“Philippe, may I ask you something?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“How did you contact Paul Francois?” she asked, and was taken completely by surprise at the look of embarrassment the question produced. He actually hung his head. “Philippe?”
“I...ah...he was referred by Henri LeRoi.”
“By Henri...you’ve been in contact with Henri LeRoi?”
He bristled. “There is no harm in that! The man is not a criminal, after all!”
“No, no, no, of course not, and I did not mean to imply anything of the sort. I merely meant...did you telephone him, Philippe?”
“But of course,” he answered.
“From the telephone here, in your office?”
“No,” he answered, “from the telephone at my home.” And Carole Ann knew by the lengthening of his words and the falling timbre of his voice that he realized he’d made a mistake. “Has something happened to Henri?”
She ducked the question. “May I ask, Philippe, that you refrain from making any business calls from home? Any calls related to the conduct of Isle de Paix business, please make from the office here.”
He nodded stiffly, then looked at his watch. “I must leave. I’ve a meeting with David and Yvette which, by the way, means that you no longer have a meeting with David this morning. Sorry.” He tossed a crooked smile at her from over his shoulder as he opened the door. “I’m sure you can find other amusements for yourself.” And he was gone.
She waited exactly sixty seconds before hurrying to the door. She opened it and stepped into the hallway, relieved to find it empty, and turned left, toward Roland Charles’ office. There weren’t very many people about and, in that instant, for the first time, she was conscious of the fact that there were no surplus or superfluous employees of the island government; therefore, everybody in Government House had a specific job to do and spent the hours of their work day doing it. When the president wanted to see her, he walked down the hallway to her office. When the Interior Minister or the Minister of Internal Security wanted to see her, they walked down the hallway to her office. And when she wanted to see one of them, there was no phalanx of secretaries and administrative assistants to create a buffer or barrier to prevent her access. There were no faxes or e-mails or memos. And she realized how very much she preferred this kind of smallness, this kind of intimacy, to the trappings of big government, not to mention how much more work got done in the process.
Except, dammit, when the Minister of the Interior was not in his office. “But I just saw him, not five minutes ago!” Carole Ann exclaimed to the nonplussed assistant.
“Yes, Ma’am, he visited your office, then he rushed in here, read the faxed message from your Washington office, and out he rushed. I’m afraid he won’t return until late this afternoon.”
“Does he have a phone with him?”
“I beg your pardon? A phone? With him? No, Ma’am, he does not.”
Of course he doesn’t, she told herself. Neither do you, for that matter, she reminded herself, and you won’t, not as long as you’re on this island. No cell phones and no pagers and no way to establish immediate contact with anybody. “Would you happen to know exactly where the Minister was going?” she asked hopefully, and sighed her thanks and left when the assistant regretted that he did not. She regretted that she’d have to wait until some time later that evening to learn the source of Roland’s morning agitation— her interest was piqued by the fact that he had seemed more upset by the identity of the pirate’s breakfast companion than by the pirate’s presence. And the boat, dammit! She needed to ask him if she could borrow his— his agency’s— boat. And if he could teach her to drive it.
“Carole Ann!” She turned to see Jackie LaBelle speeding down the hall toward her, her purse dangling from the crook in her right arm, her briefcase clutched in her left hand. She stopped and waited for the young woman who was breathless and, to Carole Ann’s surprise, slightly disheveled.
“Jackie...?”
“I need a place of refuge! Are you very busy?”
“Are you all right?”
“If I could commit murder with impunity, I’d be much better,” she said through clenched teeth. “Can we go to your office? I need to avoid mine.” And without waiting for permission, she led the way to Carole Ann’s office, led the way in, and closed the door decisively behind them. She dumped her purse and briefcase on the floor and began repairing herself: She smoothed her hair, tucked her blouse into her skirt, and adjusted her jacket.
