by Jean Harrod
The way she averted her eyes made him think everything was not fine.
She slapped her ankle. “These bloomin’ mozzies!”
He sat back in his chair, knowing the moment had passed.
“Damn! I’ve just remembered I still haven’t emailed those photos to London.”
“Photos?” He looked at her.
“Yes, I went to the Government Garage last night to see the Governor’s car. What a wreck! I took some photos and downloaded them onto my laptop to email to London. Would you like to see them?”
He nodded.
“Come on then.” She slipped her feet back in her shoes. “My laptop’s in his study.” She picked up her glass. “Bring your wine. At least we won’t get bitten in there.”
Following her inside, he glanced up at the landing, but there was no sign of Sally this time. He went into the study and closed the door. He’d already had a look in this room on his way down to dinner. His police training had taught him to recce his surroundings thoroughly.
Jess sat down at her laptop on the Governor’s desk. As she powered up and scrolled through to find the photos, he strolled over to the bookcase and scanned the titles. All the British classics you would expect in a Governor’s office, plus books on the Caribbean, volumes of poetry, and reference books. A large map took his interest…
“Oh, they’ve gone!”
He turned round.
“The photos,” Jess said. “They’re not here.”
“Must be there, somewhere,” he said.
“They’re not,” she said, quietly. “They’ve been deleted.” She pushed her chair back, went over to the sofa and started searching frantically in her bag. “I downloaded copies onto my memory stick too. Now where is it?” She found it and inserted it into the computer. “Here we are,” she said, as the photos popped up. “Take a look.” She got up.
He slipped into the seat and started to look through the photos. “Wow, that’s a helluva smash!”
“Mm.”
“Have you got the police accident report?”
“Yes.”
“Mind if I read it?”
She pulled the report from some papers in the desk tray and handed it to him.
“Tell you what, I’ll have a read through,” he said. “Then I’ll go and take a look at the car in the morning.”
She frowned. “It’s at the Government Garage. I don’t think they’re just going to let you walk in and take a look at it.”
“I’ll think of something to tell them.” He glanced over. “I won’t push it, if I’m not welcome.”
“Oh, I’m not sure, Tom.” She didn’t sound convinced.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
She sank down onto the sofa. “I’d like to know who deleted those photos from my laptop.”
“Maggie would know if someone’s been in here, wouldn’t she?”
“Yes, but would she tell me?” Jess sounded weary. “If you’re going to do some detective work, even in an unofficial capacity, you’d better know exactly what you’re up against, Tom.”
He sat down on the sofa next to her. His thigh was touching hers, but she didn’t move away.
She pushed her hair back off her exhausted face. “I keep thinking about what that woman said in Provo today. She couldn’t stand the lies any more. The awful deceit is how she described it. Then she said the Governor was going to confess, and that’s why they’d had to stop him.” She paused. “Whoever they are.”
He nodded. “You already told me about her.”
She sighed. “I wish I knew what she’d meant. You know, the more I think about everything, the more I think this all started with the suicide of Clement Pearson.”
He looked at her.
“Clement called on the Governor hours before he took his own life. He just turned up around 5pm that afternoon. The rest of the staff had gone, except Sally. The Governor insisted she leave too. But, halfway home, she realised she’d forgotten her keys and came back to get them. That’s when she heard the two men arguing.”
“What about?”
Jess shrugged. “Sally said she was too nervous to stay and listen. She just picked up her keys and left. But it was later that evening, or rather in the early hours of the following morning, that Clement committed suicide.”
“So we’ve no idea what the row was about?”
She shook her head. “And now both Clement and the Governor are dead.”
He put his arm across the back of the sofa. “Convenient that, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “These deaths fit together somehow, I just don’t know how.”
He was quiet for a while. “Was anyone else in the office when they had that row?”
“Sally said the staff had gone home.” Jess paused. “But there’s a lady called Alvita, who often stays late. She heads the local staff. It’s always possible she was still around.”
“Have you talked to her?”
Jess shook her head. “She’s not exactly helpful.”
“What about the police?” he asked. “Have you talked to them?”
“Hardly. If the islanders don’t trust them enough to be able to speak out, how can I?”
“Well, we’ll just have to do a bit of digging ourselves.” He looked around. “And we could start with this study.”
Jess looked shocked.
“This is the first place I’d search if it were my investigation, starting with the Governor’s desk.” He got up from the sofa. “You do it, if you feel more comfortable.”
Jess really didn’t want to go poking around the Governor’s private study. It felt like too much of an intrusion.
“Go on,” he urged.
She sighed and got up. “What am I looking for?” She went over to the desk.
“Anything unusual. Or anything that looks like it doesn’t belong here.” He went over to the bookcase and started searching the cupboards below.
They worked together, silent and methodical.
Tom found nothing of interest in the cupboards and started on the shelves. Pulling the books out in turn, he tipped them upside down to see if anything fell out.
“Look at this, Tom.”
He turned to see Jess holding up a tiny brass key.
“It doesn’t fit any of the desk locks,” she said.
