Deadly Deceit (12 page)

“I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t realise you’d wait for me. I’m very grateful, but you should have gone home hours ago.”

“It’s no trouble.” Maggie went back to the stove. “It’s chicken, baked with tomatoes. One of my own recipes.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Now they were talking about food, Jess realised how hungry she was. “I’m famished.”

Maggie nodded. “I thought you would be.” She switched on the electric oven and pushed the casserole inside. “The potatoes just need to boil.” She turned on the ring under the pan.

“I can serve myself when it’s ready. You go home now.” Jess paused, remembering the disturbance in the house last night. “Who else has a key to get into this house, Maggie?”

“A key?” Maggie paused to think. “Only me, and the Governor, and of course his wife.” She looked at Jess. “And you now.”

That made four copies already. “Do you each have keys to the front and the back doors?”

“Yes.” Maggie turned to the back door. “Except the key in the lock now is always kept on the first hook up there.” She pointed to a key rack on the wall, laden with keys of one description or another. “And I remember the Governor couldn’t find his keys to get in one night,” Maggie went on, “so he keeps a spare set in the office.”

Keys everywhere, Jess thought. That meant everyone in the office probably had access to them too.

“Why do you ask, Miss Jessica?”

Jess looked at her. “Well, I was woken up in the middle of the night by a noise in the house. And when I came down here, the back door was wide open.”

Maggie gave her a sceptical look. “Perhaps the wind blew it open?”

Jess shook her head. “Someone came in here, I’m sure of it. It was raining heavily outside at the time, and there was a puddle of water on the floor by the door.”

Maggie looked back at the potatoes on the stove.

Jess went on: “I also found a child’s doll on the chair in my bedroom. Is it still there?”

Maggie turned back and frowned. “I didn’t see a doll when I made your bed.”

Jess was about to go up and look for it, when Maggie asked gently. “Are you going to be all right here on your own, Miss Jessica?”

Jess nodded. “I’m used to being on my own,” she said, defensively. She had the impression Maggie thought she was overwrought.

“But are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause.

“That’s a lovely photo in your room, Miss Jessica.”

Jess knew that Maggie was talking about the photo of Jack and Amy on her bedside cabinet. She didn’t want to talk about them, but she could see Maggie was curious. “My husband and daughter,” she said.

“Forgive me for asking about them, Miss Jessica, but your eyes are sad.”

Jess felt the usual weariness creep all over her when anyone mentioned Jack and Amy. She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down, heavily. “They were killed in a car accident,” she said, simply.

Maggie nodded, as if she already knew. “I lost my husband too, not long after we were married. It’s a hard thing to have to live with.”

Jess didn’t ask any questions, because she couldn’t bear to hear the answers. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

They were both silent with their memories, until the potatoes boiled over and water hissed onto the electric hob.

Maggie leapt up, and turned down the heat. Wiping up the spilt water with a dish cloth, she rinsed it, and hung it over the edge of the sink. “I’d better get off home now,” she said.

“Of course. Thank you for cooking my supper and waiting for me. I really appreciate it.”

Maggie smiled and picked up her bag. “Now lock the door after me.”

Jess nodded, but didn’t move.

“Now, please, Miss Jessica. I want to know the house is locked.”

Jess got up and went over to the door.

“Don’t open it to anyone during the night,” Maggie said as she stepped out.

“Really, Maggie, I…”

“
Please!
”

“All right.”

“Goodnight, Miss Jessica.”

“Goodnight, Maggie.” Jess closed the door and turned the key in the lock. She went back to the kitchen table and sat down again. Alone now with her thoughts, all she could hear was the sound of the sea and bubbling potatoes.

She could picture Amy playing on the beach out there and paddling in the sea. She’d be seven this year. What would she look like now, if she’d lived? But Jess would never know. In her mind, Amy would be for ever three.

One thing’s for sure, she thought, as she stood up and went over to take the potatoes off the heat. She wasn’t going mad, despite what Maggie thought. Someone had definitely been in the house last night.

