Deadly Deceit: Jess Turner in the Caribbean (Diplomatic Crime Book 2)

by Jean Harrod

  The other noticeable thing about the Chief Justice was his observant grey eyes. They darted around the table, watching everyone, especially his wife who was now matching Sally in the amount of wine she was drinking. It was only when Jess asked Dominic about Clement Pearson’s death that he became evasive. But she was determined to probe. “I saw an article in the Miami Post on the plane over today about Clement,” she said.

  Dominic looked down at his food.

  “It said he was found hanged in his garage,” she went on. “The police were reported as saying there was nothing suspicious about his death, which suggests he committed suicide.” She paused. “Is that what happened?”

  Dominic nodded.

  “The article implied the Minister had been depressed about the death of his son from a drugs overdose,” she persisted. “Is that true, do you think?”

  Dominic shrugged. “I don’t know all the details, Jess.”

  “I also read that earlier on the day Clement Pearson died, he’d been in front of a British Inquiry into the sinking of two Haitian sloops. Can you tell me about that?”

  Dominic gave her a sideways look. He wiped his mouth on his napkin, and shifted his chair closer to hers, to speak more privately. “The first sloop sank about five months ago. The weather wasn’t particularly good at the time. The second sloop went down two months later.” He paused and gave her another look. “After a lot of pressure, the British Government ordered an Inquiry, and sent UK officials out to do an investigation.”

  “What were their findings?”

  Dominic was practically whispering now. “Both were deemed to be accidents, in bad weather.” His eyes were piercing. “I kept asking the Governor to set up talks with the Haitian Government, to put some pressure on them to stop these sloops leaving Haiti in the first place.” He paused. “The Governor said he’d reported everything to London, and that there was nothing to be done. Not even the Haitian Government could stop these sloops.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because most of them set sail from Cap-Haitien, on the north coast. It’s a pretty lawless area. The poor souls on board think they’re paying passage for a better life in the US. But they end up here. We’re only about 90 miles away.” He shook his head. “The British Government should be doing something about it.”

  Jess just let him talk. She was learning a lot.

  “I’m going back to the UK tomorrow,” Dominic said. “I’m giving a speech to a global law conference.”

  She looked over.

  “Yes. Then I’m going into the Foreign Office to discuss all this. They’ve got to do something about this illegal migration.” He paused. “The locals are fed up with the increasing numbers coming over, and tensions are bubbling.” He sighed. “This bloody voodoo doesn’t help!”

  Jess stared at him. “Voodoo?”

  He nodded. “It’s like a religion to the Haitians. Their voodoo God, Bondye, is similar to the God of Islam, Judaism and Christianity. But there are lots of spirits in voodoo – good and bad.”

  Jess laughed. “All I know about voodoo is what I’ve seen on films. Zombies and people sticking pins in little dolls.”

  He gave her a reproachful look. “They take this seriously, Jess. Anyway, poppet dolls, as they’re known, are the black magic voodoo of bad spirits, which we’ve outlawed in these islands.”

  She looked at him. “Do you think it still goes on, in secret?”

  “Possibly, but the central aspect of voodoo is about healing people with herbs, faith and even Western medicine these days. Both men and women can be priests. They perform religious ceremonies to call up, or rather pacify, the spirits.”

  “I see.”

  “All priests hold ceremonies. They tell the future, read dreams, cast love and death spells. That sort of thing.” He paused. “In Haiti they carry out sacrificial practices, but that’s outlawed here too.”

  “It’s supposed to have been outlawed,” Sally piped up.

  Jess looked up to see everyone was listening to her conversation with Dominic.

  “Go on, Dom,” Rebekah urged. “Tell her about the recent goings-on.”

  He shook his head. “Jess doesn’t want to hear about that.”

  “They’ve started their sacrifices again.” Rebekah’s voice caught in the back of her throat. “That’s what’s happened to my Benji, I’m sure of it. They targeted us because Dom’s the Chief Justice. Payback!”

