Deep Cut

by Nick Sullivan

  “Hey! Can I help you?”

  The sudden aggression in Sophie’s voice jarred Emily from her hummingbird reminiscence. She turned to see where Sophie was glaring. A tall man in gray coveralls and a ball cap was mumbling an apology, turning away and crossing the road before vanishing into the Big Rock Supermarket across the street. Emily noticed he had blond hair beneath his cap but what really drew her eyes were numerous blotches and streaks of yellow on the coveralls. Maybe a painter, she thought. Except, that doesn’t look like paint.

  “Creep,” Sophie muttered.

  “What was that all about?” Emily asked.

  “That man was staring at us,” Anika said.

  “He was staring at Emily,” Sophie amended.

  Emily looked toward the door of the supermarket, then polished off her smoothie. “Brain freeze be damned, I suddenly have the urge to learn some Krav Maga.”

  Fool! You have been so careful and now you stand in the middle of the street, staring like a child. You have what you need!

  But she was perfect... perfect.

  Perfection is not necessary. Only obedience. Only success. You were provided with the opportunity and you seized it. The choice has been made.

  But, she… I still have three days. Perhaps—

  This is your vanity. This is your own desire speaking. Your own lust.

  No, you misunderstand. This one is so small, and I have to carry—

  Silence! We have made you strong, have we not?

  Yes. Yes, you have. And each time, I grow stronger still.

  Then return to the one who was Chosen and await the moment.

  “Sir? Sir? Did you need something else?”

  The Servant blinked. He was standing in front of the cash register, a basket of groceries in one hand and a can of lentil soup in the other. The cashier, a middle-aged woman with horn-rimmed glasses, peered at him nervously.

  “Sir? Are you all right?”

  The Servant instantly lit up a smile on his handsome face. “Yes. Forgive me. I thought I’d forgotten something. Um, yes, I do need something else. Ring up a case of water bottles, too. I’ll grab them on the way out.”

  While the cashier rang up the order, the Servant stepped to the glass doors and looked across the street. The women were gone.

  “Her name is Imke De Wit. Dutch national.” Major Jones was reading from an open file folder on the desk in his tiny office inside the police station in Oranjestad. Being the only town on the island, it was the capital of Sint Eustatius. “She was here for a summer abroad, studying orchids in the crater of The Quill for her university degree.” He looked up and gestured vaguely to his left, toward the south. “We have sixteen endangered species of orchid up there, and nine of them only occur on The Quill.” He looked back down to the report. “She was last seen on the evening of August 5, leaving a bar near Fort Oranje. Miss De Wit’s roommate reported that she did not return home that night.”

  “Did anyone see her leave the bar?” Captain Every asked.

  “Yes. The bartender said she left the bar alone, around eleven.”

  “Was she with anyone at the bar?”

  “The bartender said she was with two friends, both women, who left earlier. He also said a man bought her a drink, but he left earlier too.”

  “What did he look like?” Boone asked.

  Major Jones flipped a page in the report. “White male. Tall, over six feet. Blond hair.”

  Boone sat up straighter. “Did the bartender recognize him?”

  “The bartender is a longtime local and he didn’t know the man. With the oil terminal, we get many workers and ships’ crews from all over, even more than the tourists. He thought he was American, though. But the man only spoke when he ordered the drink, so the bartender couldn’t be sure.”

  Captain Every made a few notes in a pad. “She hasn’t contacted family, I assume? No cell phone use?”

  “Nothing. The phone appears to be off. And WinAir says no one matching her description has left the island, according to their records.”

  “Well, it’s possible she left by boat,” the captain suggested.

  “Have you searched The Quill?” Boone blurted out.

  “Well, no… she wouldn’t have gone up there at night. Only ones who do that are locals, if they’re hunting soldiers.”

  “Soldiers?”

  “Big, purple land crabs,” Captain Every interjected. “We have them on Saba. Lollipop’s up in Saint John’s serves them sometimes.”

