He waited for a reaction, but Jane didn't say anything. She just frowned and studied her fingernails. He let the silence hang for a full minute before he asked, "Do any of you recognize the name, Claudia MacKenzie?"
Liz and Jane both shook their heads, but Dani frowned for a moment and asked, "From Bequia?"
"Yes. You know her?"
"I did."
"Why do you use the past tense, captain?"
"When I was a child, I spent weeks at a time in Bequia, living with my father's friends. I remember playing with Claudia; she was about my age. That was maybe 15 years ago. I know she took over her family's bookstore; my father's friend told me. Since we've been stopping in Bequia with Vengeance, I've intended to renew our acquaintance, but there hasn't been time yet. I haven't seen her in years — since we were little. Why?"
"Who is your father's friend?" he asked, ignoring her question as he scribbled furiously in his notebook.
"Mrs. Walker. She runs a local restaurant and grocery store there; she's almost like a grandmother to me."
He made another note before he glanced up. "And how did your father know her?"
"Her late husband was his partner in several business ventures over the years."
"Does your father live in the islands?"
"Not now. He lived in Martinique off and on over the years but he lives in Paris now."
"And what kind of business?"
"He brokers all sorts of imports and exports, but mostly heavy equipment."
"His name?"
"Jean-Pierre Berger."
"Did he ever do business here in St. Lucia?"
"Yes, but not recently. He had another partner who did most of the work in the eastern Caribbean in recent years, after Mrs. Walker's husband passed away."
"And this partner's name?"
"Phillip Davis."
The Chief Inspector looked up in surprise, to find Dani's hard blue eyes burning a hole in his forehead.
"I know of Mr. Davis …"
"I'm sure you do. I don't see how any of this is relevant to your inquiry, whatever your inquiry is."
"I'm sorry, Ms. Berger. It may not be relevant, other than as the broadest background. You just surprised me with your local connections — you seem so, ah …" He shrugged, suddenly appearing less sure of himself.
"Fair enough," Dani said, her point made.
"Thank you. You just aroused my curiosity. I didn't expect you to know Claudia MacKenzie."
"Yes. Back to Claudia. What does she have to do with any of this?"
He didn't answer right away. Dani worked the silence this time, clearing her throat and continuing to stare at him, her eyes locked on his. He dropped his gaze, pretending to study his notes, buying a few seconds. When he looked back up into her cold eyes, he swallowed and said, "I suppose at this point, you may as well know that she was killed the night before you left Bequia. I really don't know the particulars, but I must ask, were all of you together aboard this yacht that evening?"
"Yes," Dani replied. "We had lunch ashore and returned to Vengeance, oh, let's say around 3 o'clock. The Fitzgeralds went for a swim off the boat for an hour or so before dinner, snorkeling the reef right behind where we were anchored. We had dinner aboard and turned in early — maybe 10 o'clock. We left at dawn the next day to sail up here."
"And the night before you left Carriacou? Were the four of you separated at all after sundown?"
All three women shook their heads. "No," Dani said. "We were all aboard that evening. We spent the night at anchor off Petite Martinique and sailed around the point to Hillsborough the next morning."
Roberts looked up as he finished making notes. "Mrs. Fitzgerald, did you and your husband spend the night on this yacht the day you arrived in Grenada, or did you stay ashore?"
"We came straight to Vengeance from the airport."
"And were you together on the yacht for the entire evening?"
"Yes. We … no, wait. Bill and I took a walk after dinner."
"And where did you walk?"
"Into the town. St. Georges, right?"
"Yes, that would be St. Georges. Did you have a particular destination?"
"No, we were just strolling, mostly along the waterfront."
"What time did you return to the yacht?"
"It was late. I don't know exactly, but we were careful coming aboard because we were sure Dani and Liz would be asleep."
Roberts turned to Dani and Liz. "What time did you go to sleep?"
"Between 11 o'clock and midnight," Liz said.
