Deadly Deceit: Jess Turner in the Caribbean (Diplomatic Crime Book 2)

by Jean Harrod

  “Hello?” she called out. “Anyone here?”

  No reply. She walked back outside. Where was everyone? They wouldn’t go home and leave the garages open and their tools out, surely? She suddenly felt uncomfortable walking around the place and going into all the garages without permission. Still, it was the Government Garage, she told herself, and she did work for the Government.

  The doors to the next garage were closed. She went over, lifted the latch, and pulled them open. It was dark inside, with no windows. She didn’t need much light to know the vehicle was the Governor’s wrecked Land Rover.

  As she stood looking at the mangled metal, and smelt the burning residue, her heart started racing. Memories came flooding back. She could see her Amy and Jack being ripped apart by the explosion and flames as they sat trapped in the car. She struggled to push the image out of her head. Don’t go there! she told herself over and over. Not now!

  Resisting the urge to run out, she took a deep breath and opened the garage doors wide to let in the last of the daylight. Then she forced herself to inspect the car.

  The driver’s door, and passenger door behind, had taken the full impact of the collision. No wonder the police thought a truck had hit it. All four wheels had collapsed on their axles, and the paintwork was burnt. None of the windows had any glass in them. She noticed there was no glass on the garage floor either, which made the clean-up job at the crash site even more impressive.

  How on earth had the Governor got out of that alive, she wondered? The driver’s door was completely buckled in, so he must have climbed over and somehow got out the front passenger door.

  She pulled her camera out of her bag to take some photos and email them to London. They needed to see the intensity of the crash. It was so dark in the garage, she put the setting on automatic to enable the flash if necessary. As she moved around the Land Rover, photographing it from every angle, she was surprised to see so much of the inside of the vehicle burnt out, as well as the boot.

  She felt guilty about taking photographs with no-one around, and was eager to get away. Quickly, she closed the garage doors, leaving them in the same position she’d found them, and got back into her car. Her hands were shaking as she gripped the wheel and put the gear in drive. That burnt out car had disturbed feelings she thought were well under control. She glanced in the driver mirror and saw her face was wet with tears. She wiped them away, sadly, and drove on.

  *

  By the time she got back to the office, everyone had gone home, and the building was in darkness. There was no external security lighting on either. Why was everyone so relaxed about security on this island, she thought, crossly? She parked the car, let herself in with David’s keys, and flicked on the lights.

  On her desk, Sally had left a message from the Police Commissioner. He wanted Jess to attend a hurricane planning meeting in Provo the following morning. It had been postponed twice already, and was now urgent because the hurricane season had started. He would be happy to chair the meeting in the Governor’s absence, as Jess was new to the island.

  Jess re-read it with irritation. What about Mrs Pearson’s murder? Not even a mention of that, and she’d been waiting hours for him to phone with more details for her to report to London.

  Sally had left a postscript on the note to say she’d booked Jess a seat on the 9am flight to Provo in the morning, in case she wanted to go.

  Jess was in two minds about going. It would be a good opportunity to see Provo and meet some people over there, but she didn’t want to leave Sally and the local staff here on their own.

  She heard the bleep of a text message and opened it.

  I’ve phoned the police about Benji and his collar. They’re sending an officer round now. I’ll keep in touch. Rebekah.

  Jess was pleased Rebekah had done that. At least the police were taking it seriously and sending an officer round. She picked up the telephone directory to call the Police Commissioner. But when she tried to make the call, she found the switchboard was shut down. Using her mobile to phone the central police station, she got a recorded message saying they were closed for the night. There was an emergency number, but she decided she couldn’t ring that. She’d have to phone again in the morning. She’d make sure she got his mobile number then too.

  She yawned and rubbed her tired eyes. She’d had enough for one day. Swivelling round to her computer, she scrolled to her inbox to check her emails before going back to the Residence.

