by Jean Harrod
A figure in a long robe stood apart from the group, head and face obscured by a hood, leading the chanting. Jess stood in astonishment. It looked like a scene from a movie.
She pulled her camera out of her pocket, and stopped. The flash was different to lightning, and might draw attention to her.
Now, she could smell burning, like charred flesh!
She ducked down in fear as a loud clap of thunder reverberated around the sky. The heavens opened. Rain hammered down, soaking her, but she couldn’t drag herself away.
Through the noise of the rain, she heard a twig snap. She froze, as someone walked past a couple of yards away, towards the gathering. She recognised that figure... that walk.
The crowd parted as Alvita went up to the robed figure. She said something that Jess was too far away to hear. One by one the members of the group embraced Alvita, then disappeared into the night.
Jess waited until everyone had gone, then went over to the remains of the fire. In the smoking embers, she could see something small laid out on a wire mesh. A dog? Or a cat maybe? It was too charred to identify. It was too small to be a human... although perhaps a baby?
Nonsense, she was letting her imagination run riot. She pulled her camera out of her pocket. Looking furtively around, she took a picture, shoved her camera back in her pocket, and hurried back to the Residence as fast as she could wade through the deep sand.
14
Jessica Turner is going to be a problem. She looks young and harmless, but I’ve seen her eyes. They are cool and sympathetic on the surface, but she is watching everyone. Was she sent here by London to spy on us? A woman of course is less conspicuous than a man, and she blends in well. Already people are accepting her, and she’s only been here a few days. That’s annoying.
When will the British Government understand they don’t own these islands? They belong to those who live here, and have done through the centuries. The islanders know British people haven’t even heard of the Turks and Caicos Islands, let alone know where they are. And that’s just fine.
That’s why it’s so easy for me. People here don’t need fancy restaurants, flashy cars and clothes. No, they want to live the same relaxed and peaceful life they have over the centuries. They don’t want any change. They just want enough money to live on. As long as they can look after their families, everything’s fine.
But they also know if they step out of line, they will regret it.
“And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound?
That dark, mysterious name of horrid sound? –
A long and lingering sleep, the weary crave.
And Peace? Where can its happiness abound? –
Nowhere at all, save heaven, and the grave.”*
Does Jessica Turner know her English poets? She probably thinks only illiterate fools live here. Just how educated is she? Does she know how Mussolini died? If she did, she would know why that old woman was hung up by her feet and left for dead.
I heard what happened to Jessica’s husband and child. Very careless. So I think she would understand if she knew the truth. But she would ruin everything too, and I can’t let that happen.
I’ve seen her a lot today – in town, at the lighthouse, at the Government Garage, and now on the beach this evening. Perhaps I can find a chink in her armour? It’ll be fun trying. A cat and mouse game, something to amuse me for a while, until she too ends up in that watery graveyard of souls with all the others.
Because that’s where I’ve decided she will go.
* * *
* Poem ‘What is Life’ by John Clare
15
Tom Sangster felt a familiar rush of adrenaline as the helicopter rose from Key West’s Naval Air Station. The whirring rotary-wing Eurocopter, and the smell of fuel, made him feel right at home. Policing the vast Australian coastline was very similar. He put on headphones to cut out the noise, and to hear what the pilot was saying.
“Take your last look at the most southerly point of the Continental States of America.” The pilot sounded deliberately theatrical as he manoeuvred the helicopter in a wide circle out to sea.
Tom couldn’t believe he was up there. He looked down at the gleaming white cruise ships lined up along the quayside, as they waited for their passengers who were shopping in Duval Street. He wished he could have visited Ernest Hemingway’s house before leaving, but there was no time.
Having seen his colleague back off to Australia the night before, he’d planned to do some sight-seeing in Miami this morning, before catching his afternoon flight to the Turks and Caicos. So when the US guys suggested he join them on an early morning helicopter trip down to their naval base at Key West, he didn’t have to be asked twice.
“That’s Cuba over there,” the pilot cut into his thoughts, “just 96 miles due south.”
Visibility was good on this beautiful morning, and Tom could just make out the island of Cuba. With a light south-westerly breeze, and clear blue skies, flying conditions were perfect.
Completing the circle, the pilot set a northerly course, back up the Florida Straits. “The Bahamas are about an hour’s flying time out in the North Atlantic,” he pointed eastwards. “And the Turks and Caicos due south of them.” He glanced over. “What time’s your flight this afternoon?”
“2.15.”
“Plenty of time, then.” All the while he was speaking, the pilot’s eyes scanned the vessels below.
Tom knew they were looking for one ship in particular, the Haitian Prince. It was suspected of having illegal migrants on board.
He remained quiet as they flew close to a series of sand-fringed islands stretching back to the US mainland. The Florida Keys looked stunning from the air. Linked by road bridges, the traffic flowed freely across them in both directions. Offshore, yachts bobbed about in the sparkling emerald sea close to swanky beachside properties.
When the helicopter suddenly banked to the right, Tom followed the pilot’s gaze to a cargo ship in the distance. Something about that vessel interested him.
