Bluewater Jailbird: The Tenth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 10)

by Charles Dougherty

  Satisfied with her course for now, she trimmed in the headsails and balanced the helm. Vengeance surged along at nine knots on a course for the western tip of Martinique. There were no other boats around, so Liz decided to clean up after her recent guest. Vengeance held her course without any attention to the helm, but she engaged the autopilot anyway, as insurance against a wind shift. This close to the north end of the island, that wouldn't be a surprise.

  She rummaged in the port cockpit locker where they kept their dive gear and pulled out two weight belts; she transferred all the weights to one belt. Twenty pounds should do it, she thought, but as she put the extra belt away, she saw two more five-pound weights. She added those to the belt she had prepared and closed the locker.

  She went forward to the mainmast, pausing at the pinrail to pick up a 30-foot dockline. She freed the spinnaker halyard and clipped the shackle to her belt, leaving her hands free to carry the dock line as she scrambled back to the companionway. She took a moment to scan the horizon for traffic. Seeing nothing, she went below, pulling the spinnaker halyard behind her.

  She tugged at the body until it was stretched out face-up. Going through the pockets, she found a wicked-looking folding knife and a fat wallet. She put the knife back and transferred the wallet to her own pocket to examine later. Uncoiling the dock line, she grasped the two ends, flipping the center of the bight of line out away from her.

  Passing the two ends under the right armpit of the corpse, she brought them out above the shoulder, under the neck, and tucked them under the left shoulder from the top until she could grab the ends under the left armpit. She took the ends with both hands and tugged hard, pulling the doubled line under the shoulders of the corpse.

  She tied a reef knot with the two ends of the line and passed it through the loop of the bight. Unhooking the spinnaker halyard from her belt, she put the shackle around the dock line.

  Back up in the cockpit, she wrapped the tail of the spinnaker halyard around the unused starboard primary winch and took up the slack. Putting a handle in the winch, she began to grind with both hands, watching as the halyard took the weight of the corpse.

  As the body rose, the head snagged on the edge of the companionway hatch. She paused and stepped over to the hatch, pulling with all her strength to bring the body out into the center of the opening. She took the extra length of the dock line and held it, keeping the load centered in the hatch opening. She resumed cranking, now with one hand.

  In seconds, she had the body on the bridge deck. She put the weight belt around its waist, pulling it tight and fastening it. Both hands on the winch handle, she resumed grinding until the feet of the corpse just touched the bridge deck. The body swayed with the motion of the boat, almost like it was dancing.

  She went back to the helm and checked the depth sounder, which was off-scale, indicating over a hundred fathoms. There should be over a thousand feet of water here, she knew, but she turned on the chart plotter to double check.

  Satisfied, she turned off the autopilot and began sheeting in the sails, bringing Vengeance to a course hard on the wind. The boat heeled sharply to the port, and the body swung out until it lodged against the port lifelines.

  Liz stepped to the side deck and lifted the feet and legs over the lifelines. She gripped the dock line around its chest with her left hand and popped open her rigging knife with her right. With a couple of strokes of the razor sharp blade, she severed the makeshift harness and the body slipped below the waves.

  She held the ruined dock line until she freed the spinnaker halyard from the self-tailing winch. Walking the halyard back up to the base of the mast, she secured the shackle and coiled and stowed the halyard.

  Annoyed that she had been forced to waste a nearly new dock line, she tossed the pieces over the side. Returning to the cockpit, she eased the sheets and took up a course for Ste. Anne, Martinique.

  ****

  "But I didn't clear out," Liz said. The backpack that she'd taken from the intruder was on the table in front of her. She sat with Phillip Davis and his wife, Sandrine, on their veranda overlooking the anchorage at Ste. Anne, Martinique.

  "It is only a small matter," Sandrine said. "Do not be the bump that worries."

  "What?" Liz asked, a perplexed look on her face.

  "Worry-wart," Phillip said.

  "Oui, that is it. Don't be so much the worry-wart, Liz," Sandrine said. "I have the solution."

  "Okay," Liz said, smiling in spite of her anxiety. Sandrine's struggle to speak colloquial American English was always fun. "But how will you fix it? I know you can handle this end, but what about St. Lucia? I want to be able to go back there and not get in trouble with customs and immigration."