*

Later, after changing and eating, Jess’s thoughts turned back to work. She went into the Governor’s study, where Sally had set up Jess’s laptop on his desk, and typed in the wireless code. She wanted to download her photos of the Governor’s car and email them to London. At least they’d have something to go on, in the absence of the police report.

She switched on the ceiling fan to get the stuffy air moving. Would the Governor mind her working in his study while he was away? She hoped not, in the circumstances.

His desk stood adjacent to the window for maximum light. Behind that, the wall was covered from floor to ceiling with books on fixed shelving. A two-seater sofa and chair filled the other side of the room, and in the corner stood a globe of the world. It was a cosy room, she thought, and set up for work.

She sat down, powered up her laptop, and quickly downloaded her photos of the Governor’s car from her camera. Then she saved them to her memory drive, as back up, as she always did. However, when she tried to get onto the internet, she ran into problems. Nothing but buffering, and
page cannot be displayed
. Eventually she gave up: she’d have to email the photos from the office tomorrow.

She looked at her watch. 10.20. Her eyes were heavy, but she still had to prepare for the Provo hurricane planning meeting before going to bed. She picked up the disaster management file and went over to make herself comfortable on the sofa.

The file made worrying reading. Hurricanes, she discovered, were rated in five categories. Even the lowest, Category 1, could produce dangerous winds capable of knocking out power lines, and damaging buildings and houses. And she didn’t need an expert to tell her any storm surge following a hurricane could cause a tsunami-type wave that could wipe out the entire coastline, and that would include the office and Residence.

The file said that the Disaster Management Centre was located up on the Ridge. She was surprised she hadn’t seen it when she went up there earlier with the Police Commissioner.

The next section in the file, marked ‘hurricane preparedness’, was a list of things to do. Check the roofs, put up storm shutters to protect windows, check drains to prevent flooding, stock up on lamps, candles, provisions. Check the generators have been serviced. Generators? She hadn’t even
seen
a generator. So much to do…

She yawned and laid her head back on the sofa, listening to the rhythmic clunk of the overhead ceiling fan.

Clunk… clunk.

She was so tired. She really ought to go to bed. In the stillness, she could hear the sea washing onto the shore. Everywhere she went in the house, she could hear the sea.

She stretched her aching back, and looked at her watch. Past midnight!

She became aware of a pounding noise, and it wasn’t her heart. She listened. It sounded like drumming.

Was someone having a party on the beach? She listened again. Now she could hear voices. Low and rhythmic.

Her stomach turned, as she remembered Carrie’s words.
These sacrificial ceremonies take place all over Haiti around July and August.
Hadn’t Carrie said she’d heard drumming and chanting on the beach in the middle of the night?

Jess got up and went out to the kitchen, where the noise was a little louder. She unlocked the back door and opened it slightly. It was definitely coming from along the beach. Then she had an idea. If this was some kind of voodoo ceremony, she’d take some photos to present to the police as evidence. They’d have to investigate, and stop this nonsense once and for all. She went back to the study to get her camera, and then let herself out the back door.

On the beach now, the drumming and chanting was louder. She could see flames shooting into the sky. It was still pitch dark, with no moon. Little spots of rain blew in her face. She walked slowly towards the flames. The deep sand underfoot made progress slow, but at least her approach was silent.

Suddenly, a streak of lightning lit up the sky like a security light. She stopped and jumped behind some scrub-like bushes bordering the beach, hoping she hadn’t been seen. She was nervous now. As the rain fell harder, she wondered whether to go back. But she pressed on, creeping closer to the fire under cover of the bushes.

Smoke began drifting her way, as the rain dampened the flames. She stopped dead when she saw a group of people standing in a circle around the fire. Arms raised to the heavens, they were chanting something over and over that she couldn’t understand. It certainly wasn’t English.

