Enduring Charity: A Charity Styles Novel (Caribbean Thriller Series Book 4)

by Wayne Stinnett

  When the nose touched the sand, she stepped off the board and pulled it quickly up onto the little beach. Tony and Jesse were right behind her. Jesse dismounted first, and she helped pull his board, Doug still on it, up onto the sand. Then Jesse turned, and he and Tony pulled Tony’s board up next to the others.

  “You sure you can carry the big guy?” Tony whispered.

  “No problem,” Jesse replied, hoisting Jeff to his feet.

  He struggled with his footing in the loose sand but got the man up onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, then started up the low dune. Charity knew Jesse’s age, but apparently he didn’t — or chose to ignore it. She helped Tony get the other man up, then Tony lifted him onto his shoulders in the same way. Charity hurried ahead of them.

  The dock was only twenty yards away, and they arrived unseen. There was a large storage box at the end of the dock and Jesse dumped Jeff onto it in a sitting position. Tony deposited Doug next to him.

  Looking around, Charity saw a dock line that wasn’t in use, coiled neatly by the first ferry boat. She brought it over, and Tony and Jesse shoved the two men back against a dock piling. In moments they were tied to the dock so that they couldn’t even stand and hop away.

  Charity took the bag from her cargo pocket and opened it. She removed the two phones and put one in each of the men’s shirt pockets, then removed the folded sheet of paper and handed it to Jesse. He opened it and read it.

  “Call the police, we’ve killed someone?” he asked, then looked back at the paper. “Proof on our phones?”

  “Well, you said to get the attention of whoever found them.”

  Jesse went over to Doug and leaned down close to his face. “Do I have to hit you before I remove that tape, to keep you from yelling?”

  The man shook his head.

  “If you try,” Jesse warned, “it’ll only sound like a chirp before I knock your ass out. You read me?”

  The man nodded.

  Jesse yanked the tape off of Doug’s mouth and quickly stuck the paper to the edge of the sticky side. Then he put it back in place, smoothing it out roughly.

  Looking around and still not seeing or hearing anything, the three returned quickly to the beach and pushed the boards back into the water. In minutes they were back aboard the Revenge.

  Jesse went up to the bridge, with Charity and Tony following. From the overhead compartment, he retrieved his night vision monocular and turned toward shore.

  “Good spot, Tony,” he said, passing the device to Charity. “We can see everything. Want to hang around?”

  “For a few minutes, maybe,” she replied, watching the dock.

  It didn’t take long before their delivery was spotted. One of the ferry crew came out onto the dock and seeing the two men, hurried over. He stopped a few feet away, then turned and ran back to the boat house.

  “How far will the police have to come?” Charity asked, suddenly worried that the cruise ship might beat the authorities to the dock.

  “At most, two hours,” Jesse replied. “Unless there’s a patrol boat nearby, Nassau is the nearest Bahamian Royal Police station.”

  Tony picked his phone up from the console and scrolled through his apps. When he looked up, he smiled. “Delta Star will arrive on time in two hours,” he said.

  “You think it’s wise to just hang out here?” Charity asked.

  “We’re fine until the sun comes up, or when they take the duct tape off their mouths,” Jesse said.

  Tony was watching through the night-vision scope. “The guy’s back,” he said. “With friends.”

  “If they ungag them, we’re out of here,” Jesse said.

  Tony laughed. “I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.”

  He handed the scope over to Jesse who looked through it toward shore and chortled.

  “What’s going on?” Charity asked.

  Jesse handed her the scope and she trained it on the dock area. In the gray-green display, she saw several islanders now standing around the two men on the boat box. One had a large machete, and all of them were standing well away from the two men.

  Though the wait seemed to be long, it wasn’t. A little more than an hour passed, then a sleek-looking Bahamian Police patrol boat with its lights on came roaring around the east end of the island, swinging wide around the Revenge and several other boats in the anchorage.

