by Jean Harrod
“Will you ask him, Jess?”
Jess had been really wondering what Tom would make of her now. She cringed, thinking about the tragic face and blank eyes he’d drawn in his first sketch of her. It hadn’t been long after she’d lost Jack and Amy, and before she’d got together with Simon.
And thinking of Simon now, she didn’t know whether she felt hurt or cross. She’d sent him a text last night to say goodnight and another this morning to say hi. He hadn’t replied to either. Not yet anyway. What was up with him?
She turned to Sally. “Can you ring our Consulate in Miami while I’m in Provo? I called them this morning to find out how the Governor was doing. They said they’d ring back, but they haven’t.”
“Okay. Will do,” Sally said. “And I’ll come back at 5.30 to pick you up.”
“That’d be great.” Jess picked up her bag and briefcase and got out of the car. “Remember,” she said through the open window, “stay in the office.”
“Absolutely. I won’t leave the building until I come back and pick you up.”
17
Back in Provo again, Jess climbed out of the plane and straightened up. Even at 9.30, the heat was stifling. She could feel the soles of her shoes sticking to the tarmac as she walked over to the terminal. At least she was wearing flats today. The island’s sandy ground was impossible in high heels.
With no checks on domestic flights, she entered the building and followed the signs to the taxi rank. The terminal was deserted this morning, compared to her arrival. As she passed by the café, she glanced through the window, and stopped.
That uniform was unmistakable . . .
The Police Commissioner sat at a table in the far corner. His companion had his back to her, but that curly, gelled hair was instantly recognisable – Big Shot!
The pair were engrossed in conversation. She knew the Police Commissioner was in Provo for the hurricane planning meeting. It only then occurred to her that Roger Pearson would be attending too, as the new Immigration Minister. For some reason, hurricane planning came within that ministerial portfolio.
A welcome blast of air conditioning blew in her face when she went into the café to speak to them. Neither man looked up. She hesitated. The Police Commissioner pulled his ever-present white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow. He looked sickly this morning, but it was his low, urgent voice that caught her attention. It sounded like he was pleading with Roger Pearson, although Jess couldn’t hear what about.
Roger still had his back to her but, by the way he kept jabbing a finger at the Police Commissioner, it looked like he was giving him a dressing down. He must be upset about his aunt’s murder, she thought. She knew only too well from her job that people reacted differently to shock and grief. Some collapsed in despair, while others lashed out at anyone within range. The café staff politely kept their eyes down, and busied themselves drying up cups and saucers. They didn’t want to be seen to be listening. What a way to treat the Police Commissioner in public!
Not wanting to get caught up in all that, she quickly withdrew from the café and walked out of the terminal to stand in line at the taxi rank. Almost immediately her mobile started ringing. “Hello,” she answered.
“Hi Jess.”
She recognised the voice. “Hello, Brad.”
“Sorry to disturb you.” He sounded tense. “I know you’re over in Provo, but I didn’t know who else to call.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rebekah. I’m at her place now, with my brother Charles. She’s . . . well, she’s a bit . . . hysterical about this voodoo warning. She says she heard footsteps outside the house in the middle of the night, but she was too afraid to go out and investigate.”
Jess didn’t blame her. “Has she told the police?”
He sighed. “They called round yesterday to take a statement about Benji’s collar and those coffin nails.” He paused. “They didn’t take the collar. Wouldn’t even touch it, according to Rebekah. Too scared.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Jess said, irritably. She was surprised Rebekah had been on her own last night. She’d have thought poker-faced Charles would have taken the opportunity of her husband’s absence to stay over. “Is Rebekah on her own?” she asked.
“My brother’s with her now.” Brad sighed. “The thing is Jess, Rebekah refuses to talk to the police again. She says they’re a waste of time.” He paused. “She wants to see you.”
