to me with all her little problems, when she was a little girl and even as she grew up. She was a bit loose, but she was also a product of her times, school, and upbringing.”
“Loose?” Kate asked. “What do you mean by that?”
“I know you’ve talked to Mr. Martan Jr., and his… wife.” He almost spit the word out. “But she was a good girl, and anyone who says different will answer to me.”
“It’s said that she was having an affair with Jeffery Margolis,” Kate said. “Did you know about that?” He did. I caught the twitch of his upper lip.
“Bullshit,” he snapped.
I nodded. No it wasn’t.
“Where were you between noon and two o’clock yesterday, Mr. Moore?”
“Hah! You think I killed her?” He was incredulous. “You’re out of your minds, both of you. I was here in the house. All over the damned place, as always. I’m the most visible person on the property.”
“Oh, that’s for sure,” I said, “which also means that no one takes a lot of notice of your comings and goings. Ten minutes; five, even. That’s all would have taken to hit her over the head and toss her off the balcony.”
The look he gave me was one a tiger would have been proud of. He stood, walked quickly to the door and, without a backward look, left the office, slamming the door behind him.
“He’s either terribly naïve,” Kate said, “or just didn’t want to see what was going on right under his nose. I’m inclined to believe the latter. I think he knew, but couldn’t accept it and simply looked the other way.”
“Oh he knew all right,” I said. “The question still is: Was he screwing her too?”
Chapter 11
Sunday November 13, 12:30pm
Sebastian Carriere was in every sense a man of the Islands, and by that I mean he was possessed of a somewhat biting sense of humor—developed, I imagined, over long years of dealing with the public, and not just the rich and famous. He was a handsome man: thirty-five, aristocratic, carried himself stiffly upright, perhaps to compensate for his lack of stature. He was five foot ten, maybe a little more, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for in attitude, and despite what Leo Martan had said, he was more Hispanic than African American; in fact, he reminded me of a bull fighter, slim, arrogant, long black hair, shiny and slicked straight back and tied in a ponytail, dark eyes, clean shaven. He was the quintessential romance novel cover model. He looked like he’d stepped out of another age. In short, they don’t make ’em like that anymore. I could see why Gabrielle had been attracted to him, as were a great many more members of the fairer sex, I had no doubt.
“You were supposed to be here this morning. Your fiancée has been murdered, for God’s sake. Where the hell have you been?” I asked as he sat down.
He shrugged and wrinkled his nose. “On my boat. I have a business to run. I don’t work; I don’t pay my bills; I lose my boat.” The voice was refined, with little trace of his Caribbean origins.
This is one cold-hearted son of a bitch.
“You were heard arguing with Gabrielle on Friday evening. What was that about?”
“I asked her to lend me some money. She wouldn’t. I was angry.”
“Did you see her yesterday morning?”
“No. I was working.”
“Where were you from noon until two?”
“I told you. I was working. I was at the boat dock, preparing the boat for my guests.”
“What time did you cast off?”
He shrugged, thought for a moment, then said, “I’m not sure: two thirty, three. They were a rowdy bunch. I really wasn’t paying that much attention.”
“That late? Did no one tell you about Gabrielle? Did no one call you?”
“No and yes. No one
came to the dock to tell me, and I keep my phone in a compartment by the wheel. I didn’t hear it. They were very noisy; so are the engines. When I finally got to it there were several missed calls.”
“You didn’t check for messages?” Kate asked incredulously.
He shrugged again. It seemed to be some sort of conversational idiosyncrasy, and it was annoying.
“I was at sea,” he said. “No signal. And anyway, everyone knows that I don’t check my phone when I’m working. Running the boat takes all my attention. These are dangerous waters. Reefs everywhere. I wouldn’t have answered even if I had heard it.”
“So when did you learn of your fiancée’s death?”
“Last night, when I returned from my charter. It was late. It was a moonlight party cruise. Ten people. They got very drunk. It was after eleven when I docked. I checked my phone and came straight here.” He shrugged, expressively. “As to this morning: What could I do? I had an inshore charter already booked for eight o’clock, so I took them out. I need the money and they had already paid. Losing that money would not have brought her back.”
