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

by Jean Harrod

  But just who was Rebekah Canning? That question played over and over in her head.

  37

  Jess let herself in the front door. The house was dark with the hurricane shutters over the windows. It felt even more stuffy and claustrophobic inside than usual. She switched on the lights and ceiling fans. At least the electricity was still working. Quickly, she went round closing all the curtains to stop the house feeling like a prison. Despite the barricades, the wind still whistled through the timbers of the old house. She was dreading the full hurricane force wind when it came.

  Refusing to give way to nerves, she carried on with the hurricane preparations. First, she went into the kitchen and filled the sink and large cooking pans with fresh water from the tap. Then she went upstairs and filled every bath and sink with water too.

  On her way back down, a violent gust of wind shook the house. The lights flickered. She looked up at the chandelier on the landing, and held her breath. It stayed on. Electricity would be the first utility to go, followed by the landlines. It was just a matter of time.

  At the phone in the hallway, she stopped and looked at her watch. 5.30. It would be about 9.30 in the UK. Would Simon still be up? She had to try and talk to him, before the lines went down. It wasn’t in her nature to think the worst, but it could be the last time she ever spoke to him. She dialled his mobile, feeling ridiculously nervous as it rang. But her hopes were dashed when it transferred to voicemail. She took a deep breath...

  Hi Simon. Me again. Look, I know you’re in the UK on leave. I... I don’t know why you told me you were going to LA for work. I feel very sad about that, but you must have your reasons. Anyway, I hope you get this message, because, well, because as usual life has a habit of being unpredictable... You may have heard there’s a hurricane heading for the Turks and Caicos. It’s due to hit us tomorrow... Sunday... I’m sure we’ll all be fine, but we’re likely to be out of communication for some time and I wanted you to know... in case anything happens... that I’ve loved every minute of the last couple of years with you, Simon. So... whatever it is you’re doing now, I hope you’re happy. I just want you to be happy. Always.

  She stood staring at the receiver as his voicemail hung up. Had she said the right thing? Had her voice conveyed her real feelings? Now, she was annoyed with herself for not having worked out what she was going to say before leaving a message. She sighed as she put the receiver back. It was too late to worry about that now. She couldn’t wallow in self-pity.

  She went back into the kitchen. Sally had gathered up all the hurricane lamps and torches and left them on the table before going out. Jess now busied herself checking the batteries were working, and the lamps were filled with oil. Slipping a slim torch in her trouser pocket, she went round the downstairs rooms, putting a lamp and box of matches in each one, ready for when the lights finally went out.

  Hearing what sounded like an engine revving up outside, she ran to the front door and looked out into the darkness. Was that Sally coming back? No sign of any car or lights. Where on earth was that girl?

  She checked her watch again; half an hour before she had to go to the airport to pick up the London team. Sally had made beds for them upstairs, as hotels were closing. No-one would fly into a hurricane, except of course emergency relief teams. The Director had made it clear he was coming with the UK police no matter what. He would not leave Jess and Sally to face things alone.

  Jess climbed the stairs to check everything was ready for them. There were six bedrooms on the first floor. Sally had one bedroom. She had another. That left one spare guest bedroom, the Governor’s master bedroom, and two smaller children’s rooms full of their clothes and games. Most of the bedrooms had en-suite facilities, as well as a house bathroom, and a house toilet off the landing. So many doors. She went into each bedroom one by one and was pleased to see Sally had got everything ready.

  Back on the landing, she heard a creaking sound and stopped. Outside, the sea roared like an angry demon, but this noise was inside the house. She listened hard, then looked up. It seemed to be coming from the attic. Not having been up there before, she didn’t know where the stairs were. Her eyes scanned the doors. She’d been through all of them, except for one in the far corner.

  Suddenly another violent gust of wind shook the house. The chandelier flickered, and this time went out.