Dani nodded, watching Roberts as he wrote in his notebook.
"Okay. Thank you, ladies. You've been most helpful. I'm sorry if I upset you in any way," he said, looking at his wristwatch.
As he looked back up, they heard the burbling of the patrol boat's exhaust approaching. Roberts stood and they followed him to the cockpit. When the patrol boat was alongside, the two men in civilian clothes gave Bill a hand as he scrambled aboard Vengeance. The two men in uniform jumped from Vengeance to the patrol boat and turned to assist the Chief Inspector.
"Just a minute, Chief Inspector Roberts," Dani barked.
He turned to face her, his eyebrows raised. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You haven't returned our passports."
"Ah!" The eyebrows dropped and furrows formed across his brow. "Thank you for reminding me." He reached toward one of the uniformed men, who unzipped a small case attached to his belt. He handed Roberts a sheaf of papers.
"I must inform you that this is a duly executed court order forbidding the vessel, Vengeance, from leaving this anchorage." He passed the official-looking page to Dani. "And here is a receipt for your passports. Until further notice, none of you may leave the country. If you have questions, you may address them to me or someone in my office at the telephone number on my card." He handed the receipt and a business card to Dani. "We will be in touch again." With a quick nod in her direction, he stepped across to the patrol boat, which moved smartly away from Vengeance and was soon leaving Rodney Bay, headed in the direction of Castries.
****
"Jesus," Bill said. "They think I killed those people. I could tell from their questions."
Dani took a sip of the cold orange juice Liz had set out. Nobody had an appetite for breakfast after the police left. They were sitting around the table in the saloon comparing their reactions to the questions they had been asked.
"Did they caution you?" Dani asked.
"You mean like the Miranda warning thing?"
"Yes. It's similar but not the same -- kind of the British version."
"No. Nothing that even sounded like that. They stressed that my statement was voluntary and that I wasn't a suspect at the moment."
"That's good, then," Dani said. "They may suspect you, but they probably don't have any evidence."
"Of course they don't," Jane said. "They couldn't. Bill didn't kill anybody."
"I'm sure that's true, but something brought them here. They may have some evidence they're misinterpreting. This is still serious."
"Damn right it's serious," Bill said. "They took our damn passports. They also know exactly who I am. I mean, they had my c.v. I guess from the Internet. They asked a lot of questions about my studies of killers, and they kept asking if I knew this woman in Bequia, too. Claudia somebody. Asked if I had any idea why my name was in her calendar for the last night we were in Bequia. I don't even know who she is."
"They didn't tell you?" Jane asked.
Bill shook his head. "No. Just kept grilling me about why she would have an appointment written in for me at 11 p.m. last night if she didn't know me?"
"She was killed while we were in Bequia," Jane said.
Bill put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. "Shit," he muttered.
"Why would she even have your name?" Jane asked. "Any idea who she was?"
Bill shook his head, a grim cast to his features.
"I knew her when we were chi
ldren," Dani said. "Her family owned a bookstore in Bequia; I heard she was running it these days. The Chief Inspector told us she was killed the night before we left."
Bill looked shaken. "They must think I killed her, too."
"Come on, Bill," Jane said. "Chin up. You and I have been together all the time, and Dani and Liz were with us most of the time. We already told the Chief Inspector."
"Then why all this 'don't try to leave the country' stuff?" Bill asked. "There has to be something else they're not telling us."
"They're not really telling us anything," Dani said. "But that's to be expected. They've obviously connected our itinerary with the killings and found a rough match, but the fact that Claudia had an appointment scheduled with you the night she died has to make them suspicious. Any way you can explain that?"
Bill shook his head.
"You rattled the Chief Inspector a little when you two were talking about your father's partner. What was that all about?" Jane asked.
"He just pissed me off; I shouldn't have done that."
