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

by Jean Harrod

  Suddenly, the garage doors rattled in a violent gust of wind.

  They both jumped.

  Chuck shivered despite the heat. “Let’s get out of here.”

  But Tom wasn’t going to be spooked. “This boat,” he said, going over to it. “Can you tell if it’s been out to sea lately?”

  Chuck went over and inspected the sides and the trailer. “Hasn’t been out for some time, I’d say.”

  Tom pulled the tarpaulin off that covered the open part of the boat. He climbed in and sat down. “Who benefits from Clement and his wife’s deaths?”

  “The daughter is their only child now. She inherits everything. But she won’t talk to us, or come up here. Too scared. She thinks she’ll be cursed if she does, and end up like her mother.”

  Tom pulled a face. “Not Haitian, is she?”

  “Nah. But the whole island’s scared shitless.”

  Tom looked around the garage and basement again. The whole place spoke of the sea, of life on the sea, of life from the sea. The sea was crucial to all this. He was sure of it. He glanced over at Chuck. “I heard Clement Pearson gave evidence to a British Government Inquiry into the sinking of Haitian sloops on the day he... died,” he said. “What can you tell me about that?”

  Chuck stepped back. “We need to get out of here now. Let’s talk in the truck on the way to the Government Garage.”

  Tom frowned. “Why are we going there?”

  “Seems the Governor’s Land Rover was there all along.”

  Tom stared at him. “Impossible!”

  Chuck nodded. “Come on, let’s go.” He turned on his heels and walked over to the door. He couldn’t wait to get out of the place.

  Tom was just getting out of the boat, when he noticed something glittering under the seat in front. He bent forward and picked it up. A little, brass key. It looked identical to the one Jess had found in the Governor’s desk. “Chuck,” he called, excitedly.

  But Chuck had already gone.

  Tom slipped the key into his trouser pocket, and had a last look around the room before he left. They’ll probably end up bulldozing the place, he thought. No-one on a small island like this would ever want to live here again.

  *

  Chuck drove at a steady pace back down Lighthouse Road towards town.

  Tom could feel his tension. He felt guilty for putting him in the awkward position of helping him. But his detective’s instincts were on overdrive. He needed to get as much information as he could from him while he had the chance.

  “Can we talk about that British Government Inquiry into the two Haitian sloops now, Chuck?” He paused. “I understand Clement was the Immigration Minister when they sank. Was he held responsible for what happened in some way? Did that drive him to take his own life?”

  Chuck gripped the steering wheel tight. “The Haitians are the problem. They just keep comin’. Waves of ’em. There’s eight million of ’em over there.” He pointed out to sea. “We can’t take ’em all.”

  Tom understood. He knew all about illegal immigration. That was the reason he was travelling the globe, to find out how other countries dealt with it. “It’s a big problem everywhere, Chuck.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you process the illegals when they get here?”

  “We take ’em over to the detention centre in Provo, then we fly them straight back to Haiti. They’re all economic migrants, looking for a better life. Can’t blame ’em. They’re dirt poor over there.” He paused for breath. “But look at us. We’re just small islands. There are no jobs for ’em, apart from buildin’ hotels and houses. We can’t support thousands of Haitians. No,” he said, firmly. “Straight back, and that’s that.”

  That was the frankest exchange Tom had had with anyone on the subject of illegal immigration on all his travels. “So what happened to these two sloops?” he asked.

  “Terrible... terrible.” Chuck’s whole frame seemed to tremble. “Grown men weeping as they pulled bodies from the sea. All dead.” He wiped his brow on his arm. “The sharks got some of ’em. Legs missin’, arms. Some even their heads.” He shuddered. “Never seen anythin’ like it.”

  Tom could see this had affected Chuck deeply.

  “The thing is they don’t want to come here.” Chuck’s voice had risen now. “They want to go to the States. That’s where they think they’re goin’. That’s where they pay the people smugglers to take ’em.” He pressed down hard on the accelerator. “They’re bein’ cheated out of the little money they have. They were always goin’ to end up losin’ their lives on the reef.”