Carole Ann waited while the younger woman regained control, wondering how long it would be before such displays no longer were part of her behavior...before she realized that “cool, calm and collected” was the only acceptable demeanor for a diplomat to present. Jackie seemed to have read her thoughts.
“Guess I can’t go around losing my temper like that.”
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
“My cousin’s wife is driving me crazy. But then my cousin is driving her crazy, so, in a way, she’s not totally responsible for her behavior. And yet, I cannot allow her to continue to interrupt my work with her whining and complaining. Look at me! I’m afraid to go to my own office. I saw her, lurking outside the door, and I fled to you!”
“Young girl?” Carole Ann asked, suddenly alert. “Well-dressed and sad looking? In the Finance Ministry?”
Jackie looked surprised. “You’ve met her?” Carole Ann related the encounter of the day before. “She knows who you are, Carole Ann, because everybody knows who you are, and she knows my comings and goings because she spends more time at my house than at her own, though I can’t blame her for that. If I were married to my cousin, I’d make myself scarce, too, even if it meant spending more time with the mother-in-law from hell.”
“You’re talking in circles, Jackie.”
“I’m supposed to talk in circles. I’m a diplomat.”
“Not funny. Explain the mother-in-law crack,” Carole Ann ordered.
“Just imagine having Marie-Ange as a mother-in-law!”
“I had a version of Marie-Ange as a mother-in-law. What’s that have to do with the girl downstairs? What’s her name?”
“Nicole, and she’s married to Andre, which Marie-Ange hates because she didn’t arrange the marriage. In fact, she didn’t know Andre was married until he came home with his bride a few of months ago. And poor little bride, she expected quite a different life as the daughter-in-law of the president of a Caribbean island. She also expected quite a different life as the wife of Andre Collette, and that’s why she has my sympathy. Cousin Andre is a world-class fuck-up, pardon my French,” she said with a big chuckle. “He thinks racing sailing yachts is a profession.”
“It is, in some circles,” Carole Ann offered.
“Not in his,” Jackie snorted. “Everybody in this family has to work for a living these days, including Andre and his wife. No more living off the labor of the serfs. Unfortunately, the only credential Andre has to his name is expulsion from four universities— one French, two American, and one Canadian. Nicole is French-Canadian, by the way, and formerly enamored of the notion of living life as the wife of the president of a French-speaking Caribbean island.”
“So that’s why she’s so unhappily working in the Finance Ministry?”
Jackie nodded. “But at least she can keep a job, which is more than I can say for her husband. Andre has worked for the tourist board, the bank, and now some privately owned property leasing agency. Can you imagine how difficult it must have been to fire the president’s son?” She grimaced. “Poor Nicole. I really do feel for her, but I’m also really tired of being the one to listen to her whine about Andre.”
“So why doesn’t she dump him and go home?” Carole Ann had quickly lost interest in Nicole and her problems; her mind already had returned to her own, namely to the telephone call Philippe Collette made to Henri LeRoi from his home telephone.
“She can’t, exactly,” Jackie replied slowly
, “which is yet another reason for my sympathetic feelings for her. See, she married Andre against her parents’ wishes, and dropped out of school to be with him.”
“So, kids make mistakes. Parents forgive them.” Carole Ann was impatient, and anxious for Jackie to go away.
“Not if the mistake is marrying a Black man,” Jackie said softly, and stooped to pick up her purse and briefcase.
Carole Ann stared at her. “It came as a surprise to them that Andre is Black?”
Jackie nodded. “Let’s just say that Andre bears a striking resemblance to the de Villages side of the family.”
“And has Andre’s behavior strained his relationship with his parents, too?” Carole Ann asked, recalling Marie-Ange’s reaction to his presence at the party.
Jackie gave a sad half smile. “His behavior strains his parents’ relationship with each other. He’s his mother’s baby boy and the bane of his father’s existence.” She stopped at the door. “Thanks for listening, Carole Ann.”