“But you knew you were supposed to meet with us this morning, did you not?”
Again the shrug, this time with a shake of his head. “I knew, and I also knew that you would be here all day. And why talk to me anyway? I was not here when she died. Again I say I have a business to run.”
“Where are you from, Mr. Carriere? Your accent is… different?”
“Why? Is it important?”
“Not at all. I’m just curious.”
“I am from Cuba.” He pronounced it “Kooba.” “My family maintains that we are descended from the Spanish pirate Juan Garcia.”
And I have no doubt that you are, I thought. “Let’s go back to Friday evening. You say you were arguing about money, that you wanted her to give you some. How much were you asking for?”
“Not give, lend. I asked her for five thousand. She refused.”
Jeez. Is that all? That’s not a motive.
“Nothing else?” Kate asked pointedly.
“Like what?”
“Like the affair she was having with Jeffery Margolis.”
He didn’t flinch. He shrugged, looked down at the floor, and said, “Yes. I mean, no. I knew about that, but there was nothing to it. She was that way, promiscuous, but it didn’t mean anything, and she had promised me it was over.”
“When was that?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know. Two, three weeks ago. I didn’t make a note of the date,” he said sarcastically.
“So who else do you think might have been screwing her?” Kate stared intently at him.
His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened as he glared back at her. “Why do you ask that?”
“Because we found a condom wrapper under her bed.”
“That would have been mine,” he said with a slight smile. “I think I left it on the nightstand on Friday evening.”
“Yours?” I asked incredulously. “But you were engaged to her… and she was wearing a contraceptive patch. Why would you use a condom?”
Again the shrug. “I have a bit of a problem,” he said, without rancor. “I am HIV positive. I always used one, to protect her.” I looked sideways at Kate. She was as stunned as I was.
“But the patch….”
He interrupted me. “That was not for me, my friend. I told you she was promiscuous. Evidently she was still screwing Jeff… or maybe someone else.” He had a wry smile on his face.
Yup. He’s one cold SOB.
I shook my head, exasperated. I’d had just about enough for one day. This guy was an enigma. His wife-to-be had been screwing around on him and he didn’t seem to care.
“You’re telling me you knew your fiancée was playing the field and you didn’t care? What the hell kind of man are you?”
He sat up straight in the chair, his shoulders rigid, his head held high.
Oh yes, he’s a pirate all right.
“I am the kind of man who was unfortunate enough to receive a blood transfusion on one of the more remote islands. The blood was bad. I contracted the virus. Gabrielle and I, we loved each other. We could not, however, enjoy a normal sex life. While she catered to my needs as best she could, she had needs of her own; needs I could not properly fulfill, and so she… she… she… went with other men. I didn’t like it, nor did I condone it, but what was I to do? Give her up? No, my friend. That I would never do.
“I will tell you something else,” he continued. “You had better find out who did do this thing, because if you don’t, I will, and the consequences will not be pretty; by my ancestors I promise you that. Now, if you’re done with me, I have a charter to fulfill.”
It was quite a speech, and I had to admit, I was impressed, and so, I could see, was Kate.
“Just a couple more questions, Mr. Carriere, and then you can go. You say the condom wrapper was yours, that you left it on the nightstand. It was found yesterday morning under the bed, after the room had been cleaned. How do you explain that if you were not in her room that morning?”
He shrugged. It was really beginning to get on my nerves.
“The cleaner must have missed it. That is the only explanation there could be, no?”
I nodded, flipped back through my notes. “Gabrielle was killed sometime between twelve and two yesterday afternoon. You said you were at the dock, preparing for your charter. Did anyone see you there during those hours, anyone who might confirm your presence there?”
He shrugged. Again. “Perhaps, perhaps not. You must check for yourself.”