  The patrol boat turned into the basin and slowed to an idle. In minutes, they were tied up alongside one of the ferry boats, the blue and red lights washing over the whole waterfront.

  Charity recognized the man who was first on the dock. It was the police officer from the boatyard, Sergeant Bingham.

  “That’s the cop who responded when Vic’s boat was robbed,” she said. “He took me to the hospital, just before Vic died.”

  The sun was purpling the eastern sky. Jesse got a pair of binoculars and watched alongside her, the lightening sky and waterfront lighting providing enough light to see now.

  “What if they look out here and see us watching?” Charity said quietly.

  “Not a problem,” Tony said. “Look around.”

  Charity glanced around the anchorage. The three boats closest to them all had people watching the shore activities, most with binoculars.

  Through the night vision, Charity watched as Sergeant Bingham placed a small satchel in front of Jeff and Doug and opened it. He first put on a pair of latex gloves, then carefully removed the phone from Doug’s pocket.

  “Watch this,” Tony said.

  Charity glanced over at him. Tony had a second pair of binos and was grinning as he watched the dock.

  Looking through the monocular again, she watched as Bingham pressed the power button on the phone. After a second, he suddenly stood and motioned one of the other policemen over. Both men watched the phone intently for several seconds.

  “What’d you do?” Charity asked.

  Tony chuckled. “I made a slide show that starts automatically, using crime photos from all the murders and robberies these people were involved in. That Leilani is some kind of savant, remembering all those dates and places.”

  Bingham turned to the dock workers and said something. One of the men ran off toward the boathouse. Bingham turned toward the two men on the boat box and took a card from his wallet, apparently reading them their rights. He paused at one point and pointed at them, saying something to one of his officers, before returning to reading the card.

  “A by-the-book guy,” Tony said. “I like that.”

  A small boat came around the ferries and pulled up alongside the patrol boat. The dock worker who’d run off climbed out and handed the line to one of the cops.

  “This isn’t good,” Charity warned. “He hasn’t even removed the tape. Why would he need a boat? If he comes out here, he’s bound to recognize me.”

  Jesse lowered his binos and looked down toward the bow, then back at the tender. Bingham was already climbing aboard with two other officers.

  “That patrol boat made the sixty miles from Nassau in just over an hour,” Jesse said. “He’s making an educated guess that whoever put them there might still be in the area. His boat can probably outrun us. I sure hope he’s not as by-the-book as he seems.”

  In minutes, the tender came out of the rocky inlet to the ferry berth and angled toward the anchorage. The Revenge being the closest boat, it started straight toward them.

  “What do we do?” Charity asked.

  “Take it easy,” Jesse said. “Just see what happens. What’s his name?”

  “Bingham is all I know,” Charity said. “He gave me his card, but I don’t know where it is.”

  “Tony?”

  “Working on it,” Tony replied, concentrating on his phone. Just as the boat slowed to come up to the swim platform, Tony said. “Clarence. Sergeant Clarence Bingham. He’s
a uniform detective, Jesse.”

  Bingham was standing in the bow of the tender. “May I speak with the captain?”

  “Come aboard, Detective Bingham,” Jesse called down.

  The sergeant’s eyes had been on Jesse and Tony. He hesitated a moment, hearing his name, and gazed at all of them before his eyes settled on Charity. He dropped lightly from the bow of the small tender onto the platform and tied the boat off. When he stepped through the open transom door, another officer started to board.

  “Just you if you don’t mind, Detective,” Jesse said.

  The man looked up. “I do not need permission, Captain.”

  “Yes, I know, and I’m not offering it. That’s why I said if you don’t mind. We may have information for you, but only for you.”

  Inwardly, Charity smiled. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but throughout the Caribbean there were many policemen, as well as other government officials, who were underhanded and often solicited bribes from Americans. Jesse was counting on Sergeant Bingham being both a straight shooter and knowledgeable about the corruption in his own department.