  “There was no crab hunt that night,” Major Jones continued. “I checked. Also, all her equipment and orchid notes were in her apartment.” The major turned to Captain Every. “Your missing couple… anything new?”

  “No, nothing yet. Preparations for Hurricane Irma have been taking most of our resources.”

  “Yes, here too.” The major leaned back in his chair to look at the wall clock behind his head. “We should be getting an update on the track soon. Hopefully she’ll steer north.” He grabbed a yellow stress ball from a corner of his desk and squeezed it repeatedly. “We’re hoping Miss De Wit will show up, but it’s been a month.”

  “Major,” came a voice from the door. “I couldn’t help overhear you talking about our missing persons case.” A young, black policewoman poked her head in. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “That’s all right. Constable Amber Holmes, this is Boone Fischer. And you know this old goat.”

  The constable smiled. “Hello, Captain Every.”

  “Good to see you, Amber. Constable, eh? You’re moving up.”

  Major Jones tossed the stress ball in an arc and began crushing it in his other hand. “Constable, did you have something to add, or did you just pop by to let me know you’ve been eavesdropping?”

  “Well, sir… with our missing girl, and now these two on Saba, I was thinking I’d heard of another disappearance from my sister over on Saint Kitts. I called her and sure enough, there was a girl who went missing the beginning of July.”

  The stress ball received a final epic squeeze before dropping to the desk. “Really?”

  “One every month…” Boone said to himself.

  “Huh,” the major muttered, thinking. “Let me call over to Kitts and see what information they have to share. It might take a while, so let’s do this: go grab an early bite, and I’ll come join you when I’ve spoken with them.”

  Captain Every stood. “Sounds like a plan. If you don’t mind, I think we’ll head over to the Kings Well. I haven’t seen Win and Laura in ages and Win makes the best wiener schnitzel.” He turned to Boone. “Win is German. Makes for a nice change from the usual Caribbean food.”

  Boone and Captain Every stepped outside and the captain lit up a cigarette. “Horrible habit, I know. Thank goodness Sid hasn’t picked it up.” He blew a rush of smoke and looked to the south, where the massive, cone-shaped Quill loomed over the landscape. “You know, our Mount Scenery is a thousand feet taller, but we live on it. Here, everyone lives on this flat plain and looks up at that. Makes The Quill seem so much larger.”

  “Is it active?”

  “No, no… dormant. I hiked it once. The Quill has a large crater and inside is a thick, tropical rainforest. I climbed down there, holding a rope for safety. There were some trees that looked like they were from an alien world, gnarly roots twisting and twining like a kraken’s tentacles.”

  “And orchids? De Wit was studying orchids, right?”

  “Actually, most of the orchids are at the higher elevations, around the rim.” He took another drag off the cigarette.

  Boone looked back at the building with its bright blue walls and red roof, the Dutch word for police, Politie, over the door, the Dutch and Statian flags flying to the right of the entrance. “Sometimes, it’s easy to forget these islands are Dutch. Everyone speaks English. Everyone uses the U.S. doll
ar.”

  “True,” the captain mused. “But the same could be said for a lot of Caribbean islands.”

  A flash of color in the sky drew Boone’s eye. “Is that…? No, I’m seeing things.” A large red bird with flashes of blue and yellow flew overhead, heading toward the west.

  Captain Every laughed. “You’re not imagining it. That’s a scarlet macaw.”

  “But those aren’t indigenous up here. Are they?”

  “They’re indigenous to the Kings Well. You’ll probably see them. Laura keeps a few and a couple of them are allowed to fly around. I had breakfast with them once, on the little balcony they have on the cliffside. I didn’t share my eggs with one of them fast enough and he grabbed my salt shaker in his beak and dropped it off the cliff.”

  The glass doors behind them opened and Constable Holmes came out. “Oh, good, I caught you. The Major thought you’d want to know. It’s official: Statia and Saba are now under a hurricane watch.”

