"Somebody must have helped her," Lucas said. "She's just a small woman."
"Don't underestimate a desperate woman, Zack. Two of our inmates are still unconscious from that fight in the cafeteria. She knows what she's doing. Guess she could have had some help, but that's not how it sounds."
"You think she overpowered three men?"
"The driver said that the two in the backseat were messing with her, ripping her clothes off and laughing at her. The last thing he remembers is that they were screaming in pain, and then he saw stars."
"How could she have — "
"Never mind that, Zack. What are we going to do now? She's probably going to rat us out."
"Who could she tell?" Lucas asked.
"I don't know. You're the one who told me the Deputy Commissioner was asking about her. She must have friends somewhere on the island."
"Yeah. You took care of the release paperwork?"
"Yes. We haven't seen her officially since early yesterday afternoon."
"How long since she got away?"
"I just got the call, but nobody knows how long the driver was unconscious."
"I could get a warrant for her arrest, now," Lucas said.
"You found the witness?"
"No. Not for the murder. For assault with grievous bodily harm. You said she blinded one man and tore the other one's ear off."
"Good luck with that."
"What do you mean?"
"These aren't the kind of people who'll press charges."
"I'll handle that. I just need them to make statements."
"That's not going to happen, Zack. Pay attention. You know who I called, don't you? If you start messing with his guys, you might disappear."
"Shit!" Lucas muttered. "Excuse me, Mary."
"No problem. I feel the same way. He's probably going to want us to pay for this; he already told me we've cost him his three best enforcers. He's going to have to run his girls by himself, now. No chance he'll let those three talk to you. They'll be lucky if he doesn't finish them off for letting a woman do that to them."
"Yeah, I guess that's bad for his business, huh? His girls might get ideas. Where are these guys, anyway?"
"The ones she maimed?"
"Yeah, them," Lucas said. "I should get somebody to clean up the scene and start looking for her."
"He's already taken care of that. The scene, I mean. We'll probably never see those guys again, or the car."
"What about her?"
"What do you mean, what about her, Zack?"
"Is he looking for her?"
"He probably is, but that's not going to help us any. He said our deal is off, and we owe him $50,000 E.C."
"What? I thought you said we'd owe him favors."
"Yeah, but that was before she stole his money."
"Stole his money? $50,000?"
"Yeah. His men were makin' some kind of delivery. Picking her up was a side job."
"Damn," Lucas said.
"Yeah, damn is right. Where we gon' get that kind of money?"
"We'll work something out with him; he let our prisoner escape, so we don't owe him any favors, but we could do him a few for the $50,000."
"You're dreaming, Zack. He wants his cash."
"Then he'd better help us find her. That's the best way for him to get his money back. Meanwhile, she's got $50,000 worth of ways to stay out of sight."
"We still got her passport," Jordan said. "She can't get off the island."
"Big deal. With that kind of cash, she can get another passport with no trouble."
"He's probably got that covered, anyway. I bet he knows where to buy papers."
Zack thought about that for a few seconds. "Yeah, I bet he does. If he finds her, we could make it worth his while to turn her over to — "
"Forget it, Zack. If he finds her, he's got to make an example of her. You know what he'll do to her. For sure, she's not going to be in shape to do you any good. But ... "
"But what, Mary?"
"Nothin', Zack. I don't know what to think."
"Okay, Mary. Can you keep this quiet from your end?"
"Yes. What are you going to do?"
"I need to get these reports filed. While I'm doing that, I'll think of something. You want me to let you know — "
"I don't want to hear any more about it. Washin' my hands, and don't you be askin' me no more favors for a long time, you hear?"
"Yeah," Lucas barked, before he realized she had hung up on him.
****
Samir Gorshani and Hamid Lanjwani sat in Lanjwani's office, sipping strong, sweet coffee from thimble-sized cups.
"She's making the rounds of the tourist bars on the beaches?" Lanjwani asked.
