by Jean Harrod
“Don’t forget,” he said, sternly. “We’re only going down to maximum depth of 60 feet today. No more. And I want the four of us to stick together. I’ll be Tom’s buddy because it’s his first dive here.” He turned to Carrie and Charles. “You two look out for each other, if we get separated.”
They both nodded.
“Right, let’s get ready.” He handed Tom an oxygen tank, then one to Charles.
A strong wave rocked the boat, and Charles fell backwards onto the deck, ending up with a tank on top of him.
Brad laughed. “You need to lose a bit of weight, bro’. Get your sea legs back.”
It was Tom who picked up the tank and stood it on one side while he pulled Charles to his feet. He helped him strap on his cylinder, then put on his own.
Fins and masks in place, they inserted their breathing regulators into their mouths, and sat on the side of the boat. One by one, they leant back and toppled into the sea.
Tom was surprised at how warm the water was outside the reef. He’d expected it to be colder.
Brad touched the forefinger and thumb of his right hand into the shape of an ‘o’ – for okay. Then he disappeared under the waves.
Tom followed. Descending feet first, he held his nose and blew through it to release the pressure from his ears and sinuses. He felt a rush of adrenaline as the feeling of weightlessness took over. It was the freedom from gravity only diving seemed to give him. Releasing air from his life jacket to counter his buoyancy, he kicked down. Now, he was even more amazed at the clarity of the water. Objects always seemed bigger and closer in water than they actually were. Soon, he was tuning out the bubbling sound of his exhaling breath, and the comforting whoosh of air as he breathed in, to enjoy the eerie silence of the deep.
With Brad in the lead, it didn’t take them long to get down to the first canyon. A large, solitary fish swam past. Before they left, Brad had shown him a catalogue of fish they could expect to see at this dive spot. With its tawny colour and stripy markings, Tom reckoned this one was a Nassau grouper. Mouth gaping, the fish was curious and swam up to him for a closer look. Tom wanted to stay, but Brad signalled to keep going.
They swam a few metres on, until Brad pointed to a brightly coloured fish, close to the coral.
Silvery red, and with orange-gold stripes, Tom was fascinated. When he got closer, and saw the fish’s large eyes, and rear dorsal fin sticking up, he knew it was the unmistakable long-spine squirrelfish. None of the fish he’d seen so far could be found in Australian waters.
Following Brad up the steep side of the reef, he looked behind to check Charles and Carrie were there. They both gave him the okay hand signal. He signalled back, and followed Brad over the top of the reef and into another canyon. Suddenly, he noticed the current strengthening. It surprised him because Brad said there wasn’t much of a current in the summer months. He could feel himself being dragged along, and had to kick and breathe harder to keep up with Brad.
Descending into the canyon, they kept close to the reef wall to get a good look at boulder star coral. Suddenly, Brad pointed downwards excitedly.
A green sea turtle sat quietly on the bottom. Enthralled, Tom swam down for a closer look. The turtle’s shell was an olive brown colour, and its skin green. The creature looked huge – about four feet long. Mesmerised, he watched it for a while. The turtle didn’t look frightened in the face of this intrusion, but Tom knew a green sea turtle couldn’t pull its head into its shell like other turtles, so it was hard to tell if it felt threatened or not. Reluctantly, he decided to move on.
But when he looked up, he couldn’t see Brad. He looked back. Where were Charles and Carrie?
He was alone.
Kicking hard, he tried to catch up. But, in just a few yards, he had to stop. He couldn’t catch his breath. What was wrong? He checked his pressure gauge. No air! The shock rippled through him. Knowing vibrations travel fast in water, he tried to make some noise by banging on his oxygen tank to attract attention.
No-one came.
Now, he had no time to think, or do anything other than make an emergency ascent to the surface. He was around 50 feet down. How long to get to the top, he wondered? Would the air in his lungs run out? His training kicked in. Swift, but steady, he breathed out as he swam up to the surface, slowly inflating his life jacket as he went. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he knew he had to keep calm or he’d be dead.
