Deadly Deceit (35 page)

“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?

Careful not to disturb Tom, she lifted the hurricane lamp off the coffee table and went over to the globe. Opening the lid, she saw an identical wooden insert inside, but all the holes for bottles and glasses were empty.
Damn!
Then something glinted through one of the holes in the lamplight. She gently pulled the insert to see if it lifted out. It did. Underneath, surprisingly, the entire bottom section of the globe was fitted with a wooden compartment, with a small keyhole in the middle.

She stared at it. The brass key! She tip-toed over to the sofa and pulled the key out of her handbag. She glanced over at Tom, but he was still asleep. Excited, she went back to the globe, lifted the hurricane lamp and inserted the key into the lock. It clicked, and a small panel opened. Inside, lay what looked like a notebook. She lifted it out and went over to the Governor’s desk. Standing the hurricane lamp on it, she sat down and opened the book.

On the first page, the name
Clement Pearson
was written in ink, in the top right hand corner. The writing was small and neat. She flicked through pages and pages of entries, all recorded in date sequence, and in the same neat handwriting.

Clement’s journal!

She went back to the first page and began reading. Once she got going, she was so engrossed she just kept turning the pages. Occasionally the text was so painful, she stopped to rub her eyes with fatigue. Her emotions ranged from disbelief, to sadness, to shame… until she finally came to the last entry.

Monday 3 August

I lied under oath today. I told those British officials exactly what they wanted to hear because I knew they were not ready for the truth. Am I fooling myself as well as everyone else? Am I afraid to tell the truth? No, I am ashamed to tell the truth. The British are proud of their great democracy. They lecture everyone about human rights and good governance. Would they have believed me if I had told them that those two Haitian sloops were deliberately lured onto the reef, and their occupants allowed to drown? It is so wicked I can hardly believe it myself.

What can we do? Those people won’t stop coming. There are eight million of them, and only 50,000 of us. Every time we send them home, they come back again. Don’t they understand we are in a fight for our own survival? They will destroy us, and our way of life. We are so worn down by the flow of migrants that we are losing our compassion. We are fighting for our homeland, and to keep our communities as they are.

What happened to that first sloop was supposed to send a message to others not to try the perilous journey. That’s what he said – just once. But it was so easy, he did it a second time. Now, I know he must be stopped, or more and more people will die.

Already that evil has led to a new evil. When I walked out of the hearing today I knew I could not stand by and watch those children suffer any more. I am going to confront the Governor. He must stop all this. He is the only one who can. After that, I know what I have to do. I simply cannot bear the burden of this guilt any longer.

Dear God, please take care of my darling wife when I am gone, and forgive my own wretched soul.

Jess closed the journal. Clement’s words cut through her like a knife. Dear God! Could something like that really happen? Could people deliberately scupper boats and let the occupants drown because they can’t cope with a never ending flow of migrants?

She shivered as the wind wailed around the house, moaning and sighing like a wounded animal.

She re-read Clement’s final entry.
That evil has led to a new evil… I knew I could not stand by and watch those children suffer any more.
What did he mean by that, she wondered? She thought of voodoo and human sacrifice. No, that can’t be happening, she told herself.

She looked over at Tom, who was now wide awake and watching her.

He yawned. “You’ve been reading that for ages.”

“It’s Clement Pearson’s journal. I found it hidden in the world globe over there. There’s a secret compartment in the bottom. The little brass key opened it up.”

“Really?” He jumped up and went over to have a look. “Ingenious,” he said, as he peered inside. “Who would have thought of looking there?” He turned back to her. “So what’s in the journal? Bad news by the look of you.”

“Here. Take a look for yourself.” She got up. “You only need to read the last entry.”

He sat down, adjusted the hurricane lamp and started to read. When he’d finished he looked up and frowned. “This’ll cause a stink.”

Tom was the master of understatement, she thought.

“What I don’t understand is why the Governor would have Clement’s journal? And why would he hide it in his study in his Residence?” he asked.

“Hm. Sally said the two of them had a row in the Governor’s office after Clement gave evidence to the Inquiry. That was on August 3, the same day as Clement wrote his last entry. That’s when Clement must have had it out with him.”

Tom nodded.

“Perhaps Clement brought this journal to the meeting as evidence,” she went on, “and left it with the Governor for safekeeping.”

“But that suggests Clement didn’t know the Governor was involved in any wrongdoing. Or he wouldn’t have given it to him.”

“Not necessarily. Clement uses the word
confront
in his last entry, as if he knew, or suspected, the Governor was guilty of something.”

Tom got up and started pacing around.

Jess could see his detective’s mind sifting through all the information.

