Deadly Deceit (8 page)

He gave her a friendly hug. “Bye Jess. See you in a couple of months.” And with that he hurried away.

Watching him go, she felt suddenly apprehensive. She hadn’t been able to ask him anything about the job, or even about the goings-on in the house last night. Still, in the light of day, she was beginning to think she’d overreacted last night. And that was probably down to being in a new place, the travelling, and the shock of the Governor’s accident. She’d be fine, she told herself, as she strode into the house. Anyway, she’d agreed to do the job for a couple of months, and that’s exactly what she was going to do.

She just wished the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach would go away.

It was the way the Police Commissioner placed his peaked hat between them on the back seat that Jess noticed. It was done carefully, as if he were deliberately marking out his authority, a line she should not cross. Not that she could ignore his importance. All the locals nodded or waved at his official Land Rover as it made its stately way at 20mph along the main road leading from the Governor’s Residence to Grand Turk’s capital, Cockburn Town. Clearly everyone wanted to keep on the right side of Dexter Robinson. He held a powerful position in these islands, and reported directly to the Governor, rather than to any local ministers or officials.

He was a hulk of a man, almost six feet tall, with a large, jowly face, although his personality was anything
but
larger than life. He spoke quietly, with an unassuming manner, for someone in his position. Unlike the other islanders, he looked Jess in the eye when he spoke to her, so that was something. Now, his black skin glistened as he shifted uncomfortably in the humidity, and adjusted the leather belt on his khaki uniform.

Jess had to admit she was uncomfortable too. It wasn’t even midday but her eyes were heavy, and she felt stuck to the leather seat. The Land Rover had air conditioning installed, she noticed, but the driver hadn’t put it on. Either it was broken or they didn’t like it. She was too polite to say anything, especially as Dexter had offered to take her to the scene of the Governor’s accident.

She looked up and caught the driver studying her in his rear view mirror. As a new member of the Governor’s Office,
and
a woman, she knew the locals would be curious about her. She smiled, but he averted his eyes back to the road ahead.

She turned to Dexter. “How long have you been Police Commissioner here?” she asked.

He seemed surprised by the question. “Five years.”

“Are you from Grand Turk or one of the outlying islands?”

“Grand Turk.”

She already knew from her brief he was one of the few police officers actually from the Turks and Caicos Islands. Most were recruited from neighbouring Caribbean countries, a policy put in place by the British Government to prevent nepotism and corruption on these small islands. “I’m still not clear about what happened when the Governor had his car crash.” She paused. “Why was he driving down from the Ridge at that time?”

Dexter shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“It seems a strange thing to do in the middle of the night.”

He nodded.

“You said it was a hit and run?”

“Yes. A truck was stolen from the supermarket compound hours before the crash. We believe it was the other vehicle involved.”

“And the driver just drove off?”

“Yes.”

“Did he report the accident?”

“No.”

“Did he phone for an ambulance?”

“No.”

Jess sat back in the seat. This was hard work. Dexter was a cautious man, and chose his words carefully. She pressed on. “What makes you think a truck was involved?”

“Because of the extensive damage to the Governor’s car.” He pulled a large white handkerchief out of his pocket, shook it out, and mopped his brow.

“Wouldn’t that driver have been injured too?”

He shrugged.

She could tell he was uncomfortable with her questions, but she persisted: “It must be difficult to hide a truck on a small island like this, especially one that’s been in an accident. Surely someone’s seen it, or knows where it is?”

He said nothing, and just lowered his side window to get whatever breeze he could from the late morning air.

Jess looked out, and saw a large pond, almost rectangular in shape. A tall windmill towered over it, gracing the skyline. Its metal vanes were almost rusted away.

“That’s a salina,” he said. “A salt pond. At one time, salt used to be the only way of preserving food. The industry lasted over 200 years in these islands, until the 1960s and refrigerators.” He sighed, as if regretting the passing of time. “That’s all that’s left of it now.”

