Dead Secret

by Ava McCarthy

  Jodie flicked a glance at Novak’s face. His skin looked puffy, bleached to a harsh pallor by the sun streaming through the window. He caught her eye, and dragged a hand over his sandpapery chin.

  ‘First thing I need is a hotel room and a hot shower.’ He leaned forward, checking out the view. ‘Soon as we land, I’ll call my contact at the bank, set up an appointment for this afternoon.’

  Jodie nodded, wondering what hold he had over the guy to make him so compliant. Her gaze strayed to the window, to the sparkling turquoise of the Caribbean Sea, almost translucent beneath them. Sunlight warmed her face through the glass, a welcome contrast to the blizzards she’d left behind.

  She turned back to Novak. ‘You said you checked Ethan’s flight from Logan Airport. The one he was meant to catch on the fourth of July.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s right, I did.’

  ‘So did your ex-cop tell you where he was headed?’

  Novak shook his head. ‘The cops never pursued it, wasn’t relevant to their investigation. As far as they were concerned, Ethan was shot while driving his car, so why would they care about some flight he never caught?’

  ‘Then how did you find out?’

  ‘I didn’t. I’ve no way to confirm which flight he’d booked. But I do know which flights were scheduled to leave that night, and there were only three he could possibly have caught in time: London, Zurich and some place in Oregon. My guess is Zurich. If he had an offshore account in Belize, why not in Zurich too?’

  Jodie shrugged. ‘Maybe the cops were right. Maybe it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It matters because he lied about it.’

  She turned back to the window. They were heading inland over Central America, its coastal terrains punctured by swampy-looking lagoons.

  ‘Ethan told a lot of lies,’ she said, ‘about a lot of ordinary things that weren’t important. It was his way of staying in control.’

  Her gaze lost focus as she recalled petty tyrannies: Ethan secretly rearranging domestic appointments, trying to convince her she was losing her mind; Ethan hiding her belongings for the same reason. Purses, shoes, books; even Abby’s toys. A favourite stuffed rabbit had gone missing for over a week, and Ethan had blamed Jodie. Mommy lost it, honey, or just dumped it in the trash. She says she can’t remember. Abby had cried herself to sleep every night, till Jodie had found the rabbit locked away in Ethan’s gun cabinet.

  Novak leaned closer. ‘Did you know he wasn’t a real lawyer?’

  She shot him a look. ‘What?’

  ‘He had no qualifications. Never graduated, never sat the bar exam.’

  Jodie frowned. ‘That’s insane. Who told you that? Ethan was a superb lawyer, even I could see that.’

  ‘I talked to some guys from his graduation year at BU Law, and for what it’s worth, they all agree with you. I showed them an old photo, they all remembered him well. Said he was a real smart guy, popular, ambitious, and as far as they knew, he’d graduated with honours. But there’s no record of him ever graduating from Boston University. He was never even registered as a student there, or anywhere else as far as I can tell.’

  Jodie shook her head, trying to make sense of it. Her gaze drifted back to the window. The lagoons had given way to marshy scrubland, cleaved in two by a muddy-looking river. She stared at the ground, watching the plane’s shadow track them against the wetland, watching it all the way to Belize City, and wondering if any part of Ethan had ever been real.

  16

  Jodie buzzed the taxi window down.

  A pillow of warm air buffed her face, the glare of sunlight making her squint, even behind her shades. Outside, the streets looked run-down. Rickety clapboards lined both sides, all daubed with graffiti, some little more than shacks.

  She glanced at Novak in the back seat beside her. They’d checked into a low-rent hotel called The Plaza, and taken the time to freshen up. But he still looked rumpled, like a bundle of clothes left rolled up for winter. Jodie had showered and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. By the time she’d re-joined Novak in the lobby, he’d already arranged a meeting with his contact at the bank.

  She leaned back against the seat, her gaze wandering skyward. The cornflower blue was uninterrupted, apart from the occasional tall palm with its star-shaped crown of fronds. Hard to believe that two days ago she’d been locked up in prison, and now here she was in Central America, in a country she knew very little about, except that it was bordered by Mexico, Guatemala and the Caribbean Sea. Her head felt dazed. She shifted in her seat, fighting off a sudden surge of fatigue.