  Jess looked startled.

  “Benji’s their pet Labrador,” Brad explained. “He disappeared a couple of weeks ago.”

  “He’s not the only pet to go missing,” Sally said, darkly. “The Governor’s had calls from other islanders whose cats and dogs have disappeared. The police found bones lying around the remains of a fire on the beach the other day. The locals got mad and started accusing the migrants of sacrificing their pets. The police had to step in to calm the situation down. But feelings are running high.”

  Jess looked at David.

  “It’s true,” he said, calmly. “But it’s all a fuss about nothing. There’s no evidence that sacrificial practices are going on. Everyone has parties on the beach of a night. They light fires, and have barbecues.”

  “So what did forensic tests on the bones show?” Jess asked.

  David shrugged. “A local doctor said they weren’t human, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “Have they been properly analysed in a laboratory?” she persisted.

  David shrugged again. “Doubt it.”

  Carrie, who’d been sitting quietly, said: “It would explain what’s happened to all these pets, if they have been sacrificed.”

  “Oh!” Rebekah gave a strangled gasp.

  “Sorry, Rebekah,” Carrie said. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but these ceremonies go on all over Haiti in July and August. And they do use animals.” She shivered. “I live near the beach, and I’ve heard drumming and chanting in the middle of the night.”

  David put a comforting hand over Carrie’s. “It’s nothing to be frightened of.”

  Sally picked up her glass and emptied it in one gulp. “Well, if you ask me, Rebekah, you shouldn’t have let Benji out to roam around on his own. You should have taken him out on a lead.”

  Rebekah reacted as if she’d been punched.

  “So you’ve only got yourself to blame really,” Sally added.

  There was a stunned silence.

  “You bitch!” Rebekah shouted at her, and jumped to her feet.

  Everyone around the table sat frozen, as they listened to Rebekah’s footsteps stomping around the verandah and out of the Residence.

  “Rebekah?” Dominic called after his wife. “Come back.” He jumped up and went after her.

  Jess stared at Sally in disbelief.

  “Well, she winds me up,” Sally said, through gritted teeth. “Lady-la-di-bloody-da!”

  Jess expected David to go after the Cannings, but he sat like a rabbit in headlights. She threw her napkin on the table, and hurried after them. “Dominic,” she called.

  He stopped and turned.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Sally’s rudeness is inexcusable.”

  Dominic’s face softened. “Don’t worry. Rebekah’s just, well, she’s just upset about Benji, that’s all.” He glanced over Jess’s shoulder to check they were alone, and lowered his voice. “Look, we haven’t got time to talk privately before I go to London. Just keep your head down and hold the fort for a few days.”

  “But, I need to...”

  “Don’t ask any more questions about Clement’s death, or about the Government Inquiry. I’m going to talk to London about it all. So just leave it until I get back.” He stopped as footsteps approached from behind.

  Brad came up. “I’d better take Sally home. She’s had too much to drink.”

  Jess nodded. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Don’t be too hard on her, Jess,” he went on, “she’s really upset about the Governor.”

  �
�So’s everyone else!” She wasn’t going to let Sally off the hook so easily.

  When she turned back, Dominic had walked to the end of the verandah by the front entrance. He gave a fleeting glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the night after his wife.

  Jess frowned. The look on his face at that moment would play on her mind for some time. If she’d had to explain it to anyone, she’d have said it was a look of fear.

  8

  They call this place the graveyard of souls.

  Bad spirits wait here for unsuspecting sailors, to scupper their boats and drag them down into the deep, so the locals say. Not everyone is superstitious of course, but they all keep their distance and navigate their vessels around the area.

  And who can blame them after what’s happened over the centuries?

  No-one comes here, except me. I love being in the boat, especially on a dead calm night like this, when the inky sky and black sea merge and wrap themselves around me. Navigating by the stars, I’m at one with the sea.