Jess studied the still, brackish water as they drove alongside it. A green-coloured heron stalked along the edge. “How did they gather the salt?” she asked.

“You see those walls?” He pointed to what looked like stone channels.

She nodded.

“They’re man-made canals linking a whole network of salinas on the island. The windmills pumped sea water continuously through the reservoirs and sluice gates. Mineral deposits would emerge through evaporation, and the salt settled into crystals.”

It hadn’t escaped Jess’s attention that he was happier to explain the history of the salt industry than talk about the Governor’s accident. She got back to the point. “Are drugs a problem here?” she asked.

He looked at her as if surprised by the question: “They’re becoming a problem. We’ve experienced an increase in supply over the last couple of years.”

“Where do they come from? The US?”

He shook his head. “Central and South America mostly. Some get diverted here on their way
to
the US. There are smuggling routes through other Caribbean countries too.” He fell silent and looked out the window again.

Jess wasn’t sure whether to ask him about Clement Pearson’s suicide or not. In the end, she decided she would. “I read about the Immigration Minister’s suicide, in the
Miami Post
on the plane over.” She paused. “How has that affected everyone here?”

He let out a deep sigh. “We’re heartbroken. Clement was born and brought up here.”

It was said with such feeling Jess knew he meant it. “Do you have any idea
why
he committed suicide? I mean… was he upset or depressed about anything?”

The Police Commissioner looked at her. “People tend not to show their feelings outwardly here, Miss Turner.” He paused to consider his words. “You will know from the newspaper that Clement’s son died of a drugs overdose recently. Clement was devastated, as was his wife.”

She nodded. “I understand on the day he died, the Minister gave evidence to a British Inquiry into the sinking of two Haitian sloops. What can you tell me about that?”

He was silent for a while, then he said: “UK officials came out to do the investigation. Their report concluded that the two sloops met the same fate, while sailing in bad weather.”

“Both of them?”

He nodded. “They ended up on the north-west reef, like so many other vessels over the centuries.”

“Do you have a copy of that report?” she asked, thinking she ought to read it.

“I do.” He nodded. “The Governor has a copy too.”

Jess made a mental note to look for it when she got back. “Well,” she said, sympathetically. “It’s a shocking thing to happen once, let alone twice. It must have upset everyone here, especially Clement.

He nodded, gravely.

An attractive, white-washed building caught her eye as they drove past. It had tall pillars at the entrance and fancy balustrades around its verandahs. She leant closer to the window. The sign said it was the House of Assembly. The car park was empty, so she guessed Parliament wasn’t in session.

Soon, they were driving into town. They passed a two-storey office block, which she saw was the Police HQ, then an old prison, a museum, and a few shops before reaching a single roundabout. Turning right, they started to make their way up to the Ridge. Jess glanced at the Police Commissioner again. He was sitting so quietly she decided to leave him to his thoughts.

When they came to what looked like a small settlement, he surprised her by suddenly starting to talk. “They’re the problem.” He tapped on the window to emphasise his point. “Coming illegally in their sloops night after night. We send them home, and they come straight back. There are eight million of them just across the water in Haiti, and less than 50,000 of us. We’re getting overrun.” He looked at her as if she were personally responsible. “Something
has
to be done about it.”

Jess saw the driver nodding his head in agreement. Out the window, she could see the houses were made of plywood, and corrugated metal roofs covered with sheet plastic. Washing lines hung between the houses, with colourful clothes pegged to them, while children and dogs chased each other around in the sunshine.

When Jess looked back at the Police Commissioner, little beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. Was he steamed up about the Haitians? Or just hot?

“You obviously allow some of them to stay here,” she said.

He nodded. “These people have been here a while. Some of them have jobs as domestic cleaners, and gardeners. Some help build houses. But all new arrivals are transported to Provo, and flown straight back to Haiti.”

“What kind of processing do you do before deporting them?”