  Tom turned that over in his mind. They were always going to end up losing their lives on the reef. That was a strange thing to say.

  Suddenly Chuck slammed his fist on the horn, as a donkey strayed out into the road. He was getting all steamed up and liable to crash the truck if Tom didn’t stop asking questions. He sat quietly for a while, until Chuck had calmed down. Then he asked: “Isn’t there a working lighthouse up on the headland?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So the sloops would have seen the light warning them about the reef. Why not steer clear?”

  Chuck shrugged.

  They sat silent as they drove alongside the main beach out of town. Despite the wind, the sky was still blue, and the water inside the reef like a turquoise lagoon. The sun was just sinking below the horizon as the waves crashed onto the reef. Tom thought it looked stunning. He wondered if Jess was watching the sunset too. He turned to Chuck and asked again. “Did Clement get blamed for these sloop sinkings? Is that why he committed suicide?”

  Chuck shook his head, sadly. “No-one would blame Clement. He was one of the good guys. But it must have weighed on him. He kind of withdrew into himself. Didn’t turn up at the office. Just liked to go out fishin’ on that boat of his.”

  “Do you think Clement’s wife knew he was having a really hard time?”

  “Sure she did. They’d been sweethearts from kids. Always together. Oh yeah, she’d have known everything. She’d supported Clement her entire life.”

  Now Tom was getting to the heart of things. He wondered whether or not to ask his next question, then decided he had to. “Do you think Clement committed suicide, Chuck? Or was he murdered too?”

  Chuck glanced over, then back at the road. He wasn’t surprised by the question. “All I know is the autopsy said poor old Clement hung himself. So did the inquest.”

  “So why would anyone want to murder Clement’s wife, and in such a brutal way?” Tom asked. “Why hang her by her feet from the beam in exactly the same spot Clement took his own life? What’s the significance of that? Why cut her throat? And why the voodoo curse?”

  “That’s what we’re tryin’ to figure out, Tom,” Chuck said, quietly. He checked his driver mirror again and frowned.

  “Have we got company?” Tom asked.

  “We’ve had company since I picked you up,” came the reply.

  Tom resisted the urge to look behind. “Look, Chuck, I don’t want to get you into trouble. Just drop me off somewhere and forget this afternoon.”

  Chuck looked over. “Did you say you had those photos of the Governor’s car on your phone?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. I’ll park up and take a look at them before we go into the Government Garage.”

  32

  Tucking the telephone receiver between her ear and shoulder, Jess waited for the Embassy switchboard in Washington to put her through to the Management Officer. She felt sick to the stomach, but she had to find out the truth about where Simon was. And why he was lying to her.

  Her eyes drifted again to the brass key lying on the desk. It shone brightly, as if recently polished. Less than two inches long, with a simple ‘bit’ to operate the lock and a hollow shank, it looked more like a key that would open an antique desk drawer, or some kind of trinket box. Was the design of the heart-shaped bow significant, she wondered?

  An interesting key, but what on earth did it
open?

  She gazed around the office for the umpteenth time. She’d found the key in the desk drawer in the Governor’s Residence study, but it wouldn’t fit any of the locks over there. And none in here either.

  “You still there, Ma’am?” the operator came back on.

  “Yes.”

  “Can you hold for another minute?”

  “Yes.”

  Jess rubbed her aching temples. She’d searched this office from top to bottom, going through every drawer, every book on the shelves, and every piece of paper in the Governor’s cupboard. It would help if she knew what she was looking for. Just something out of the ordinary, Tom said. Something that would give them a clue about what was going on. Well, she’d been at it for over an hour, and found nothing – at least nothing that had caught her interest.

  “Okay, Ma’am,” the operator said. “Putting you through now.”

  “Thank you.” Jess heard some crackling.

  A male voice came on the line. “Hello, Jess.”