Jess sighed. She didn’t blame Rebekah for being upset about her dog, but it was a matter for the police. She would definitely have a word with the Police Commissioner when she saw him. His officers must take this seriously. “I’ll pop round and see Rebekah this evening when I get back,” she said. “In the meantime, you might want to call the doctor and ask him to give her something to help her rest.”
“Good idea.” He paused. “You know, Jess, everyone’s upset with what’s happening. First Clement, then all the talk of voodoo and pets being sacrificed, then the Governor’s accident, and now Mrs Pearson. People are afraid.”
“I understand that, Brad.”
“Well, I was thinking it might be a good idea for us all to get together again this evening. It always helps to be in company, rather than at home alone dwelling on things, don’t you think?” He paused. “Why don’t you come over for dinner at my place? Charles can bring Rebekah, and save you a drive over to hers.”
A repeat performance of their first dinner did not appeal to Jess. “I’m sorry,” she said, quickly, “but I’ve got a friend arriving to stay at the Residence.”
“Oh, bring him along too, and Sally,” he said. “The more the merrier.”
How did Brad know her friend was a man? Unless Sally had been talking. “We won’t get back to Grand Turk until about 5.30. He might be tired from travelling.”
“That’s a point.” Brad paused. “Tell you what. Why don’t I bring some food over to you, and we can all meet up at the Residence? If that suits you, of course.”
She groaned inwardly knowing Brad wasn’t going to be put off. Still, at least it would be an opportunity for Tom to meet a few people, since it looked like she was going to be too busy to take him out and about. “All right,” she said, “but it’ll be easier if Maggie prepares something simple at the Residence.”
“Perfect.” The relief in Brad’s voice was palpable.
Why was he so eager to meet up, she wondered? “Would you ring Sally and ask her to speak to Maggie about it, please? Tell her we only want something simple, and not to go to any trouble. The poor woman has had enough to cope with.”
“Great. I’ll do that.” He paused. “Is it okay if Carrie joins us? She’s feeling the strain too.”
“Of course.” Jess had moved to the front of the queue now, and could see a taxi turning in the direction of the rank. “Look, I must go, Brad. See you all at, say, seven?”
“Okay. Thanks Jess. See you then.”
She pocketed her mobile. Another dinner was the last thing she wanted but, in the Governor’s absence, she felt she had a duty to do something to help everyone. She got into the back of the taxi.
“Where to, Miss?”
Jess looked up to see a smiling row of teeth. “The Disaster Management Centre, please.”
The young man gave her a blank look.
She tried again. “The control centre where they manage natural disasters . . . hurricanes and things.”
He shrugged.
Jess pulled the disaster management file out of her briefcase, and read out the address.
He gave her a doubtful look.
She was just wondering what to do when Roger Pearson strode out of the terminal, and jumped into the back of a black limousine. He had to be going to the same place.
“See that Mercedes,” she said, pointing through the windscreen. “Follow it.”
The taxi driver grinned, and pressed down on the accelerator in pursuit.
The first thing Jess noticed about Provo was the smooth t
armac road, and neatly clipped bushes of brightly coloured bougainvillea along the central reservation. Then came newly built houses and luxury hotels. It felt a world away from the old charm and history of Grand Turk. On the pavement here, black and white people mingled more comfortably. The common denominator probably being wealth, she thought.
Jess started gripping the seat nervously as the taxi driver picked up speed along the dual carriageway. He weaved his way through the traffic, determined not to lose the Mercedes. When the taxi’s engine started making a rattling noise, she began to regret her follow that car order. Suddenly, the sight of a stunning bay, with white sand and more turquoise sea, came into view. Reaching into her handbag for her camera, she felt around but couldn’t find it. Reluctantly, she took her eyes off the road to look inside. Definitely not there. Damn! She remembered she’d left it in the Governor’s study last night. She frowned. She still had to download that photo of the charred remains in the fire on the beach last night too and email it to the Police Commissioner.
The taxi driver suddenly slammed on the brakes.
