Deadly Sommer: Nora Sommer Caribbean Suspense - Book One

by Nicholas Harvey

  “What did you understand his objective to be?” Beth asked.

  “Show the world that Briggs was guilty of his wife’s murder. He needed the whole day to play out, so killing either of us didn’t accomplish that.”

  Beth and Whittaker shared a slight smile.

  “If I failed at the tests, the show continued,” I added. “Skylar paid the price, but killing or wounding me to the point I couldn’t perform his circus tricks brought everything to a halt.”

  “I think that’s a good assessment,” Beth said.

  “But I realised it too late,” I replied. “My best chance was when we were being moved from the first building. I should have taken the stupid helmet off and tried jumping him then.”

  We continued along the path and came out of the woods behind a tall stack of building supplies. As we walked around the side, the space opened up, with several police vans and cars parked. Massey was being shoved into the back of one of the cars.

  “You played it perfectly,” Whittaker said. “We’ll never know what would have happened if any of us had done anything differently. We all made the best calls we could with the information we had at the time.”

  I caught the detective giving Beth a slight nod, and she smiled back. I was too tired to worry about what they had going on.

  Jacob stepped from one of the police cars, followed by AJ. They both jogged towards me.

  “You okay, partner?” Jacob asked, looking me over. “Dis turned out to be a mad day, no?”

  Before I could answer, AJ grabbed me in a bear hug. It’s okay for AJ to hug me.

  “Bloody hell, you crazy Viking, you scared me to death.”

  I held her tightly. Her love and concern pushed much of the day’s anguish away. I closed my eyes and wished I could go to sleep at that very moment.

  She finally released me and looked at the scratches and grazes down my arms, “Just a flesh wound,” she said and giggled at herself. I didn’t know why. Some English thing I guessed.

  “Did you find your weights?” I asked.

  “Yeah, brilliant,” she enthused. “I found the two near the dock and then the others by the first challenge thing.”

  “In one dive?”

  “No, no, you should have seen me, I did a hot deployment from the back of the Marine Unit boat,” she gushed. “Then a moving pick-up where they dragged a line past me and I grabbed on and they reeled me in. Ninja stuff, like a Navy bloody Seal!”

  “Really? And you call me crazy?” I said, grinning at her excitement.

  “Well, the pick-up was more like a Navy sack of potatoes, but only me and two Marine Unit guys know that.”

  I hugged her again.

  41

  When Life Sucks Too Bad

  I wanted to stay home, hidden away from the throngs of reporters roaming the island in search of Constable Sommer. Archie’s shack — my shack, if I could ever get used to saying that — was perfectly secluded, with no direct access from the road. Hiding the Jeep at the neighbours’ left me almost impossible to track down. I’d gone freediving in the morning, shortly after sunrise. The tranquillity of the reef had been cathartic as always, and I’d finally felt relaxed after a restless night.

  But after lunch I found myself on the way to the hospital.

  When AJ was done with her morning dive trip, she picked me up on her Ducati motorcycle. We were well disguised under crash helmets and jackets. A helmet I could see out of. She dropped me around the back of the hospital in George Town, where Whittaker met me and herded me through an employee entrance. He’d asked me to come. Well, Skylar had asked him to ask me to come.

  I’d heard that trauma brings people of all cultures and interests together, forming a common bond. I didn’t feel any bond. My preference would be for everyone with anything to do with the Briggs family and the Massey case to leave the island so things could go back to normal.

  We managed to dodge the press who’d accumulated in the main waiting area and outside the front entrance, and started down a long hallway with patient’s rooms on either side. Halfway down, Whittaker came to a stop and looked at me.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked, that same look of care and worry in his eyes.

  “I’m fine,” I replied.

  “I hope the events of yesterday haven’t scared you away from police work.”

  “I’d prefer it wasn’t like that every day,” I countered.

  He smiled and laughed softly. “No, as you’ve seen, it’s not like that every day. Thank God.”

  I thought about telling him I didn’t want to be dead as much as before, but I guessed he’d have a hard time unwrapping the statement. I would have to see myself. It was one thing feeling that way, with adrenaline in my veins and drama unfolding, but time would tell if the desire stuck.

  “I’ll be at work tomorrow,” I said, happy to close the conversation.

  He nodded. “Massey and Donovan Briggs will be extradited to America,” he explained, moving on to the case.

  I realised a lot had probably happened since I’d left Barkers yesterday. I’d been trying not to think about it, but I was curious if justice would be served.

  “I’m told Grayson Briggs and the professor, Davis Griffin, are in custody in Tampa,” Whittaker continued. “They’ll all be prosecuted in Florida.”

  “Yesterday, when Jacob took me to my Jeep, he told me the son had murdered a reporter,” I said. “That’s awful.”

  “Myra Shah,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “I spoke with her yesterday about Massey. She had worked with him, trying to expose Briggs’s involvement in Olivia Massey’s accident. It appears she knew too much. Or at least Grayson Briggs thought so. They haven’t recovered her computer or the files he took, but they have him tied to the murder.” The detective paused and looked at the floor. “Very sad.”