  An hour later, Boone and Captain Every were ensconced at the bar in the Kings Well. The owners had given Boone a quick tour and he loved the old-world charm of the place, its grounds filled with tropical foliage and numerous iguanas, macaws, and two enormous Great Danes, Sam and Sasha. Several cats prowled about as well. Win Piechutzki was busy preparing his famous jäger schnitzel. He didn’t have any veal for the “wiener” schnitzel, so this version was breaded pork chops, pounded flat and slathered with a brown mushroom gravy, served over egg noodles. Living in the islands, Boone tended to gravitate toward fresh seafood, but the description of this German dish had him salivating.

  “Boone Fischer? You wanted another blue bead so much you come over already?”

  Standing at the entrance to the dining room, Reynaldo held an industrial bucket in one hand. He wore a shorty wetsuit, still damp, so battered and worn that its age was likely in the decades. Flipping up the hinged end of the bar, he set the bucket just inside.

  “Win, I got your conch.” Win waved an acknowledgement and Reynaldo helped himself to a Presidente beer from the under-bar fridge and joined Boone at the bar, nodding to Captain Every. “Captain.”

  “Reynaldo,” the captain replied, warily. “Wait a minute…” He looked at Boone. “He’s the Statian who told you about the missing girl, isn’t he?”

  “Uh…”

  “What were you doing in Saba, Rey?” Captain Every asked.

  “Transiting, a’ course. On my way to Saint Martin. Happen to run into Boone here on da way.”

  “Saba’s pretty far out of the way for a run to Saint Martin, Rey.”

  “Hey, you hear we’re on a hurricane watch?” Boone interjected to change the subject. “You going to bring your boat in? Maybe use that boat lift on the pier we came in on?”

  “What, dat metal sculpture on Ro Ro pier? Dat ain’t work in years. No, I’ll take her south to Nevis in da morn. Got a friend with space at a dock. You two come in on dat cutter, uh?”

  “Yes,” Every replied. “We’ll be heading back to it shortly after Major Jones joins us.”

  “You must be good swimmers, den.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was weighin’ anchor when I was deshellin’ the conch down on da pier.”

  “What?” Captain Every frantically dug his cell phone out of a pocket. “Cack, no service! Win, what’s the Wi-Fi password?” The old German tapped a laminated card on the bar and went back to his schnitzel. Punching it into his phone, the captain tapped the screen. “Mudda…” He looked up. “They had to leave after the official hurricane watch was declared. Reynaldo, can you take us across?”

  Reynaldo chupsed, sucking his teeth. “Now Captain, dat’s a tall order for me. My friend is expecting me tomorrow and I don’t want to lose dat slip.”

  “You worrying about the cutter leaving you high and dry?” Major Jones laughed as he ambled into the dining area, sporting a messenger bag. “You know, if you were a Statian, you would have thought to have checked in with them.” He leaned in toward Boone, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s the altitude. Sabans don’t get enough oxygen to the brain.”

  “We don’t need as much, since we’re in better shape.” Captain Every poked the major in his ample belly.

  “Ooh nelly, going personal, are you? Don’t get me started on that mustache, you old walrus.” He clapped a friendly hand on the Saban’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry. The cutter called me, said they couldn’t reach you. I pulled some strings and got you seats on a WinAir flight for Saint Martin in the morning. They’ll swing by Saba and drop you off. I’m sure Win and Laura can put you up for the night.”

  “Ja, ja, no problem,” came from the vicinity of the sizzling schnitzel.

  “Rey, I have some sensitive police business to discuss…” the major began.

  “And I have some udda stops to make,” the old Statian said. “Boone, before you go to bed, drop by Smoke Alley for a beer.”

  “They’re open on a Sunday?” Major Jones asked.

  Reynaldo shrugged. “They’re open when they’re open. I ran into the owner and he said he’d be there.”

  “Where is it?” Boone asked.

  Reynaldo stepped onto the tiny balcony that jutted from the dining area and pointed down along the cliff. “Right dere. Just take da road down around da bend and follow da music.”

