“Does he live on a boat?” Andi asked.
“Do they have the name of the boat?” Max asked.
“That would have been too easy,” Beth replied. “That’s why we’ve got to hit the dockyard right away,” she insisted. “Let’s nail this clown once and for all.”
With Beth in full stride two paces ahead, they marched back to the car, got in, and drove out of the downtown area. The day’s heat was beginning to boil the stagnant air. Beth turned onto Nevis Street and made a left on Market, taking them past the congested public market at the West Bus Station.
Most of the stalls under the shed were occupied by brightly dressed women fussing over their fruits and vegetables while socializing noisily with one another and their customers. The vivid colors of their papayas, mangoes, yams, and tomatoes tumbled out of wicker baskets or just lay in piles on the dirt floors around them.
The meat and poultry dealers were all men, all wearing blood-soaked aprons. They had their fly-covered goat and chicken carcasses, headless and gutted, hanging on hooks around the stalls for inspection by their customers. The steady buzzing of the hovering flies and yellow jackets added to the manifest horror of thin-lipped tourists exploring the aisles with purses and cameras clutched tightly in their grasps.
Beth slowed behind an old pickup truck and stared at the vendors outside the market, some under makeshift awnings, others with their wares lying on the ground. An impatient horn sounded behind her, breaking the trance. Caribbean poverty with its riot of heat, color, and frantic laughter released her from its compelling fascination. She eased up on the clutch. In a few minutes, they were heading south around Antigua on All Saints Road.
“Do you mind telling me what we’re looking for?” Andi asked with her healthy air of skepticism. “Strictly as a matter of curiosity, what does our Eric Leonard look like?”
“Let’s assume, for the time being, he looks like Leonard Sloane,” Beth answered.
“I agree,” Max said.
“I met Leonard Sloane and Erica Crossland once,” Andi said. “I don’t think I would recognize either one of them today.”
“I’ve never met Erica at all,” Beth said.
“Then I think you’re daydreaming,” Andi said. “They’d have to be pretty dumb to steal their own boat from Guadeloupe and sail it over to Antigua.”
“As long as we’re going to be there, we might as well have lunch at the Admiral’s Inn.”
“Stick to basics, huh, Dad?”
“Exactly.”
“Good,” Beth said. “We’ll park at the dockyard, and after lunch, we’ll inspect the boats tied up to the dock.”
—
The man in dark sunglasses was staring at Beth. She noticed it when they sat down for lunch on the terrace. A bald-headed guy with a mustache and a Vandyke beard, sitting alone at the Admiral’s Inn. And to make it almost absurd, he was watching her through a newspaper. Later, as the waitress was serving their iced tea, she saw him get up and walk quickly out of the inn, leaving his unfinished food, drink, and newspaper on the table.
Afterwards, with their lunch topped off by the English trifle they shared for dessert, the logy threesome staggered down the irregular stone steps leading from the Admiral’s Inn and walked over toward Nelson’s Dockyard. The quay was crowded with luxurious yachts tied up by the stern to every available slip, an anchor from the bow securing their safety in the harbor.
“After a meal like that, a walk around the dockyard will do us good,” Max said.
“Did you see the strange-looking dude sitting by himself over in the corner?” Beth asked.
“No, I guess my back was to him.”
“He looked startled when we sat down.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Bald, Vandyke.”
“Tell me if you see him again,” Max said. “In the meantime, it’s after three already. Remember what we’re here for.”
“I know, Captain,” Andi answered.
“Right,” he said. “So let’s wander along the edge of the dock like any tourists after lunch at the Ad.”
The bulkheaded dock around the perimeter of the yard jutted out into English Harbour like a small peninsula of land with a hexagonal border of sleek fiberglass sailboats interspersed with the occasional wooden hull of an older boat.
They walked slowly around the dockyard, carefully observing each sailboat, mentally measuring length with experienced eyes, paying particular attention to ketches, and concentrating on the names painted on the transoms.
