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

by Jean Harrod

  Roger said nothing more.

  Looking at the man, Jess wondered again what his agenda might be now he was a Minister. From what she’d seen, and judging by the fear he provoked in his own staff, he was already a powerful figure in the islands. But how much more power did he want? Complete independence from the British Government?

  They fell silent as Roger drained his third glass of white wine. She sat back in her chair wondering whether to mention his aunt’s murder. Of course he’d be upset, but then he was tucking heartily into his lunch. She decided to plunge in. “I’m sorry about your aunt. It must have been a terrible shock, particularly after your uncle’s . . . death.”

  Immediately the shutters came down over Roger’s eyes. He put his knife and fork down. “It’s been terrible for the whole family,” he said.

  “How’s the investigation going?”

  “It has only just started, Miss Turner.”

  He clearly didn’t want to talk about the murder, but she felt compelled to ask: “Do you know if the police have a suspect, or a motive, yet?”

  He shook his head. “Not as far as I know. As I said, it’s early days.”

  Jess knew she was being fobbed off. But why? “Do you think the way Mrs Pearson was killed could be significant?” she went on, gently. “I mean, has such a thing ever happened here before?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, Miss Turner.”

  Jess knew she was being indelicate. “I’m sorry to have to ask you about your aunt,” she said, “but you know the British Government are ultimately responsible for police and security issues here. In the absence of the Governor, I have to report back to London. That’s why I need to be kept informed of developments.”

  Roger looked at her. “I’m afraid I don’t know any more than you do at the moment.”

  She nodded. “It’s terrible for you and your family that these deaths have come so close to each other.” She paused. “Do the police think your aunt’s murder is connected to your uncle’s death?”

  He shook his head, and made a show of looking at his watch. “I really have to get back to work now.” He wiped his mouth on his napkin and put it down on the table.

  Jess knew this was his way of closing down the conversation. She was sure he did know more about the police investigation; he just didn’t want to discuss it with her. “Can I ask you one more thing before you go,” she said. “Do you think the police need any help with your aunt’s murder investigation?”

  He looked up. “Why? Do you think they’re not up to the job?”

  She heard the edge in his voice. “No. I’m not saying that. I just thought they might need some specialist help with forensics, or extra manpower, that sort of thing.”

  “If the Governor were here, Miss Turner, he’d tell you that our police are more than up to the job.”

  “Ah, but he’s not here, Minister.” She gave him his formal title now. “He’s fighting for his life in a Miami hospital.” She paused. “Rather a coincidence in the circumstances, don’t you think?”

  *

  The sun glinted on the silver pot as the waiter placed it on the table. Coffee – at last! Jess poured herself a cup, and topped it up to the brim with milk. Little beads of sweat trickled down the back of her neck as she drank the piping hot liquid. But she didn’t care, she needed the caffeine.

  She was glad Roger Pearson had gone. She hadn’t handled their conversation very well, but she found him a difficult man. And she wasn’t going to let him bully her like he had his officials.

  She pulled her mobile out of her pocket and tapped her inbox. . . Still nothing from the Police Commissioner. He obviously wasn’t concerned about keeping her informed either. She’d go and see him the minute she got back to Grand Turk.

  Her eyes went back to the shoreline. The beach was deserted now, in the hottest part of the day, except for a few tourists still lounging on their sun beds in the shade. Out to sea, a speed boat dragged a paraglider across the sky like a kite. The scene looked like a photo from a glossy holiday magazine.

  Suddenly, she became aware of the silence. She looked around. Everyone had gone. Even the waiters had disappeared, which was annoying. Roger had paid for lunch before leaving, but she needed to settle up for the coffee. She checked her watch: 2.45. It was still too early to go to the airport to collect Tom, but she needed to let the restaurant staff clear up.

  A light touch on her shoulder made her jump.

  She turned to see a woman standing behind her. She looked elegant in a sleeveless, navy blue and white dress, with her curly black hair clasped tightly in a ponytail.

  “Can I speak to you, Miss Turner?” she asked.

  “Of course.” Jess gestured to the chair opposite her, wondering what she wanted.

  The woman glanced around and sat down. “How well do you know Roger Pearson?” she asked, quickly. “Only I saw you having lunch with him.”

  What a strange question to fire off, Jess thought, especially without introducing herself. But the woman clearly knew who Jess was, so she answered truthfully: “As you probably know, I only arrived here a couple of days ago.”

  The woman bit her lip, looking nervous.

  Jess’s eyes were drawn to the chunky gold earrings and pendant the woman wore. She looked well off, sophisticated even. “So what would you like to talk to me about?” Jess asked.

  The woman looked over her shoulder, and turned back. “I shouldn’t be talking to you, but someone has to.”

  Jess saw fear in the woman’s dark eyes now, and sat forward.

  “Things are not what they seem on these islands, Miss Turner.” The woman shook her head. “It’s got worse and worse. People are afraid to speak out.”

  Jess contained her surprise. “Afraid?”