"But he seemed kind of rocked back by the mention of that guy …"
"Phillip Davis," Liz said. "He's …"
"It just clicked for me," Jane interrupted. "He's the one in the book; I was just reading about him and his contacts in the islands. Is all that real?"
"Mostly. Some of it's probably overly dramatized, but he does have a lot of government connections."
"What does he do? Is he really retired?"
"Yes, more or less. He and his wife live in Martinique, like the book says."
"His wife? He married that girl, then?"
"I'm lost," Bill interjected.
"Sorry, hon. The cop who questioned us got sidetracked on Dani's personal history when he found out the woman in Bequia was a childhood friend, and then he kind of went into shock when Phillip Davis's name came up."
"Guess I'd better read the book," Bill said. "What are we going to do now?"
"I'm going to call Phillip," Dani said. "He may be able to find out what's going on. If nothing else, I'm sure he can give me the name of a good lawyer here."
"You think I need a lawyer?" Bill asked, alarm in his voice.
"We all may; Vengeance is under arrest and our passports have been confiscated. It's time to go on the offensive."
Dani got up and went to the nav station. She opened a drawer and picked up the satellite phone. "I'll go up in the cockpit; don't worry, I'll give you a full report."
"What did she mean, 'go on the offensive?' That sounds ominous," Jane said.
Liz chuckled. "Don't worry about that. Her normal reaction to confrontation is to attack, literally or figuratively. She won't get us in any more trouble than we're already in. Phillip's like her big brother. He'll settle her down."
****
When Dani reached Phillip, he agreed to check with his law enforcement contact in St. Lucia and call her back, suggesting that it might take a few hours. To fill the time, he recommended that the four of them make thorough notes on everything they knew about the crimes, as well as reconstructing their individual activities during the times the crimes were likely to have been committed.
"Put yourselves in the position of the police; see if you can build a case against Fitzgerald, even though you're sure he's innocent. Remember, alibis are only as good as the credibility of the witness once they get to court; the police don't have to accept them if they've got other evidence. They'll let a prosecutor decide whether there's enough to take to a jury. I'll line up a lawyer once I hear back from my contact and know what we're up against, but a detailed chronology will go a long way toward helping to sort this out."
As a result, she and Liz and the Fitzgeralds had spent the afternoon brainstorming, reconstructing the details of their activities over the last several days. They were working on the timing of yesterday's outing to Castries when the satellite phone chirped. Dani looked at the caller i.d. screen before she pressed the green button.
"Hi, Phillip."
She listened for a moment, nodding her head.
"Okay, sure. Everybody's here. Let me put you on the speaker."
She set the phone on the table and pressed a key.
"Phillip?"
"Yes. Good afternoon. I just spoke with an old friend who's well up in the hierarchy of law enforcement there. He asked around discretely, and found out a little more. Most of it, you already know — the particulars from Grenada and Union. What led to this morning's visit was related to the killing in Bequia. It was more grisly than the others, by the way. The victim was found stripped naked and sitting at her desk, decapitated. Her head was on the desk facing the body, and her appointment book was open to an 11 p.m. meeting with Bill Fitzgerald; that's close enough to the estimated time of death to raise suspicion. Her computer screen was showing Google search results for Bill Fitzgerald, as well. The police in Grenada and St. Vincent were already working to correlate arrivals and departures in their immigration records, and they had notified the rest of the authorities in the island chain of their suspicion that a serial killer might be at work. The killing in Bequia added Bill's name to their investigation, and that pointed at Vengeance once they checked the immigration records. That's how they tracked you to St. Lucia. That's about it for facts. I've got a call in for a lawyer J.-P. and I have used. I'll call again when I hear from him. My contact's assessment is that they don't really have much of a case against Bill, but it's all they've got so far. They obviously can't ignore it, so that's why you're in the fix you're in."
"Thanks, Phillip," Dani said. "Give my love to Sandrine."
"Mine too," Liz chimed in.