“Try these cupboards.” He pointed to the ones under the book shelves he was searching. “There’s a keyhole in the door.”
She went over, and pushed the key in the lock. “Nope. Doesn’t fit.”
Suddenly, a piece of paper fluttered to the carpet as Tom shook out one of the books.
Jess bent down and picked it up. “I’ve seen this writing before,” she said, quickly. She went over to her handbag and rummaged inside until she pulled out another piece of paper and unfolded it. “I found this under the lighthouse steps.” She held the two papers side by side. “They’re the same!”
Tom peered over her shoulder. “Looks like a letter.” He started reading it out loud.
“My Darling,
Words cannot describe how much I love you and the children, and how truly sorry I am. I’ve been a fool. I’ve betrayed you and everything I hold most dear. I have to explain in a letter because I don’t know when I will see you again. I hope one day you will be able to forgive me…”
“It’s an unfinished letter,” Jess said, as she turned both papers over.
He frowned. “Looks like someone’s had several goes at writing it. There are lots of crossings out.” He stared at her. “By the look on your face, this means something to you.”
“It’s the Governor’s writing,” she said, excitedly. “I don’t know why I didn’t recognise it before, it’s all over the files. It’s a letter to his wife, Jayne, asking for her forgiveness.” She paused. “So that woman in the restaurant was right. He was going to confess to something.”
Tom frowned. “But why would he leave something like this at the lighthouse?”
Jess shrugged. “Perhap
s he dropped it, and couldn’t find it in the dark?”
“So what’s up there, at this lighthouse?”
“It’s just a lighthouse. A working lighthouse, to warn ships about the north-west reef.” She went over to her bag again, pulled out the Miami newspaper article and handed it to him. “Read this.”
He read the headline out loud. “Turks and Caicos Minister commits suicide.”
“It’s about Clement Pearson,” she added.
He read on, then looked up: “I know about this. It says he was found hanged in his garage by his wife… according to this he was suffering from depression after the death of his son due to a drugs overdose.”
“Forget that bit. Read on!”
Tom looked back at the newspaper cutting and continued reading out loud. “Earlier that day he’d been giving evidence to the British Government Inquiry into illegal immigration and the sinking of two Haitian sloops off Grand Turk recently. Speculation is increasing that the pressure of the Inquiry added to the Minister’s fragile state of mind.” Tom stopped and looked at her.
“There’s a copy of that Inquiry report in the Governor’s Office,” she said. “The sloops went down off the north-west reef, despite the lighthouse being there to warn them to stay clear.”
His eyes widened.
“Let’s think about the sequence of events.” She paused. “Clement Pearson gives evidence to the Government Inquiry about the sinking of the Haitian sloops. Later that afternoon, he turns up at the Governor’s Office and there’s an argument. That night Clement commits suicide.”
Tom nodded. “Then, days later, the Governor goes up to the lighthouse in the middle of the night. Why? And why would he take a half-written letter with him?”
“I don’t know.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Maybe he was upset about the sloops, and somehow felt compelled to go up to the lighthouse.” She paused. “I know I would have been if I’d been Governor at the time. All those people losing their lives. Maybe he couldn’t sleep and it was playing on his mind.”
“Yes, but why take this letter up there?” he asked.
“Maybe he didn’t take it up there? Maybe he was trying to write it up there.” She paused. “That article says speculation was increasing that the pressure of the Inquiry added to Clement Pearson’s state of mind, suggesting it drove him over the edge to commit suicide.”
He looked at her. “So?”
“So, maybe the Governor felt responsible for that? Perhaps the pressure of the Inquiry was getting to him too. And that’s why he was up there.”
He nodded. “Maybe.”
“The thing is, Tom. If that crash was no accident, then someone else must have known the Governor was up there.” She paused. “And that person must have planned to kill him on his way back down.”
24
Tom lay naked on the bed in the dark under the mosquito net. He wouldn’t normally bother with a net, but the mozzies on this island were a real pest. Above him, the creaking ceiling fan was getting on his nerves, but it was also helping him stay awake.
Finally, he heard a click. It was the softest of sounds, but exactly what he’d been waiting for. He lifted up the side of the mosquito net and got out of bed. Stepping into his shorts, he slipped his t-shirt over his head and listened.
The top stair creaked.
He waited, lifted his door latch, and peered out. All clear. Creeping across the landing, he heard the familiar squeak as the back door opened and closed again.
He ran quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen. Opening the back door, he peered out. All clear again.
The air felt cooler as he stepped outside. He took a deep breath, and looked at his watch – 12.30. It was almost a full moon that lit up the sky, making it easy to see his way. He slipped across the garden, and onto the beach.
In the distance, he caught sight of Sally walking towards the boat moorings.
Following her, he ducked in and out of the bushes that bordered the beach for cover.
When Sally stopped at the jetty wall, and looked at her watch, Tom approached cautiously, and crouched down behind a bush, a few metres away, to watch. By the way she was pacing around and staring along the beach, he guessed she was waiting for someone.