  The woman pointed in the direction of the beach. “Look at those rich tourists! They have no idea what’s going on here, or even where they are. All they see is beautiful sea and sand. They don’t care about these islands. They don’t want to know the reality.” The words were tumbling out now. “I can’t stand the lies any more, you see . . . the awful deceit. It’s not going to stop. It’s never going to stop.”

  The woman was clearly upset, but she wasn’t making any sense. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to tell me,” Jess said.

  The woman leant forward. “You can’t trust Roger Pearson. You can’t trust any of them!”

  Jess stared at her. “Why not?”

  The woman just looked away.

  Jess tried again. “So what are these lies, and this awful deceit, you talk about?”

  The woman shook her head. “You can’t deal with this on your own, Miss Turner. You need to get the British police over here. There’s no-one else to help us.”

  A car door slammed in the distance.

  The woman flinched. “I can’t be seen talking to you.” She went to get up.

  “Please!” Jess put a hand on her arm to stop her leaving.

  The woman shrugged it off and stood up. “Believe me when I say people are too scared to tell the truth.” She bent down and whispered. “The Governor was going to confess. That’s why they had to stop him.”

  Jess was stunned for a moment. “What are you trying to say? That the Governor’s car crash wasn’t an accident?”

  The woman nodded. “Be careful, Miss Turner.”

  Jess jumped up.

  But the woman turned and ran straight out of the restaurant.

  Jess stared after her, then plopped back down on the chair, with the woman’s words whirling around in her head. The Governor was going to confess. That’s why they had to stop him.

  How would that woman know the Governor’s car crash wasn’t an accident, she wondered? Who was she anyway? And why would she stick her neck out to say something when everyone else was supposedly too afraid? But, as Jess remembered the sound of drumming and chanting on the beach the night before, and the smell of charred flesh, shivers ran up her spine. What the hell was going on in these
islands?

  19

  Tom stretched his right leg out in the aisle and flexed his knee. His long legs were always a problem in coach class. Still, it was a short flight to Providenciales – only an hour and twenty minutes from Miami. Now, by his watch, they should be landing in half an hour.

  He finished the dregs of red wine in his glass and laid his head back on the seat rest. That Californian wine was very drinkable, but he would have liked a glass of Tasmanian Pinot Noir with that chicken.

  Closing his eyes, he wondered what on earth he was doing on a plane to the Turks and Caicos Islands. What had he been thinking when he contacted Jess and invited himself down? He was probably the last person she wanted to see, raking up all those bad memories of Brisbane. Of course she’d told him to come. She was too polite to say no. He shook his head just thinking about it.

  He’d told the guys back in Canberra he was going to visit a friend in the Caribbean for a few days. He thought of Jess as a friend. But was she? After all, they’d been working when they were thrown together on that murder case. Did she think of him as a friend? He didn’t often feel nervous, but he was now.

  Still, his time in Miami had been useful. He’d learnt a lot about their ‘illegals’ operation. He’d recommend his colleagues adopt one or two US procedures when he got back home. And it hadn’t all been one-sided. The US guys were keen to hear about how they did things back in Australia too.

  It was only now he had the time and space to think that he realised something was bugging him. It was the way those guys reacted when he told them he was going to visit a friend in the Governor’s Office in the Turks and Caicos. They either looked away, or down at their feet. There was definitely something unspoken between them. What was all that about? Did they clam up because he said he was going to visit a friend in the Turks and Caicos? Or because she was in the Governor’s Office? Perhaps both? Only the helicopter pilot, on their way back from Key West this morning, had said anything.

  “That’s gonna be interestin’. They’re a pretty lawless bunch down there.”

  He’d asked the pilot what he meant by that.

  “I guess you’re gonna find that out soon enough.” The pilot had given him a wry smile. “We’ve got a good contact in the local police on Grand Turk, if you need one while you’re down there.”

  “Oh, I’m not planning on doing any work.” Tom had smiled. “I’m taking a few days’ leave.”

  “Sure, buddy.” The pilot glanced over. “But if you need any help, be sure to get in touch with Chuck Lynch.”

  Tom remembered the name Chuck Lynch clearly. He never forgot a face or a name. But he was annoyed with himself now for not asking more questions. Why hadn’t he pressed them to explain why they didn’t want to talk about the Turks and Caicos? He’d never usually have let something like that go, not when he was working as a detective anyway. Was he losing his touch, he wondered? Sitting there, he remembered how he used to feel at the start of a new murder case. That buzz. The excitement of putting the pieces of a crime puzzle together. It was like a fever that burnt in his brain. He couldn’t rest or think about anything else until he’d resolved it. It made him feel alive.

  He suddenly realised how much he missed all that.

  20

  The Governor was going to confess... that’s why they had to stop him.

  Jess paced around the airport terminal waiting for Tom’s plane to land? Could she believe that woman? She might have had another reason for saying what she did. But then Jess had felt things were all wrong from the moment she set foot in this Territory. She’d been treading carefully, feeling her way along with the Police Commissioner and Roger Pearson. Now she had no option but to request a British police team come over to investigate the Governor’s accident, and assess the local police response to Mrs Pearson’s murder.

