by J. P. Lane
Allan’s response had been a pragmatic shrug. “Look,” he said meeting Logan’s gaze, “I know you don’t want to believe this, but with what I see going on in this country, I wouldn’t put my head on the block for anyone. No, Gordon isn’t hurting as far as we know, but you never can tell what a man will do on account of greed.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed as he now also recalled Lauren’s interview with him up at the cottage. Lauren had been digging, no doubt about it. Gordon was what she had been after. Could it be that she had dropped that ball to catch the far bigger story and that was why he had heard no further from her? But there was another possibility to consider, Logan suddenly realized uneasily. Could it be that Lauren had somehow caught wind of his involvement in the assassination? If that were the case, how could she possibly have found out? The plan had been foolproof, down to the last detail. He conceded Mike may have drawn his own conclusions based on the research he had asked Mike to do, but if so, he was confident Mike’s lips were forever sealed. Lauren, not yet proven, was a different matter altogether. Logan drummed his fingers on his desk thinking.
FORTY-TWO
Prime Minister’s Death May Be Linked To Drug Trafficking
Dan Matthews calls the investigation an outrage
By LAUREN ANDERSON
An ongoing investigation by the Criminal Investigation Department has uncovered evidence that the late Prime Minister, Erick Freeman, may have been involved in an operation responsible for the transshipment of up to twenty tons of cocaine through the island’s main port. Part of the evidence implicating the late Prime Minister was gathered in wiretaps of conversations between Mr. Freeman and Mr. Frank Sterling, the Minister of National Security and Defense. Further to this, the C.I.D. traced calls made from Mr. Sterling’s home to an unlisted number in Cali, Colombia as recently as the evening following the Prime Minister’s assassination. Mr. Sterling resigned from the Cabinet two days after the assassination of the Prime Minister. Mr. Sterling was not available for comment at the time of this report.
In a statement to Island Daily News, Robert Palmer, Chief Inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department, said, “Whereas there is a possibility the wiretaps may not be admissible as evidence in court unless deemed admissible by a judge taking special circumstances into account, they validate evidence gathered in a recent investigation conducted by the Criminal Investigation Department.” Irvine Wallace, a senior C.I.D. detective, found probable cause to believe cocaine was being transferred from a cargo vessel named the Marianna to a container ship owned and operated by Indies Shipping. The Indies Shipping vessel, the Patricia, sails between the island’s capital and the port of Durres in Albania. The Marianna’s port of origin was Bluefields, Nicaragua. Evidence collaborating Wallace’s claim the Marianna was transporting cocaine came from an unexpected source. During interrogation by the C.I.D, one of the suspects in the McGuire boat murders admitted to having knowledge of cocaine being shipped from Colombia via a vessel named the Marianna. The suspect told the C.I.D. he had once seen the vessel.
Detective Wallace also reported corruption within Customs during an interview earlier this year with Island Daily News. Wallace reported that while working undercover as a Customs Inspector for six months, he was instructed by his immediate superior at Customs to give the Marianna carte blanche by signing off on the ship’s manifests regardless of irregularities in return for bonus pay. He was also instructed not to conduct inspections of the ship, even in instances where inspections may have been deemed appropriate. Wallace was murdered before completing his investigation. The case has still not been solved.
Dan Matthews, CEO of Indies Shipping, has called the investigation an outrage, a slap in the face to the process of law and a pathetic attempt on the part of the C.I.D. to find scapegoats. In a response statement given to Island Daily News, Robert Palmer admitted no cocaine was found during a recent search of the Patricia by the C.I.D. However, the C.I.D. is forging ahead with the investigation, Palmer says.
Maria’s anger chilled the room to the point where Jorgé, who had just arrived at her beckoning, stopped dead in his tracks. “Have you seen this?” she seethed as she walked over to the giant plasma TV in her living room and replayed the news clip she had recorded. She remained standing beside the TV, watching Jorgé’s face like a hawk for his reaction. “Pray tell what do you have to say about that little disaster?” she asked in a voice like a whip.