"Will do. When this blows over, we want you to stop in Ste. Anne for a visit if the Fitzgeralds can spare the time. We'd like to see you two and meet them, as well."
"Thanks," Jane added.
"Hope to meet you soon, and thanks," Bill said.
Dani picked up the phone and switched the speaker off, going up to the cockpit for a private word with Phillip before she disconnected the call.
Chapter 14
Earlier that morning, Joel Johnson had been making his rounds, checking the beach that ran uninterrupted from the village of Gros Îlet to the new time-share condo building. It was too early for any tourists to be out, so there was no one for him to hustle.
He liked to walk the beach before it got crowded; he found all sorts of odds and ends — stuff lost by tourists, discarded by locals, even washed up from the sea by the occasional night-time squall. He gathered most of it, turning it into 'found art,' as he called it, which he then sold to the tourists who populated the beach later in the day.
He was moving at a slow jog, stretching the kinks out of his slim, muscular body when he noticed the feet sticking out of the brush just above the high water mark a few yards ahead. As he got closer, he could see they were attached to a shapely pair of legs. Staring hard at the leafy undergrowth, he could make out a woman lying on her back, mostly under the stunted, leafy bushes.
"Drunk?" he muttered, wondering how she got there. He slowed to a walk and looked around to see if there were someone else in the vicinity. Seeing no one, he approached the recumbent form. "Mornin', mornin'," he called, but the woman didn't move. "Hello!" he said, raising his voice, not wanting to startle her, but also thinking she might need help.
Still not getting a response, he stopped at her feet and dropped into a crouch, noticing with shock that she was naked. Embarrassed but still worried, he touched her right foot lightly, jerking his hand back at the cold, clammy feel of her flesh. He rose to his knees and shuffled forward, parting the brush until he could see her face.
"Melodie," he murmured, noticing her head seemed to be at an unnatural angle to her shoulders. Distressed, he stood up and examined the area around her, looking for clothes, her bag, anything. He saw nothing; he stood for a moment longer, debating what he should do. He had an inclination to go on about his business and not get involved, but he was well known to the police who work
ed around here. They would eventually come to him. Everyone knew he scavenged along here every morning; the police would want to know how he missed her if he didn't report it.
Reluctantly, he lifted the cheap, prepaid cell phone that hung on a lanyard around his neck and called the emergency number, explaining to the woman who answered where he was and what he had found.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Joel Johnson," he answered, misery in his tone as he looked at Melodie. She'd always been nice to him, nice to everybody. Why would anybody …
"You stay where you are," the woman on the phone ordered. "Don' touch anyt'ing, you understan' me?"
"Yes, ma'am. I know."
"All right. Jus' you wait 'til the constable get there. Soon come."
"Yes ma'am." He ended the call and gazed disconsolately at the long, low yacht bobbing at anchor a couple of hundred yards off the beach. "Vengeance," he muttered, remembering seeing the name picked out in gold leaf when he swam out yesterday. He had wanted to clean their waterline or do any other odd jobs they might have for him.
He knew the boat; it came here often enough that he had occasionally managed to make a few dollars from the two women who ran it, but yesterday afternoon, no one had responded to his knock on the hull. The flashing blue lights on the road behind the bushes registered in his peripheral vision, and he turned to watch the two policemen get out of the car and pick their way through the undergrowth toward where he stood.
****
"A broken neck," Roberts said, cradling the phone against his shoulder as he listened to the coroner. Can you tell if she was …"
"No. I mean, there was no evidence of recent sexual activity, if that's what you were going to ask."
"Right," Roberts said. "Anything else that might help?"
"She had a matchbook clutched in her right hand."
"A matchbook?"
"Yes. From the bar and grill at that time-share place a little way up the beach from where she was found."
"Okay. No surprise there. The man who found her told the constables she worked there in the evenings. He knew her; gave us her name. I'm just now going over there to see if anybody saw anything."
Bluewater Stalker: The Sixth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 6) Page 9