  She pulled out her mobile. She’d call Sally and ask her to track down the Police Commissioner and get him to call round later. She dialled Sally’s direct office line. No reply. She rang Sally’s mobile. No reply from that either. She phoned the Governor’s Office switchboard, but it just rang and rang. She thrust the phone back in her pocket. What were they all doing over there?

  Suddenly the lights of Tom’s Trans Air jet came looming on the horizon. She watched the plane line up with the single runway as it approached. Down came the landing gear. The huge wings wobbled in the air currents. Finally, the plane thudded down on the tarmac, rushed past her, and juddered to a stop at the far end of the runway.

  Flashing an official airside pass, Jess walked past the single baggage carousel, and up to the immigration desk to wait for Tom there. Standing by the window, she watched the plane taxi over and stop close to the terminal. Steps were manoeuvred up to the plane and the door opened. Her eyes scanned the passengers as they descended. She hadn’t seen Tom for a couple of years. Would he look the same?

  When she saw him appear in the plane’s doorway, an overwhelming sense of relief washed over her. He hurried down the steps and across the tarmac with a sense of purpose that set him apart from all the other passengers and holidaymakers. Single-minded, that was Tom.

  Suddenly, he looked over to where she was waiting, as if he knew she was there, and stopped. He smiled and gave her a salute in the same way he had when they last said goodbye.

  She laughed and waved.

  Clearing immigration, he went straight over to her.

  There was no awkwardness between them as they greeted each other with a friendly hug. The intervening years just fell away. He was still as fit and lean as ever, just a little greyer around the temples. “I’m so glad you’re here, Tom,” she said, anxiously.

  He frowned as he studied her face. “What’s wrong?”

  *

  They were sitting in the corner of the domestic departure lounge waiting for their flight to Grand Turk, and as far away from the other passengers as they could for privacy. They hadn’t stopped talking for the whole 30 minutes he’d been on the ground. Or rather Jess hadn’t. She was trying to explain to him the set-up in these islands. “The Governor is a senior British diplomat from London,” she said. “He chairs Cabinet, which consists entirely of local Ministers. They have their own individual domestic portfolios, you know, such as fishing, housing and immigration.”

  “What’s your job then, Jess?”

  “I’m the Head of the Governor’s Office. You see, under the Constitution, the UK retains responsibility for foreign affairs, defence, policing and security, and financial regulation. I work to the Governor on those issues.”

  He ran his hands through his short, spiky hair. “So, if I’ve got this right, just about everyone works to the Governor.”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s all powerful, then?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose he is, except it would be physically impossible for one man to keep an eye on everything.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “That’s just it.” Jess flopped back in the chair. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I only arrived two days ago, to cover the job for a colleague. His mother’s gravely ill in the UK. Before that, I was on special unpaid leave, accompanying Simon on his posting to Washington.”

  “How is Simon?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “Oh, fine.”

  “I can’t imagine you not working,” he said. “Must’ve had a lot of time on your hands.”

  She looked away. Tom had the unnerving habit of looking into her eyes, as if reading her thoughts.

  “So,” he said. “You got here on Tuesday to find the Governor had had a car accident that morning.” He paused. “Except now you think it wasn’t an accident.”

  “Yes.” She’d already told him about the woman in the Provo restaurant, who’d said the Governor was going to confess, and that’s why they had to stop him.

  “Then there was a dinner party that night at the Governor’s Residence,” he went on. “And later that night, a local lady called Mrs Pearson, was murdered.”

>   “Yes. She was found hanging by her feet at home in the garage, with her throat cut.”

  “Jesus!”

  She nodded. “Shocking isn’t it? Her husband, the Minister Clement Pearson, hanged himself in that same garage, a few weeks ago. The inquest confirmed suicide.”

  Tom paused to think. “Pretty brutal way to kill someone. Hanging them up by their feet and cutting their throat.” He hesitated. “Why kill her like that?”

  Jess shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve asked if that’s ever happened here before. No-one’s come up with anything yet.”

  “Hmm. There has to be a reason for such brutality. Unless of course that was the reason?”

  She frowned at him.

  “Perhaps the killer wanted to send a brutal message?” he explained. “Scare someone maybe?”

  “He’s done that all right,” she said. “Scared the whole island.”

  Tom nodded. “You say the Minister was the murdered woman’s husband, and that he committed suicide?”

  “Yes, press reports said he was depressed after his son died of a drugs overdose.”

  He nodded. “Could that be what’s going on here? Drugs?”

  Jess shrugged. “I wondered that too, but these are small islands. Only a few people could afford hard drugs, so it couldn’t be that lucrative a trade. Not enough to murder for, surely?”

  “Unless the drugs are going through these islands on their way to the US market. That would earn megabucks for the traffickers.” His eyes flashed. “And for those facilitating the trade here.”

  “Mm.”

  “I’m just speculating,” he said, quickly.

  “I’m going to ring London when I get back to Grand Turk, and ask them to send a UK police team over to investigate the Governor’s car accident. They can assess local police resources and their response to Mrs Pearson’s murder while they’re here.” She looked at him and gave an apologetic smile. “And you thought you were coming for a holiday?”