As they hovered above it, Tom scanned the stacks of metal containers on deck. Nothing particularly suspicious, he thought, except there was no-one about. Crew members would normally come up on deck if they heard a helicopter.
The pilot descended a little, and circled around the vessel. “Is it the Haitian Prince?” he asked.
Tom screwed up his eyes to try and see. “I can’t make out the lettering on the hull. It’s too rusty.” But he could see through the window of the bridge. “It’s way too quiet in there though.”
“Yeah.” The pilot gave him a grim smile. “They’re hopin’ we’ll go away.” Immediately he radioed the co-ordinates back to base, with an instruction for the US Coastguard to locate, and board, the vessel. Flying one last sweep around the ship, he gave a satisfied nod and pulled back on the throttle. The helicopter rose into the air again.
Tom was unfazed. The core job was the same back home, except boats had to cross the Timor Sea from Indonesia to get to Australia. Illegal immigrants risked their lives, packed together in flimsy vessels, crossing those waters. And identifying the criminal traffickers facilitating that trade was Tom’s main job. They collected masses of intelligence on these criminal networks, but it was a global problem that depended on the co-operation of foreign governments. “Where did you get the intelligence that there were illegal migrants on board the Haitian Prince from?” he asked.
“Out of Haiti originally,” the pilot replied. “A British naval ship spotted the vessel last night and radioed in its location.”
That surprised Tom. “The British Navy is active down here?”
“Yep. They have a ship on patrol in the Caribbean every hurricane season in case any of its Overseas Territories are hit. They’re helpful to us too.”
Tom was surprised the British and US Governments shared intelligence in the area. He made a mental note to ask Jess about that when he saw her, and settled back into his seat. It had certainly been an interesting and usefu
l visit to Florida and Miami. The US guys were already talking about coming over to Australia to see how they did things back home. Tom would start the ball rolling with an official invitation as soon as he got back.
Now, he was looking forward to seeing how the British Government coped at the sharp end with the flow of illegals from Haiti to the Turks and Caicos. And he had to admit he was looking forward to seeing Jess again too. Had he done the right thing contacting her? It had been on impulse. But the more he thought about it, the more he knew he’d have been disappointed to return to Australia without seeing her. And that thought troubled him.
16
Jess shifted in the seat. “Start the car up, Sally, it’s stifling in here.”
Sally turned the key in the ignition, and the engine and air conditioning purred into action.
Jess felt grumpy this morning. Not only was she tired, but that experience on the beach last night had rattled her. It had clearly been some kind of ceremony, with all that drumming and chanting going on. If it was voodoo, and those people were Haitians, what was Alvita doing out there with them?
She turned back to Sally, wondering whether to tell her about it. But she didn’t want to frighten her, and changed the subject. “By the time I got back to the office from Rebekah’s yesterday evening, there was no-one in Overseas Territories Department to answer my telephone call.”
“London would be closed at that time,” Sally said. “They’re four hours ahead of us.”
“So I had to report Mrs Pearson’s murder by classified e-gram. I also mentioned the voodoo, and what happened to Rebekah and her dog since she’s the Chief Justice’s wife. I asked them to call me back this morning, but all I got was an email acknowledging my report and asking for regular updates.”
Sally pulled a face. “It’s always the same in August. One member of staff holds the fort while everyone else goes on leave.”
Jess nodded. “And I’m still waiting for the police to produce the accident report for the Governor’s car crash. I went round to the Government Garage and took some photos of the car before I came back yesterday too. What a mess! I’m surprised he got out of that alive, you know.”
Sally nodded, sadly.
“I haven’t got time now,” Jess went on. “But I need to email those photos to London when I get back. I couldn’t get onto the internet in the Residence on my laptop last night.”
Sally looked surprised.
“If London ring while I’m over in Provo, can you take a message and ring me straight away?”
“Are you happy for me to do that?” Sally asked. “Only I don’t usually get involved in talking to London.”
Jess looked at her. “Why not?”
“The Governor and David insist they do all that.”
They were either paranoid about advancing their own careers with London, Jess thought, or worried Sally was a loose cannon. “Sally,” she said, firmly, “the Governor’s lying seriously injured in a Miami hospital, and Mrs Pearson’s been brutally murdered. This is a serious situation. I’m counting on you.”
“Of course.” Sally sat up straight. “Look, I behaved badly at dinner the other evening, and I know that has shaken your confidence in me.”
Jess said nothing.
“But Rebekah really winds me up,” Sally said. “Believe me, there’s something not quite right about her.”
Jess stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“Oh I don’t know … she just, well, she just seems to like causing trouble,” Sally said. “But I assure you, I can do my own job, Jess, and more.”
Jess wondered if Sally knew about Rebekah and Charles, and was hinting at it. But she wouldn’t get into that now. Her mind was on that voodoo ceremony and why the locals were so grim and silent here.
“There’s a strange atmosphere on these islands,” she said. “Quite unlike anything I’ve experienced anywhere before.”