  We stood there without speaking for a few moments; the background sounds of the hospital amplified in our thoughtful silence. Footsteps made me look up, and I saw the FBI lady I’d met yesterday walking towards us. With her was a tall, stern-looking man in a suit, who I supposed was another agent.

  “Good afternoon,” Whittaker greeted them and extended his hand. “Beth, you’ve met Constable Sommer, and Nora, this is Beth’s partner, Agent Kowalczyk. They’ll be escorting Massey and Briggs home tomorrow.”

  We all shook hands.

  “That will be a fun flight,” I grinned, thinking of the two detainees who’d like to strangle each other.

  Beth laughed. “We’re taking separate flights to avoid them crossing paths – we’ve had enough theatrics for one trip.”

  I noticed Kowalczyk’s expression never changed. Fun-loving guy.

  “So, was Briggs involved in Olivia’s accident?” I asked. It was the one question that had returned to my mind all night and kept me awake. Along with the usual demons.

  Beth looked at her partner, who made a subtle shrug of his shoulders, apparently indicating his consent for her to answer.

  “It appears so,” she said quietly, although the hallway was empty. “We’re still piecing it all together, but the professor who was in on the fake reports scam has provided crucial evidence. A few weeks before the accident, Briggs’s paper company announced a sponsored scholarship to the university for an underprivileged student in the area. People were invited to apply but according to Griffin, the candidate was already chosen. The daughter of a single mother who showed good, but not exceptional grades in high school. Hispanic girl. The estranged father of the girl is a man with a rap sheet who still lives in the area. According to Griffin, he’s the guy who drove the truck which hit Olivia Massey. Police picked him up this morning, and he’s talking. This would be his third strike and he’s facing a potential homicide charge.”

  She took a breath and checked around the hallway again. I wondered if FBI people were always this wary out of habit. Did they lean in close to their spouse before asking them to pass the ketchup? It confirmed my choice to remain a constable.


  “He claims Olivia was alive after the impact. It was Grayson Briggs who drove up and injected her, causing her heart attack.”

  “Really?” Whittaker uttered under his breath. “But that gives you plenty against the son. What about the father? Seems like hearsay from Griffin, tough to make that stick. Surely, Donovan’s lawyer will claim it’s one man’s word against another.”

  “Seems like blood isn’t as thick as polluted water,” Kowalczyk interjected, looking pleased with himself for the pun. “Now he’s on the hook for two murders, Grayson is throwing his old man under the bus. Claims he masterminded the whole thing and made Grayson commit both crimes.”

  “That sucks for the girl,” I said, and they all looked at me.

  “Skylar will be fine,” Kowalczyk replied. “I think she’ll still come away with a cushy lifestyle. She wasn’t involved in any wrongdoing.”

  “Not Skylar,” I corrected. “The Hispanic girl with the scholarship. Probably the only break she’s ever got, and now she’ll lose it.”

  They all nodded and didn’t know what to say.

  I was glad they would put the bad guys away, but the victims remained the victims. Olivia and the reporter lady were still dead, and a kid who’d just got the chance to make something of her life would have it taken away. For what? A rich guy making a bigger profit at the expense of the planet, and other people. Whittaker broke the silence and pulled me from my angst-filled thoughts.

  “Thank you again for your help,” he said to the two agents. “Your insight and experience were valuable assets yesterday.”

  “Glad we could be of assistance,” Beth replied.

  Kowalczyk went to say something, then stopped himself. Whittaker started to walk away.

  “Detective,” Kowalczyk finally spoke, and Whittaker halted, looking back at the man. “You handled it well. With the limited resources at your disposal, you handled it well.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Whittaker replied, and glanced back and forth between the two agents. “Neither of you probably want to hear this, but you make a good team. Balanced I’d say.”

  Kowalczyk stared at the detective, and I couldn’t tell if he was about to swear at him or just leave. He did neither.

  “I agree,” he said. And then walked away down the hall.

  Beth’s eyes widened in surprise, and Whittaker grinned at her. “I’m sure I’ll see you again before you leave.”

  She smiled. “I hope so,” she replied, and followed after her partner.

  Skylar was in a private room. She was sitting up in bed, and apart from a heavily bandaged hand, looked perfectly fine. She smiled when we appeared at her doorway.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Whittaker said, and closed the door.

  “Hello again,” Skylar greeted me.

  “Hey,” I replied, “How’s the finger?”

  She held up the wad of bandage attached to the end of her arm. “It’s back on there, at least for now,” she said. “We have to see if it’ll take. Apparently there’s a 70 per cent success rate.”

  “Let’s hope some have not worked out lately then,” I said.

  She laughed, but I guessed most other people losing fingers had more important things to do with theirs. Skylar’s pinkie wasn’t about to cure cancer, or build a house for the homeless.

  “They say I’ll only have about half the normal movement, but I just wanted it on there so I didn’t look like a freak.”