Jorgé was thrown off guard. “I’d say Sterling has lost his mind,” he said lamely.
“Lost his mind! He didn’t have one to begin with! Qué idiota! Now they’ve linked us to the assassination!”
“I think you’re overreacting, Maria. The news report merely stated Sterling called Cali. It did not say who he called. I’m sure if they had been able to trace the calls back to us, it would have been on the news. Besides, I had the number Sterling used to contact us disconnected before our man arrived on the island in case something like this might happen.”
Maria’s anger was not nullified, neither was her concern diminished. “How can you be so sure the calls can’t be traced back to us? Law enforcement is capable of getting any information these days. And what about the ship?”
“It was unfortunate they found out about the ship. But it’s not the end of the world. The ship has a Panamanian registration that can’t be traced to us. But just to make sure that little piece of evidence disappears forever, we’ll take it out to sea and sink it. It will be no loss. It’s an old junker, not even worth the scrap metal.”
“I strongly suggest you sink the captain with it,” Maria snarled.
“That can be arranged easily enough,” Jorgé complied with a placating smile. “We’ll just plant an explosive device in the ship and send him on a voyage to heaven.”
That problem solved, Maria simmered down somewhat. “In view of this mess, it will be impossible to move anything through the island again,” she said. “It would be too risky, even if we waited for a while.”
“It’s no longer an issue. Sterling has disappeared and there’s no one else.”
“Disappeared? How do you know he’s disappeared?”
Jorgé smiled secretively. “I have my ways and means of getting information, Maria.”
“But I’m very curious to know what your ways and means are,” she pouted petulantly.
Jorgé laughed. “Don’t give me that look. It won’t work this time.”
“Pero yo soy el jefe,” she objected, coming over to him and running her fingers through his hair. Her perfume was intoxicating as she murmured, “And because I’m the boss, nothing should be withheld from me, nada.”
“Nothing?” he murmured pulling her face to his and kissing her. She slid down on the couch beside him. He whispered something in her ear.
“Right this minute?” she teased with a coy look.
“Sí, este minuto. You drive me crazy with desire.”
“Don’t tell me, show me how crazy I drive you,” she breathed.
She had already lost a shoe as he pinned her against her bedroom wall and kissed her brutally, gripping her wrists together behind her back with one hand while the other fondled her breasts mercilessly. Her breath started coming in rapid bursts. She pushed her body against his, snaking sinuously, her breasts rubbing against his chest, her pelvis grinding into him. He started at her neck and shoulders, nibbling with little bites until he reached her left breast and, with his tongue, found the hardened nipple protruding through the thin white silk blouse. First, he bit gently, then hard until Maria gasped. Then, he picked her up and carried her to the bed, throwing her forcefully onto it.
“Show me how crazy I make you,” she challenged hoarsely, fighting him like an animal, red-painted talons tearing at his skin as he ripped her blouse apart and undid the zipper of her jeans with one swift seamless motion. He mounted her and she yelled, “Pull my hair, yank it hard!” He grabbed a fistful of the silken tresses and yanked repeatedly then dove into her with all his stren
gth, sweating like a bull. Her eyes glazed with ecstasy. As the waves subsided and her body went limp she whispered with a little laugh, “I love when you go crazy, Jorgé. You make me soar like an eagle. You make me shoot out of myself up to the stars. The whole universe is mine when I’m with you.”
Spent, they lay together. Her eyes were closed as she curled up to him and purred with contentment. She eventually fell asleep on his shoulder like a child. Jorgé kissed her forehead and caressed her hair as she slept, unable to show such tenderness while she was awake and her demons were with her. He feared for her and he wondered if her life would ever be what her father would have wished for her. He didn’t see how. His Maria was already well on her way down the one-way road to perdition.