  ‘How far away is the bank?’ she said.

  ‘We’re not meeting him there. He’ll slip out and join us in a café around the corner.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘He’s paranoid, that’s how come. He doesn’t want us on the bank’s security cameras. And with good reason, frankly. He’s violating bank secrecy laws. That’s a criminal offence.’

  ‘You must be making it worth his while.’

  Novak didn’t answer. Jodie glanced back out at the narrow streets. Some of the houses had gaily coloured roofs: sunny yellows, vibrant reds. The effect should have been festive, but up close the buildings looked derelict.

  ‘We’re heading downtown?’

  Novak nodded. ‘Close to the river. Almost there.’

  ‘Sounds like you know your way around.’

  ‘I’ve been here a couple of times, back when I started digging into the bogus property transfers. When I linked the shell companies to an account in Belize, I came here to find out who owned it.’

  He turned to the window, and Jodie followed his gaze, taking in the rows of shuttered-up premises, separated by wire fences and scrub grass.

  ‘This city gets a lot of bad press,’ Novak said. ‘High crime rates. Murders, robberies, drive-by shootings, rapes, gang wars, you name it. The place scares people.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘Me, I like it. It’s got its own charm. All the hustle and bustle. There’s a sort of carnival feel, you know? Reminds me of New Orleans.’

  Jodie cast a doubtful look out the window; at the unkempt lots, speckled with litter; at the mess of slack overhead power lines, dangling everywhere in sagging loops. The party atmosphere eluded her.

  Up ahead, the river slid into view, dark and narrow. The taxi dropped them at a small café on the quayside where they nabbed an outside table and ordered two strong coffees.

  Jodie watched the river. It was murky and sluggish, lined with sailboats that knocked against the quays. The sun blazed down on her arms, and somewhere nearby a steel drum beat a lazy, calypso rhythm. The overall effect was soporific, apart from the dense, rotting smell that seemed to ooze from the water.

  According to her maps, this was Haulover Creek, the Belize River inlet that emptied into the Caribbean Sea. It was hard to reconcile this dank, muddy water with the crystalline, turquoise ocean.

  Jodie felt Novak watching her and flicked him a look. His head was cocked to one side, his gaze speculative.

  ‘Must feel pretty good to be out of prison,’ he said.

  She raised a brow. ‘Is this the journalist gathering human interest for his Pulitzer Prize?’

  ‘Hey, no. I’m just saying. Must feel good to be free after all this time.’

  Jodie let her gaze drift away to the river. She wasn’t sure what freedom felt like any more. In truth, she’d probably felt freer in prison than she ever had with Ethan. She folded her arms tight across her chest, aware her body language was turning defensive; couldn’t do anything to change it.

  Novak was eyeing her with curiosity. ‘I guess surviving prison was rough.’

  ‘Who says I survived it?’

  ‘You’re still alive, aren’t you?’

  ‘You think that was my choice? They had me on suicide watch most of the time. Put me in isolation for the first six months. They made me wear a paper gown because it couldn’t be torn into strips to make a noose.’

&n
bsp; ‘Jesus.’

  ‘I didn’t survive prison, Novak. I may still be here, but believe me, that’s not the same thing.’

  He stared at her. ‘But it’s got to make a difference knowing you didn’t kill Ethan, right? Knowing you’re not a murderer after all? You can wipe the slate clean. Start over.’

  Start over. Without Abby? Jodie’s head reeled, swamped by a familiar black, unbearable loss. She closed her eyes as Novak went on.

  ‘All we have to do is find Ethan. Then we call in the authorities, and they can do the rest.’

  Find Ethan. Jodie latched on to the notion, zeroing in on it: a pinpoint focus to steady her brain. Novak was still talking.

  ‘I get my story, your case gets dismissed and you get a second chance.’

  All neat and tidy, wrapped up in a bow. Jodie dragged her eyes open.