“You’re welcome. And Jackie? You’ve got to get both your temper and your bleeding heart under control, or else some steely-eyed, cold-hearted, wing-tip wearing junior diplomat is going to have you for lunch.”
“I’ve seen both Condoleezza Rice and Hillary Clinton show emotion,” she answered defensively.
“Perhaps. But you’ve never seen them bleed,” Carole Ann shot back.
“Touché,” Jackie answered, closing the door.
For a long moment, Carole Ann did not know what to do. There was no order to the thoughts swirling about in her head. There were too many questions with no answers, and too much potential for disaster due to all those unanswered questions, especially if she reached a wrong concusion. She dared not call Jake from the phone here; her paranoia was such that she would trust only the phone at home. She marveled at the absurdity of calling Henri LeRoi’s former residence ‘home.’ He was in the hospital at death’s door, Paul Francois was in the morgue because Henri LeRoi had given him a job referral, and here she was standing in the middle of the floor wondering what to do next: Go chasing after Roland Charles to ask permission to borrow his boat so that she could ferry a possible felon out to sea to rendezvous with a luxury yacht? Tell the police chief that there quite possibly was a rogue DEA agent operating on the island...or more likely, an ex-DEA agent? Or take her own advice— the advice that she so cavalierly had tossed to Denis— and go home, sit down, and wait?
She looked at her watch. She’d barely been here an hour. Did she need to be concerned that leaving would cause concern? Suppose Philippe came looking for her? No. He would be tied up with David and Yvette for hours, but remaining in her office served no purpose. What purpose would be served sitting at home and staring at a telephone or a fax machine? She could, she thought, easily justify going in search of Roland Charles. If he allowed her to use his boat, she could even practice driving it about...or whatever one did with boats. After all, how difficult could it be? She could drive a car, certainly she could drive a boat. She speculated she had at least two days to practice, for she was certain that once Jake contacted Lionel Metier, the yacht captain would come as quickly as possible to pick up Denis and get him off the island.
‘Once I’m rid of Denis St.Almain, I’ll turn David and Yvette loose and let them shake all the trees and rattle all the cages they want,’ she told herself as she walked down the corridor and out the front door, and she experienced a sense of great satisfaction at the thought. Responsibility for Denis was a weight she no longer wanted. For the second time that morning, she strolled across the square in front of Government House, and, for the second time during one of those strolls, she was startled by a man whom she first took to be Denis St. Almain. Because the square wasn’t crammed with tourists, she got a better look this time: Certainly he was taller than Denis, though he was slim like Denis; but this man walked with a loose-limbed stride, looking straight ahead, where Denis walked slowly and observantly, like a cop. Though this man, she thought, was white, he was eerily like Denis St. Almain. And like Philippe Collette. Andre!
She looked quickly around, to see if she’d been noticed, and set off after him, thinking that he could not lead her into danger. There were, after all, only a few possible destinations in the immediate vicinity of Government House, and if he was going to visit his wife, he was headed in the wrong direction.
Behaving very much like a tourist, which he easily could have been, dressed as he was in all white, his sunglasses hanging by an arm from the neck of his tee shirt, he strolled casually in and out of shops and stores, stopping periodically to gaze into windows. He looked once at his watch, then continued his meandering ways. Then he stopped abruptly, stuffed his hands into his pockets, changed direction, and crossed the square, going back where he’d just come from. Carole Ann slowed her pace and glanced around in search of a reason that the man she believed to be Andre Collette would have shifted gears so suddenly.
He was standing in front of a jewelry store, peering into the window. He looked at his watch again, then put his sunglasses on. Carole Ann continued to scan the street, eyes shifting from side to side, taking in every building, including Government House, and every person on the street. Then she saw him. Coming out of the bank, the smoothly handsome would-be drug dealer she’d seen with Denis St.Almain at Aux Fruits de Mer, had seen leaving the north coast restaurant with Marie-Ange Collette. He, too, donned sunglasses and swiftly crossed the square, directly toward Andre Collette, who, as the man approached, entered Le Bistro. The man followed him in. Carole Ann waited a moment, then entered the restaurant.
