Bluewater Stalker: The Sixth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 6)

by Charles Dougherty

  "I've read some of his stuff; I think it's pretty good," Bill objected.

  "That's because he's playing back your own ideas, Bill. No offense, but of course his killer character sounds good to you. He's practically lifted the character right out of your profiles. That's the only part of his stuff that hangs together, and it's not original. The rest of his book is pure crap."

  "I didn't realize you'd read it," Bill said.

  "Bill, he had 50,000 words written years ago, back when he first showed up on campus. He gave it to most of us — his students — at one time or another. He just keeps recycling it. I'd bet the only new material in there is what he's gotten from you. He's a loser."

  "But his agent …"

  "All we know about this agent is what David has told us. You ever talk with her? Even know her name?"

  "No, but …"

  Liz stood up and gave Dani a quick look, frowning. "I'm going to get lunch started. It's early, but we've got about another hour of calm seas and then we'll hit the rough water around the north end of St. Vincent before we get into the channel. Can I get anybody anything? Coffee, Jane?"

  Jane stood as well. "Sounds good; I'm still groggy. I'll come below while the sea's calm and keep you company."

  "The breeze is starting to fill in, Bill. I think if we kill the autopilot, we can probably sail. Why don't you take the helm, and I'll shut down the engine and trim the sails while they get lunch going?" Dani asked, returning Liz's look.

  ****

  The killer wrinkled his nose at the stench of rotting fish as he stepped aboard the battered 40-foot boat tied to the fisheries dock in Kingstown. He wore dirty, tattered clothes, and with the walnut-colored stain he had applied to his exposed skin, he easily passed for a light-skinned local fisherman.

  He had taken a quick water taxi trip from Bequia to get to the airport in St. Vincent. Once in the terminal, he had checked in on a flight to Miami by way of Barbados. He had made prior arrangements involving a substantial bribe with the gate agent. Once he had taken the ticket before general boarding, the agent had shown the killer out the side door of the gate, allowing him access to the tarmac. The killer had then made his way to the undergrowth along the airport fence, where he had paused long enough to disguise himself. He had slithered under the fence and walked to the nearby road, where he caught a bus to the waterfront in Kingstown.

  It wasn't a perfect disappearance, but it would buy him some time. A cursory check of the immigration records would show that he had left Saint Vincent and the Grenadines bound for Miami, and only a thorough check of the airline's records might prove otherwise. For the time being, he was invisible to the authorities, and when he resurfaced, it would be under one of his other identities.

  He went forward into the shabby fishing boat's low cabin to stash his duffel bag. The captain and his mate were sitting on a filthy mattress, passing a bottle of white rum back and forth; cigarette smoke hung in a blue cloud in the poorly ventilated space. The captain held out the bottle in his claw-like right hand, which was missing the index and middle fingers. When the killer had shaken hands with the captain yesterday after coming to agreement on their terms, he had discovered the mangled hand had a grip like a steel trap in spite of the missing digits. He shook his head at the offered bottle. "No, thanks."

  The captain shrugged and handed the bottle back to his mate. "You got the money?"

  The killer nodded, giving the captain a greasy envelope. The captain put it in his pocket without opening it.

  "Not gonna count it?"

  The captain laughed, a rumbling sound deep in his massive chest. "Nobody cheat me, mon. Not ever. Too much get in trouble."

  The killer nodded. "When do we leave?"

  "Soon come, mon. Not time yet. Don' worry none. We gon' be get you to Laborie jus' when you need to be. Nobody gon' be aroun' then, so you be in St. Lucia clean."

  "Can't we leave now? Go slow?"

  "No, mon. You got yo' business. I got some business, too. Some cargo soon come. We wait. Not long."

  The killer considered this; he wasn't happy at the prospect that they might be smuggling something — drugs, probably. He thought for a moment, assessing his options, and decided to play along, at least for now. Running contraband added some risk, but it also provided some extra cover. If things didn't go to suit him, he could always dispatch the captain and mate and scuttle this wreck of a boat a mile or so offshore from his destination. Swimming in would be no problem; his duffel bag was waterproof and of neutral buoyancy. He could tow it behind him if he had to. He nodded and reached for the rum.