  “Hello,” she said. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Simon Hill’s partner.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I know who you are.”

  “Sorry to trouble you.” Jess took a deep breath. “I-I’m trying to contact Simon, but he seems to... have gone on leave.”

  “Yes, he’s in the UK for a couple of weeks.” There was another pause. “I thought you’d gone with him?”

  Simon’s in the UK?

  “No,” she replied, calmly. “I’m in the Turks and Caicos Islands on temporary duty at the moment.”

  “Lucky you,” he laughed. “I could do with some relaxation on the beach. Great diving down there too, I hear.”

  “Yes,” Jess said to jolly him along. “Why did you think I’d gone to the UK with Simon?”

  “Funnily enough, I’ve just been doing the monthly accounts check. It says Simon bought two return air tickets to the UK, so I just assumed...” There was an awkward pause. “I just assumed the second ticket was for you.”

  “I see.” She tried to keep her voice bright. “Did he say he’d be in London?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  She could hear him trying to suppress the surprise in his voice, but how could she tell him Simon wouldn’t answer her calls or texts?

  “I’ll try his London flat,” she said, quickly.

  “Good idea. I expect you’ll find him there.” His voice was kind and sympathetic, and that made her feel worse.

  “If Simon does get in touch with you,” she said, “will you tell him I need to speak to him urgently?”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Thanks... Goodbye.”

  “Bye Jess.”

  She put the phone down in the cradle, and sat frozen, staring into the distance. Too numb even to get angry or cry.

  It was the rattling door handle that brought her back to the present.

  “Jess!” Sally called out.

  She ignored it.

  “Jess! There’s a classified e-gram for you from London.”

  Jess rubbed her face and eyes, and got up wearily to unlock the door. She hadn’t wanted anyone to see her searching the Governor’s office. Now, she was really glad she’d locked it.

  Sally gave her a wan smile. “Everything all right?” she asked, handing over a file. “Only you look...”

  “Everything’s fine.” Jess took the file back to the Governor’s desk and sat down.

  Sally followed her. “It’s from the Director of Overseas Territories.”

  Jess opened the file cover and began reading.

  CONFIDENTIAL AND PERSONAL FOR

  JESS TURNER

  I was shocked to get your e-gram, and called an emergency meeting in the Foreign Office this morning.

  Tomorrow (Saturday), I leave for the TCI, accompanied by a team of three police officers from Scotland Yard. They will assess TCI police manpower and resources on the ground, as well as their response to the Governor’s car crash and Mrs Pearson’s murder. Further UK police officers will follow if necessary.

  A forensic road accident and collision expert in the UK has studied the photos of the Governor’s car you e-mailed, and agrees things look suspicious. The Governor of the Cayman Islands has agreed to send over an independent forensic expert to investigate the car wreckage and accident. Being closer to the TCI, their expert should be with you tomorrow (Saturday) evening.

  The rest of us will arrive in Miami on Saturday evening, overnight there, and fly down to the TCI on Sunday morning.

  I may be jumping the gun because I don’t know the full sequence of events or whether the Governor is involved in any wrongdoing, but I have asked the UK police to investigate his bank accounts and other finances. They will also interview his wife, Jayne, on her return from Miami this evening.

  I am sorry that you find yourself in this situation Jess, particularly as you are only in Post temporarily to cover for a colleague. David’s mother passed away yesterday evening, and he was so grateful to have been at her bedside. I will be seeing him later this evening to find out all he knows about recent events in Grand Turk.

  Meanwhile your safety, and the safety of all the staff in the Governor’s Office, is paramount. Please take great care, and do nothing to endanger yourselves in any way.

  Director of Overseas Territories

  Jess sighed and looked up. “Hallelujah. The cavalry’s coming!”

  Sally nodded, she’d obviously read the e-gram despite its privacy marking.

  Jess clicked into business mode again. “Will you organise hotel reservations and hire cars for them all please, Sally?”