Sally nodded, as if she knew exactly what Jess was talking about. “They don’t want British officials here. That’s the truth of it.”
“I know, but I think it’s more than that.” Jess paused. “How does the Governor get on with the locals? I mean, he chairs Cabinet and supervises local Ministers. What sort of a relationship does he have with them?”
Sally shrugged. “He never opens up to me. But I don’t think he finds it easy here. None of us do. I think it’s been getting to him.”
Jess looked over. “What makes you say that?”
“He’s been so irritable lately, jumping off the deep end at any little thing. And that’s not like him.” Sally paused. “Then there was that blazing row he had with Clement Pearson.”
“Row?”
“It was the day Clement committed suicide,” Sally went on, “that’s why I remember it so well. Clement turned up at the office unexpectedly that afternoon, demanding to see the Governor.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It was about five. I remember all the other staff had gone. The Governor told me to go home too. I said I’d be happy to stay as I had a lot of work to do, but he insisted I leave and that he would lock up.” Sally pulled a face. “That was a first. He never locks up the Office.”
“So you left?”
“Yes, but halfway home, I realised I’d left my purse in my desk drawer and went back for it. The front door was locked when I got there, which was odd. I had my key though and let myself in.” She paused. “As soon as I opened the door, I heard them arguing. That really surprised me because I’d never heard the Governor even raise his voice before. Clement was a quiet sort of man too. But they were really going at it.”
Jess was intrigued now. “What was it all about?”
Sally shrugged. “I didn’t hang around to find out, I wasn’t supposed to be there.” She bit her lip. “It was later that night Clement hanged himself, and his wife found him in the garage. Now she’s been murdered.” She stared at Jess. “I keep wondering if that argument had something to do with Clement committing suicide.”
Jess’s head was whirling. What had the two men been arguing about? And had that row prompted Clement to take his own life.
“What are you thinking?” Sally asked.
“Well,” Jess glanced over. “Since that argument, Clement has committed suicide, his wife’s been murdered and the Governor’s had a serious car crash.”
Sally nodded, and fell silent.
Jess looked at her watch. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get going or I’ll miss my flight.”
“All right.” Sally buckled up her seat belt, and reversed out of the space.
Another thought occurred to Jess. “Was David in the office when the Governor and Clement had that row?” she asked.
Sally hesitated as she put the gear in drive, then shook her head. “No, he was at meetings in Provo that day.”
“What about Alvita?”
Sally had to think. “She was in the office, but I can’t be sure if she was still there then.” Sally’s face hardened. “To be honest, the less I see of her, the better. She hates us here on her islands, as she calls them. I’m sure she thinks she should be in charge of the Governor’s Office.”
Jess nodded, although in a way she understood Alvita. She’d been born in these islands. They were her home, her whole life. She would resent people coming from London into positions of authority, when they knew little about the islands and the people.
Sally put her foot down on the accelerator and the car pulled off. “It’s not easy working with people who don’t want you here.”
“Does Alvita treat you okay in the office?” Jess asked.
Sally pursed her lips tight. “She gets it back in bucket loads if she starts anything with me.”
Jess smiled. Sally could look after herself, but Alvita was a worry. What had she been up to on the beach last night? And why was she so cosy with the Haitians? Everyone else seemed to blame them for everything.
Sally said: “I thought I might go and see Rebekah today. I feel awful for wha
t I said about her not looking after Benji properly.”
Jess didn’t want Sally going anywhere while she was away. The Office and phones had to be properly manned. Not only that, the Governor’s accident was weighing on her mind, or rather the manner of his accident. Was it somehow connected to his argument with Clement Pearson? Why had Clement committed suicide anyway? Jess didn’t know how these things fitted together, but instinct was telling her that they did. So, until she knew more, she wanted to be sure Sally was safe. “I’d like you to stay in the office all day while I’m in Provo please.”
Sally caught the edge in her voice. “Why?”
Jess didn’t want to scare her. “I want you to be careful, that’s all.”
But Sally looked startled. “What are you saying? That something’s going to happen to me too?”
“No, I’m definitely not saying that, but I would like you to be careful. So please stay in the office, man the phones, and keep me informed of any developments. You can ring me any time on my mobile. Any time,” she repeated. “I want to know everything that’s going on. Understood?”
“Understood,” Sally said, softly, as she pulled the car up outside the airport terminal. “What time shall I pick you up?”
“We’re booked on the 5pm flight from Provo, so let’s say 5.30.”
“We? Oh, yes, of course you’ll have that Aussie policeman with you, won’t you?” Sally looked interested. “What’s he like?”
Jess smiled. “I haven’t seen him for a couple of years. We worked on a consular case together in Brisbane. He’s not only a policeman, you know, he’s an artist.”
“Ooh, how interesting.” Sally paused. “Bit unusual for a cop, isn’t it?”
Jess nodded. “I suppose it is really. He does portraits, that kind of thing.”
Sally glanced over. “Do you think he’d do one of me?”
Jess couldn’t help but smile. The vision of Sally holding Brad to her bosom at dinner sprang into her mind.