  ‘You really don’t get it, do you, Novak? You don’t understand what it’s like to lose a child.’

  Something flickered across his face. He broke eye contact, his expression undergoing a subtle shift. Jodie wondered what she’d missed. Repenting, she said,

  ‘Sorry, I guess I’ve no right to make that assumption.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘You have any children?’

  His eyes jumped to hers, then down to his coffee.

  ‘I have a son,’ he said, after a moment. ‘He’s six years old.’

  Jodie noted the present tense, and experienced the pang of envy she always felt for people whose children were still alive. She stifled it and said,

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘With his mother in Florida. We’re divorced.’ He kept his eyes on his coffee. ‘I haven’t seen him in six months.’

  His face took on a fixed expression, and Jodie was visited by an urge to reach out and touch his arm. The impulse alarmed her and she kept it in check, casting around for a way to retreat to safer ground. Then he lifted his gaze, his attention sharpening, snagging on a point over her shoulder. She turned as Novak stood to pull out another chair.

  ‘I don’t have much time, I’m expected back.’

  The banker stirred in his seat, his eyes restless. His name was Barrow. He was probably in his late fifties, maybe a hundred pounds overweight, with a damp sheen on his dark skin and a snowy dusting on his beard and hair.

  Novak gestured at Jodie. ‘My associate here has a few questions about Ethan McCall.’

  Barrow turned large, expressive eyes her way. She leaned forward, hands clasped on the table.

  ‘I need to know where he is. Do you have an address on your records?’

  Novak waved a dismissive hand. ‘I already checked that, it’s your old home address in Peterborough.’

  Jodie stared at the banker. ‘He hasn’t lived there for some time. How did you communicate with him?’

  ‘By email. He designated that as the primary mode of contact when he set up the account.’

  He spoke in a deep baritone, his diction slow and precise, with a mellow, Afro-Caribbean cadence. Jodie flicked a glance at Novak.

  ‘Do we have the email address?’

  ‘Yeah, but it doesn’t help. Some anonymous remailer thing, I can’t trace it.’

  Barrow shook his head. ‘It’s not valid any more, either. My emails bounce back. He must have shut it down the same time he closed out the account.’

  Novak frowned. ‘Wait a minute. You never told me he closed the account.’

  The banker’s gaze shifted, and he looked caught out. ‘Maybe I was hoping there was a way you and me could still do business.’

  ‘You were going to lie to me, you mean.’

  Jodie looked from one to the other. ‘When did he close the account?’

  Barrow gave her a direct look. ‘When I met with him a couple of weeks ago. He wasn’t happy at being called back in, let me tell you. I don’t know if that was the reason, but he made a decision there and then to withdraw all his funds and close the account down.’

  Jodie squinted. ‘Can we just back up a bit? Why exactly did Ethan visit your bank two weeks ago?’

  ‘I instructed him to come in.’

  ‘Why?’

  Novak interjected. ‘That was my idea. The account had been dormant ever since Ethan died, but then six weeks ago, the transactions started up again. I figured maybe Caruso was behind it. Didn’t expect it to be Ethan, back from the dead.’

  Jodie turned back to Barrow. ‘And you were willing to manufacture some kind of meeting?’

  The banker’s expression grew cynical. ‘What do you think? For a fee, I’m willing to do a lot of things. If you want to know why, just take a look around.’

  His gaze roamed the dilapidated quays, with their shabby buildings and littered boardwalks.

  ‘This is a poor city in a poor country,’ he said. ‘I have a job, but for how long? City’s shot to hell. Poverty’s hovering over all of us around here.’ He glanced skywards. ‘Like those vultures up there, just circling, waiting to get us.’

  Jodie followed his gaze, and for the first time noticed the dark birds of prey riding the air currents overhead. She suppressed a shiver, and turned her attention back to Barrow.

  ‘So how did you persuade Ethan to come in?’

  ‘I sent him an email, told him the bank was tightening up on our KYC compliance and we needed to meet with him again in person or else we’d be forced to freeze his account.’