  "When you called earlier," Phillip said, "and asked about Kayak Spirit, I didn't mention that Marie has been living aboard her while she has her apartment redecorated."

  "Oh," Liz said, frowning. "Marie LaCroix?"

  "None other."

  "You should have told me; I can charter something from the marina here, I'm sure. I don't want to put her out."

  "No, you won't. I talked to her already. She's between assignments for Clarence. She's chilling out after a few weeks in the jungle down in Venezuela chasing down coke-processing factories. They've just finished up a DEA contract. She wants you to take her along and help her brush up on her sailing."

  "But I'm only planning on sailing back to Rodney Bay."

  "She's fine with that. Besides, you need her for this scheme Sandrine's cooked up."

  "Tell me," Liz said.

  "I have already granted the departure clearance from Martinique for Kayak Spirit. Marie is shown as the captain, and Sylvia Jeanneau is her crew." Sandrine was a senior officer with French customs, responsible for the office in Le Marin.

  "Who is Sylvia Jeanneau?" Liz asked, frowning again.

  "You will be Sylvia Jeanneau."

  "But what about my passport?"

  "She has it."

  "Marie has it?"

  "Yes. She was using it sometimes. Her picture is in it, but she was changing her hair to a red-blonde, much the same like your hair," Sandrine said, studying Liz in the dim light. "Maybe a little darker, but no matter. And you have both the eyes green. It will be you."

  "I'm lost," Liz said. "Maybe I'm just too tired, but can you make it simple for me?"

  "Sure," Phillip said. "Step one: You and Marie sail Kayak Spirit to Rodney Bay and get in sometime early in the morning. If you leave in the next hour, that'll put you in about two or three a.m. You with me?"

  "Yes, so far."

  "Okay. Step two: When customs and immigration open, you and Marie will be their first customers. She'll clear in with Kayak Spirit and show Sylvia Jeanneau as her crew. They'll do the paperwork and stamp both passports. Got it?"

  "Yes, I think I see. Marie will say Sylvia is still on Kayak Spirit, right?"

  Phillip smiled and nodded. "Step three: You, Liz Chirac, clear out with Vengeance for Ste. Anne."

  "But what about Dani? She's on the paperwork. They won't let me leave without taking her."

  "That's right, except I've already spoken with Cedric; I called him at home. He has faxed a memo to them on his letterhead as the Deputy Commissioner of Police explaining that Dani's a missing person and that her passport is being held by the local police station in Rodney Bay."

  "Ah," Liz said, grinning. "And as soon as I have the clearance, I'll call you, and Sandrine will clear me into Ste. Anne sometime tomorrow. Vengeance and Liesbet Chirac won't be in St. Lucia any more. The authorities don't stand a chance against you guys."

  "But Liz," Sandrine said, with a smile and an exaggerated wink, "the children will not try to do this in their own houses. Here, I am the authorities."

  "We need to get you to the marina," Phillip said. "Marie's waiting."

  "I want to see what's in his backpack, first."

  "You haven't looked?"

  "Too busy single-handing Vengeance," Liz said, standing to work
the dead man's wallet out of the pocket of her shorts. She flipped it open and studied the man's driver's license. "Samir Islam Gorshani," she read, and shrugged. "There are some E.C. bank notes, no credit cards, nothing else."

  She tossed the wallet on the table and picked up the backpack, unzipping it. She pulled out a semiautomatic pistol and laid it on the table. "I tossed one over the side," she said. "Guess he wanted plenty of firepower." She found a cellphone with several missed calls showing on the screen. "Must be set to silent," she said. "I didn't hear it ring." She swiped the screen. "It wants a passcode."

  "Leave it with the wallet," Phillip said. "Maybe one of Clarence's guys can crack it."

  Liz extracted a stack of passports held together by a heavy rubber band. "Greek," she said, snapping the rubber band off and thumbing them open one by one, dropping them on the table after she examined the photographs. Shaking her head, she said, "Nobody I recognize."

  "I will check these in the morning," Sandrine said, scooping the wallet and the passports back into the backpack.