  Dear Jess,

  Great – we’re on. I’ll be on the Trans Air flight 556 from Miami to Provo tomorrow, arriving at 4pm. There’s a domestic flight to Grand Turk at 5pm, so I’ll catch that and get over to you for about 5.30pm. Hope that’s okay? If there’s any delay, I’ll call. What’s your mobile number?

  Look forward to catching up tomorrow.

  All good wishes, Tom.

  Jess smiled, happy to finally get one piece of good news. She pressed reply.

  Dear Tom,

  That’s fine. As it happens, I shall be in Provo tomorrow and will meet you on arrival at Provo airport. We can travel back to Grand Turk together on the 5pm flight. Do please ring my mobile number 09807 103476 if there are any problems.

  Look forward to seeing you too.

  Best wishes, Jess.

  It would be good to have a friendly face around, she thought, and a policeman. She remembered her first meeting with Tom. He’d been so offhand at the time, but he’d turned out to be rather kind under that gruff exterior. And she treasured that lovely sketch he’d done of Amy from an old photo. He’d captured her little face and spirit so well.

  As memories of that brutal time in Brisbane came flooding back, she felt a chill shiver up her spine. That had all started with a woman’s murder too, and ended up with four people losing their lives.

  It couldn’t possibly be happening again, could it?

  13

  The humid night air wrapped around her as Jess stepped out of the office front door. She peered along the drive. There wasn’t a single light along the way to the Residence. Now she knew why there were torches strategically placed on tables at the front and back doors of the house. She only wished she’d picked one up on the way out.

  Adjusting her eyes to the dark, she started to walk the couple of hundred yards to the house. It was a lovely night, with hardly a breath of air. The sky was covered with stars, although she couldn’t identify the constellations from this unfamiliar location.

  Her stomach grumbled. It was already 8pm. It had taken her ages to send a report to London about Mrs Pearson’s murder, because she was so unfamiliar with the operation of the classified telegram system in the office. She’d got it off eventually. But she was still cross with the Police Commissioner for not phoning her.

  As she walked along, apart from the chirruping crickets and waves lapping onto the shore in the distance, the only noise was the sound of her shoes crunching on the drive’s sandy gravel. Even the spiky leaves of the dwarf palms were silent in the still air. Taller trees couldn’t survive the hurricane-force winds that battered these islands.

  Now, she could see the Residence. It was in total darkness, except for the light from the chandelier on the top landing. The house had a forlorn look about it. It should be the centre of island life, she thought, full of people and parties. Had it been like that once? What secrets could it tell?

  A dark shape swooped across her path. Oh God, bats! Goosebumps rose along her back and arms.

  That’s when she heard the crunch of a footstep behind her. It was just one crunch, but definitely a footstep! She looked over her shoulder, but couldn’t see anyone. Heart quickening, she ran down the rest of the drive, and around the verandah to the back of the house. Seeing the light on in the kitchen, she ran across the courtyard and burst through the kitchen door.

  “Oh!” Maggie, who’d been dozing in the rocking chair, jumped up.

  “Sorry Maggie.” Jess was breathing hard. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

/>   “What’s wrong, Miss Jessica?”

  Jess felt foolish now. “Oh, I ... er, I thought I heard someone following me down the drive in the dark.”

  Maggie frowned. “Who was it?” she asked, sharply.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t stop to find out.”

  Maggie went over to the back door and turned the key in the lock. Then she went to the window and looked out.

  “Can you see anyone?” Jess asked.

  Maggie shook her head.

  “Sorry.” Jess sighed. “It was probably the bat that spooked me. I can’t stand them.” She smiled at Maggie now. “Anyway, what are you still doing here?”

  “Waiting for you, Miss Jessica,” Maggie said, as if it was obvious. “I’ve cooked your supper.”

  Jess felt both grateful and guilty. When Maggie said she would prepare some supper for her, she’d assumed she meant something for her to cook or heat up herself when she got back.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t realise you’d wait for me. I’m very grateful, but you should have gone home hours ago.”