On he went... towards the light. Keep going...
Kick...
He felt dizzy... Keep going...
His lungs felt they would burst.
Kick... kick...
Finally, he broke through the surface. Gasping for breath, he tore off his mask and trod water. Trying to control his in and out breathing, he felt like he’d run a marathon. But he kept a controlled rhythm until he finally regained his breath.
Only then did he look around for the dive boat. Shit! Nothing but ocean. He started shouting to attract attention, but there was no-one, and nothing, but water. The strong current had dragged him way off course.
He looked up at the sun to get his bearings. Then his blood ran cold when he turned back and saw a black shape looming below. He braced himself as it came to the surface.
Carrie!
She pulled off her mask. “My God!” She sounded as breathless as him. “Are you okay?”
“I had to make an emergency ascent.”
“I heard a noise in the canyon. When I turned and couldn’t see you, I swam back. I knew there was something wrong when you started your ascent. But I couldn’t catch up in time to help.”
“I ran out of air.”
She frowned. “We haven’t been down that long. You checked your tank, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Must have a problem... And there’s no sign of the boat.”
As she looked around, Tom noticed how calm Carrie was.
“We’ve drifted off course in the current.” She held onto his arm. “Brad’ll come looking for us with the boat. Ditch your lead belt. It’ll be easier to stay afloat.”
Tom did as he was told. He was surprised at Carrie’s strength as they held onto each other. She was holding him up, rather than the other way around. And she seemed completely at ease, as if she were treading water in a swimming pool rather than in the ocean. “What if he doesn’t come?” he said.
“He’ll be here,” she said, firmly. “He knows the currents.”
They floated together on the surface for a while, but the swell was increasing with the wind. “We should try and swim back to shore,” he said, although he couldn’t actually see land.
“No, we must wait. Brad won’t leave me out here.”
They bobbed about in the waves for what seemed like an eternity, although it was probably only 15 minutes. Then he heard the sound of a motor. Relief flooded through him when he saw the boat heading in their direction.
They both started shouting, and waving their masks in the air, to attract attention.
“What the hell happened?” Brad shouted as the boat pulled up alongside them.
“Tom ran out of air,” Carrie said. She grabbed the side of the boat and pulled herself up. “I saw him make an emergency ascent from a way off, and followed him up.”
Brad and Charles helped her into the boat first, then Tom.
Tom was angry with Brad. “You were supposed to be my diving buddy.”
Brad looked devastated. “Sorry, mate. Never known the current so strong down there in the summer.”
“What are you playing at, Brad?” Charles shouted, his voice hard. “Didn’t you check all the tanks?”
Tom turned to see how pale Charles was. Anyone would think he’d nearly drowned. Why was he so upset?
“Of course I checked them!” Brad said, defensively. “I don’t understand it.”
“Well, everyone’s safe and sound,” Carrie said, evenly. “So let’s get back before the wind gets any worse.”
“Sorry, Carrie,” Brad said, quietly. “Are y
ou okay?”
“I’m fine.” She smiled, brightly. “And so is Tom.”
Carrie was the voice of reason, Tom thought. He’d been so glad to see her when she surfaced beside him. “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” he said. “I owe you.”
She touched his arm. “You’d have done the same for me.”
The group was silent on the way back, but Tom’s head was reeling. Had someone deliberately tampered with his tank? He tried to remember the sequence of events back at the Dive Centre. Brad had checked all the tanks. So had Carrie. He’d even checked his own tank before leaving. He was sure there was nothing wrong with it then.
So who else could have had access to it? A couple of local lads at the Centre had loaded the tanks and equipment onto the boat. It was always possible one of them had tampered with it. On the boat, of course, they’d all had access, except for Brad’s local employee who was steering the boat the whole time.
