Deadly Deceit (25 page)

The way he said it sent a shiver up her spine.

His eyes pierced hers. “You realise what this means, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Why’d you think I’ve requested UK police assistance? I know I can’t trust the local police. I just don’t know why, or what’s going on?”

“Well, they can’t have moved the car very far,” he said. “So, I’ve found someone inside the local police to help me find it.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“His name’s Chuck Lynch. The Miami police gave me his name as their contact here. Don’t worry,” he went on, quickly. “Chuck’s going to locate the car so I can have a look at it.” He paused. “And, well, I think it would be good for me to get a look at the site of Mrs Pearson’s murder to… while we’re at it.”

Jess offered Tom the bowl of salad. “Why? What can you possibly hope to find that the police haven’t already?”

“It’s not always what you find, Jess.” He spooned some salad leaves onto his plate. “It’s what you
see
.”

She shook her head. “You have no locus to do any investigating. There would be nothing to stop them putting you in jail.”

“Trust me. I’ll be fine.”

“No, it’s too dangerous.” She frowned as she helped herself to salad.

They fell silent again while they finished eating.

Then Jess asked: “Anyway why would this Chuck want to help you? And how do you know you can trust him?”

“I’ve been asking myself that,” Tom replied. “I’d say he’s passing information to the US Federal Police regularly.”

“Like an informant?”

“Something like that.” Tom paused. “It’s the way he reacted, or rather
didn’t
react. He knew exactly who I was, who you were, and why I was asking. It came as no surprise to him that the Governor’s Land Rover had disappeared.” He glanced at Jess. “Wouldn’t surprise me if the US Federal Police were keeping an eye on this Territory.” He glanced over. “And I think Chuck’s their man.”

Jess nodded. “Funny you should say that. I’d been wondering if the CIA were active down here. The Territory’s too close to their shores for them not to take an interest.”

Tom raised his eyebrows.

“They’ll be monitoring phone calls, texts, and emails from the NSA in Washington. Probably have someone on the ground down here too.”

“Who could it be?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Absolutely anyone. But I tell you something, Tom, if the CIA know, or even suspect, something’s wrong down here, I’m sure our UK Security Services will too.” She checked her watch. “God, is that the time?” She looked at him. “I’m afraid I’ve got to get back.”

“Of course. Look, take my new mobile number in case you need to call me.” He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a phone.

Her eyes widened. “How’d you manage to get that?”

“I have my ways.”

She pulled her mobile out of her pocket and programmed in the number. “I’m going to visit the island’s Disaster Management Centre up on the Ridge this afternoon. And I’ve asked Brad to come in to see me when you get back from your dive. I want to talk to him about this Spanish galleon.” She looked at him. “Please don’t mention it to him while you’re out there, or to anyone else.”

“Of course not.”

Jess stood up. “Then I’m expecting the Police Commissioner to call into the office around five. I’ll be back after that.”

“Right.” Tom got up too. “Well, I’m off diving with Brad now.” He decided not to tell her he was going to see Chuck straight afterwards. She had enough to worry about.

She frowned. “Please be careful out there, Tom. The wall drops 7,000 feet.”

“
Fantastic!
I can’t wait.”

“We only have a clinic on Grand Turk,” she added. “The hospital is on Provo. And there’s no decompression chamber anywhere in the Territory if you get the bends.”

“Relax, Jess.” He smiled, and touched her arm. “I’m an experienced diver. So is Brad. We’ll be fine.”

*

Jess sat in the passenger seat of the office car, with Alvita at the wheel. She stared through the windscreen at the horse-drawn carriage ahead. It was decoratively painted red and white, and carrying four passengers. She could tell they were tourists by their wide, floppy hats and sunburnt skins. Now, trundling along at ten miles an hour, the horse and carriage were blocking the single lane road. Jess looked at her watch. “We don’t have much time,” she said.

Alvita stepped on the accelerator, and the car lurched forward. As they whizzed by, the driver shook his horse whip at them. The horse didn’t even flinch, and continued its stately trot along the main road into Cockburn Town.