  “It’s no trouble.” Maggie went back to the stove. “It’s chicken, baked with tomatoes. One of my own recipes.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” Now they were talking about food, Jess realised how hungry she was. “I’m famished.”

  Maggie nodded. “I thought you would be.” She switched on the electric oven and pushed the casserole inside. “The potatoes just need to boil.” She turned on the ring under the pan.

  “I can serve myself when it’s ready. You go home now.” Jess paused, remembering the disturbance in the house last night. “Who else has a key to get into this house, Maggie?”

  “A key?” Maggie paused to think. “Only me, and the Governor, and of course his wife.” She looked at Jess. “And you now.”

  That made four copies already. “Do you each have keys to the front and the back doors?”

  “Yes.” Maggie turned to the back door. “Except the key in the lock now is always kept on the first hook up there.” She pointed to a key rack on the wall, laden with keys of one description or another. “And I remember the Governor couldn’t find his keys to get in one night,” Maggie went on, “so he keeps a spare set in the office.”

  Keys everywhere, Jess thought. That meant everyone in the office probably had access to them too.

  “Why do you ask, Miss Jessica?”

  Jess looked at her. “Well, I was woken up in the middle of the night by a noise in the house. And when I came down here, the back door was wide open.”

  Maggie gave her a sceptical look. “Perhaps the wind blew it open?”

  Jess shook her head. “Someone came in here, I’m sure of it. It was raining heavily outside at the time, and there was a puddle of water on the floor by the door.”

  Maggie looked back at the potatoes on the stove.

  Jess went on: “I also found a child’s doll on the chair in my bedroom. Is it still there?”

  Maggie turned back and frowned. “I didn’t see a doll when I made your bed.”

  Jess was about to go up and look for it, when Maggie asked gently. “Are you going to be all right here on your own, Miss Jessica?”

  Jess nodded. “I’m used to being on my own,” she said, defensively. She had the impression Maggie thought she was overwrought.

  “But are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause.

  “That’s a lovely photo in your room, Miss Jessica.”

  Jess knew that Maggie was talking about the photo of Jack and Amy on her bedside cabinet. She didn’t want to talk about them, but she could see Maggie was curious. “My husband and daughter,” she said.

  “Forgive me for asking about them, Miss Jessica, but your eyes are sad.”

  Jess felt the usual weariness creep all over her when anyone mentioned Jack and Amy. She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down, heavily. “They were killed in a car accident,” she said, simply.

  Maggie nodded, as if she already knew. “I lost my husband too, not long after we were married. It’s a hard thing to have to live with.”

  Jess didn’t ask any questions, because she couldn’t bear to hear the answers. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

  They were both silent with their memories, until the potatoes boiled over and water hissed onto the electric hob.

  Maggie leapt up, and turned down the heat. Wiping up the spilt water with a dish cloth, she rinsed it, and hung it over the edge of the sink. “I’d better get off home now,” she said.

  “Of course. Thank you for cooking my supper and waiting for me. I really appreciate it.”

  Maggie smiled and picked up her bag. “Now lock the door after me.”

  Jess nodded, but didn’t move.

  “Now, please, Miss Jessica. I want to know the house is locked.”

  Jess got up and went over to the door.

  “Don’t open it to anyone during the night,” Maggie said as she stepped out.

  “Really, Maggie, I...”

  “Please!”

  “All right.”

  “Goodnight, Miss Jessica.”

  “Goodnight, Maggie.” Jess closed the door and turned the key in the lock. She went back to the kitchen table and sat down again. Alone now with her thoughts, all she could hear was the sound of the sea and bubbling potatoes.

  She could picture Amy playing on the beach out there and paddling in the sea. She’d be seven this year. What would she look like now, if she’d lived? But Jess would never know. In her mind, Amy would be for ever three.

  One thing’s for sure, she thought, as she stood up and went over to take the potatoes off the heat. She wasn’t going mad, despite what Maggie thought. Someone had definitely been in the house last night.