I nodded. “That you can count on. You’re not planning on leaving the island, are you? Because if you are, don’t. We’ll need to talk to you again. Oh, and keep your phone where you can hear it.”
He stood, went to the door, opened it, then turned and said, “Good bye, Mr. Starke, and good hunting.”
“Well,” Kate said, after the door had closed behind him, “that opens a whole new line of investigation. As far as we know, she could have been screwing any one or all of them, her brothers exclu… ded. Oh no, not them, surely?”
“Yes, you’re right, but what did you think of him?” I asked her.
“I liked him. He could have killed her, but I don’t think so.”
“How about you, Bob?” I asked. He and Quinn, having made short work of the finger printing, had joined us after Moore had left the office.
He shrugged, and was about to speak when Kate interrupted him. “Oh for Christ’s sake, don’t you start with the shrugs.”
He grinned at her, shrugged again, this time deliberately, and said, “I don’t know what to make of him. He didn’t seem too bothered that his fiancée had just been murdered. I say we need to keep an eye him, and check around the docks, see if he really was there yesterday. Someone should have seen him. It’s busy down there most of the time. I like him too. He has a big problem with his health and I think he’s handling it as best he can. I can’t imagine… well, you know.”
I did know. I also knew I’d had enough for one day. I looked at my watch. It was almost one thirty. I needed to spend some time with my family. I also needed time to think.
“Okay, people. I’ve had it. We still need to interview Vivien, Evander, Caspian, the Margolises, the gardener….” I looked at my list. “The Collinses, and Georgina. Jesus, we’ve barely scratched the surface…. Nope. I’m not doing any more of this today.” I looked over at Tommy and smiled.
“But you, Tommy, you’re at work. You’re being paid to do this, so I want you to continue conducting interviews. You can do Georgina Walford, Caspian Martan, and the two Collinses this afternoon. You can leave Alicia and Jeffery Margolis, Evander Martan, and Vivien to Kate and me. We’ll get to them in the morning. I’ll meet you at my cottage at the resort at eight in the morning, and we’ll go over your interviews. Sound good?”
He looked kind of put out, but he agreed.
“Kate,” I said, “if you would call our group
and set them up for ten o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll let Leo Sr. know what we’re doing. He won’t be pleased, but screw him.”
I was right. He wasn’t pleased, and he did his best to talk me out of it. But eventually he agreed to run us back to the resort and to meet with us when we arrived back at the Mount the following morning. He also tried his best to find out where I was with the investigation, but I wasn’t having any of that either. I didn’t know anything, and I wouldn’t have told him if I did.
Chapter 12
Sunday November 13, 2pm
Leo drove Kate, Bob, and me back to the resort and we went our separate ways; me to grab a shower, Kate and Bob to do whatever. We arranged to meet for dinner at eight. The rest of the day was mine, all mine… and Amanda’s, and by God if I had to throw away my iPhone to get some peace, I’d do it.
I’d called her just before I went to close out the day with Leo, and she was waiting for me when I got back to the cottage. She looked fantastic in a white bikini and an almost transparent, red-and-white flowered beach cover. I went to grab her, but she was having none of it.
“Not right now,” she said, backing away. “I’ve arranged something special, and they’re waiting for us. So do what you have to; get changed, and let’s go.”
“Whoa. Wait just a minute. I don’t want to be around anyone but you, and I need to talk to Tim before I do anything. So cancel whatever it is you’ve arranged.”
“Nope. You’ll like this. I know you will. Tim and Sammie are outside on the patio. So strip; get into swim gear and a shirt. Take five to talk to Tim, and then we’re away to the dock.”
“Damn, damn, damn,” I mumbled as I headed to the bedroom. “Is this how it’s going to be? I hate people making me—”
“I can hear you!”
Still grumbling to myself, I did as she’d asked. I changed into a pair of Tommy Bahama swim trunks and a loose-fitting white linen shirt and headed out to find Tim. He and Sammie were indeed on the patio, he with an incongruous white shield covering his nose, Sammie looking very fetching in a black one piece.