A figure in a long robe stood apart from the group, head and face obscured by a hood, leading the chanting. Jess stood in astonishment. It looked like a scene from a movie.

She pulled her camera out of her pocket, and stopped. The flash was different to lightning, and might draw attention to her.

Now, she could smell burning, like charred flesh!

She ducked down in fear as a loud clap of thunder reverberated around the sky. The heavens opened. Rain hammered down, soaking her, but she couldn’t drag herself away.

Through the noise of the rain, she heard a twig snap. She froze, as someone walked past a couple of yards away, towards the gathering. She recognised that figure… that walk.

The crowd parted as Alvita went up to the robed figure. She said something that Jess was too far away to hear. One by one the members of the group embraced Alvita, then disappeared into the night.

Jess waited until everyone had gone, then went over to the remains of the fire. In the smoking embers, she could see something small laid out on a wire mesh. A dog? Or a cat maybe? It was too charred to identify. It was too small to be a human… although perhaps a baby?

Nonsense, she was letting her imagination run riot. She pulled her camera out of her pocket. Looking furtively around, she took a picture, shoved her camera back in her pocket, and hurried back to the Residence as fast as she could wade through the deep sand.

Jessica Turner is going to be a problem. She looks young and harmless, but I’ve seen her eyes. They are cool and sympathetic on the surface, but she is watching everyone. Was she sent here by London to spy on us? A woman of course is less conspicuous than a man, and she blends in well. Already people are accepting her, and she’s only been here a few days. That’s annoying.

When will the British Government understand they don’t own these islands? They belong to those who live here, and have done through the centuries. The islanders know British people haven’t even heard of the Turks and Caicos Islands, let alone know where they are. And that’s just fine.

That’s why it’s so easy for me. People here don’t need fancy restaurants, flashy cars and clothes. No, they want to live the same relaxed and peaceful life they have over the centuries. They don’t want any change. They just want enough money to live on. As long as they can look after their families, everything’s fine.

But they also know if they step out of line, they will regret it.

“And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound?

That dark, mysterious name of horrid sound? –

A long and lingering sleep, the weary crave.

And Peace? Where can its happiness abound? –

Nowhere at all, save heaven, and the grave.”
*

Does Jessica Turner know her English poets? She probably thinks only illiterate fools live here. Just how educated is she? Does she know how Mussolini died? If she did, she would know why that old woman was hung up by her feet and left for dead.

I heard what happened to Jessica’s husband and child. Very careless. So I think she would understand if she knew the truth. But she would ruin everything too, and I can’t let that happen.

I’ve seen her a lot today – in town, at the lighthouse, at the Government Garage, and now on the beach this evening. Perhaps I can find a chink in her armour? It’ll be fun trying. A cat and mouse game, something to amuse me for a while, until she too ends up in that watery graveyard of souls with all the others.

Because that’s where I’ve decided she will go.

*
Poem ‘What is Life’ by John Clare

Tom Sangster felt a familiar rush of adrenaline as the helicopter rose from Key West’s Naval Air Station. The whirring rotary-wing Eurocopter, and the smell of fuel, made him feel right at home. Policing the vast Australian coastline was very similar. He put on headphones to cut out the noise, and to hear what the pilot was saying.

“Take your last look at the most southerly point of the Continental States of America.” The pilot sounded deliberately theatrical as he manoeuvred the helicopter in a wide circle out to sea.

Tom couldn’t believe he was up there. He looked down at the gleaming white cruise ships lined up along the quayside, as they waited for their passengers who were shopping in Duval Street. He wished he could have visited Ernest Hemingway’s house before leaving, but there was no time.

Having seen his colleague back off to Australia the night before, he’d planned to do some sight-seeing in Miami this morning, before catching his afternoon flight to the Turks and Caicos. So when the US guys suggested he join them on an early morning helicopter trip down to their naval base at Key West, he didn’t have to be asked twice.

“That’s Cuba over there,” the pilot cut into his thoughts, “just 96 miles due south.”