"Right. Asking if anyone saw the other woman. She's got a picture in her phone."
Lanjwani sipped his coffee. "And has anyone seemed to recognize the picture?"
"No, and she hasn't stopped looking, so she's not making any progress, I think."
"Where is she now?" Lanjwani asked.
"She left the place down on Pigeon Island on foot. She left her dinghy there, at the dock. I couldn't follow her without the risk of being seen, but she was walking up the road. Probably she is stopping at every restaurant and bar to see if anyone has seen her friend. I have her picture, remember? I can check later. I left someone watching her dinghy."
Lanjwani nodded. "Why would she ask questions on her own instead of going to the police?" he asked.
"She did," Gorshani said.
"She did what?"
"Call the police. The patrol boat went to her yacht early this morning."
"Do you know that she called them?" Lanjwani asked.
"No, emir, but it seems likely. They don't often check the boats in the anchorage like that."
"Check the boats?"
"They went from boat to boat. Sometimes they stopped to talk to the people, sometimes not. But they went to her boat first, straight from the harbor entrance to her boat. That is why I think she called them." Gorshani lifted his cup to his lips.
"But, Samir, they would have told her that her friend had been arrested. It makes no sense that she would start searching. Unless ... "
"Emir? Unless ... "
"Unless she's looking for something else, maybe someone who saw us. Maybe she tries to help her friend."
"But then why would she be showing the picture of her friend, emir?"
"That is a very good question, Samir. Why indeed?"
"Perhaps the police didn't tell her they have her friend," Gorshani said.
"That's an interesting idea. They have made no announcement about the arrest, according to our friend at the newspaper. He is watching for that; they have released some information about Watson's death, but no mention of a suspect, or charges."
"Why would that be?" Gorshani asked, taking another tiny sip of coffee.
"I don't know. Perhaps it is time for me to ask our friend at the police what is happening."
Chapter 7
Liz walked along the driveway from the resort to the main road and turned right, following the directions the bartender had given her. The road skirted the northern edge of the man-made isthmus that connected Pigeon Island to the mainland of St. Lucia.
The isthmus was a causeway built of the soil dredged from the lagoon where the marina had been built in the '70s, and Liz marveled that it had not been washed away since then. Big swells, driven by the fresh northeast wind, wrapped around Pointe du Cap, less than two miles away, at the north end of St. Lucia. Passing over the abrupt shelf of coral that stretched out from the shoreline for several hundred meters into the deep water, the waves built to several meters in height. Then they crashed onto the narrow, straight strip of sandy beach a few yards to her left, filling the air with salt spray.
When the road veered to the south, away from the beach and turned onto the mainland, Liz was relieved. She was out of the blustery wind and spray, and she could feel the sun beginning to bake the moisture fro
m her sodden clothes.
She found the fruit stand on the corner where the driveway to a timeshare condo development joined the road. Ignoring the discomfort of her saltwater-soaked clothes, she smiled at the wizened woman who sat on a crate behind a makeshift counter. The planks of the counter sagged from the weight of big piles of ripe fruit.
"Good afternoon," Liz said, running a hand over her damp hair.
"Good afternoon, dear," the woman said. "Do you walk from the beach resort?"
"Yes, I did."
The old lady chuckled, her laughter changing to a rumbling cough. "Sorry," she said, clearing her throat. "They don't tell the guests 'bout the spray." She studied Liz for a moment. "But you don' be stayin' there, do you?"
"No, ma'am. I'm from a boat. How did you know?"
"I see the clothes. The peoples from the resort, they don' wear enough clothes." She shook her head, her lips compressed into a thin line. "An' they all sunburnt an' red, but you brown, almos' like one of us."
Liz laughed at that and took a deep breath, inhaling the rich, mingled fragrances of the fruit. She reached out to squeeze an avocado. "Beautiful," she said, as the woman handed her a plastic bag.