  Startled, she stood still to accustom her eyes to the darkness. Senses attuned, it sounded as if that creaking noise was directly above her. She had to go and investigate. Pulling the torch out of her pocket, she flicked it on, and went over to the one door she hadn’t been through. Turning the knob, she opened it and shone the beam up a curved staircase that led to the attic. Curiosity drew her in. One by one she climbed the stairs, keeping a hand on the wall to steady herself.

  At the top, she took a couple of steps forward and shone the beam around.

  “Oh!”

  The bulging eyes... the pallid face... the blood...

  Jess gasped and dropped to her knees. “No,” she whispered, “no.” She stared at the body swinging back and forth as the wind rattled through the old timbers... back and forth... back and forth. The blood from the woman’s slashed throat dripped onto the floor, as she hung by her bound feet from the beam.

  “Maggie!”

  Jess sprang up and frantically tried to find a pulse. But Maggie’s wrists were bound too tightly behind her back. Jess pressed her ear to her chest. No heartbeat. No breath of life from her lips, only a lingering warmth in her cheeks. A sob burst from Jess’s throat, a disbelieving sigh of grief.

  Suddenly, the attic door clicked shut. Heart racing with fear, she turned and shone the beam down the stairs. No-one. She crept down, turned the door knob and peered out through a crack. She couldn’t see anything in the dark.

  She tip-toed out the door and across the landing to the staircase. Were they footsteps she could hear in the kitchen? Had someone come into the house and created a draught of wind? Or was Maggie’s killer still inside? Trembling, she switched off the torch. She had to get out of the house, it was her only chance.

  The top stair creaked as she trod on it. She froze.

  It all went quiet downstairs.

  She waited a moment, then kept going, listening as she went. No sound. At the bottom of the stairs, she made a dash for the front door.

  Someone grabbed her from behind.

  She screamed, and struggled blindly to get free...

  “Whoa!” A familiar voice rang out.

  She stopped. “Tom?” She turned and almost collapsed with relief.

  He caught her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Maggie!” She could hardly speak. “Upstairs... d-dead.”

  “What?” He switched on his torch, and stared at her. “You’re covered in blood? Are you hurt?”

  “No.” She looked from his shocked face to her hands. “It’s Maggie’s.”

  “Wait there!” He went running up the stairs.

  “You’ll need a knife,” Jess called out, “to c-cut her down.”

  He stopped and ran back down to the kitchen.

  She heard him open a drawer and rummage around inside before coming back with a knife.

  “Wait there!” he whispered again.

  “I need to show you the way.” She led him up to the attic door and opened it. “Up there,” she said.

  Tom climbed the stairs first.

  Still shaking, Jess followed.

  Even Tom reeled backwards at the sight. “Jesus!”

  “Cut her down, Tom.”

  “No. Don’t touch anything. Forensics need to see this.” He was in professional mode now. “Don’t walk about, there may be footprints in the blood on the floor.”

  “We can’t leave Maggie... like that.”

  He hesitated.

  “Please, Tom! The police won’t come until the hurricane’s gone, and perhaps not then for days, a week even. They’ll concentrate on helping the living.”

  Still he hesita
ted.

  “Anything could happen tonight with this hurricane. We could all be swept away. I can’t bear the thought of Maggie... like that.”

  He looked at her, then dragged a chair over to where Maggie was hanging and stood on it. “She’s going to be heavy.” He started sawing the rope with the knife.

  Jess supported Maggie’s head and shoulders, while Tom held onto the rope that bound her feet. Cutting through it, the rope snapped. Together they took Maggie’s weight and laid her gently on her side on the floor. “Oh God, Maggie.” Jess’s hand shook as she stroked her hair.

  Tom crouched down, sliced through the rope that tied Maggie’s wrists together and felt for a pulse.

  “It’s too late, Tom.”

  He felt for a heartbeat and for breath from Maggie’s mouth. He sat back on his heels. “She’s gone,” he said, softly.

  Jess nodded.

  He flashed his torch up at the beam that supported the high attic ceiling. A voodoo poppet doll was pinned to it with a knife through its throat. “Pretty sick,” he said.