  *

  Later, after changing and eating, Jess’s thoughts turned back to work. She went into the Governor’s study, where Sally had set up Jess’s laptop on his desk, and typed in the wireless code. She wanted to download her photos of the Governor’s car and email them to London. At least they’d have something to go on, in the absence of the police report.

  She switched on the ceiling fan to get the stuffy air moving. Would the Governor mind her working in his study while he was away? She hoped not, in the circumstances.

  His desk stood adjacent to the window for maximum light. Behind that, the wall was covered from floor to ceiling with books on fixed shelving. A two-seater sofa and chair filled the other side of the room, and in the corner stood a globe of the world. It was a cosy room, she thought, and set up for work.

  She sat down, powered up her laptop, and quickly downloaded her photos of the Governor’s car from her camera. Then she saved them to her memory drive, as back up, as she always did. However, when she tried to get onto the internet, she ran into problems. Nothing but buffering, and page cannot be displayed. Eventually she gave up: she’d have to email the photos from the office tomorrow.

  She looked at her watch. 10.20. Her eyes were heavy, but she still had to prepare for the Provo hurricane planning meeting before going to bed. She picked up the disaster management file and went over to make herself comfortable on the sofa.

  The file made worrying reading. Hurricanes, she discovered, were rated in five categories. Even the lowest, Category 1, could produce dangerous winds capable of knocking out power lines, and damaging buildings and houses. And she didn’t need an expert to tell her any storm surge following a hurricane could cause a tsunami-type wave that could wipe out the entire coastline, and that would include the office and Residence.

  The file said that the Disaster Management Centre was located up on the Ridge. She was surprised she hadn’t seen it when she went up there earlier with the Police Commissioner.

  The next section in the file, marked ‘hurricane preparedness’, was a list of things to do. Check the roofs, put up storm shutters to protect windows, check drains to prevent flooding, stock up on lamps, candles, provisions. Check the generators have been
serviced. Generators? She hadn’t even seen a generator. So much to do...

  She yawned and laid her head back on the sofa, listening to the rhythmic clunk of the overhead ceiling fan.

  Clunk... clunk.

  She was so tired. She really ought to go to bed. In the stillness, she could hear the sea washing onto the shore. Everywhere she went in the house, she could hear the sea.

  She stretched her aching back, and looked at her watch. Past midnight!

  She became aware of a pounding noise, and it wasn’t her heart. She listened. It sounded like drumming.

  Was someone having a party on the beach? She listened again. Now she could hear voices. Low and rhythmic.

  Her stomach turned, as she remembered Carrie’s words. These sacrificial ceremonies take place all over Haiti around July and August. Hadn’t Carrie said she’d heard drumming and chanting on the beach in the middle of the night?

  Jess got up and went out to the kitchen, where the noise was a little louder. She unlocked the back door and opened it slightly. It was definitely coming from along the beach. Then she had an idea. If this was some kind of voodoo ceremony, she’d take some photos to present to the police as evidence. They’d have to investigate, and stop this nonsense once and for all. She went back to the study to get her camera, and then let herself out the back door.

  On the beach now, the drumming and chanting was louder. She could see flames shooting into the sky. It was still pitch dark, with no moon. Little spots of rain blew in her face. She walked slowly towards the flames. The deep sand underfoot made progress slow, but at least her approach was silent.

  Suddenly, a streak of lightning lit up the sky like a security light. She stopped and jumped behind some scrub-like bushes bordering the beach, hoping she hadn’t been seen. She was nervous now. As the rain fell harder, she wondered whether to go back. But she pressed on, creeping closer to the fire under cover of the bushes.

  Smoke began drifting her way, as the rain dampened the flames. She stopped dead when she saw a group of people standing in a circle around the fire. Arms raised to the heavens, they were chanting something over and over that she couldn’t understand. It certainly wasn’t English.