She jerked forward.
When the Mercedes turned left into a narrow lane, the taxi driver followed.
“Just a minute,” she said. “Are you sure this is the right way?”
“I’m following that car, Miss.” He flashed her a glance in the driver’s mirror. “Just like you said.” He drove on, determined to keep up.
The taxi was engulfed in sand from the Mercedes’ tyres on the unsealed track as they bumped over stones and potholes. Jess was more worried about how she was going to explain to Roger why they were following him, than being shaken about in the back.
Finally, the taxi shuddered to a halt. Once the cloud of sand had subsided, she stared at a single-storey, concrete building nestling into the side of a hill. Several cars were parked outside, in a haphazard way.
Was this the island’s Disaster Management Centre?
*
Roger Pearson could turn on the charm, she thought, as she watched him chair the meeting. He clearly enjoyed being the centre of attention, and in control. Jess could feel the tension in the room though, and wondered if that was due to Mrs Pearson’s murder, or to Roger’s mercurial personality? He was all sweetness and light now. But he could turn in a flash as she’d seen with that little girl, and the Police Commissioner, at the airport.
Roger’s officials clearly didn’t want to get on the wrong side of him. They hung on his every word, and only spoke when invited to. They ranged from the Chief of the Fire Brigade, to the Chief Medical Officer, to representatives of the other inhabited islands in the Turks and Caicos chain. Jess studied them as they introduced themselves. They were all black, and local islanders, except for the Fire Brigade Chief, who said he was from Trinidad.
Despite an old air conditioner blasting away noisily in the corner of the room, the place was stifling hot. A lick of paint wouldn’t go amiss, she thought, although she guessed she was the only person who noticed. The table they were sitting around was made up of several smaller, square tables all pushed together to form a rectangle. A projector screen hung over a whiteboard at one end of the room, with a detailed map of the islands next to it. Apart from some battery operated radios, she could see only one computer which surely wouldn’t be enough in any emergency. The electricity supply would be the first thing to go, so they must have a generator somewhere too.
The meeting wasn’t like any meeting she’d ever chaired. Senior officials were not free to express themselves here. And when she introduced herself and explained that she was holding the reins while the Governor recovered from his accident, no-one asked how he was, or expressed any sympathy. Why? Didn’t they care? She got the distinct feeling there was something unspoken between these people, and they weren’t going to open up while she was around.
Jess just listened as the meeting went on, soaking up all the information on hurricane disaster planning like a sponge. She studied a small map the Minister circulated, indicating the location of all the hurricane shelters on every island, and the safe harbours for shipping. She wrote down the radio and TV frequencies for emergency messages in her diary, and slipped the latest list of emergency telephone numbers inside the back cover. She’d have programmed them into her mobile there and then, except she didn’t want to appear rude.
Several questions popped into her mind as the meeting progressed, but she kept them to herself. Not that she was intimidated by Roger Pearson, like everyone else seemed to be. The discussion was just so slow; she didn’t want to drag things out further. No-one else seemed bothered about the time, but she was eager to get away and see the Police Commissioner. Where was he, anyway?
After an hour and a half, she excused herself to go outside and phone him on her mobile. But there was no reply from the numbers Sally had given her for his direct office line and mobile. She left voice messages on both saying she wanted to speak to him urgently.
Back in the meeting, Roger Pearson pushed a note along the table to her. Are you free for lunch after the meeting? it read.
Oh God! That was the last thing she wanted. Thank you, she scribbled back, but I have to go and see the Police Commissioner.
The piece of paper slid back in her direction. He’s flown back to Grand Turk to supervise the murder investigation came the reply.
Flown back to Grand Turk without talking to her? Jess was annoyed he’d gone, and that she was now cornered on the lunch invitation. She knew it would be churlish to refuse since Roger was probably only being polite to a new arrival. Thank you she wrote back. That would be lovely.