Had it been an attempt on his life, Tom wondered? Why would anyone want to harm him? Maybe it was intended as a warning, to stop him digging into the Governor’s accident and Mrs Pearson’s murder? Whatever the intention, it only made him more determined to dig harder. Most of all, he wanted to help Jess and keep her safe. He was worried though. It was already Friday, and he was supposed to be flying out to Miami on Sunday afternoon.
Why were the British authorities so slow to react? If this were an Australian Territory, the Australian police would be all over it by now. He just hoped to God that when he got back, Jess would tell him the UK police were on their way.
31
Halfway up the road to the lighthouse, Chuck eased off the accelerator and pointed through his pick-up truck’s windscreen. “That’s Clement’s place.”
Tom screwed up his eyes against the sun’s glare. The first thing he noticed about the house were the two dormer windows jutting out of the tiled roof, like look-outs. They seemed to be a feature of these island houses. Next was the upstairs verandah that circled the house. Its balustrades were painted blue, as were the plantation shutters at each window. The blue stood out against the white-wash on the rest of the house, and resembled the colour of the deep ocean. He shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to be reminded of his encounter with the deep. He’d still be down there with that turtle, if he hadn’t been an experienced diver.
He forced himself to concentrate.
This was only the second time Tom had met Chuck, who was a man of few words. Tom didn’t feel the need to chat either, so they got along fine. He checked his watch; the sun was still strong for 4.30. He opened his passenger window wide to let air blow straight through his and Chuck’s windows. It was the only air conditioning on offer.
Tom noticed that Chuck kept checking his driver’s mirror. Was someone following, he wondered? He pulled down his passenger sun visor in the hope of finding a vanity mirror to see the road behind, but there wasn’t one. He said nothing.
He was surprised to see there were no security guards or electronic gates at the front of the house. Apart from a black railing running around its perimeter, the driveway was accessible to everyone. “Why no security for a Government Minister?” he asked.
“Guess Clement thought he didn’t need any.” Chuck checked his mirror again, and drove through a stone archway, into the drive. He pulled up outside a large double garage that was integral to the house, like a basement. He leant over, opened the glove box and pulled out a bunch of keys. “Let’s be quick, Tom. My truck’s recognisable.”
Tom looked at him. “Didn’t you get permission to access the crime scene?”
Chuck shrugged. “Yes and no.” He paused. “Yes, in that I said I’d left my sunglasses up here when I attended the crime scene on Wednesday. And no in that I didn’t say I was bringin’ you up here to take a look.”
Tom followed Chuck out of the truck, and up some stone steps to the front porch. This time they came across a black metal gate that filled another archway, and barred their way. It was secured with a padlock.
Chuck found the right key from the bunch, and opened it. The gate swung open, and they stepped through onto a patio made of decking. A sudden gust of wind caught the gate, and it clanged shut behind them.
Chuck looked up at the sky. “The wind’s changing direction,” he said, calmly.
Tom looked down at the dead leaves and petals, from the pots of pink bougainvillea, swirling around his feet. No-one had tended the plants for a couple of days. In fact, the house stood neglected and silent, as if waiting for them to unlock its secrets. He felt a strange sense of unease.
Even Chuck tensed up at the front door. Did he expect some invisible force to attack him as he entered? He pushed the door open, and stood back to let Tom go in first.
The house had been shut up, with no air conditioning for a couple of days. The claustrophobic heat was overpowering. So was the unmistakable smell of death.
Once he’d adjusted to it, Tom walked through the hallway and into the main living area. It was a large, open plan, lounge diner. From every direction, the windows looked out over an amazing panoramic view of the island and ocean. “Awesome,” he said.
Chuck nodded and led the way down some steps. Unlocking another door at the bottom, they went through into a dark basement and garage. The smell down here was stronger.
“Lingers, doesn’t it?” Chuck switched on the lights.
The basement and garage formed one huge room that was filled with two cars, gardening equipment, a couple of old tyres, and a small boat already loaded on a trailer with wheels. A fishing net covered the far wall, with a row of fishing rods lined up underneath. A long wooden beam ran the length of the ceiling. It had fish hooks screwed in at certain spots, no doubt for hanging big game fish. “Can we open the garage doors?” Tom asked.