  Chapter 12

  The killer had realized the decrepit appearance of the vessel was a ruse once the half-drunken captain started the powerful diesel engine. It was about an hour after sunset when they pulled smoothly away from the dock. There had been no delivery of the 'cargo' the captain had mentioned earlier, so the killer wasn't surprised when they hove to without lights a few miles offshore from Kingstown. The captain and mate snapped at one another as they scanned the dark horizon, tension evident in every exchange of words. After a short wait, there was a flicker of light out to the west. The captain snatched the flashlight the mate had been holding. He covered the lens with his good hand before switching it on, using his fingers as a shutter to send a coded signal in response to the flashes of light in the distance.

  The killer noticed both men were armed with MAC-10s, all but confirming his earlier suspicion that they were smuggling drugs. The machine pistols were as good as a signed confession. He shook his head at their choice of weapons, thinking something with a little more effective range would have made more sense in the open water. When they saw another series of flashes from the other vessel, the captain looked at the mate and nodded toward the helm.

  The mate started the engine again and put them on a course to approach the unlighted vessel. In less than five minutes, a large shadowy hulk loomed from the darkness, barely visible in the faint light from the sliver of moon that peeked through the clouds behind them. When they were about 25 yards away, a dim red lamp came on aboard the ship, providing just enough light for them to see two men waving them alongside a catwalk that hung suspended a few feet above the calm surface of the dark water. The mate eased the fishing boat's port gunwale under the catwalk, holding a steady position by using brief bursts of power as the two vessels rolled in the swell. The two men on the catwalk hefted a large, burlap-covered bale, holding it for a moment until the captain had positioned himself to guide it safely into the cockpit of the fishing boat. As he turned back to the men on the catwalk, they passed him another bale. Without a word or a sign, the mate nudged the throttle forward and the ship was soon lost in the darkness again.

  The captain turned to his passenger and studied his face, frowning. The killer said, "It's your business, captain. I saw nothing."

  The captain held his eye for a long moment. Then he nodded and reached into a cubbyhole by the helm, withdrawing a fresh bottle of clear, white rum. He broke the seal and took a swig, offering it to his passenger. The killer smiled and shook his head. The mate reached back for the bottle. He took a long drink, belched, and handed it back to the captain, who capped it and returned it to its place.

  The rest of the trip was uneventful. They had dropped the killer in the village of Laborie on St. Lucia's south coast a little before dawn, pausing at the dock only long enough for him to step ashore with his duffel bag. He watched as the unlighted boat left the harbor and turned to the east toward Vieux Fort, the next harbor along the south coast of St. Lucia. He walked up the dock, surveying his surroundings as he went. Once he was on solid ground, he found a shadowy spot and changed clothes. He hung an expensive-looking camera around his neck and began walking to the northwest, following the road toward Soufriere. As the darkness gave way to dawn, he began pausing every so often to make photographs of the birds and flowers as he waited for a taxi or a bus to come along.

  He altered his appearance several times as he ch
anged buses en route to the resort area on the south side of Rodney Bay. When he got there, it was late enough in the morning so he easily lost himself among the sunburned tourists. He stood on the beach, scanning the anchored yachts in the bay with his powerful telephoto lens until he spotted the one he was seeking. It was anchored on the far side of Rodney Bay, near the new condo development with its private harbor. He walked back into the shopping area, looking for a travel agency.

  ****

  Dani had gone ashore early enough to be the first in line at the customs office, but the inbound clearance had still taken longer than it should. Being the first customer meant the three officers had not yet gotten themselves organized; they were drinking tea and trying to find the various forms they needed for the day's work. Recognizing her from previous visits, one of the men had handed her a cup of tea to keep her occupied while he fumbled through desk drawers for the forms she needed to complete. By the time she got back to Vengeance, Liz was serving brunch in the shade of the cockpit awning. Dani put her sheaf of papers below at the nav station and poured herself a mug of black coffee. She went back up to the cockpit and took a seat, joining the conversation.