"Take what you want; I sell by weight. Two dollars E.C. for a pound. Next time, you bring your dinghy into the timeshare harbor. You tell them you comin' to see Margaret; they let you tie up there. Then you don' get all wet from the spray."
"I will, Margaret. I'm Liz, by the way."
The old woman smiled and nodded. "Pleased to meet you. I see by your shirt you on a charter yacht, yes?"
"Yes. My friend and I run charters on a boat called Vengeance. We're anchored off the beach near the Gros Islet breakwater."
"Mm. Is a ver' dangerous place, there. You hear someone killed there a couple of days past?"
"Yes, I did hear that. Terrible," Liz said.
"That boy what got killed, he call me Auntie Margaret. He my cousin's grandson."
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Margaret."
"Thank you, child. But we weren't close; he was sort of a bad boy. Not evil, mind you, but he do ... um, did ... like the ladies, an' he slep' on the beach like trash. I try to get him to stay wit' me, but ... " She shook her head. "He got no other family, so I try to help he, but he not interested. He pleasant to an old woman, though, jus' the same."
"I think my friend, the woman who runs the boat with me, may have seen what happened. I've been gone, but when I got back, I found out the police took her away. I guess they wanted to ask her some questions, but nobody has seen her since, and I'm worried about her."
"P'lice. Hmph! They as bad as them men 'roun' Gros Islet."
"Which men?" Liz asked.
"Herbie say men come down on the beach there every few days, in the middle of the night. Wake he up, but they don' know he there. They meet some boats, take men from the boats, sometimes, put young girls on the boats, sometimes."
"You think they're smuggling people, Margaret?"
"Prob'ly so. The girls, they come from St. Lucia, I t'ink. But Herbie say the men, they speak some language he don' recognize, an' they go off wit' the man from the store. Man from store, he talkin' wit' they in that strange language."
"The man from the store?"
"Indian man. He own the grocery store in Gros Islet, an' he rent cars from there, too."
"Did Herbie tell the police?"
The old woman shook her head. "P'lice know. Herbie see p'lice bring girls, one time."
"Do you think those men might have killed Herbie?"
"Mebbe. Or mebbe the p'lice do it. I try to get Herbie to come stay wit' me, but he want to stay on the beach." She shook her head. "Now he gone."
Liz patted the old woman on her grizzled hand. "I'm sorry."
"You be careful 'roun' Gros Islet, child," the woman said, taking the bag Liz had filled with fruit and suspending it on a laundry scale. "Ten dollars."
Liz handed her two $5 E.C. notes.
Margaret nodded and handed Liz the bag. Then she reached down under the counter and took out a fat, foot-long papaya, handing it to Liz. "Because you a nice lady," she said. "I hope you find your friend, and you come back to see Margaret when you need some more fruit, please."
"I will. Thank you, Margaret. Stay well."
****
Samir leaned against a stack of cardboard cartons in the cluttered stock room of Hamid's grocery store. He could hear the murmur of Hamid talking on the telephone; the door to the office was closed. Samir had knocked on the door when he arrived to announce his presence and settled in to wait. Hamid would summon him when he was ready; that was the way Hamid worked. Samir felt the cellphone in his pocket vibrate against his thigh.
As he raised the phone to his ear, he noted the number. It was the teenaged boy he had paid to watch the dinghy. "Yes, Joe? You have something?"
"She gone now."
"When did she leave?"
"Jus' now."
"Can you still see her? Where's she going?"
"Yeah, mon. She look like she goin' to the boats."
"Which boats, Joe?"
"Up by the breakwater. Tha's where she goin'. Slowin' down an' turnin' now."
"Okay. Thanks." Samir disconnected the call.
"Come!" he heard, from behind the closed door.
He opened the door and entered the tiny, cluttered space. Hamid gestured for him to sit.
"What is it, Samir?"
"She has gone back to her boat, now."
"Hmm. How long was she out of sight?"
"An hour, but the boy watching her confirmed that she had gone up the road toward Gros Islet."
"He followed her? I thought you were worried that she would notice."