FORTY-THREE
The baby blue Jaguar sports convertible made its way down the country road with sugarcane fields on either side then turned into the long driveway, driving past the tree-shaded lawns and flowering gardens before pulling up at the back of the great house. Virginia got out and went to the kitchen holding a bag of groceries in each hand.
“Clara, could you help me get the rest of the groceries out of the car? Did Mr. Matthews have lunch?” Virginia asked her housekeeper in one rushed breath.
“No, Mrs. Matthews, he went back to bed right after you left.”
“Is he sleeping?”
“I don’t know, ma’am, he might be watching TV. I heard the TV on in the room not too long ago.”
The drapes were drawn and the bedroom was in semi-darkness when Virginia peeked in on Gordon. She went over to the bed and touched him lightly on his shoulder. “Are you all right? How come you’re sleeping at this hour?” Seeing Gordon not budge, she shook him gently. Still, he didn’t stir. Virginia sniffed. There was a slightly foul odor in the room, but it was probably coming from the bathroom, she surmised. She shook Gordon harder and, again, attempted to wake him. This time there was urgency in her voice. “Gordon! What’s the matter? Are you not feeling well?” She stopped and looked down at him. Her throat tightened as the unthinkable flitted through her mind. She quickly pushed the thought away and placed her hand on her husband’s forehead.
Her cries could be heard from across the house before she reached the kitchen. “Clara,” she sobbed as the housekeeper spun around, mouth agape. “Mr. Matthews… he isn’t breathing.” Unable to speak any longer, she ran out of the kitchen and back to the room.
Clara caught up with her at the bedside. She turned to Clara with frightened eyes and said in a stifled voice, “We need to call an ambulance before it’s too late.” Worriedly, Clara went over to the bed. Virginia watched as she took Gordon’s icy hand in hers. Next, the housekeeper placed her other hand on Gordon’s chest and felt for his heartbeat. Her face fell. Virginia knew what she would hear even before the words were uttered.
A few minutes after four, Logan’s executive assistant entered the conference room at International Media and Entertainment and walked over to Logan’s side. She bent and whispered, “Mr. Armstrong, there’s an urgent call for you. It’s your sister. I explained you’re in a meeting, but she sounded very upset.”
Logan excused himself and hurried to his office.
“Virginia? What on earth has happened?” he asked anxiously.
Wracking sobs were the only answer he could get.
After a minute, an unfamiliar voice said, “Is this Logan?”
“Who is this?” Logan asked, now alarmed.
“I’m a friend of Virginia’s. I shouldn’t be the one to be giving you such news.” The person hesitated, increasing Logan’s alarm. “I’m sorry this has to come from a stranger. Gordon passed away today.”
Logan was speechless.
“They think it was a heart attack.”
Stunned, Logan asked, “When did this happen?”
“Nobody knows for sure, but it must have been while Virginia was out. She found him in bed when she got home. She called for an ambulance immediately, but he was already gone by the time they got there.”
Still stunned, Logan asked to speak to Virginia again.
Virginia came back on the phone sobbing uncontrollably.
“Virginia, try and speak to me,” Logan said with a calm he did not feel. Virginia remained completely incoherent. “Listen,” Logan at last told her, “Just hang in there. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
It was after midnight when Logan arrived at Vale Verde to find the Matthews clan assembled and Virginia in a state of prescription-induced calm. On seeing Logan, she jumped up from the sofa where she had been sitting with the two other Matthews wives. As he hugged her, she again dissolved into tears.
“I can’t believe it,” she cried into his shoulder.
“I can’t believe it either,” Logan murmured, lost for any other words.
They stood hugging each other until he sat her down and took a seat next to her.
Stella, Dan Matthews’ wife, immediately pounced on him with typical hysteria. “Logan, I can’t tell you how relieved we are you’re here. Virginia has taken it very badly.”
Logan stared at her blankly. Her remark seemed rather inane under the circumstances.