Jess could see Alvita’s hands relax on the steering wheel once they’d passed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pressure you,” Jess said.

Alvita hit the main roundabout at speed too, and the tyres squealed as she drove around it.

A heat haze shimmered on the tarmac road in front of them as they climbed the hill to the Ridge, which made Jess feel even hotter. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat. The air conditioning was on, but seemed to be blowing out warm air. She glanced sideways. Face set like stone, Alvita’s eyes were glued to the road.

“I hear there’s a tropical storm off Haiti,” Jess said. Tom had told her about it at lunchtime.

“It’s not heading in our direction at the moment,” Alvita said, before falling silent again.

Jess noticed the red mark on Alvita’s cheek looked more like a deep scratch close up. She turned and stared out her side window, worried. No reply yet from London to her e-gram, and her request for police assistance. She wouldn’t panic. They would need time to digest the information and consult others. She’d phone when she got back to the office, if they hadn’t been in touch.

There was another call she should have made this morning, to the Management Officer in Washington. Why had Simon lied about going to LA for work? Why not just say he was going on leave? But every time she’d picked up the receiver to call, she’d put it down again. In some way, she didn’t
want
to know what he was up to, because that would confirm his lie. But it was gnawing away at her. She decided she would ring when she got back to the office.

There was no sign of life as they passed the Haitian settlement. The only movement was washing flapping in the breeze. Dogs lay flat out asleep in the shade of the tarpaulins. Their owners were inside, avoiding the fierce heat of the day. Up ahead, she could see the lighthouse dominating the skyline. Where was the Disaster Management Centre, she wondered?

Suddenly, Alvita braked and turned down a narrow track. The car bumped along over rough ground until a small concrete structure came into view.

“Here we are.” Alvita pulled up outside the building and switched off the engine. “The Centre was built up here on the highest point of the island to withstand any tidal wave. It is common for storm surges to follow hurricanes.” She reached over, grabbed her bag from behind Jess’s seat, and got out.

The hot sun was intense as Jess stepped out too. There was no shade up here anywhere. Trees couldn’t withstand hurricanes. She stared at the building. It was a simple, single-storey structure, with a few small windows and only one door. It could have been a village hall, or a large scout hut, transplanted from the depths of the British countryside.

She turned and looked all around. The stark reality of standing on top of a mountain summit, poking up out of the ocean, with nothing but hundreds of miles of water in every direction hit home. With the highest point at only 170 feet, a storm surge could easily swamp half the island.

“It’s open, Jess,” Alvita called, and went inside.

Jess followed. The cloying, stale air was the first thing to hit her, then darkness. Coming in from bright sunlight, she couldn’t see a thing. “If the wind or sea don’t get us,” she said, flatly, “we’ll suffocate from heat in here.”

Alvita didn’t react. “There’s a kitchen at the other end, with water containers to fill. Candles and matches are in the cupboards. We don’t store gas bottles for cooking up here, it’s too hot. We bring them up if we need to.”

As Jess’s eyes began to adjust, she saw the interior of the Disaster Management Centre was a replica of the one on Provo. Several tables had been pushed together in the shape of a rectangle, with wooden chairs placed all around. A projector screen hung over a whiteboard at one end of the room, with a detailed map of the islands next to it. She could see a couple of large, battery operated radios. Again there was only one computer, but this time a couple of old manual typewriters stood on a side table. “They don’t still make ribbons for
those
, do they?” she asked.

“We have plenty in the Government store room,” Alvita replied.

“They’ll be no good. The ink will have dried out if they’ve been in there for years.”

Alvita ignored her. “We have a generator in here too.”

Well that’s something, Jess thought. “But how’s
everyone
supposed to get in here?”

Alvita gave her a surprised look. “Oh… the locals won’t come up here, if that’s what you mean. They’ll stay and defend their homes.”

“Against storm force winds and the sea?” Jess was incredulous.

“Believe me, they won’t come up here. They’d rather die than leave their homes.”

“But they’re sitting ducks at sea level on this flat island.”

Alvita looked at her in a resigned way. “It’s been that way for two centuries.”