"No, Hamid. The guard at the gate to the resort is his brother. He saw which way she went when she left the resort."
"Ah. What places are along the road in that direction?"
"Nothing, until you reach the timeshare place with that new dredged harbor."
"Why would she walk? She could have taken her dinghy there."
"I do not know, emir."
"Of course not. How could you?"
"But I ... "
"I was thinking out loud, imbecile." Hamid shook his head, frustrated. "I have spoken with our friend at the police. He has heard nothing, but he checked on the computer and learned that they questioned the woman and released her after an hour or two."
"Why would they do that? They had a witness," Samir asked.
"They have some formal requirement for the witness to see her and identify her in person before they can bring charges."
"B-but ... " Samir stammered.
"Indeed," Hamid said. "They will not be able to charge her unless there is another witness, since you killed Mitchum."
"Should I find someone else who will identify her as the killer?"
Hamid thought about that. He shook his head and said, "I think this may not be necessary. They still believe that the woman is guilty, so they will not be looking for another killer. But they are looking for the witness, which may be a problem. You are sure you left nothing to connect us with him?"
"Yes, emir. I am sure."
"Okay. That's good."
"But where is the woman? If they released her — "
"We aren't the only ones asking that question. Someone high in the government is asking after her, as well."
"How high?"
"My contact was nervous about speculating, so it must be someone important, perhaps one of the Commissioners."
"Did her friend make a report?" Samir asked.
"Her friend?"
"The woman I'm following."
"That's a good question, Samir. I don't think so. A missing person report would have shown up on the computer search for the woman, I think." Hamid chewed on his lower lip. "But it is strange that this woman is asking questions on her own and has not made a report to the police. Keep an eye on her."
"Yes. As you wish."
"Samir?" Hamid asked, after a
few seconds.
"Yes?"
"You said the patrol boat was going around the anchorage this morning."
"Yes. That is so. Why do you ask?"
"Since the police cannot find this Derek Mitchum, perhaps they are looking for another witness."
Samir thought about that for a moment. "It is possible. I think they stopped at every yacht that had people aboard."
"That is not good. Suppose they find someone who saw us?"
"Then we will have to silence that person, emir."
"That will raise more suspicion. We need to move the jihadis out quickly and then let things settle down. Do you have the passports for them yet?"
"Tonight, I think, emir. The ship is in port. I'm meeting him this evening in Castries."
"Good. Leave me. I have work to do; I must make arrangements for their departure. I want them out of here as soon as possible."
****
Liz let the dinghy coast to a stop alongside Vengeance and shut off the outboard. Standing, she grasped Vengeance's toe-rail and tied off the dinghy, thinking about whether to lock it up for the night. Unable to decide, she picked up the bag of fruit and clambered aboard. She'd deal with the dinghy later; she might decide to have dinner at the yacht club on Reduit Beach.
She unlocked the companionway and went below, stopping at the galley counter to sort the fruit. She put the ripest pieces in the refrigerator, setting the others in a basket on the counter to ripen. As she washed her hands and poured herself a glass of chilled white table wine, her cellphone rang.
"Phillip?"
"Hi, Liz. How are you?"
"Tired and salty; ready for a shower. What's new?"
"I heard from Cedric."
"And?" Liz took the phone and her wine back up into the cockpit, not wanting to sit on the upholstery below deck in her salt-caked clothes.
"The police did pick up Dani, but they questioned her and released her. From what Cedric could find out, they're floundering. Dani didn't have any information, and their eyewitness has disappeared."
"Eyewitness? Then why question Dani?"
"That's what Cedric wants to know. The witness said a white woman in a dinghy chased the victim to the beach and stabbed him. Dani was apparently the closest white woman with a dinghy, but she told them she didn't see anything, and without the witness to positively identify her, or rule her out, they let her go. They kept her passport, so they figured she couldn't go far, I guess."
Bluewater Jailbird: The Tenth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 10) Page 5