  "Thanks, Sandrine." Liz said, bending to kiss her cheek. "Guess I'm ready, Phillip. Let's go."

  Chapter 11

  "Rashid?" Hamid Lanjwani asked, as he held his phone to his ear, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

  "Yes. Who is this?"

  "Hamid Lanjwani. Where is your brother?"

  "I do not know, emir. I have been trying to call him, but only I go to his voicemail."

  "Yes, me, too. Did he go to the woman's yacht?"

  "Yes. I took him there while she was away, this afternoon. He was going to call me to pick him up later."

  "He should have called hours ago," Lanjwani said.

  "Yes, I agree."

  "Where are you, Rashid? I want you to see if the yacht is gone."

  "Emir, I watched the yacht leave. I am anchored off the beach behind the breakwater, with the fishing boats. I can see from here. The yacht is not there."

  "When did it leave?"

  "About four this afternoon, emir. The woman came back and unloaded groceries, and Samir was waiting inside for her. She went below, and in a few minutes, she came up on deck and left the anchorage."

  "Did you see Samir when she was leaving?"

  "No, but I thought he would stay out of sight, emir, so — "

  "Yes," Lanjwani interrupted. "I understand. Could you see which way they went?"

  "West. Samir was going to make her take him out to the deep water, and — "

  "Yes, Rashid. I know that. He was supposed to get the yacht out of sight of land."

  "Yes. It was out of sight, but she was a very beautiful woman, emir. Samir, he — "

  "I understand, Rashid. I expected that he would amuse himself with her, but it's been eight hours, now."

  "Do you wish that I should go out and look for the yacht, emir? Perhaps something — "

  "No. Stay close. I may need you. If you hear from him, call me immediately. Do you understand?"

  "Of course, emir."

  ****

  "I think I like it this color," Liz said.

  "It changes your appearance, for sure." Marie LaCroix had given Liz the red-blonde hair coloring from her makeup kit after they returned to Kayak Spirit from customs and immigration. Marie held the Sylvia Jeanneau passport in her hand as she compared Liz's new look to the passport photograph. "I think it's enough of a change so that only someone who knows you well would recognize you. Just a little more red than your natural color — enough to catch the eye. You will be Sylvia, now, to everyone else."

  "I never thought you and I looked alike," Liz said, taking the passport. She studied the photograph and then looked up at her reflection in the mirror on the bulkhead. "But you're right."

  "Yes. The resemblance is superficial, but people are easily deceived." She chuckled, running her hand through her curly, pale blonde hair. "I straighten it, and put in the red a little, and I'm Sylvia. Of course, that is my picture, but men ... " She laughed again.

  "What?" Liz asked, eyebrows raised.

  "Men. I was just remembering when I was Sylvia. Men, they are so easy to fool, for a woman."

  "Shallow?" Liz asked, smiling.

  "Yes, aren't they?" Marie asked. "Shall we go up to the restaurant?"

  "I could fix us something," Liz said.

  Marie shook her head. "Sylvia is helpless in the galley; you must change your behavior, not just your appearance. That is what takes the disguise beyond superficial. You are Sylvia, for now. Liz is in Martinique."

  "Let's go then. I might like being Sylvia."

  Liz turned to the companionway ladder and climbed out into Kayak Spirit's cockpit, surprised by the proximity of the boat a couple of meters away on their port side. She stepped onto the finger pier and waited while Marie locked the companionway. They had taken dock space at the marina in the lagoon to increase their freedom of movement.

  "I miss being at anchor," Liz said, as they strolled up the dock toward the shops and restaurants. "It's claustrophobic in a slip."

  "Yes. But you and Dani are always anchored. Changing the boat without changing your habits only does part of the job. Besides, at anchor, anyone can watch the dinghy come and go and know whether you are aboard."

  "Do you ever lose track?" Liz asked.

  "Of who I am?"

  "Yes," Liz said. "Or where you are?"

  "Always, I am who I choose to be. When I chose to live this way, I became the chameleon, you see. After all these years, it is why I am alive. So, I am many different people, but only one at a time. And always, I am where I am. To be unaware of where I am is to be vulnerable."

  "And right now, you are Marie LaCroix, in Rodney Bay?"