  Suddenly a thud on the window made them jump. They looked over to see a broken frond from a palm tree pinned against the window pane before sliding to the ground.

  Jess frowned. “We need to get some advice from the Met Office about that tropical storm. The wind’s definitely getting up?”

  Sally looked worried. “I hope Brad and Tom are all right out there diving.”

  “So do I.”

  “I really do love Brad, you know, Jess. But, well... when he said he went out to the site of the Spanish ship wreck alone, I knew he wasn’t telling me the truth.” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t dive alone, he’s too careful for that. Someone would have to stay on the boat, wouldn’t they?”

  Jess nodded.

  “So who’s been helping him? That’s what I want to know.”

  Jess shrugged. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him that.”

  “I would, but he’s not speaking to me.” Sally looked hurt. “Said I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut.”

  “Oh don’t worry, Sally. He’s just upset his secret’s out. Probably thinks there’s a posse of treasure hunters hotfooting it out to his shipwreck as we speak. He’ll come round.”

  Sally didn’t look convinced.

  Jess smiled at her. “You did the right thing telling me.”

  A familiar rustling of stockings made them both look towards the door.

  Alvita stood watching them. Had she heard everything? “The Police Commissioner’s here for you, Jess,” she said.

  Jess checked her watch – 3.45; she wasn’t expecting Dexter until five. She thought about Simon again, with a heavy heart. But circumstances weren’t going to allow her time to mope. “Okay,” she said, “please show him in.”

  *

  When Dexter Robinson walked in at a brisk pace, rather than his usual slow gait, Jess knew he was agitated.

  “Good afternoon, Jess.”

  “Afternoon, Dexter.” She got up and moved over to the sofa and chairs. “Do sit down.”

  He eased his bulk into the sturdiest chair.

  “You’re early,” she said. “I hope this means you’ve got some good news.”

  “I’m afraid not.” He drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair. “Have you heard the news? The storm has intensified into a Category 2 hurricane.”

  Oh God, she thought, that’s all we need

  He nodded. “It�
�s over the west coast of Haiti right now.”

  “What does that mean for us?” she asked, calmly.

  “Cat 2 hurricanes mean wind speeds of between 96-110mph,” he said. “If it continues on its northerly trajectory, the eye of the storm will pass off the west coast of Provo.”

  Jess knew from her previous cyclone experience that they would still take a battering.

  He nodded, as if reading her thoughts. “It will be strong enough to damage buildings, knock out the power lines, and the phone system,” he went on. “There’s likely to be considerable flooding depending on the speed with which it passes over.”

  “What about a storm surge in its wake?”

  “Impossible to say,” he went on. “These hurricanes form out in the Caribbean Sea, and usually weaken as they blow themselves out over the mountains of Haiti, so it’s impossible to predict.” He glanced at her. “We are at its mercy.”

  Jess got up, went over to the antique globe in the corner, and tried to spin it to find Haiti. “Oh!” A loud sound of clinking glass made her stop. It was coming from inside the globe. She grasped the mahogany bracket and pulled. The top half opened to reveal a drinks cabinet inside. Why hadn’t she seen this before, she wondered? The bottom section was covered with a wooden insert fitted with custom-made holes. And they in turn were full of dusty bottles and equally dusty glasses. She turned. “Are you a whisky man, Dexter?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t drink.”

  “Very sensible.” She closed the top of the globe, and found Haiti on the map. She traced the path of the hurricane to the west coast of Provo with a sense of foreboding. From the moment she’d arrived in Grand Turk, it felt like she’d been caught up in an accelerating maelstrom and it was set to get a whole lot worse. “When will the hurricane get here?” she asked, wearily.

  “In 36 to 48 hours.”

  “So sometime on Sunday?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Just when the UK police were due to arrive.”

  He flinched at her words. “So they are coming?”

  “Yes,” she said. “The Director of Overseas Territories is coming himself, with a team of three UK police officers. They arrive in Miami tomorrow evening, and fly here on Sunday morning.”