By the time they reached the last section of dock, they were all uncomfortably hot. “Remember, Sloane’s boat was a fifty-one-foot ketch. The name was Sindicator,” Max droned on aloud, repeating his mantra.
“Yes, I know, Dad.”
“You’re being obsessive for a change, my love.”
“Hey! There’s one,” Beth announced triumphantly, motioning over to her left. “It looks like about a fifty-foot ketch.” They walked together over to the sailboat tied up to the dock. Laundry was hanging out to dry on the guardrails. The sound of a television soap opera rose up from the open hatch leading to the cabin below.
Max leaned over the water’s edge to examine the serial numbers on the transom. “She is a fifty-footer,” he said. “Your guess was right. Made in 2006. Serenity. I like that name.”
“Her hailing port is Bar Harbor, Maine. They’ve traveled a long way.”
As they looked over the boat, a plumpish young woman with short, curly red hair climbed up out of the hatch with an infant in one arm and a toddler close behind. A miniature snow-white poodle brought up the rear. When she saw the threesome looking at her boat, she smiled warmly. “Hi, how are you?” she said. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it really is,” Andi responded. “We were just admiring your ketch. My husband loves the name.”
“Thanks. It’s my mother-in-law’s name,” she said, reaching over to feel the laundry. “Thank God the diapers are dry. I was down to my last one.”
“How old is the baby?” Andi asked.
“He’ll be eleven months old next Thursday.”
“He’s beautiful. So is your daughter. She’s a redhead just like her mother.”
“I know. She hates it.”
“She won’t when she grows up. Is this your boat?” Beth asked.
“It belongs to my in-laws. My husband sailed it down from Maine last summer with them. We both teach at the university.”
“I guess you’re off for the midsemester break,” Beth surmised.
“You got it.” She nodded. “We flew down with the kids last week to spend the recess here.”
“We’re going to stroll around the dockyard some more. Walk off some of our lunch.” Beth was anxious to get on with the search. “Have a good day.”
“Same to you,” the woman said, putting the infant into a crib on the cockpit seat while she and her daughter folded the clean diapers. Beth continued along the dock as Max and Andi followed behind.
“Scratch one fifty-foot ketch,” she heard her father mumble.
“Cute grandchildren,” she heard her mother mutter, and ignored the obvious implication.
She picked up the pace. “There’s another one about the right size.” She pointed to a single-masted sailboat tied up a few boats away. “It’s for sale too.”
“Too bad it’s a sloop,” Max said.
“Atrophy. What a strange name for a boat,” Andi commented.
“Her hatch is locked,” Max said. “Nobody’s on board.”
“What’s the difference, anyway?” Beth said. “We’re looking for a ketch. This sloop won’t do us any good.”
“Look where they put that drop-leaf table.” Max freely offered his critique. “Bolted to the deck midway between the wheel and the hatch. Strange place. Obstructs the freedom of the whole cockpit area. Just looks wrong,” he said, always the nautical purist.
“Let’s keep on walking.” Beth pushed on, starting to feel discouraged. �
�We’re almost finished. Some boats may be out sailing for the day. Maybe we ought to stick around for a while. See what comes back later.”
“No. It’s late enough. I want to come back out here early tomorrow morning anyhow,” Max said. “With the binoculars this time. We’ll look for the real estate first and then check the dock again. We’ll be able to take a look at the boats moored in the harbor.”
“It’s not even four thirty,” Beth protested, holding up her wristwatch for effect. “Let’s at least go see if we can find the house. See what we can learn there.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Come on, Dad. It’s early.”
“No, it’ll be getting dark soon and we’re not going to deal with driving on Antiguan roads after dark,” Max said quietly and calmly.
“But there’s still time,” she protested. “Let’s find out once and for all if we have Len and Erica.”
“No. We’ll go there tomorrow morning just as we planned.” He spoke emphatically, making it clear the debate was over. “If it’s Sloane out there today, it’ll be Sloane out there tomorrow.”
“I guess you’re right,” she agreed reluctantly. “I’m just disappointed. I really thought after the bank we’d find the boat out here.”