“Maybe the Governor was guilty of the same thing as Clement?” he reasoned. “Maybe he was thinking it would just be one sloop. Or maybe he thought the first sloop to go down really was an accident. But when it happened a second time, the Governor realised it was deliberate and confronted whoever the
he
is that Clement refers to – but doesn’t dare name – in his journal.”

“And that man, who seems to be the instigator of all this, must have persuaded the Governor not to tell the truth, perhaps by promising it would never happen again.”

Tom glanced at her. “Or by money changing hands?”

“We’ll soon know the answer to that. London are looking into the Governor’s bank accounts.” She sighed. “Still, whatever the Governor said that afternoon gave Clement the confidence to hand over his journal.”

“And, in return, the Governor handed him a duplicate key for the secret compartment in the globe. So Clement knew where it was hidden.”

“You know what I think, Tom.” Her mind was whirling. “I think they had some kind of pact. The Governor must have convinced Clement he was going to put things right by confessing. That letter to his wife sort of confirms it.”

Tom nodded. “It would make sense.”

“The Governor probably couldn’t live with himself, any more than Clement could.” She frowned. “But what’s this
new evil
Clement talks about?”

He shrugged and flopped back down in the comfy chair.

She picked up the journal and went back to the globe. “Let’s put this safely back in its hiding place for the time being.” She locked the secret compartment and slipped the key into her bag. “Have you still got the other key?”

He nodded.

“What’s the time?” she asked.

Tom looked at his watch. “4.30. Soon be light.”

“Thank goodness.” She went back to the sofa and sat down.

“Why does everything always come back to children?” he asked, quietly. “Sally keeps talking about voodoo ceremonies and sacrifices. I saw Alvita give Maggie a child. Then we find that nursery in the attic, and bottles of sedatives to knock kids out. Now Clement talks about ‘watching’ children suffer in his journal.” He glanced over. “Doesn’t look good for Maggie, Jess.”

“I know, but I refuse to believe Maggie would ever harm a child. And I think she’s been murdered because of it.”

Suddenly there was a violent gust of wind, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

“The kitchen!” Tom grabbed the hurricane lamp and ran out.

Jess followed.

The back door had blown open. The glass, in the small, top section of the door, lay shattered on the kitchen floor. The wind howled through the doorway, straight off the sea, almost knocking Jess off her feet.

Tom ran over and wrestled the door closed. He turned the key in the lock and threw the top and bottom bolts. Pulling the kitchen table over, he jammed it against the door. “I should have bolted it when I came in.”

“What about that window?” She had to shout above the noise of the wind whistling through the window with no glass.

“Can’t do anything about that now. We’ll have to wait until the wind dies down.”

That’s when Jess felt water under her feet. She stared at the door. Water was seeping underneath. “It’s the sea… coming into the house.”

“Right.” He took her arm. “We’ll sit it out upstairs!”

When Jess woke again in an upstairs bedroom, she could feel a dull ache in her back. She moved forward in the armchair and stretched to relieve it. That’s when she heard the silence. No wind. No rain. No rattling shutters. She looked over to where Tom had been sleeping. He’d gone.

Hearing a car engine start up, she jumped out of the chair, and went out onto the landing. “Tom?” she called. No reply.

She looked over the bannister. No water on the stairs. She ran down and stopped on the bottom stair. The hall floor was covered in wet sand and sludge. The watermark on the wall suggested about a foot of water had come into the house and receded again, probably with the tide. She squelched barefoot along the hall and into the kitchen, where the back door stood wide open. Leaves and sand had been forced through the door’s shattered glass window by the wind, and strewn everywhere. The same mucky residue as in the hall covered the floor, but everything else looked intact.

She stood in the doorway and looked out. Everything looked calm under a blue sky. What a relief! Were they in the eye of the storm? Or had the hurricane passed over? Taking a deep breath of cool, morning air, she stepped outside.

The retreating sea had dumped a pile of seaweed and other rubbish outside the door, and over the courtyard paving stones. Fortunately, Tom and the gardeners had stored the furniture inside the Residence garage. She could see it was still standing. “Tom?” she called again, as she headed for the garden. Two of the squat palm trees were down, their fronds littering the muddy grass, along with leaves, seaweed and driftwood. The sea hadn’t retreated far though. She looked at it nervously. Only a thin stretch of beach separated them. One large wave could sweep them both away.

“Over here, Jess!” Tom waved and disappeared round the side of the house again.

When she caught up with him, he was about to start hammering nails into one of the hurricane shutters that hung off a downstairs window. He looked happy to be outside and busy after being cooped up all night.