  After taking payment for the conch, Reynaldo left and the three adjourned to one of the three plastic patio tables on the balcony. Major Jones withdrew De Wit’s file from the messenger bag as well as a new folder, unmarked and thin. He flipped it open.

  “So, our friends on Saint Kitts emailed me what they had. Turns out it’s no longer a missing persons case. It’s a murder.”

  “Sha!” Captain Every cursed.

  “Who was she?” Boone asked quietly.

  “Luna Alvarez. Dominican girl, worked as a waitress in Basseterre.”

  “Anyone arrested for the crime?” Every asked.

  “Not as yet.”

  “Where did they find her?”

  Major Jones shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “The chief of police called me back himself. Asked that I keep the specifics confidential.”

  “Of course,” the captain responded, and Boone nodded his assent.

  The major cleared his throat. “Her body was found on July 10, near the summit of Mount Liamuiga, a little ways off the trail. A pair of hikers found her.”

  “They think she was on a hike with the killer?” Captain Every asked.

  “Possible. It makes sense—the hike up there is very strenuous. Rough trails. But no one knows for sure. Her restaurant said she just didn’t show up for work. No leads.”

  “How did she…?” Boone began, trailing off.

  Major Jones sighed and looked out at the water. The sun was nearing the horizon and backlit a nearby tanker. “She was nearly decapitated. They think a machete was used. The cut was so deep, the spinal cord was severed.”

  “Sha!” Captain Every rasped. “Bad-minded people in this world…”

  “Could I see that?” Boone asked, indicating the folder. The major spun it around for him. Boone scanned the pages but settled on a single page devoted to the woman herself. She was young, objectively beautiful, and…

  “Wait, could I see your file, too?” Boone asked quickly.

  Jones grumbled something about confidential information but handed it over when Captain Every gave a subtle nod. Boone located the part of the report that focused on the particulars of the missing Imke De Wit. He scanned the information below her smiling photo. Also young. And also…

  He looked up. “Captain, the missing couple on Saba, how tall was the girl?”

  “Uh… I don’t recall offhand. One moment.” He opened a notepad app on his phone and scanned a file. Five-foot-four, a hundred-thirty-five pounds. Why?”

 
“It’s probably nothing… I just noticed that these two women,” he tapped the files in front of him, “were both five feet tall, petite, and on the youngish side.” He looked down at the Saint Kitts printouts and chewed his lip. “This… Mount Liamuiga. Is it a volcano?”

  “Yes,” Captain Every said. “Big stratovolcano, almost a thousand feet taller than Saba’s.”

  Boone looked down at Imke De Wit’s picture. “Major Jones, I really think you should search The Quill.”

  Later that evening, Boone strolled downhill toward the sounds of calypso. The Smoke Alley Bar and Grill stood on a gravelly patch at the rocky shore alongside a black sand beach. The rustic open-air structure looked like it had seen better days and it wasn’t exactly hopping, but there were seven or eight patrons, and a DJ attended to the music with great relish. Boone spied Reynaldo right away and the wiry old Statian waved him over. “You came,” he said, motioning to the bartender for a Presidente for Boone.

  “I somehow got the feeling that the invitation was more than a casual suggestion.”

  “Where’s your pretty little friend?”

  “She’s holding down the fort over in Saba.”

  “Before I forget, you got a phone for over dere? Gimme da number.”

  Boone found the number and gave it to Reynaldo. The music changed to a faster beat and Boone glanced over at the DJ.

  “You’re in luck,” Reynaldo said. “Private is in rare form. Putting in some of his own songs, too.”

  “Private?”

  “It’s his name, The Artist Private. Leoncio was deejaying on the radio back in da day and people called in wanting to know who it was. Him was working at da fire department at da time and didn’t want to give his name… so dey said ‘It’s Private.’ And da name stuck.”

  Boone popped the cap on his beer and took a swig. “He’s good.”

  “Good performer too, back in da day. And Mighty Fat, also. Him a baker by day. Makes da johnnycakes for Statia.”