“So did I.”
“So what do you want to do now?” Andi asked, ignoring the protest.
“I want to go back to Red Sky,” Max said. “We’ve been away all day. I want to run the engine for a while to charge the batteries. You guys can come back on board with me or spend some time shopping before dinner. We need a lot of stuff.”
They were all disappointed by the lack of progress and worn out by the hot sun and the breezeless air on shore. It showed on the trip back to St. John’s. Beth was quiet and concentrated on her driving. She made it back in less than thirty minutes, careening adroitly around the curves with the best of the locals. Max was absorbed in thought and said little except to respond to Andi when she commented on some interesting sight. None of them paid any special attention to the little red Honda that followed them all the way back to St. John’s.
Beth parked on a quiet narrow street by the pier, as close to their dinghy as she could manage. The man in the red Honda parked it down the block from them and watched from his car. Max crossed to the pier and climbed into the dinghy while Beth and her mother walked away in the opposite direction, searching for a supermarket.
When he saw Max board Red Sky, the man got out of the Honda and strolled casually over to Beth’s Suzuki. They must be here on a cruise, he thought, pure coincidence. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Then he looked inside the open vehicle and saw the Avis map with the clerk’s markings that Beth had left on the dashboard.
He turned to walk away, took a few hesitant steps, and changed his mind. Acting on the impulse, he looked around furtively and saw that no one was in sight. He took out his pocket knife, opened the hood of the car, and cut every wire he could reach. Then he grabbed the map on the dashboard, tore it in half, and drove off, smugly satisfied with his clever little prank.
“They’re anchored in St. John’s harbor,” Len said to Erica, rubbing the ice-filled glass around his neck before taking another drink. “The name of their boat is Red Sky. She’s a forty-seven-foot sloop. Got a blue hull.”
“How many on board?”
“I told you: the three of them.”
“How can you be so sure they didn’t recognize you?” She repeated the question, her attention still focused on the memory of her delightful afternoon spent with a Dutch couple on their sailboat across the yard.
“I’m sure,” he insisted in response to her question, sweat pouring down his forehead. “They had their backs to me.” He sat down in the cockpit across from her, the Bimini top sheltering them from the worst of the late afternoon sun.
“What about the kid lawyer, Beth What’s-her-name?”
“She saw me, but there’s no way she recognized me.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a bottle of pills, and swallowed one, washing it down with a mouthful of rum and Coke.
“You ought to lay off that stuff. It knocks you out, especially with the booze chaser.”
“I have a headache.”
“Stop it! The doctor told you there’s nothing the matter with you,” she vented her disgust at him. “What do you think Beth is doing down here?”
“She must be on a vacation with her parents. They live on that sailboat over in the British Virgins. Running into them at the inn was just a coincidence.” He took off his shirt, wiped his face and chest with it, and threw it on the floor of the cockpit.
“Maybe, but let’s move up our plans anyway. Instead of flying to Panama on January second, we’ll leave tomorrow. No need to take any unnecessary chances.”
“I tell you we’re both dead as far as they’re concerned. Anyhow, they’re not coming back tomorrow. I fixed their car.”
“You did what?”
“Cut all the wires,” he bragged. “So you see, there’s no need to change our plans.”
“You’re wrong,” she snapped, annoyed by his act of petty vandalism. “We should have left weeks ago like I wanted. I never should have let you talk me out of it just because you wanted to sell the damn house and this boat. Get out to the airport now and change our reservations.”
“I just got back from driving all the way to St. John’s,” he protested. “I’ll go a little later when it’s not so damn hot.”
“Stop complaining for once in your life and get going,” she insisted. “Move the tickets up to tomorrow. We’ll pick up the bonds in Panama and be in Auckland by the end of the week.”
“Then let’s move the boat before I go. In case Beth and her parents find another way to drive back out here. Don’t forget her father knows me too.”