She waved away the hostess and began a slow circle of the restaurant, ending up, as she’d expected, out on the patio, in the far corner. She walked up to the table. “Bon jour, Monsieur Collette. Comment ca va?”
He stared up at her, ignoring her extended hand. “You look very much like your father, but, unfortunately, you have inherited none of his charm or grace. Or, as I understand it, his ambition. Though perhaps your proclivity for fast boats has some value to your...associate.” And, ignoring him, she turned to the other man. “I wish I could say that it was a pleasure to see you again, but, of course, that would be to lie.” She held his cold, contemptuous gaze, not terrified as she had been that day on the boat with Roland. “You two make an interesting pair,” she said, looking from one to the other, and then turning abruptly away from them. She all but ran the three-quarters of a mile home.
“I don’t know who he is,” Denis insisted. “I swear. I went to the bar and sat down. He happened to be who I sat next to.”
“But you talked to him.”
“Did I?”
“Goddammit, don’t get cute with me, Denis. People are dead and lives are in jeopardy and whoever that man is, he has something to do with it.” Carole Ann was coldly furious.
“I don’t know the man, I’d never seen him before, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“What did you talk about?”
Denis flinched at the cutting edge of her tone, and backed a step away from her. “He asked me,” he said, curling his lips in disgust, “if I wanted to score, like he was mocking me, like he knew exactly who I was.” He spit out the words.
“Who were the local DEA contacts here? Other than LeRoi?” Carole Ann asked, ignoring his angst.
Denis paused and thought for a moment, put off-balance by how cold and exacting she had become. “There was a contact at the bank, I know, and possibly one other person—”
“What do you mean, ‘possibly?’” she pushed him. “Either you were a part of the operation here or you weren’t. They’d dropped your father right in the middle of it, setting him up to be the Thanksgiving turkey, and the best you can do is, ‘possibly?’”
“Listen, damn you! They were using me, too! I was as big a chump as the CD, walking around believing that I was playing a part in slowing down the flow of coke into the states.” He rubbed his hands through his hair, standing it on end, not bothering to soothe it back
down, like his father did.
“And weren’t you?” she shot at him.
“Hell no! That coke shipment the Coast Guard seized the night my father and Collette changed places was the only time I know of that dealers got busted and drugs got seized here, or anywhere in the Caribbean, for that matter. The only useful thing I did the whole time, as far as the DEA was concerned, was to ‘convince’ the poor, ignorant, commie dictator to co-operate with them. I never arrested anybody or seized any drugs.”
Carole Ann began to pace. Andre Collette in cahoots with...who? The man he was with at the restaurant was, she was certain, the man Roland Charles had seen with him, the man who had held her and Roland hostage at gunpoint. She had no trouble connecting him to the murder of the two constables and, given his proximity to the president’s wife and son, there easily could be a motive for wanting Philippe Collette dead. But what was the motive? “The one other person who ‘possibly’ was a DEA source or contact, Denis: Who was it?”
“I don’t know exactly who, but I always thought it was somebody associated with Hubert de Villages.”
The pirate— damn she wished she had a name for him! He’d used Hubert de Villages as the reason for intimidating her and Roland. Hubert de Villages owned the bank he left just prior to his meeting with Andre Collette. The school and clinic that were the reasons for delaying construction on the new government road were surprise gifts from Hubert de Villages. Marie-Ange Collette was his granddaughter.
The phone on the work table rang, startling the both of them, and when it rang a second time and she didn’t move to answer it, Denis looked panicked. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“It’s the fax machine,” she said, still distracted by thoughts of Hubert de Villages, who was well into his eighties and supremely wealthy. What did a man like that need or want with drug dealers and pirates? Of course, he wouldn’t be the first rich, old bastard to be motivated by greed. More money, more money, more money. The mantra of contemporary culture.
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