  I can breathe out here, with the trade wind in my face, and waves slapping onto the bow as they try to push the boat towards the reef. I’m not afraid, because I belong here. I feel it deep inside.

  Sometimes, sitting here, I imagine I hear the roar of the wind and cracking wood as another overladen vessel smashes apart on the reef. I hear terrified screams as its human cargo plunges into the ocean. I see them thrashing about in the water. I see their life ebbing away as water floods their lungs, and they sink down to join the other sunken-eyed skeletons in that watery graveyard below.

  Why are they so afraid of drowning? Death is as certain as life itself. And being taken by the sea is the only way to go. Why thrash about? Why scream? Why not go serenely and calmly to the next life? It’s a mystery to me.

  I keep asking myself if I care? The truthful answer is no, because I know they no longer suffer.

  Sometimes I wonder if I will become like the ancient mariner, incurring the wrath of the spirits when he shot the albatross? Will I be doomed to bear the burden of my crimes and wander the seas for eternity? Except that would be no hardship for me.

  I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, trying to pin-point the turning point, the exact moment. But I can’t. I had a simple, happy childhood. I had everything I needed. Since then, I’ve lived my life exactly how I’ve wanted to live it. So when did it happen?

  When did I become this person I am now? Still, think of what the Bible says: “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”

  9

  Jess lay in bed, exhausted from travelling, but with her mind so alive she was finding it hard to get to sleep. She’d been up twice to get a drink of water to counteract all the food and alcohol at dinner. Why did she have that coffee after everyone had gone? Now, apart from the sound of waves caressing the shore, all she could hear was the ceiling fan clunking rhythmically above.

  Tossing this way and that in the heat, her arms and legs itched like mad from mozzie bites. She’d been counting sheep, even trying to meditate herself to sleep.

  Clunk... clunk.

  She had to get some sleep, or she’d be fit for nothing in the morning.

  Clunk... clunk.

  Her eyes felt heavy...

  The pavement glowed white in the moonlight as she ran. Only the sound of her ragged breathing cut into the silence of the night. Throat constricted with terror and dizzy with exhaustion, she was running as fast as she could without getting anywhere. Run! She screamed at herself. Run!

  She looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t hear any footsteps, but she knew he was there.

  Fear flowed through her. She had to get inside where she’d be safe... if only she could get to the door. Why couldn’t she get to the door? Why couldn’t she move?

  She could hear her teeth chattering, then another sound...

  A familiar sound, carried over from her waking life. If only she could understand it. Was someone crying? A child? But the sound escaped back into the recesses of her dreams, lost or irretrievable in her befuddled mind.

  A loud noise crashed in her ears. Jess snapped awake, and looked around at unfamiliar dark shapes and shadows.

  Where was she?

  Of course! Everything came flooding back... the Governor’s Residence.

  Lying naked, she stared into womblike darkness, listening to the rain lash against the windows. Her hair was sticking to her damp forehead and neck, as little beads of sweat trickled between her breasts.

  The latch on her bedroom door clicked.

  She gasped and sat up. “Who’s there?”

  No reply.

  Her heart hammered as she jumped out of bed and went over to the door. She peered out to the landing. No-one there. The house was dark and still. Closing the door, she turned the key in the lock and went over to the window. As she opened the shutters, spray from the hammering rain blew in her face. It was so refreshing, she breathed in deeply to banish the suffocating heat, and looked down into the courtyard. She could see nothing in the dark and rain. It must have been the wind earlier blowing through the house’s old timbers and rattling the latch on her bedroom door. Why was she so jumpy?

  She went back over to the bed, then stopped. There was no way she’d be able to go back to sleep without checking the house.

  She put on her robe. Barefoot, she went back to the door, and put her ear against it. No sound. She unlocked the door and crept out onto the landing. Total darkness. She listened again. There was no-one there, but she could feel a cool draught of air floating up the staircase. Where was it coming from? Eyes attuned to the darkness, she went down the stairs and followed the draught along the hallway, and into the kitchen, where the back door stood wide open.