  Bingham stared at Charity for a moment. She looked back at him, keeping any emotion from her face.

  Bingham held a hand up to the other officers. “Wait in the boat.”

  When he turned back toward them, Charity thought for a moment that he grinned at her. “May I come up dere?”

  Jesse nodded, and Bingham climbed the ladder to the bridge. Tony stepped back between the port bench and console to make room.

  “Miss Fleming, is it?” he asked, but Charity could see there was another question in his eyes.

  “By now you know who Victor was,” Charity said. “And there’s a good chance that you may even know that’s not my real name.”

  Bingham glanced around the bridge. “A beautiful boat, Captain. May we sit down a moment?”

  Jesse waved a hand toward the bench, and Tony stepped back further. Once everyone was seated, Bingham actually smiled.

  “Yes,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I know dat Rene Cook was Victor Pitt, formerly with your Central Intelligence. And yes, I know you are not who you said.” The man’s brow furrowed, as he gazed at her. “But dat is all I know, and dat tells me more dan I want to know.”

  “I am Charity Styles,” she said. “I once worked for America’s Homeland Security. As did these two men, Captain Jesse McDermitt, and Tony Jacobs. We’re now employed by a private security firm.”

  “And Victor Pitt?”

  “He freelanced for us on occasion,” Jesse lied. Or at least Charity thought it a lie. Jesse had said that he’d met Victor once. Perhaps he had worked with the team some time over the last year.

  Bingham looked down at the deck and sighed. When he looked up, his eyes locked on Charity’s. “And when you entered my country—”

  “I used my own passport,” Charity replied.

  Bingham glanced at Jesse, who nodded. “Same here.”

  “I see. So why did you present a false identity to me in Nassau?”

  Charity smiled. “I guess you could say it was force of habit. We were attached to Homeland Security’s Caribbean Counter terrorism Command.”

  Bingham looked over toward the docks. “So you think dese men are responsible for Mister Pitt’s murder?”

  Charity started to speak, but Jesse cut her off. “I have no doubt that forensic evidence was collected from all the crime scenes listed on the phone you now have, Detective. Most of those crimes took place on Bahamian soil. You received that information anonymously, along with those two men, and the names of their cohorts on a cruise ship which is about to arrive here. All this anonymous stuff can be used in court.”

  Bingham nodded. “Dat’s true, but—”

  McDermitt cut him off. “Bringing us in for whatever minor infractions we may or may not have committed would taint that evidence, making it inadmissible.”

  Charity could see why the man rarely worried about anything. In every situation she’d ever seen him in, McDermitt was the one in charge. It didn’t matter if he was dealing with the Secretary of State or a Game Warden. Even scruffy and unkempt, he knew, and everyone around him knew, that he was the one calling the shots. If Sergeant Bingham pressed, McDermitt would push back harder. His attitude emboldened her.

  Bingham looked down at the deck and sighed again. “Yes, I believe you are right, Captain,” he said, looking up at Jesse. “On both counts. And it would make my job easier.”

  Jesse grinned. “Ever receive a horse as a gift?”

  Bingham thought it over a moment, then looked out to the east where the sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon. A cruise ship could be seen out there, heading slowly toward them.

  “There are more on dat ship?”

  “Three more,” Charity said. “The leaders of the gang who committed the murders you told me about back in Nassau, and which you now have evidence connecting all five people.” Charity paused. “And there’s a possibility that they have another victim on board.”

  That got the sergeant’s full attention.

  “We have witnesses in protective custody,” Tony said. “They can place all five people at the scene of at least six murders.”

  Bingham glanced over at Tony. “You still work for the American government?”

  “No, sir,” Tony replied, but didn’t elaborate.

  “Your police force,” Charity began, “as well as those of other islands around the Caribbean do a good job, Detective Bingham. I’ve met some of your crime scene investigators; they’re sharp people. I have no doubt there will be evidence that can put those two men and three others arriving on that ship, at all of those crime scenes, on the dates and times the crimes were committed. All the information is on those two cell phones.”