  ‘KYC?’

  ‘Know Your Customer. Banks need proof of their customers’ identities, no matter how private the account. Due diligence against money laundering, mostly. In Belize, we’re not always as strict about it as we should be.’

  Jodie darted a look at Novak. ‘You didn’t come out here to see the account holder for yourself?’

  His gaze broke away. ‘Something came up. Something I had to take care of.’

  He’d turned tight-lipped. Jodie frowned at the sudden buttoned-up look. What could have been so important it interfered with his precious story? Shelving the question for later, she turned back to Barrow.

  ‘So how much money did Ethan have in this account of his?’

  The banker shrugged. ‘It varied. Twenty-five million at the peak, maybe six or seven years ago.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘But the money never stayed still for long. He transferred it around, moved it to his business accounts in the US. Last three years, all he kept here was twenty thousand dollars.’ Barrow’s expression turned rueful. ‘Which he withdrew in cash when he closed out the account.’

  Twenty-five million, six or seven years ago.

  Jodie’s mind reached back. As long as she’d known him, Ethan had always had money, always had investment schemes on the go. Real estate, mostly. And six years ago, he’d invested in a shopping mall in Nashua. She’d never questioned where he’d found the capital.

  She leaned forward, hands clenched together.

  ‘Did Ethan mention where he was headed when he left the bank? Or even where he was staying when he was here in Belize City?’

  ‘He mentioned nothing at all, except a flight home that same day. Seemed worn out at the idea of it. He was in the bank for less than ten minutes, and I’m sorry to say I did most of the talking.’

  His tone was dry, and Jodie pictured him scrambling, trying to talk Ethan out of closing the account. The loss of a wealthy client couldn’t have played well with his standing at the bank.

  She slumped back in her chair. ‘So you can’t tell us anything.’

  The banker paused, looked down at his hands. ‘I’ve been thinking. There might be something. For a fee.’

  He went silent. Jodie glanced at Novak, who was looking sceptical. She ignored him and dug a packet of bills from her bag, slapped it on the table. Barrow eyed it for a moment. Then he nodded and went on.

  ‘I was trying to persuade him not to close the account. I started talking up our services in the bank, even tried selling him on the local tourist spots around here. Anything to try and keep him banking in Belize. I probably sounded like a
fool.’

  Jodie could well imagine it. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I told him about all the usual stuff: the barrier reef, the snorkelling, the islands. He looked as though he’d heard it all before. Then I told him about Ambergris Caye.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘It’s one of the islands. My brother runs a hotel there. I gave him my brother’s calling card. I expected him to just toss it away. But he didn’t.’ Barrow dipped a hand into his pocket. ‘Here.’

  He passed a matchbook over to Jodie. She turned it over in her hands. Its background design was a seductive shot of luxurious villas and glittering, jade-green sea. Princess Resort, San Pedro, Ambergris Caye.

  ‘Did he say anything about it?’ she said.

  Barrow shook his head. ‘Not a word. Just looked at the card for a while, then slipped it into his pocket.’

  Jodie exchanged a slow look with Novak. He was watching her closely, his eyes narrowed. She pictured Ethan: haggard and tired; cranky at the inconvenient, long-distance trip; twenty thousand dollars in cash now in his pocket.

  Water lapped at the quays, and behind her the boats creaked against the jetty. She glanced back at the matchbook, at the enticing, tropical-island image.

  It wasn’t much to go on. But right now it was all she had.

  17

  The speedboat smacked against the waves, hissing clouds of spray up over the sides. Jodie clung to the railing. Her lips tasted salty, and pinpricks of seawater stung her face.

  She craned her neck to get a better view. By now, they’d left the city harbour far behind, and she could see the low silhouettes of the islands crouching in the distance.

  She eyed Novak in the seat opposite. He’d turned his face up to the sun, eyes closed, hair whipped into a frenzy by the wind. He seemed comfortable in the boat, basking in the elements, his complexion taking on a ruddy, weather-beaten look.

  Soon, she’d have to ditch him.