  "Yes. The one who served in the IDF, and later with Interpol before she retired to Martinique. She is my favorite, for when I am relaxing."

  "Is she the original you?"

  "Perhaps she is one of the originals, in some ways."

  "Where did she come from, before the IDF?"

  "A kibbutz. Her brother was killed in a terrorist rocket attack."

  "And is that what drove Marie to become what she is?"

  "A good cover is a complex persona, Liz. No one thing drove you to become Liz Chirac, is it so?"

  Liz thought about that for a moment as they followed the hostess to a table with a view of the boats at the dock. "I see what you mean. Are all of your personas so complex? How about Sylvia?"

  "You are Sylvia. You are not Marie, you see?"

  "But you are Sylvia, sometimes."

  "Every person is sometimes another person, Sylvia. It is always so. Some do not realize it, and for them, it is nothing."

  "But that's different from deciding to be a different person, isn't it?"

  "Only slightly. You are Sylvia now. I am Marie. We fix that in our minds, yes? It is how we will find Dani without these others killing our friend Liz."

  "Okay. I get it, Marie. I just want to be a convincing Sylvia."

  "No, I think you do not quite 'get it,' but you will. You are the only Sylvia, not a convincing Sylvia. I am not Sylvia. The Sylvia who I may have once been does not exist now. Focus on being yourself, Sylvia."

  Liz gave a firm nod. "No more. I'm starting to get a headache. I need food."

  "After we eat, we go back to the boat and make the call to see what our friends have learned," Marie said. "For now, we chill out and look at the beautiful boats."

  ****

  Detective Constable Lucas picked his way through the detritus at the high-water mark on the beach where Herbert Watson had been killed. He could make no sense of the facts of the case as he knew them, and had decided to visit the scene and try to visualize what had happened. He flipped through his notebook, looking for the timeline he had developed. Finding it, he paused, studying it to fix the events in his mind.

  Derek Mitchum, the missing eyewitness, had been fishing among the anchored yachts. He had explained at length how the lights from the yachts drew baitfish to the surface, which attracte
d the larger fish he was seeking. Immediately after dark, the other fishermen began working their way through the boats, casting nets to catch the baitfish which they then took away to bait their lines as they trolled in the deeper water.

  Mitchum had stumbled across the idea of waiting until the others had left, and then fishing among the yachts. He thought that the bigger fish might be drawn into the shallows by the baitfish, feeding in the pools of light from the anchored vessels. His success had prompted others to copy his idea. Lucas flipped to a fresh page and made a note to have the harbor patrol come out that evening and question the other fishermen. Someone else might have witnessed the spat between the Berger woman and Watson.

  Lucas flipped back to his summary of Mitchum's testimony. The man had begun fishing at about nine p.m., but had lost track of the time and couldn't say when he had heard the woman yelling. Mitchum had looked up from his fishing to see the two people on the deck of the yacht in the moonlight, and had seen Herbert Watkins dive into the water and swim away from the yacht, Vengeance. The woman had stood on deck and cursed him, saying that if she caught him again, she'd kill him, or something to that effect.

  Mitchum had been vague about the exact words she had used, but the meaning had been clear, and he was certain that it was the woman who lived on the boat. There had been enough ambient light from shore, together with the moonlight, for him to see her face. She had watched Watson swimming away for a moment and had then climbed down into the dinghy tied alongside the boat and gone in pursuit.

  She had caught up with Watson as he stood up in the knee-deep water a few meters from shore, and she had jumped out and struck him. He had yelled and fallen into the water, and she had left, returning to her boat. As Lucas thought about Mitchum's statement, he wondered for the first time about how Watson's body had come to be so far up on the sandy beach. According to Mitchum, she had left the victim in the knee-deep water where she caught him.

  Lucas flipped through his notes to the coroner's report. The cause of death had been a single stab wound. The knife had been driven up under the victim's ribs from the front, penetrating his heart, an experienced knife-fighter's thrust. The coroner's estimate was that death had been nearly instantaneous. Lucas chewed his lower lip. Someone must have moved the body. The first officer on the scene had been summoned by a telephone call from two tourists. The man and his wife had been staying at the timeshares nearby and had been beachcombing.