  "I'm feeling a compulsion to work today," Bill was saying as she took her first sip of coffee.

  "But I thought this was a vacation," Liz said, cutting her eyes to watch Jane's face.

  "Well, it is but I …"

  "He's just that way, Liz," Jane said, with surprisingly good humor. "He's writing up everything he can think of about these awful killings."

  "Things are so different down here," he explained. "No media coverage, for one thing, but the people react on a much more personal level than they would back home. It's heartening, in a way that I can't quite describe. They seem so much more, I don't know quite how to say it — human, I guess — than the people at home do in this sort of situation."

  Liz nodded. "How about you, Jane?"

  "I was looking at the guidebook last night. Castries sounds like a place I'd like to spend some time. It's not far, is it?"

  "No. It's only a few minutes from the marina in a taxi or by bus," Liz agreed. "It's a charming city; it's beautiful, and it's small enough to cover on foot if you're willing to spend a few hours. Architecturally, it's a real blend of old and new, but they've made quite an effort to harmonize the two and keep the flavor of the old Caribbean. There's a big local market that's got a bit of everything — food, clothing, arts — you name it. There's a huge duty-free mall, and a couple of other tourist malls, not to mention a lot of interesting local shops and a gallery or two."

  "Sounds like a great place for retail therapy," Jane said. "Why don't the three of us have a girls' day out? You can show me around, and I'll treat us all to a big, long lunch. That way, we'll give Bill the whole day to get his work done."

  "I can make some sandwiches for you before we go, Bill," Liz said.

  "Don't bother; I'll fend for myself, as long as you don't mind me poking around in the fridge."

  ****

  The killer sat on the balcony of the luxury condo, nursing a glass of ice-cold passion fruit juice as he watched the yachts below. They were moving gently, tugging at their anchors as the breeze caught them. From here, he could keep an eye on his quarry without using the telephoto lens.

  He was in a new country, free to strike again. This part of St. Lucia suited him perfectly; it was overrun with tourists, so he had plenty of cover. This would be a good place to take the game to the next level. He had already laid the groundwork in Bequia, but he needed to feed the authorities another piece of damning information about Fitzgerald. This could well be exactly the right place to spring his trap and accelerate the pace of the game.

  He caught a flicker of movement on one of the yachts; they were no more than a couple of hundred yards away. He set his drink down and lifted the camera to his eye, adjusting the zoom and the focus as he rested his elbows on the table to steady the image. Three women were getting into a dinghy from the yacht he was watching. He swung the camera, following them as they left the yacht and headed toward the entrance to the marina across the Bay.

  He wondered how long they would be gone. He glanced at his watch, thinking if they weren't back in an hour, they were likely gone for the afternoon. This could be just the opening he needed. He hadn't been expecting to strike during daylight, but he could deal with that. Embracing change was healthy; all the self-help gurus said so. It would give him a fresh challenge, so the game would take on a new dimension for him as well as for the others. He smiled as he put the camera down and picked up the frosted glass of juice. He would watch for an hour; if they didn't come back by then, he would go downstairs and see what opportunity might present itself.

  Chapter 13

  Dani was keeping Liz company in the galley while she started breakfast when they heard the rumble of a powerful engine approaching at idle speed. The Fitzgeralds were beginning to stir, but they had not yet emerged from their cabin. Jane and Bill had been late going to bed last night; Jane had been chattering away to Bill about their excursion to Castries when Dani and Liz excused themselves to go to sleep.

  Dani mounted the companionway ladder and poked her head out as a long, low, orange rigid inflatable boat with coast guard markings bumped gently alongside. Several armed men stared at her, stern looks on their faces. She stepped into the cockpit, frowning.

  "Good morning," she offered, thinking one of the men looked familiar from her visit to the Customs and Immigration office yesterday.

