Reluctant Witness (35 page)

“Of course I didn’t! I know better than to do
that!”

“Give it some thought. I’m not accusing you
of anything.” Gone was the lighthearted joker, the roommate with a
ready quip. The woman beside me suddenly sounded like a
well-versed, no-nonsense investigator. “It’s not about you, kid.
I’m trying to figure out if people misunderstood your actions
because someone encouraged them to do that.”

“Oh.” I sat in the passenger seat as she
drove, wracking my brain and trying to recall that first sign. When
did it all start to go wrong? “The head of the WitSec team called
me to meet him for coffee to discuss his concerns about my
engagement. He told me Jared did a lot of business outside the
country and that could be a big problem for a protected witness
like me. Shaun thought it was a bad idea for us to get married, but
he wouldn’t tell me any specifics.”

“It sounds like the Marshals Service had its
suspicions about him, though. They would have checked him out when
you two started dating. Maybe something popped up on the radar and
rattled them, so they wanted to set a trap, only it backfired.”

“Maybe,” I agreed.

“I can tell you, kid, that in all my years as
an investigator, there’s no such thing as a perfect record. We all
make mistakes from time to time; that can happen for any of a
number of reasons. The worst excuse is sloppy work. Fact-checking
is critical if you want to make sure you got the right bad guy. But
sometimes the information you have to work with is less than
complete. And in a few cases, I actually saw the negative effects
of political influence. Some guy finds out he’s under the
microscope and the next thing you know, he’s got all his buddies
coming to his rescue. They start floating rumors about other
people, just to muddy the water, and they provide their own
witnesses, to make themselves look good. But in your case, I’m not
really sure that applies. It’s not like you had a very public life,
given your status as a protected witness.”

“I didn’t know a lot of important people, but
Jared did. Politicians, business people, wealthy investors.”

“Ah...maybe it wasn’t you after all. Maybe it
was the fiancé. Could he have pissed off the wrong people? That
might have gotten him killed.”

“A few months before he was
murdered, Dutch Island Investments ran into difficulty with one of
the funds it managed. Jared had to scramble to cover the losses for
a couple of very important clients. They were unhappy about the
missing money. When a journalist from the
Providence Journal
started
investigating, Jared was pretty upset about it.”

“There’s a motive for murder,” she remarked,
turning on her blinker before making a left turn.

“One thing’s always bothered
me, Nancy. Why would someone like Jared, an experienced
international businessman, want to get involved with a party
planner who has been in the witness protection program for almost
seventeen years? Wouldn’t there be a potential risk that I could
get him killed?” I suggested. A moment later, I sighed heavily and
corrected myself. “I
did
get him killed.”

“Take yourself off the hook, kid. He was a
big boy, used to making his own decisions. Besides, I’m not
convinced you’re the bad guy here.”

“But being in WitSec was a complication he
didn’t really need to take on. Every time I needed to take a trip
anywhere, especially the time we went to Curaçao, I had to get
approval from one of my handlers.”

“Why did you go to Curaçao?” She was suddenly
on alert, her interest peaking.

“Jared needed me to sign some papers for a
bank account he set up for me down there.”

“Why didn’t he just set up the bank account
in Rhode Island?”

“I asked him that. He said the money was from
Caribbean businesses he owned and in order to get it transferred to
a bank in the United States, we first had to open an account for me
down there, as a tax thing.”

“I don’t think so, Marigold. That smells
illegal. What kind of Caribbean business?”

“Investments.”

“In what?”

“I don’t really know,” I was forced to admit.
“Every time I asked him for the details, he told me it was
complicated. He provided the venture capital to help start
companies, so it was important to reduce the taxes paid by keeping
the money in the Caribbean and reinvesting it.”

“Still sounds fishy.”

“Nancy, what if Jared set me up from the
start? What if he only pretended to love me so he could use
me?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time some rat
pulled that stunt. Who approached whom? Did you make a play for him
or did he make one for you?”