Chuck shook his head. “Might attract attention.”
Tom understood. “Can you tell me what actually happened to Mrs Pearson down here?”
“We’re still waiting for the autopsy report,” Chuck replied. “But it looks like she was killed around midnight on Tuesday. She was found by her daughter the next day, around midday. She’d been phonin’ her mother all mornin’, but couldn’t get a reply. She picked up her young kid from kindergarten at lunchtime, and came straight up here.”
Tom nodded. “So what do forensics think happened? Was it a break-in?”
Chuck shook his head. “There were no signs of forced entry. These garage doors were shut, along with the front door, when her daughter got here. She let herself in with her key.”
“So Mrs Pearson must have let her killer in,” Tom said. “That means she either knew that person, or didn’t see them as a threat.” He paused. “Were any domestic staff working here on Tuesday, or on Wednesday when she was found?”
Chuck shook his head. “The cleaner was off sick. The gardener was off too, his wife’s just had a baby.”
“So someone knew Mrs Pearson was alone?”
Chuck nodded. “Looks like it.”
Tom walked to the far end where the fishing net hung over the wall. He could see a large area close by where the floor had been scrubbed clean. He looked up at the wooden beam above the spot. “Is this where she was strung up?”
Chuck nodded. “Exactly the same spot as poor old Clement.” He swallowed. “He hung himself, you know.”
The same spot. That interested Tom. It must be significant in some way. “Was it the slash to her throat that killed Mrs Pearson?” he asked.
Chuck nodded.
“So there’d have been a lot of blood.”
“It wasn’t a pretty sight.” Chuck’s face paled at the memory. “I was sergeant on duty at the station when the first officers on the scene phoned in. I came straight out.” His face looked pained, remembering the scene.
“She was wearing white pyjamas. Her bare feet were tied with rope, and she was strung upside down from the beam up there.”
They both looked up.
“Could one person do that?” Tom ask
ed.
Chuck looked thoughtful. “She was small, but plump. Must have weighed over 60 kilos. So whoever strung her up must have been strong.”
“Or had some help?” Tom added. “Did they leave anything behind? Footprints in the blood, or tyre marks outside the house?”
“Well...” Chuck hesitated. “There was one thing.” He looked up. “A voodoo poppet doll was pinned to the beam up there... next to Mrs Pearson. It had a knife through its throat.”
“A voodoo doll?”
Chuck nodded. “These dolls are a way of castin’ spells on people. A sort of black magic.”
“Was that voodoo doll meant as a curse on Mrs Pearson, and the house?”
“Exactly.”
Tom gave him a sceptical look. “I noticed the mirror in the hallway was turned to the wall. Is that voodoo too?”
“Yep. Mirrors represent doorways to the world of the dead. I guess this means Mrs Pearson was refused entry, and is doomed to wander the earth like a ghost or zombie throughout time.”
“You don’t believe all that mumbo jumbo, do you?” Tom asked.
Chuck looked serious. “Doesn’t matter what I believe or not. Those who practise it do.” He paused. “I’ve been out to the Haitian settlement to interview the cleaner and gardener. They’re both Haitians, and both terrified. Couldn’t get a word out of either of them.” He shrugged. “We get a wall of silence whenever we want to talk about voodoo.”
“Is it still practised much on this island?”
“Yeah, in secret. None of us locals get to see it.”
Tom couldn’t understand why the police didn’t deal with it on a small island like this. “Why don’t you stop it?” he asked. “Ban it altogether?”
Chuck looked at him. “Can you ever ban anything, Tom? It’ll go even deeper underground.”
Tom took the point. As he looked at the beam again in the claustrophobic silence, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He didn’t know Mrs Pearson, hadn’t even seen her. But he’d seen enough murder victims to be able to conjure up the fear on her face, the disbelief as the knife cut into her throat, the pain. He could even hear her cries for help, her screams...