  There was still a 30 per cent chance that someone more deserving would have better odds of their reattachment being successful. I kept the thought to myself.

  “When can you go home?” I asked.

  “If my finger looks okay, they say I can fly in a few days,” she replied. “Then the hospital in Tampa will take over from there.”

  We looked at each other. I was out of polite questions, and she had asked to see me, so I waited for her to speak.

  “I wanted to thank you in person,” she said. “You saved my life. I’m very grateful.”

  “Just doing my job,” I replied. I’d decided that would be my standard line when faced with the myriad of questions that undoubtedly would be thrown at me about the day. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop that from happening,” I added, pointing to her hand.

  “That was my fault,” she said, holding up the thickly wrapped appendage. “I missed the stupid little cut-out bits. I’m going to get a tattoo of that damn icon so I never forget what it looks like.”

  “Where?” I asked, hiding my amusement.

  “I was thinking at the base of my neck so my hair hides it most of the time,” she said, tapping the back of her neck with her good hand.

  “That won’t be very easy to see if you ever need it again,” I pointed out.

  Skylar thought about it for a second. “Shit, you’re right. My second choice was the inside of my wrist. I’ll get it there.”

  I decided pointing out she’d be labelling herself as toxic could be left to someone finding it less hilarious than me. I nodded appreciatively, as though it were a great idea.

  “So, what now?” I asked. “You know, once you’re home and recuperated.”

  I didn’t usually cave into making conversation, but she’d just tried to be nice so I felt bad saying thanks, see ya, after only two minutes.

  “I don’t really know,” she said sullenly. “Everything will be different now. My dad and brother are going to jail, I guess, so I’ve no idea what will happen to the company. My stepmother will run off with everything she can take from my dad. I have a trust, so money won’t be an issue, but I have to figure out what to do with myself.”

  I wished I hadn’t asked. Sure, it would be tough seeing your family crumble, as it wasn’t her fault and even if they were scumbags, they were still her family. But she would have money to do as she pleased, which probably meant snorting it up her nose and playing the victim for the rest of her life. I was ready to leave.

  “I’ve been looking up environmental agencies and organisations,” she said, surprising me. “I’ve supported several for years and do beach clean-ups and mangrove restorations, things like that. School hasn’t worked out well for me. I get too easily distracted with the wrong crowd, so I think I’d rather volunteer for something good. Maybe I can help repair some of the damage my family has done.”

  I looked at the young woman before me in the hospital bed. Her life was at a crossroads. Chances were, she’d succumb to the parties, drink and drugs, especially with the money making it all so easily accessible, but maybe not. An idea occurred to me.

  “You know, there’s a kid in Tampa who could do with some help,” I thought aloud. “She’s been innocently caught up in this mess.”

  “What can I do?” Skylar asked.

  I knew the information I’d just been privy to in the hallway was highly confidential, and I could jeopardise the case if I wasn’t careful.

  “I’ll let you know,” I said carefully. “Let me see if I can get more details. Might involve a scholarship to the University of St Petersburg. Perhaps something in Olivia Massey’s honour?”

  “I’d like to do that,” Skylar replied, her tone genuine. “Let me know.”

  For Skylar to have a shot at keeping her life on the rails, she needed some positive influence and guidance. If I hadn’t met AJ and Whittaker, I had no idea where I’d be. My life had come off the rails in spectacular fashion. I sat down on the chair beside the bed.

  “I’ll give you my number,” I said. “You can call if you need someone to talk to.”

  Her eyes lit up and she smiled. “Are you on social? Do you use Messenger or Snapchat?”

  I sighed. “No, I don’t do that shit. Just call me if life sucks too bad.”

  Visit Amazon.com for more books in the

  Nora Summer Caribbean Suspense Series,

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  Acknowledgments


  My sincere thanks to:

  My amazing wife Cheryl and wonderful friend James for their unwavering support, advice and encouragement.

  My tireless editor Andrew Chapman at Prepare to Publish.

  Lily at Orkidedatter for her Norwegian advice.

  Casey Keller, my go-to advisor for all things Cayman Islands related.

  Craig Robinson and Alain Belanger for their Royal Cayman Islands Police Service advice.

  The Tropical Authors group for their advice, support, humour and, most importantly, rum. Visit and subscribe at www.TropicalAuthors.com for deals and info on a plethora of books by talented authors in the Sea Adventure genre.

  My beta reader group has grown to include an amazing cross section of folks from different walks of life. Their suggestions, feedback and keen eyes are invaluable, for which I am eternally grateful.

  Above all, I thank you, the readers: none of this happens without the choice you make to spend your precious time with my stories. I am truly in your debt.

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  Find more great authors in the genre at TropicalAuthors.com

  Visit Amazon.com for more books in the

  Nora Summer Caribbean Suspense Series,

  and my AJ Bailey Adventure Series.

  You may also enjoy Graceless, a co-op project with Wayne Stinnett, John H Cunningham and Nick Sullivan.