“He pursued me, said it was love at first
sight and that he knew he had to marry me the minute he laid eyes
on me.”

“It almost sounds too good to be true,” she
remarked thoughtfully, “as if it was scripted.”

“Believe it or not, that’s what I thought,
but he was so persistent, he eventually wore down my
resistance.”

“Did he?” She gave me a sideways glance. “You
went against your instincts, buttercup. Not a smart thing for a
woman to do. When you’ve got a gut feeling, you need to pay
attention to it.”

“I know, I know, but the more he poured on
the charm....

“Never trust a charming man, Marigold. It
usually means he doesn’t want you to see who he really is because
he’s after something and he’s looking to con you into giving it to
him.”

“Where were you when I was all alone in Rhode
Island?” I asked, chagrined. “I could have used your sage
advice!”

“Ah! That’s what Jared counted on -- you were
his pigeon and he was hungry for a squab dinner.” She passed a car
making a right turn and then looked over at me. “I’d like to borrow
that book of yours, the one you can’t put down.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “I’m just about finished
with it.”

The two of us went back to the hotel and
changed into our bathing suits; with beach towels and tote bags in
hand, we headed to the adult pool for a swim. There were only a
handful of people there. Wanting the privacy, we headed to the
sparsely occupied end and grabbed a couple of chaise lounges.

I took a long, leisurely dip, floating
aimlessly on my back. I watched the clouds pass overhead in the
blue, blue sky while I let my mind wander, hoping I would recall
some important detail from my past. Nothing new came to me. When I
emerged from the pool twenty minutes later, I was ready to
read.

Nancy spent a good half hour sitting at the
edge of the pool, her feet in the water, as she talked on her
Smartphone. I could tell her thoughts were elsewhere when she
finally finished her conversation. She came over and plunked down
in the chaise next to mine. For the better part of ten minutes, she
stared straight ahead without saying a word. I left her to her
thoughts, not wanting to intrude.

A short time later, a tiny ping announced an
incoming text on her phone. I glanced over at her. She picked up
her cell phone, gazed at the screen briefly, and then put it back
down. She had her poker face on, not showing any kind of emotion.
Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

“I need to do laps,” she announced, standing
up quickly. “Do you mind watching my stuff?”

“Not at all. I’m happy to keep an eye on
it.”

I watched her walk away, a tall, fit woman in
a blue tank suit. She entered the shallow end of the pool and waded
in up to her waist, gazing off into the distance. She seemed
unaware that her hands were slowly ruffling the surface of the
water, agitating it into rippling waves. Something had thrown Nancy
for a loop; of that I was sure. But was it something I had
done?

Chapter Thirty
Two

A minute later, Nancy submerged herself the
rest of the way and turned on her side; she had once been a
competitive swimmer and she was still graceful as she moved through
her swimming strokes.

Sitting back on my chaise
lounge in our shady corner of the pool area, I opened my copy
of
Vanilla Orchid Magic
and got back to the story. Nora had just boarded the small
six-passenger plane.

“
Put these on,” said an
older woman wearing a nurse’s uniform. She handed me a bright pink
sundress and a pair of underpants. I took off my bathrobe and
handed it to her before I pulled the sundress over my head modestly
and wiggled out of my nightgown. She held out her hand, waiting. A
moment later, she passed my nightclothes to the French policeman.
“Jean-Claude, you must get going. You have an appointment with
death.”

“
What?” I cried. I looked
up at the man holding the door of the plane and once again our eyes
met. That spark between us ignited once more and I felt a passion
that seemed to possess me with electrifying results. “Aren’t you
coming with us?”

“
I cannot, ma
chérie
. I must go, lest
Alain thinks you survived the crash I am about to have.”

“
But...must you
die?”

“
Never fear, Nora. You
shall see me again one day.” Leaning forward, Inspecteur Noiret
kissed my cheek. “Stay safe.”

I watched him disappear into the darkness
and felt my heart sink.