  "Good morning. Royal St. Lucia Police, ma'am. We will be boarding you just now. How many people aboard the vessel?"

  "Four."

  "Are you the captain?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you have any weapons aboard?"

  "No."

  "Please have everyone aboard come up on deck immediately."

  Dani stuck her head below and passed the word to Liz as the men watched her every move. In her time at sea, she had experienced a number of routine official boardings, but somehow this one seemed more serious, even a bit threatening. She stepped back as Liz and the Fitzgeralds came up the ladder.

  "Captain, please remain in the cockpit. You other three, please go stand on the port side deck and face us. Please don't make any sudden movements."

  There was a man at the bow and another at the stern of the patrol boat. Each held an assault rifle at the ready as they watched Liz and the Fitzgeralds move to the side deck. Three men stepped smartly onto the inflated tube at the side of the patrol boat. Two were in uniform; one wore a starched white shirt with a tie. At a nod from the man in the tie, they climbed over Vengeance's lifelines. The man in civilian clothes stepped into the cockpit and stood beside Dani. The other two drew their pistols and quickly went below. There were sounds of doors and lockers being opened and closed, and in less than a minute, one of the men came up the companionway ladder far enough to poke his head out into the cockpit. "Clear below," he reported.

  All the men relaxed visibly.

  "Sorry for the drama," the man standing by Dani said, "but we never know what to expect in these situations."

  Dani nodded. "I understand. What can we do for you?"

  "I'm Chief Inspector Roberts of the Royal St. Lucia Police Force. We're here at the request of our colleagues from Grenada and St. Vincent and the Grenadines." He turned and gestured at two of the men still standing in the cockpit of the patrol boat. They were also wearing dress shirts and ties. The two men gave brief nods in her direction. "We have some questions for you, but first, captain, I need to take a look at your ship's papers and your passports. Can you bring them up here, please?"

  Dani nodded and went below. She noticed with relief that there was no evidence of the quick search the two men standing in the saloon had conducted; given their speed, she had half-expected to find the interior in a shambles. She saw they still held their pistols by their sides. She lifted the top of the chart table and pointed to the compartment beneath it. "The papers are in there.
May I?" she asked.

  One of the men nodded. "It's okay," he said.

  She reached in and picked up the portfolio where she kept the clearance paperwork and took it back up to the cockpit. Unzipping the folder, she handed the ship's papers over to the Chief Inspector. He studied them for a few seconds and returned them. She slipped the papers back into the case and handed him the four passports. He took a bit longer with them. When he was finished paging through them, Dani noticed he did not return them.

  "Thank you, captain. Mr. Fitzgerald, please come here and step aboard the patrol boat, sir."

  Bill looked at Dani. She nodded, and he swallowed nervously and complied. When he was aboard, the two men in civilian clothes escorted him into the small cabin behind the wheelhouse. The man at the helm allowed the boat to drift away from Vengeance.

  "Captain, ladies," Chief Inspector Roberts said, "is there a place to sit below where we can talk without standing in the sun?"

  "Sure," Dani said, stepping to the companionway as Roberts gestured for Liz and Jane to precede him.

  The three women took seats at the table in the saloon, and Roberts settled across from them. He dismissed the two men in uniform, telling them to wait in the cockpit. As they left, he took a small notebook from his pocket. He cleared his throat and said, "I know you have a lot of questions. Unfortunately, I'm not able to tell you much. I'm sure you heard about the woman who was killed in Grenada while you were there, and we know Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald are aware of the killing at Union Island while you were in Carriacou."

  "How do you know that?" Jane asked. "I mean, yes, we know but your choice of words …"

  He waited for a beat, and when she didn't continue, he said, "When you and your husband were in the bar on the reef at Clifton, the man visiting with the bartender was an off-duty constable. He noticed your husband seemed particularly curious about the crucifixion. Mr. Fitzgerald also asked them whether they knew about the woman in Grenada, and whether they thought the killings might be related. The constable thought his questions were a bit odd, so he mentioned the conversation to his superiors."