Roger nodded when he read it, and continued with the meeting. As it dragged on, she realised that at least he was well up to speed on disaster management. He did most of the talking though, only occasionally listening to what others had to say. He liked to fire off questions too, which rattled those on the receiving end. His officials were definitely scared of him. Or perhaps more of being caught out by him, and humiliated in front of the others? That created a lot of tension in the room.
The more she watched Roger Pearson in action, the more she disliked him. He seemed to relish his new-found status as Immigration Minister, showing little regard for any officials around the table. The man had a big ego, that’s for sure, and seemed keen to stamp his authority over everyone. Just what would his agenda be in his new role, she wondered? And how far would he go to get what he wanted?
18
Jess felt she should pinch herself to make sure she really was sitting in the shade of a palm tree in an oceanfront restaurant overlooking Grace Bay. A stunning 12-mile curving beach, with powder white sand, stretched along the shoreline. While out to sea, white foam bubbled on turquoise water as waves broke up on the reef. What a wonderfully secluded Caribbean paradise!
“I was educated mostly in America.” Roger Pearson helped himself to another spoonful of coconut fish curry from the bowl in the centre of the table. “I majored in history at Yale.”
“Ah.” Jess put her knife and fork down. The curry was delicious, but she wasn’t hungry and Roger seemed more than capable of eating it all on his own. “I wondered how you were so knowledgeable about ancient customs.”
“Voodoo’s nothing for us to worry about,” he went on. “It’s been practised in Haiti for centuries, like a religion.” He gave her a pointed look. “It was brought over from West Africa by our forefathers, on slave ships.”
Roger Pearson was a lifetime away from his forebears on slave ships, she thought. Decked out in a designer suit, polished shoes, and glowing with privilege, he only had to lift a hand and every waiter in the restaurant came running. “Do the Haitians here practise voodoo?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It may go on quietly in some corners of the islands, but it’s harmless.”
“Harmless? Even when people think their pets are being sacrificed?”
“Just be thankful they’re not human sacrifices,” he said, lightly.
She realised he was joking
, but she was thinking of the charred offering on the beach the night before. And people were scared. “Can you be sure they’re not?”
“Come now, Miss Turner.” He gave her a reproachful look. “It wasn’t that long ago humans were being sacrificed in your country.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Weren’t the Druids barbarians who liked to sacrifice humans?” He went on. “At least the Roman invaders thought they were.”
Jess sat back in her seat. “That was over 2,000 years ago,” she said, drily. “And as far as I know, there’s no evidence in the history books to substantiate such claims. They more likely used animals in their rituals.”
“As in voodoo ceremonies.” Roger had made his point. “Best not to listen to gossip.”
The man was being smug now. “Perhaps we should listen,” she went on. “Ignoring this kind of thing leads to mistrust, fear even. Wouldn’t it be better to investigate these ceremonies, and missing pets, to find out the truth? At least it might restore community relations.”
“What a waste of police time that would be.”
“Is that what the Governor thinks too?” she asked.
Roger shrugged. “He takes a pragmatic view.”
“Is that why he didn’t instruct the police to investigate?”
“He always listens to advice,” he said, pointedly.
“I see.” Jess wondered what kind of influence Roger had over the Governor. She didn’t know the Governor, but she doubted the Chief Justice could be easily swayed. He took voodoo, or rather the effect it was having on the community, seriously. “Does the Chief Justice see things the same way as you?” she asked.
Roger frowned. “Has that poor man been going on about voodoo again?” He shook his head. “He’s been under a lot of pressure lately.”
“Pressure?”
“He has a very heavy workload,” he said. “And let’s face it, he’s not getting any younger. Retirement must be beckoning.”
Jess felt her hackles rise. Roger seemed contemptuous of the Chief Justice. He clearly didn’t think much of any senior official here – black or white. “Personally, I found Dominic articulate and highly intelligent,” she said. “He didn’t strike me as being over the hill or under any particular strain.”