“We take the name they give us, fingerprint them, and send them back to Haiti.”

“Do any of them claim asylum?”

He stared at her. “We send them straight back.”

She took that to mean no other processing was done. Then she remembered what the Chief Justice had said the night before. “I’ve heard about the inter-communal tensions,” she said.

“Can you blame our people? They are being squeezed out of their homes and jobs.”

“I’ve heard about the missing pets too,” she said. “What do you know about voodoo? Is it being practised here?”

He gave her a scornful look. “I know very little about it.”

She didn’t believe him, and wondered why he was being evasive. The Police Commissioner, of all people, would know if voodoo was practised on the island and any consequences resulting from it. She looked at him. “I understand that bones were found after a bonfire on the beach. I’m told the locals believe their pets are being sacrificed in voodoo ceremonies.”

He nodded. “Bones have been found, but I don’t believe they have anything to do with voodoo.”

“Have they been analysed in the laboratory?”

“Why should they be? They’re not human.”

Jess knew when she was being fobbed off. “Don’t you think it would be a good idea to get those bones analysed, to find out for sure if they’re human or animal?”

“Police resources are already stretched,” he said.

“I’m sure they are, especially if you have all these community tensions to police. But if you get the bones analysed, you’ll hopefully be able to tell the locals with certainty that they don’t belong to their missing pets. That would de-escalate the situation.”

Suddenly, the car came to a halt at crossroads. “We’re here.” The Commissioner got out.

Jess was relieved to be able to get out too, and take in some air. She looked around. The Governor had been travelling back from the lighthouse, in the direction of town, when that truck hit. She crossed diagonally over the road and studied the tarmac on the other side. A few fine pieces of shattered glass, and a scorched patch on the grass verge, were the only signs left of a crash. Everything else had been cleaned up efficiently. That surprised her. “Did forensics find anything interesting or unusual?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Obviously the Governor’s car was travelling down from the lighthouse. So which direction did the other vehicle come from? East or west?”

“It hit the Governor’s door, so it would have come from the west.”

Jess looked along the deserted road, and felt uneasy. Who would steal a truck from a local supermarket in the middle of the night, go joyriding – if that’s what they were doing, accidentally plough into the Governor’s Land Rover, then disappear without a trace and without calling the emergency services? She turned back to the Police Commissioner. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said, truthfully.

Immediately his eyes became wary. “The accident report will tell us everything,” he said, in a voice that brooked no more questions.

Why was he being so cagey? She was sure he knew more than he was telling her. “I’m going to relay my initial findings to London when I get back,” she said in a businesslike voice. “And I’d like a copy of the accident report please to send them.” She paused. “I’d like to see the Governor’s car too.”

He nodded. “You will have a copy of the accident report as soon as it’s ready,” he said. “The Governor’s Land Rover is in the Government Garage, which is close to the Governor’s Office.”

She nodded. “I’ll take a look at it later.”

“Of course.”

Jess looked along the road and saw the lighthouse standing on top of the Ridge. What had the Governor been doing up there, she wondered? “Can we go up to the lighthouse while we’re here, if it’s no trouble?”

He nodded and walked back to his Land Rover.

Jess followed and got in beside him.

The driver proceeded to the top of the Ridge, and drew up outside a low picket fence that surrounded the lighthouse.

Jess got out quickly, and for the first time felt a strong breeze in her face. She took some gulps of air, relieved to be able to finally breathe. She walked through a small gate in the fence, and headed for the lighthouse. It was an impressive structure, tall and solid. According to a plaque embedded in the wall, it was made of cast iron and built by the British. She climbed the few steps to the door. A sign said it was open to the public every day, except there was no-one around and the door was locked when she tried it. She went back down the steps, and across the grass to the edge of the headland.

An amazing sight greeted her. High, foamy breakers crashed onto the reef out to sea. Below she could see only rocks and turbulent waves. Further along the headland, there was a cliff path, and a track leading down to a small beach.