by Jean Harrod
The young man stared at her. “Maggie?”
She nodded.
“Wait there! I’ll get the sergeant.” He almost ran down the slippery corridor.
Jess turned to Tom. “This is going to be a shock for everyone.”
“Tom!” A deep voice boomed from the corridor.
Tom turned. “Hi Chuck.” He looked relieved to see his contact again. “Have you two met?” he asked, looking from Jess to Chuck.
She went up to Chuck and held out her hand. “Jessica Turner.”
He shook her hand, firmly. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Turner. Now, what’s happened to Maggie?”
Jess glanced over at the young constable who was all ears. “Can we go somewhere private to talk?” Jess didn’t want everyone to know the gory details just yet.
“Sure. Follow me.” Chuck led them down the corridor and into an office at the back of the building. The floor of the police station was just as mucky as the Residence, but that didn’t bother Chuck. It was business as usual – or almost, with no electricity or computers.
Jess explained carefully about Maggie. She didn’t give him the gruesome details because she could barely bring herself to say the words. She just said Maggie had been killed in exactly the same way as Mrs Pearson.
Chuck rubbed his dark-ringed eyes and shook his head in astonishment. He looked at Tom, who just nodded. “When did you last see Maggie alive?” Chuck asked.
Jess looked over to the small window in the office. “Maggie cooked lunch for Tom and me yesterday. That’s the last time I saw her. Except... well, except I think I saw her at the Haitian settlement yesterday afternoon.”
Chuck’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t see her again at the Residence?”
“No.” They answered in unison.
“Right,” Chuck sounded weary. “I’ll get my truck and come back to the Residence with you.”
Jess turned to Tom. “Would you mind going back to the Residence with Chuck to do the necessary, while I look for Sally.”
Tom stared at her. “Where will you start looking?”
“Rebekah’s.” She turned to Chuck. “Did Charles Regan come back here yesterday afternoon to collect Mrs Canning when she was released?”
“I was here when they left,” he nodded.
“Good. Then I’ll go to Rebekah’s. I’m sure Charles will be with her. I only hope Sally’s with them.”
Tom frowned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go alone, Jess. The road’s a mess.”
She looked over at Chuck. “Do you know what the road’s like north of town?”
He shrugged. “Passable all the way up to North Creek, I believe.”
“Then I’ll be fine,” she said to Tom. “How long do we have before the storm starts again, Chuck?”
“Impossible to say.” He grabbed his waterproof jacket.
“Right, well I’ll go north to Rebekah’s,” she went on, “while you both go back to the Residence.” She looked at her watch. “Let’s meet back here in, say, an hour. Okay?”
Tom shook his head. “I’d better come with you, Jess.”
She could see the worry in his eyes. “I appreciate that, Tom. But I’d be really grateful if you’d help Chuck with Maggie.”
“But...”
“Please Tom. It’s important. You and Chuck know exactly how things should be done. We don’t want any mistakes. We have to catch whoever did this.”
He stared at her. “Oh all right.” He knew he wouldn’t win the argument. “But come back here as soon as the wind starts picking up again, Jess. Don’t take any risks.”
“Of course not,” she replied.
Chuck picked up his keys from the desk. “Come on, Tom. We don’t have much time.”
39
Passable was not the word Jess would have used to describe the road leading to Rebekah’s house. She wasn’t the first person to drive along it since the storm, because broken branches and other debris had been dragged to the side. But it was slow going as she picked her way carefully along. Their car was the only means of getting around, and the last thing she wanted to do was damage it.
Drawing up at Rebekah’s house, she saw one of the metal front gates had been ripped off its hinges, barring the way. The flagpole lay horizontal across the front lawn, with the Union Jack ripped to shreds. The pretty white plantation shutters had all gone too.
She left the car outside the gates and walked through the debris littering the garden to the front door. There was no no-one around, and no cars in the driveway. No sign of that black cat that jumped at her last time either. At the front door, she had a sense of being watched and turned round, but she couldn’t see anyone.
She knocked uneasily on the front door and waited. No reply. This time, she banged on it with a clenched fist.
“Rebekah? Charles? Are you there?” she called. “It’s me, Jess.” Silence. She glanced over her shoulder again, then walked round to the side of the house. She couldn’t see inside because all the windows were boarded up with hurricane shutters.
Round the back, two of the dwarf palms bordering the garden were down. Turning to the house, she jumped...
Rebekah was sitting on the verandah in a rocking chair, with her eyes closed and a shawl around her shoulders.
“Didn’t you hear me knocking?” Jess shouted over.
No reply.
She walked over and touched Rebekah’s shoulder.
Her eyes flashed open, making Jess step back. She was wary of this woman after yesterday.
Rebekah didn’t move a muscle, but her dark eyes appraised Jess. “Charles said you’d come.”
That unrecognisable voice unsettled Jess.
“He said you’ve been watching us ever since you got here.”
“And what a fine performance you’ve put on!”
Rebekah said nothing, which annoyed Jess. She pulled a rattan chair round and sat down, facing Rebekah. “No need to play games any more.” Jess kept her voice low and calm. “I know your real name’s Gloria Diaz, and that you’re an actress, and that you and Charles have been... close since your twenties.”