  What on earth?

  She hurried over and peered outside. Through the rain, she saw a light moving around in the distance. It looked like a flashlight. Then it faded and disappeared.

  Her feet suddenly felt wet. She bent down and touched the tiled floor. She was standing in a puddle of water.

  Her stomach fluttered. Someone must have come in through this door from the rain, and gone out again. Quickly, she slammed the door shut and threw the top and bottom bolts.

  Feeling around the walls, she found the light switch and flicked it on. Her eyes watered in the glare, but she could see nothing out of place. None of the cupboards or drawers was open, or ransacked. She went into the dining room and switched on the lights. Same there. In the main reception room, everything was neat and tidy too.

  There was no sign of any forced entry, which meant someone must have got in with a key. Perhaps Maggie had forgotten something and come back for it? But she wouldn’t go out and leave the back door wide open, would she? It didn’t make sense.

  Jess was in two minds as to what to do. Should she call someone? And say what? That someone had been in the house, but there was no forced entry and nothing apparently missing. Who would she call anyway? She decided to wait until morning.

  She climbed the stairs back up to her room. Passing the landing window that overlooked the front entrance, she noticed a light on in the Governor’s Office at the end of the drive. Who was working at that time of night? Perhaps David was trying to clear his desk before leaving in the morning? Yes, she thought, that was likely. It cheered her up to think a colleague was close by.

  She went back into her room and flicked on the light. As soon as the darkness and shadows were banished, she felt even better. But that didn’t stop her checking the bathroom, inside the wardrobe and under the bed to make sure no-one was there. This time she locked the door, securely.

  Oh God, she suddenly thought. Perhaps David had been in the house? Had he popped his head round her bedroom door and seen her naked? She got up again and slipped on her nightdress. She’d just have to put up with the heat.

  She lay back on the bed. The breeze from the ceiling fan chilled her damp skin and made her shiver. She was overwrou
ght with travelling, that’s all. But she was even less sleepy now than before.

  Lying there, her eyes cast lazily around the room. As they settled on a chair in the corner, she sat bolt upright again.

  A rag doll was sitting on the chair, propped up against the cushion.

  Where had that come from? It hadn’t been there earlier. She would definitely have noticed it. Her mind flashed back to what the Chief Justice said at dinner about poppet dolls and bad spirits. Voodoo? Her heart quickened again.

  She got up and went over to the doll. It was made entirely of black cloth, and plumped up with some kind of stuffing. It had two buttons sewn on for eyes, and two strips of red material for lips, in the shape of a smile. As Jess picked it up, sand sprinkled out of the doll’s black hair. It’s red gingham dress felt wet too.

  She put it back on the chair. This was no voodoo doll to stick pins in, this was a child’s toy. Suddenly that sound in the fog of sleep earlier came back to her. Had she heard a real child crying? Or was her memory just playing tricks?

  A familiar wave of sadness came over her. She went over to the wardrobe and pulled a framed photo out of her suitcase. Staring at Jack and Amy, she brushed her lips across the glass before standing it on the bedside cabinet. It felt comforting to have them with her, in this strange place.

  That was the trouble, she thought. It was a strange place, with a strange atmosphere. That, and the shock of the Governor’s accident, was playing with her head. She’d be fine in the morning, she told herself. Nevertheless, she lay tossing and turning for a long time, before slipping back into a restless sleep.

  *

  When she woke up again, light was streaming through the open shutters. She looked at the clock. 6.10am. Getting up, she went over to the window. Gone was the incessant rain, dark shadows and oppressive heat. In its place was beautiful blue sky and sunshine, and the sound of gentle waves lapping on the beach. Her spirits rose as the fresh morning air blew in her face, dispelling last night’s fears.