It was only a couple of minutes before a figure jogged towards her from the other direction. Tom screwed up his eyes to see who it was. Definitely a man by the size and gait, he thought. There were no surprises when he saw the man’s face…
Brad ran up to Sally and wrapped his arms around her. They stood kissing for a long time, until she pulled her head back: “What took you so long?” She sounded peeved again.
“Had to shake my brother and Rebekah off first,” Brad said.
“I should come first,” Sally huffed. “Anyway, Charles can look after Rebekah without you.” She paused. “What were you really doing?”
Brad nuzzled into her neck. “You always come first my love.”
That seemed to mollify Sally, but she still pulled out of the embrace. “Listen Brad, I’m not comfortable about keeping secrets from Jess. We must tell her everything.”
“No!” Brad straightened up. “Definitely not.”
“She’s my boss now, Brad,” Sally persisted. “She deserves to know.”
“No.” Brad’s voice was firm. He put his hand up Sally’s skirt and started caressing her. “Not yet, my love, she’ll ruin everything we’ve worked for.”
Sally moaned, and thrust her hips towards him.
He was rubbing himself against her in slow, deliberate motions.
Sally grabbed the edges of his t-shirt, and pulled it over his head in one quick movement. “Why should I keep it a secret?” she asked, provocatively, as she tossed it aside.
“Because I’m telling you to,” came the reply.
“You’re telling me?”
Brad grabbed her arm. “You’ll do what I say.”
“You can’t make me keep silent.”
Brad yanked Sally’s t-shirt over her head and flung it on the sand.
Tom’s eyes widened as Sally’s bare breasts glowed white in the moonlight. When she tried to pull away from Brad, he lurched forward and pinned her against the jetty wall. Tom tensed, ready to intervene.
But Sally just giggled as Brad held her still with one hand and dragged her beach skirt to the ground. She kicked it away.
Tom couldn’t tear his eyes away from Sally’s naked curves as she stood shivering in anticipation.
“Make me keep silent!” Sally goaded.
Brad slowly pushed her legs apart, until Sally was spread-eagled against the jetty wall.
“Go on,” Sally urged.
Slowly, Brad started kissing her face, moving his tongue slowly down her neck… over her nipples… across her stomach.
Sally was visibly trembling. “Make me!”
With his hands holding her pert buttocks, Brad dropped to his knees and buried his head between her legs.
Sally threw back her head, delirious, hair flowing.
Tom had never seen such frenzy on a woman’s face during sex. Sally was one hot lady! So engrossed was he, his reaction to the faint snap of twig behind him was slow. But when he did turn…
Jess stood staring at him.
If it hadn’t been so dark, she’d have seen him flush crimson. He looked over to the jetty, where Sally was moaning with pleasure, and back at Jess’s stony white face in the moonlight.
He took her arm and quickly guided her to some bushes further away so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Did you hear all that before… before the main show started?”
“I did.”
“Brad’s playing Sally like a piano. Using sex to control her.”
“Hmm.” Jess looked over to where Brad was now on top of Sally on the sand. “Impressive, isn’t he?” She turned back to Tom. “But I’m not sure who’s controlling who in that relationship.”
Tom looked from her to Brad and Sally again. Was Jess being serious? “Brad’s trying to s
top Sally telling you something.”
“So I heard.”
“Well, I heard Sally on her mobile earlier, when I went back into the kitchen to get that wine. She was making arrangements to meet someone. I didn’t know who at the time.”
“So, when were you going to tell me about it?”
He heard the controlled anger in her voice. “You looked so exhausted,” he explained. “I thought I’d find out what Sally was up to first, and let you sleep. I guess we woke you up.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” she said, simply.
“I had no right, Jess. I got carried away.”
She flicked a glance over to Brad and Sally, now locked together and rhythmically pounding the edge of the surf. “You’re not the only one it seems.”
He stood back. “Quite a floor show, isn’t it?”
“And their last,” she said, with conviction. She turned back to him. “Please don’t mention this to anyone, Tom. I’ll deal with Sally in the morning.”
“Of course.”
She nodded. “I think it’s time we went back to the house,” she said, stiffly.
25
These islands are like a web, with my networks spun right across them. I know everything that happens, and everyone who comes here. I’m like a spider. When I feel a vibration on an outer strand of my web, I pounce on my prey.
Now, I feel a vibration. Jessica Turner. There’s something different about her. And I know what it is. Unlike the others, she doesn’t seem afraid of death. Why? I believe it’s because her child is dead.
“If anyone causes one of these little ones to stumble – those who believe in me – it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.”*
But my delay in dealing with her has made her dangerous. Already she has brought that Federal Agent here; and she wants to bring in the British police too. I can’t allow that to happen. It will ruin everything.
The first time I saw her I decided she would end up in that watery graveyard, but I’ve had a change of heart. I let Bondye deal with that stupid Pearson woman. Now, I think I might let him deal with Jessica Turner too. Only this time, it will be much more terrifying to see her naked and pleading for her life on the sacrificial altar. She might have some respect for voodoo then.