Rebekah inclined her head, face impassive.
“So why the English accent?”
Rebekah looked at her, as if surprised to be asked that question. “For Dominic, of course. He’s the only man who’s ever really taken care of me. Or loved me for... me.” Her eyes glistened. “Everyone else in my life has left me. My mother, my father.” She gazed blankly ahead of her. “Men along the way.”
Jess tried hard to be patient. “Not everyone, Rebekah. I know you and Charles have been close for years. He’s never left you, or so it seems.”
Rebekah’s eyes fixed on her again. “I can’t escape him.”
What did she mean by that? “Where is Charles?” Jess asked.
“Gone to look for his precious brother.”
The way Rebekah drawled the word ‘precious’, suggested she didn’t care for Brad. Why not, Jess wondered? “Is Sally with him?” she asked.
“Certainly not.”
“But have you seen Sally?” Jess persisted.
“She’s not welcome in this house,” she said, flatly.
Jess saw the shutters come down. “Why’s that, Rebekah? Because Sally had your number?”
Rebekah gave a dismissive laugh. “You don’t know what it’s like to be brought up in the slums.”
It wasn’t said in a self-pitying way, but more as a matter of fact. “No,” Jess said. “But plenty of people are brought up in poverty around this world. You’re not alone in that.”
“I wanted to fit in,” Rebekah said simply. “I was only 11 when I was sent to live with an American family. I was nothing like them, but I soon understood what they wanted: the cute, little American girl they’d never been able to have. So I became that girl.”
Jess sat back in the chair.
“Then I discovered men wanted an attractive woman on their arm. I played that part too. To survive, you understan
d.”
“Dominic too?” Jess asked.
Rebekah sighed. “I hid my past from him at first, but he found out eventually. Of course he was upset, but he wanted to give it a go anyway.” She smiled, fondly. “He’s an important man and I didn’t want to let him down. So I became the wife I thought a British judge, and the Chief Justice here, should have.”
The more Jess heard, the more she thought Rebekah was unhinged. Was she telling the truth now? She sat forward. “I have to tell you, Rebekah, I saw you kissing Charles in this garden the other day.”
“I just told you,” Rebekah said, flatly. “I can’t escape him.”
Jess suddenly felt a breeze rustle her hair. The storm was coming back. She stood up. “Was Charles here during the hurricane?” she asked.
“Don’t ask me any questions about Charles.”
“Why not, for God’s sake? He may be in danger. Don’t you care?”
Rebekah closed her eyes again. “Charles is a powerful man, Jess. He’s taken his gun, so nothing will happen to him. He’ll come back for me when he’s ready.”
Charles has taken his gun. Those words filled Jess with dread, Sally had gone off with him yesterday afternoon. How come he had a gun? Why would he need one? This wasn’t America. People weren’t permitted to have guns in this Territory. Was Charles expecting trouble in his search for Brad? Or going to cause it?
Brad! Everything kept leading to Brad. Surely his treasure trove lying on the seabed couldn’t be the connection with Maggie and Mrs Pearson?
Rebekah hugged herself. “Those bastards murdered my darling Benji.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I l-loved that dog more than anything in this world.” She winced. “They s-sacrificed him,” she moaned.
Jess was torn between staying with Rebekah, who looked a tragic figure sitting there, and leaving to find Sally before the storm came back. In the end she ran back to the car. She was responsible for Sally.
Her hands shook on the wheel as she headed back into town. She was driving too fast, bumping over the debris, or swerving to avoid it. She was desperately worried about Sally now. Was she too dead somewhere, like Maggie?
At the main roundabout in town, she stopped to let a mud-covered truck coming from the other direction turn right onto Lighthouse Road. The driver’s ponytail was instantly recognisable through the open window. Brad!
He looked grim as he drove past, without a glance in her direction.
Her foot hesitated on the accelerator, then she turned left and followed Brad up to the Ridge. He seemed in a real hurry. Fortunately, with less vegetation higher up, there was less debris on the road.
As they climbed, she became aware of the light fading, as if night were rolling in. She looked at her watch. Still only midday.
Passing the Haitian settlement, she saw the makeshift shacks flattened. But the Haitians were already out, picking through the debris. Such resilience, she thought. She’d stop on the way back to speak to them and assess the damage. Right now, she was hoping Brad would lead her to Sally.
Glancing in her driver’s mirror, she noticed a motorbike following. Her heart quickened. The sound of a motorbike revving outside the Disaster Management Centre yesterday came back to her. Gunshots had followed. She slowed to let it catch up and pass. But it slowed too. She strained to see who was riding it, but all she could make out was their helmet and jeans.
She looked ahead, then thumped the steering wheel in frustration. She’d lost Brad. Had he pulled into a driveway? There was no sign of him. Damn! When she checked the mirror again, the motorbike was still there. Seeing the turning for the DMC approaching, she swung across the road, tyres squealing on the tarmac, into the track and slammed on the brakes. She peered through the rear window. The motorbike sailed past.