  Bingham stared at Charity for a long moment. Then his expression softened. “I am sorry for your loss, Miss Fleming. I will do all dat I can to see dat justice is done.”

  When they returned to Andros, Charity was anxious see if the two women were still there. She couldn’t quite understand why she wanted to help them, except that there hadn’t been anyone to help her when she’d lost her father. If it hadn’t been for a sympathetic social worker, and the fact that she had already been offered a college scholarship, she might easily have wound up in foster care.

  Fiona and Leilani were waiting at the dock. “You were right,” Fiona called up to Jesse as Tony tied the boat up. “We could hear you more than fifteen minutes ago.”

  The two women boarded the Revenge, while Jesse took Finn ashore to find Henry. The girls each had two small canvas bags that looked to be stuffed full.

  “What happened?” Leilani asked.

  “Jeff and Doug were arrested,” Charity said. “When we left, the police were waiting for Delta Star to drop anchor, so they could arrest the Pences and Rayna. Did you find everything you needed?”

  “I think so,” Leilani said. “There were a couple outfits I liked, but Angelique said they wouldn’t be suitable for sailing. Just one thing; I don’t know anything at all about sailboats.”

  “I’ve sailed a little,” Fiona offered.

  “Don’t worry,” Charity said. “My boat can sail herself if need be. It’s not hard to learn.”

  Jesse returned with Henry, Finn loping ahead of them. They stopped by the boat’s transom, and Jesse thanked him again.

  “Any time,” the old man said, then turned toward Charity. “When you get back here, just buzz the camp and I’ll pick you up at the airport. I got some parts to pick up in Nassau and can carry you across.”

  “We better get going,” Tony called from the bridge. “It’ll be past noon before we reach Cat Island.”

  Fiona looked at Charity, confused. “I thought you said your boat was in Nassau.”

  “It is,” Charity repli
ed. “But my helicopter’s over on Cat Island. I’ll fly it back here, while you two remain aboard the boat and head toward Nassau. We’ll meet up somewhere offshore later this evening.”

  “Y’all are welcome to just stay here,” Henry offered, getting a look from Jesse.

  “Thanks, Henry,” Jesse said, “but I think it’s better if these two disappear.”

  “Those people got that kinda reach?”

  Fiona and Leilani exchanged glances. “Yeah,” Fiona said. “With one phone call, the Pences could have someone hunting us, just for the sake of revenge.”

  “They’ll make that call soon,” Charity said. “It’s best if we head down island, disappear to Saint Somewhere.”

  The old man grinned. “Just don’t get too drunk to karaoke.”

  “You’re a parrot head?” Fiona asked the old man.

  Henry smiled warmly. “Since before Timothy B coined the phrase.”

  “I just recently joined the Phlock,” Charity said.

  They all laughed, except Jesse, who had a confused look on his face. “We’re wasting daylight,” he said, extending his hand to Henry.

  “Semper Fi, Gunny,” the old man said, taking the offered hand.

  Jesse grunted back, “Yut,” and tossed off the lines. Charity helped the women stow their bags, while Tony tended to the fenders and made ready for a fast crossing. Both men were on the bridge when the three women climbed up.

  The boat slowly idled through the canal, and Jesse asked Charity what the flocking parrot thing was about.

  “You really don’t know?” she asked.

  He looked even more perplexed. “I’m not even sure what it is that I don’t know. Chyrel talks about parrots all the time.”

  Tony grinned. “A parrot head is a Jimmy Buffett fan.”

  “The guy that did Come Monday, back when Christ was a corporal?”

  “He went on to write a few more songs since then,” Charity explained. She knew the man preferred jazz, but she also knew that, hanging around in bars in the Keys, he was probably familiar with a few songs by the Caribbean balladeer. “Ever heard Cheeseburger in Paradise or Margaritaville?”