“Can I get you anything?” Gary’s wife pitched in.
Logan opened his mouth to say something and stopped. Her name had completely escaped him.
“We got hold of the children. They’re arriving tomorrow,” they informed him in one voice.
“Good. What time are they getting here?” he asked mechanically.
“In the afternoon. They’re coming in on two different flights. That’s going to take some organizing.”
All of a sudden Logan felt claustrophobic. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go outside and pay my respects to Dan and Gary,” he said rising abruptly. He glanced at Virginia as he left. Her eyes were swollen and her hair was disheveled. “I’ll be right back,” he said gently.
Gordon’s brothers were sitting on the verandah in silent contemplation as Logan stepped outside. Logan shook hands and seated himself next to Dan. “What happened exactly?” he asked after a while.
“It could have been a heart attack,” Dan said morosely. “But the doctors can’t be sure until they do an autopsy. The odd thing is Gordon was in excellent health. According to Virginia, he had his annual just last month. Passed with flying colors. There was absolutely nothing to indicate he had any kind of heart problem, or blood pressure problem.”
“I wouldn’t rule out a heart attack. Gordon had enough on his plate without having to deal with being bad mouthed by the press,” Gary interjected bitterly.
Logan let the remark pass. They all said nothing more for a few minutes.
“When are they planning on doing an autopsy?” Logan asked.
“Tomorrow, but I doubt we’ll hear the results until the day after.”
The conversation came to an abrupt halt with Virginia’s unexpected arrival on the veranda. “I think I’ll get some sleep now,” she smiled groggily at Logan.
“Are you all right?” Logan asked, observing her dazed look with concern.
“Yes, I’ll be fine,” she said stepping back unsteadily and almost falling.
The three men scrambled to her aid, Logan quickly taking charge. “Think I better see you to your room,” he said leading her away by the arm.
It was with effort that he succeeded in fending off the Matthews wives who were suffocating him with their good intentions as he led Virginia through the living room to her bedroom. When they got there, Virginia stood stock-still in the doorway.
“I don’t think I can sleep here,” she said on the verge of tears again.
“Where will you sleep?” Logan asked helplessly.
“Maybe in your room,” she faltered. Then she broke down.
Logan searched frantically for the words of comfort that eluded him. What was there to say that would make any difference when a loved one passed away? There were no words in the face of such heartrending grief. His sister was completely broken, looking lik
e a woman of twice her years, yet showing the helplessness of a child. What could he say to comfort her?
Virginia pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I’m sorry, Logan,” she said drying her eyes. “I know this is tough on you. Where is Ivy? Has anyone contacted her?”
Logan’s shoulders sagged with relief. It was beginning to dawn on him he was not good at this kind of thing. “I’ll call in the morning and ask Trevor to drive her here,” he quickly offered. “I know she’ll want to be with you at a time like this. Come, let’s get you to bed.”
When he saw the bedroom that had been his until Virginia inherited Vale Verde his mouth dropped open. The room was unrecognizable, done up to look like something in Architectural Digest. Nothing of him remained. Nothing of his boyhood years. Nothing of his teen years. Nothing. “Virginia, what on earth have you done to this room?” he asked.
Seeing his nonplussed expression, Virginia managed a smile. “Patience pays off, dear brother.”
“What has patience got to do with this outrage I’m looking at?”
“Well, here’s the thing, if you insist on knowing,” she smiled impishly, “When we were children, I always wanted this room. Now it’s mine, I can do anything I want with it.”
“I see you’ve wasted no time,” Logan retorted with a straight face. “What you’re really trying to tell me is the appearance of this room is the result of severe psychological damage incurred by all the yukky, girly frills and fluff that was cruelly imposed on you at great expense during your childhood.”
“That was mean of you, Logan,” Virginia scowled in jest. “But if you want to know the truth, I kind of envied you your Superman and Batman posters, and your model cars. You would never let me touch them, remember?”