She waited to see if it slowed down or doubled back. It didn’t. She flopped back in the seat with relief and looked at the building ahead. There was no reason why Brad should have gone in there, but it was worth a look. Anyway, she wanted to chat to the folks inside and find out what was going on. She looked at her watch, still half an hour before she was due back at the police station to meet Tom. Releasing the brakes, she let the car roll forward and bump along the dirt road towards the building.
To her surprise, there were no parked cars outside, although common sense told her it would have been dangerous to leave them there during the hurricane. She parked and got out. A panoramic view of the island greeted her, and she looked out over the devastation. Many of the flimsier houses were down, or had their roofs blown off. The brick houses were mostly still standing. The little vegetation there was on the island had been ripped up and flung everywhere. Fortunately, it didn’t look like the sea had risen any higher than the coast road last night. But the dark sky on the horizon looked threatening. The storm was approaching again, like a black cloak.
She was shocked to find the place completely empty. Where was everyone? The lights were on, and she could hear the generator running. A half-eaten plate of rice and chicken lay on the table, so someone must have been there. Annoyed, she went over and sat down at the computer. She desperately wanted to email London and report what was going on. She tried several times to get online. Page can’t be displayed was the only response. Damn!
Casting her eyes around the room, she noticed a white, hooded sou’wester hanging on the coat rack by the door. Just like the one Alvita had on when she came to the Residence yesterday morning looking for Maggie. Had she been in here all night keeping everything going on her own?
“Alvita?” she called out, but there was no reply.
Jess turned back to the computer and started scrolling through some of the documents. She was so engrossed in what she was doing that she didn’t hear or feel a presence at first. Then she suddenly whipped round...
Charles Regan stood right behind her.
“Charles,” she jumped up and faced him. “You startled me.”
He said nothing.
Careful, she thought, he has a gun. “Have you seen Sally?” She tried to appear unfazed. “I’m worried because she didn’t come back to the Residence last night. I’m guessing she’s with Brad. Have you seen the pair of them?”
His intense blue eyes fixed on hers. “No.”
Jess persisted. “She left me a note yesterday afternoon, you see, saying you were giving her a lift to look for him.”
He frowned. “I dropped her at Brad’s house. She was going to wait for him there.” He paused. “She had his keys to get in.”
“Oh, I see.” She started moving towards the door to get out, but he stood blocking the way. “Can you tell me where Brad’s house is?” she asked.
“One street back from the Dive Centre. No point going round there. I’ve just been. They’re not there.”
Jess studied Charles. His hunched posture made him look more exhausted than threatening, which made her relax. “I’ve just been to Rebekah’s looking for you,” she said, calmly. “She told me about your long-standing relationship.”
He looked away. “I love Rebekah, Jess. It’s as simple – and as complicated – as that.”
Jess nodded. That was clear, but she was still suspicious of Rebekah’s reasons for marrying the Chief Justice. “Why didn’t you two ever marry, then?”
“Ambition,” he said, bitterly. “We were young when we first met, in our twenties. I wanted to be a banker, and Rebekah an actress. I went to New York. She went to Los Angeles.” He paused. “We thought our love was strong enough to survive. It wasn’t. Rebekah got married to some film producer.”
“And you?” Jess asked.
“Well, eventually I married too, but it didn’t last... because, well, because my wife wasn’t Rebekah.” He sighed. “And by the time my divorce came through, Rebekah was on her second marriage, to the Chief Justice.”
“I see.” His explanation seemed plausible, and his feelings for Rebekah genuine enough. But did Rebekah feel the same way? Or was it more a case of Charles pitching up all the time to spoi
l Rebekah’s relationships? He seemed as obsessive about Rebekah as Brad was about that sunken galleon.
Charles’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t believe Rebekah told you about our relationship?”
“She didn’t. Not at first, anyway. We ran some police checks after Mrs Pearson’s murder.”
“On me?” He sounded cross. “Just who do you think you are? You have no right.”
His arrogance riled her. “We have every right. This is a British Overseas Territory, and we’re investigating two murders.”
“Two murders?” He stared at her. “So the Governor was murdered?”
“Almost certainly.”
He sat down heavily on a chair at the table.
He looked a shattered man, Jess thought, as she sat down opposite. “The thing is, Charles,” she went on, “we were denied access to information on you and Brad.” She paused. “Why was that?”
He ran his hands through his hair, but said nothing.
“Why, Charles?”
He put his elbows on the table and looked at her. “I guess I can trust you of all people to be discreet, Jess.”
She nodded.
“I work for the CIA.”
She sat back in the chair.
He shrugged. “I was the obvious choice. My brother lives here, and we have a business together. It would be natural for me to visit regularly and find out what was going on.”
That made operational sense to Jess. Charles’s cover was the New York bank he worked for. “And what has been going on down here?” she asked.
His eyes became guarded. “How much do you know?”
She said nothing.
“All right,” he went on. “Do you know about those Haitian sloops being deliberately scuppered on the reef?”
She nodded.
“Then you’ll know the Governor did nothing about it.”
She could see him considering his words carefully. “Yes. I’d worked that out,” she replied.
“How?”
She hesitated, wondering how much she could trust him. “I found a confession letter from him to his wife, Jayne.”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “So he was going to do the right thing, finally?”