  Jess stared at the doll’s grotesque face, but Tom was already flashing the torch beam all around.

  “What is this room?” he asked.

  Jess looked properly around for the first time and saw a baby’s cot and a little bed. On the bed lay a rag doll, just like the one she’d found on her bedroom chair that first night in the house. The doll’s red lips smiled at her. She got to her feet to go over.

  “No!” Tom held her back as his torch beam moved over a row of bottles standing on a small table next to him.

  “What are they?” Jess asked.

  He peered closer. “Sedatives... the label says they’re for children.”

  “Oh my God!” Jess put her head in her hands. “Sally can’t be right, can she? Surely they can’t be sedating and sacrificing children?”

  *

  Back in the kitchen, Jess sat shivering in Maggie’s rocking chair. A hurricane lamp threw out a glow that filled the room with shadows.

  “Here!” Tom handed her a glass of brandy, then gulped his down in one go.

  Jess went to get up. “I must call the Police Commissioner.”

  “The landline’s not working.”

  “But Maggie...”

  “I’ve put a sheet over her, until we can get her to the morgue.”

  Jess swigged her brandy which made her eyes water, and glanced over at Tom. “How come you’re here?”

  “Well, when I got to Provo, I found out the Trans Air flight had turned back to Miami, taking your Director and the UK police back with it.”

  Jess nodded. “I suppose the weather was too bad to land a jet on that small runway.”

  “You’re not surprised, then?”

  “Not in the circumstances.”

  “You just wanted me gone?”

  She shook her head. “I wanted you to be safe, Tom.”

  “Well, I take my hat off to your local pilots. Those guys are fearless. They were so anxious to get back to their families here, they flew the plane back empty, except for me.”

  “Now who’s got a death wish?”

  “Never seen a sky like it. All shades of purple, red and black. Those guys knew what they were doing though, dodging around the darkest clouds to avoid lightning. But the turbulence up there. Unbelievable!” He poured himself another brandy and drank it down.

  “I’m sorry for putting you through all that.”

  “Well, I couldn’t leave you and Sally alone, could I?” He looked around. “Where is she anyway?”

  “Gone to find Brad.” Jess explained that Brad was cross with Sally for blabbing about the shipwreck. She also told him about the blood-stained tarpaulin they’d found in the Dive Centre, and about Rebekah’s transformation. “I can’t believe it, Tom. She was like a completely different person at the police station today. Quiet, thoughtful. Eyes wary. She’s nobody’s fool, I can tell you. But what got me the most was her voice.” Jess shook her head. “I can still hear it now. She spoke with an American accent. Gone was all that pretence. Even I thought she was English, before today.”

  He nodded. “That’s another reason I came back. My mate in Canberra ran some checks on your American dinner party guests and Rebekah.”

  Jess frowned at him, but said nothing.

  “Rebekah’s real name is Gloria Diaz. She was born in Colombia, on 6 June 1982.”

  “Colombia? I thought she looked Latino.”

  “And you were right. Her family moved to the US in 1990. A year later, her father was convicted of drug smuggling and given a long prison sentence. The following year her mother died, when Gloria was only ten.”

  Jess raised her eyebrows. “What happened to her, then?”

  “She was taken into care for a while, then adopted by an American family in Chicago.”

  Jess could hardly believe it. That background was a far cry from the refined English lady Rebekah had pretended to be.

  “Apparently, she ran away from that family a few years later. Hung out on the streets, did a number of waitressing jobs, before becoming an actress.”

  “An actress?” Jess stared at him. “And a bloody good one she is too!”

  He nodded. “She spent her early career on the stage mostly, and in minor films. But it turns out she and Charles were an item way back in their twenties.”

  Somehow that didn’t surprise Jess. “Charles is very possessive of her. He can’t leave her alone. Always demanding her attention. Leaning over her. Draping his arm along the back of her chair.” She looked at him. “You must have noticed that?”

  He nodded.