“They have no reason to notice Atrophy, but maybe it’s not such a bad idea. Okay, we’ll move her out into the harbor and drop a hook. Tomorrow we’ll sail over to St. John’s and leave her there before we go to the airport. Nobody’ll notice an abandoned boat for a month in that harbor.”
“After we’re gone, it won’t make any difference anyhow. Let the guy who buys it worry about it.”
“All right. Go raise the anchor while I start the engine. I’ll take her out myself while you go to the airport.”
He went forward, up to the bow, and began to pull up the anchor she had insisted they drop for extra holding power. The exertion caused his heart to pound and his eyes to burn from sweat. He was thoroughly uncomfortable. As soon as the stern lines were brought in, the boat was ready to move out of its slip. He got their passports and tickets, put his shirt back on, and left her on board while he drove out to the airport. He turned on the car’s air-conditioning system and pointed it full blast at his face. Driving from one end of the island to the other took an hour.
When he drove up the circular entrance to the airport, he saw four Chinese men in black suits and ties coming out of the terminal, walking quickly toward a waiting taxi. There was not a piece of luggage among them. As he watched, two of them got into the taxi and drove off while the other two walked back into the terminal. Despite the throbbing in his head, he recognized one of the two who stayed behind. It was Andrew Leung, C.K.’s brother.
The paralysis that forged into his brain didn’t prevent him from driving instinctively. He continued around the airport, past the entrance, without stopping, covering his nose and mouth protectively with his free hand, praying not to be seen. Somehow he made his way out of the airport, although he later had no recollection of driving back to English Harbour.
The dinghy was waiting for him, tied up at the dock where he had left it. Erica was in the cockpit when he climbed back on the boat. He grabbed immediately for the warm remains of his rum and Coke still hanging in the drink holder and finished it in one breathless gulp.
“Any trouble getting us on tomorrow’s flight?” she asked, looking up at him. Even with her lack of sensitivity, it would have been hard to miss t
he desperation stretched across his face. “Christ, what’s the matter? You look awful.”
“I saw one of C.K.’s brothers at the airport.” He stared at her, searching for some reaction, some indication of shared upset.
“You saw who?”
“Andrew Leung. I met him last year in Taiwan.”
“Did he see you?” Her face remained impassive.
“If he saw me, do you think I’d be back here?” He searched wildly around the cockpit, dumping the contents of the portside lazaret out on the cockpit seat. “Where’s my Xanax?” He frantically opened up eyeglass cases and binocular cases. “I put the bottle here yesterday, in one of these empty cases.”
“Never mind that. Did you get the new tickets at least?” If nothing else, she was focused.
“I told you! He was waiting at the airport. He had three other guys with him. Two left in a cab.”
“He couldn’t have recognized you.”
“Look, he’s here to get us. They have the airport covered. If we show up there, it’s all over. It’s too small an airport. There are only a few flights to watch.”
“Calm down. This is no time to lose your cool.”
“You calm down!” he shrieked. “I nearly got caught twice today.”
“I told you we should have left weeks ago. We gave them too much time to figure it out. Now we’re going to have to sail to Panama. Go get Vincent and bring him here.”
“I don’t like that kid. What do you want him for?”
“Do as I say. If we’re going to sail across the Caribbean, we’ll need an extra hand on board.”
“How can we sail all the way to Panama?”
“It beats swimming,” she answered glibly. “I want us to be ready to sail over to St. John’s in an hour. There’ll be plenty of moonlight. We’ll get the radar mount repaired first thing tomorrow morning and be on our way by noon. Let’s use whatever lead time we have left.”
“Red Sky is in St. John’s. We’re looking for trouble by going there.”
“If it comes, I’ll be ready for it.” She got up, walked over to the hatchway, and stuck her hand down inside, reaching under the first rung of the ladder. When she brought her hand back up, it was clutching a nasty-looking Glock 9mm pistol. She dropped out the clip and checked to make certain it was full before reinserting it into the grip. Without a flicker of emotion, she pulled back the slide expertly and released it to chamber a round.
Noble Chase: A Novel Page 16