“
Take off, Laurent. If we
hurry, we may be able to see it from the air,” said a middle-aged
man in a blue golf shirt and khaki slacks, climbing into the front
passenger seat. “I’m Davis, CIA. This is Mifkin, my partner, Mrs.
Beaumont.”

“
Ms. Hazen,” I corrected
him firmly. “If I never really married the bastard, I certainly
don’t want to use that name!”

Ten minutes later, we were airborne, flying
towards La Grande Soufrière. I could see the magnificent volcano
bathed in moonlight, a sight that still awed me, even after all
these years. But Mifkin’s attention was drawn elsewhere. He
gestured excitedly, pointing to a tiny glow on an empty stretch of
road just north of Baillif, on the Rue du Baron de Cluny.

“
There it is!”

“
Looks good, doesn’t it?”
said Davis, nodding enthusiastically. “Very believable. Are our
witnesses there yet?”

“
There are a couple of cars
coming up to the scene now.”

My heart grew cold as I listened to the
conversation all around me. Even the nurse, Véronique, seemed
impressed by the burning wreckage on the island highway. I was
appalled.

“
How can you be so excited
about Jean-Claude’s death? Are you completely
heartless?”

“
What?” Davis seemed
confused momentarily, but then he tapped his forehead and laughed.
“Oh, you didn’t really think we sent the guy off to die, did you?
That was all staged with a couple of cadavers we intercepted over
in the Virgin Islands, on their way to potter’s field.”

“
Oh!” I let that sink into
my confused brain a moment. If they were going to pretend that
Jean-Claude and I were dead, they must have a plan. “What happens
next?”

“
We’re going to put you
somewhere safe and then, with your help, we’re going after Le
Scorpion.”

With my help, he said. Did that mean I would
continue to work with Jean-Claude?

Davis monitored the police radio frequency,
tracking the developments. Firefighters got to the blaze fifteen
minutes after the first frantic call and they put it out quickly,
but by then the car was fully engulfed in flames and its driver and
passenger were deceased. The accident was still under investigation
when the de Havilland Beaver set down on the airfield near Fort de
France in Martinique. Just before I left the plane with my escorts,
I listened to Alain make a public statement to reporters about the
tragic loss of his wife. Not only did my phony husband profess his
undying love for me, he claimed that I had been stalked for weeks
by Inspecteur Noiret, and this policeman’s obsession with me
culminated in my kidnapping earlier in the evening. Maurice,
formally identified as Officier Baland, confirmed the information,
adding that his boss had refused to allow him to detain the
Interpol agent prior to the crash.

“
What lying bastards!” I
exclaimed. “How dare they?

“
Oh, they dare, to the tune
of three million dollars a year,” Davis replied. “Their drug
trafficking operation is quite a moneymaker. Le Scorpion is trying
to expand rapidly, and that’s allowed us to get a foot in the door,
because he’s been so busy recruiting. But if we’ve got any chance
of taking him out of the game, we’re going to have to contain him
without him knowing we’re pulling the strings.”

“
You mean you’re not going
to arrest him?” I was surprised.

“
If we do that, someone
else from his extensive network will simply take over the helm and
rebuild the network capabilities. No, Nora, we need to cause
problems for his organization and make the players turn on one
another, so the structure crumbles,” Mifkin told me. “It’s our job
to make it difficult for them to operate. When we make some
noticeable progress, we’ll turn it over to the DEA and let them
finish the job.”

As I read that, I couldn’t figure out what
that would mean for Nora. How could she go on being who she was?
What if Le Scorpion discovered she was still alive? In my
experience, once you began your life underground, it was hard to
come out from the shadows. The only solution would be for her to
disappear completely -- no more Nora Hazen. She could never go back
to Guadeloupe or the company she and her parents built, Le
Papillon. All that hard work, all the years of buying the land and
carefully nurturing it to produce coffee and spices -- it was
suddenly all gone. I couldn’t even see a way for Jean-Claude to
return to her, not after he had managed to destroy his own identity
when he pretended to perish in the car crash. I found myself
mourning for the characters and the lives they had built.