  “When I saw the pair of them kissing in the garden, it was Charles who grabbed Rebekah and wouldn’t let her go. Not the other way round.”

  “Maybe it’s been going on all these years?”

  Jess nodded. “I wonder if the Chief Justice knows?”

  Tom shrugged. “The funny thing is the guys back home couldn’t get anything on the Regan brothers. Restricted access, apparently.”

  She stared at him.

  He nodded. “Carrie Lynch is the only one of your guests whose story checks out. She is who she says she is.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear.”

  Tom went to pour her another brandy, but she shook her head. “I’d prefer a cup of tea.” She got up and pulled a small pan out of the cupboard. “So what do you think the Regan brothers have done for the US authorities to restrict access to their information?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they have them under surveillance, and don’t want their investigation compromised by the likes of us?”

  “Perhaps Rebekah only married the Chief Justice to get half his money in any divorce?” She filled the pan with fresh water. “Maybe it’s a scam? Maybe she and Charles have done this before?”

  Tom gave her a sceptical look. “Charles doesn’t seem short of a bob or two, does he?”

  “Well Rebekah gave me the creeps yesterday.” She shivered. “I wish Sally would come back.”

  “Stop worrying. She’ll be with Brad.”

  “But is she safe?” Jess lit a gas burner and put the pan on it. “Do you reckon the wind’s dying down?”

  He shook his head. “It’s going to last all night, at least. So if you’re thinking about going out to look for Sally, forget it. Flying debris is what kills people in these storms.”

  Jess looked at his set face. “Oh all right. We’ll go during the eye of the storm.” She went over and got the milk out of the fridge. “I lived through a cyclone in Mauritius when I worked there. It went eerily calm for a couple of hours as the centre of the storm passed over us. Gave us the chance to go out and assess the damage before it started up again.”

  “How big is the eye? How long will it last?”

  “I don’t know the science, Tom. I just know it happened. The sky turned blue and the hurricane wind stopped. After a couple of hours or so, the storm came back with a vengeance.”

  Tom looked sceptical. “Let’
s just see what happens.”

  “I feel bad about not being up at the Disaster Management Centre. I should be helping out.”

  “There’s nothing you or anyone else can do right now, except stay inside.”

  “Yes, but I need to know what’s going on.”

  “And what could you do, if you did know? The emergency services can’t operate. There’s no electricity, and all the phones and broadband are down.”

  That was Tom, she thought, plain-speaking and practical. She walked over and flicked on the battery operated radio. Reggae music blared out again. “At least we can listen to the local news bulletins.”

  “For as long as they stay on the air.”

  *

  Jess jolted awake as something touched her face. She opened her eyes and realised she’d fallen asleep on the sofa in the Governor’s Residence. Had she slept through the entire hurricane, she wondered, hopefully? No such luck. The wind whipped around the house as strong as ever, shaking its foundations from time to time. Across the coffee table, in the glow of a hurricane lamp, Tom was fast asleep in the chair, with his feet up on a footstool. His breathing was soft and rhythmic as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Poor man, she thought. All this because of her. She was glad he’d come back though. Very glad.

  She felt a familiar itch and rubbed her eye. A mosquito must have bitten her eyelid while she was asleep. Was it morning yet? It was impossible to tell with the hurricane shutters over the windows and the curtains drawn. She sat up and looked at her watch. 2.10. Still the middle of the night.

  Her stomach turned as she thought of Maggie upstairs. She couldn’t go to her room and sleep, not with Maggie in the attic like that. Tom hadn’t thought he would get any sleep either with the hurricane raging. So they’d made themselves comfortable in the Governor’s study and sat chatting, going over and over everything for hours until Tom eventually dropped off. Look at him now, she thought, sleeping soundly despite the roar of the sea and wind.

  Perhaps another brandy would help her get back to sleep. Except the bottle was still on the kitchen table and she didn’t want to open the door and wake Tom up. Her eyes rested on the globe in the corner of the room. An identical globe in the Governor’s office was used as a drinks cabinet. Were there bottles in this one too?