Jess sighed and sat down at the meeting table, knowing there was nothing she would be able to say or do to change things. “So who
will
come up here?”

“Just us, and members of the Disaster Management Committee,” Alvita replied.

Jess remembered the Committee members she’d met on Provo. “Who’s on the Committee here?”

“The heads of some Government Departments, the fire chief, the Medical Officer from the Clinic, and one or two others.”

“Well, let’s get them all up here for a meeting in the next day or so,” she said.

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Alvita asked in a way that made it clear she didn’t.

“Yes. We need to make sure everyone knows what they have to do in any emergency,” Jess insisted. “And let’s stock this place up with provisions and everything we need as well… just in case.”

Alvita plopped down on a chair at the table opposite her. “Why should you care? You’ll be gone soon.”

It was said in an even tone, but with a familiar edge that Jess was pretty tired of. “I’m just doing my job, Alvita – or David’s to be precise. I have no personal agenda here, I assure you.”

“All I’m saying, Jess, is if the British Government don’t care about this Territory, why should you?”

Jess could feel her irritation rising. “Of course the Government
cares
.”

“No, they don’t,” Alvita argued. “They don’t give us any money or support. Look around.” She swept her arms out wide. “Nothing much grows in our soil, our trees and crops get flattened by hurricane force winds. All we have are tourists, and Provo gets most of them.”

“I understand that, so…”

“So we’ve become an offshore tax haven, like other Overseas Territories in the Caribbean. It’s the only way we can survive.” She stared at Jess, eyes black as coals. “Your Government turn a blind eye to
that
so long as they don’t have to fund us. Yet they take every opportunity to criticise us, and the other offshore tax havens.”

Jess didn’t say anything, because it was true. In many ways, she understood Alvita’s bitterness, but her constant hostility was something else. Jess wondered about her personal life.

“Are you married, Alvita?” Jess didn’t feel it would be intrusive to ask that question since she’d already told her about Jack and Amy.

Alvita looked taken aback by the direct question. “No. And I don’t have any children either.”

“Do your parents live on Grand Turk?” Jess asked.

Alvita looked at her as if to say
why are you asking me all these questions?
– but she answered. “They’re both dead.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Jess said, sincerely. “You must have other family on Grand Turk. There are a lot of people with the surname Pearson here.”

Alvita put her head on one side. “You seem very curious about me.”

Jess shrugged. “I’m always interested in the people I work with. You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to.”

Alvita sighed. “I’m an only child. My father was a pastor here, at the Baptist church. He was a good man.”

Jess could feel perspiration trickling down the back of her neck in the suffocating heat. She desperately wanted to go outside, but she didn’t move because Alvita was finally talking to her.

“My father was Clement Pearson’s brother,” Alvita went on. “My uncle’s suicide and my aunt’s murder have been a big shock for me. They were the only close family I had left.”

Ah, Jess felt great sympathy for her now. Alvita’s brusque manner was not just about her job, it was about grief too. She would never see her family again. Never hear their voices. Never feel their touch. Her prickliness was her way of coping, and Jess knew all about that.

“My mother was born on Grand Turk too,” Alvita continued. “She died of cancer two years ago, just months after my father. The truth is she didn’t want to go on without him.” She looked away. “I wasn’t enough for her, you see.”

Jess didn’t know what to say except that she was sorry. “I wish we’d had the chance to talk before.”

Alvita nodded.

“So Roger Pearson, the new Minister for Immigration, is your cousin?” Jess asked.

“Yes, but we don’t get on,” Alvita went on unprompted. “My dad had two brothers. Clement was his youngest brother, and Marvin his oldest. My dad and my uncle Clement always got on well. But my dad and Uncle Marvin fell out before dad died, and never spoke to each other again.” She sighed. “Uncle Marvin died of a heart attack just a year after my dad. I think it was the sadness, you see.”

Jess nodded. “So Roger is your Uncle Marvin’s son.”

“Yes.”

Now Jess understood why Roger Pearson hadn’t seemed that upset about his aunt’s murder when they met in Provo yesterday. She looked at Alvita’s proud face. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.