Calypso (The Harry Starke Novels Book 8) Page 13

  “He’s as good a choice as any, I suppose. I don’t think we’re gonna get it done, Harry. Not without some physical evidence. He’s right. This is the weirdest bunch of cats I’ve ever run into. It could have been any one of them.”

  Kate got to her feet. “That’s all of them except for Jackson, the gardener,” she said. “Want me to go get him?”

  “No, I don’t think so. We know why he was in her rooms. I think we’ve already talked to the killer. Nobody’s said a bad word about Jackson. We’ll leave him out, for now. We can always talk to him later, if we think there’s any need for it. For now, I need to talk to Leo Sr., bring him up to speed. I’d like you both to remain here while I talk to him.”

  I made the call and asked him to join us, and less than five minutes later he was seated in front of me and Kate; Bob remained seated by the window.

  “So?” he asked, somewhat impatiently. “What have you discovered?”

  I leaned back in his desk chair and looked at him closely.

  How much of this mess do you already know? I thought. More to the point, how much more do you really want to know?

  I took a deep breath. “With the exception of Jackson, we’ve completed the initial round of interviews.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him.

  “And?” he asked.

  “One thing I know for sure is that we’ve already talked to Gabrielle’s killer.”

  “Do you have any idea who it is?”

  “No, but I’m narrowing it down…. Tell me about Victor Moore.”

  “He’s my butler. I’ve known him for years. Why do you ask? Surely you don’t suspect him of—”

  “He’s not exactly Jeeves, is he? Where did you find him?”

  “I didn’t find him. I knew his parents, grew up with them. No. He’s not exactly the archetypal butler, but he looks after my special needs very well.”

  “Did you know he was having an affair with your daughter?” I asked, trying for a little shock treatment. It had the opposite effect.

  “No he wasn’t.” He smiled. “That’s just family gossip. Oh, he was close to her. She was only seven when he joined me eighteen years ago. She took to him immediately; loved him like a brother. He always had time for her silliness, and she appreciated it. When she needed anything— advice, someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on—it was him she would go to, not me. And yes, I do think he loved her, but not in that way.”

  I glanced at Bob. He nodded. He believed him, and so did I.

  “Well,” I said, “I think we’re done here for the day. Can you get someone to take us back to the resort, please?”

  “I’ll do it myself. Would you like to go right now? I’ll have Moore bring the car around to the front and I’ll meet you there in… five minutes.”

  “So,” I said to Kate, as we gathered up our bits and pieces, “still think the butler did it?”

  “Right now, yeah, I’d say he’s as good a choice as any. You?”

  “I still like Alicia, Jeff, Leo Jr., and Sebastian… in that order.”

  “Bob?”

  “Leo and Jeff and maybe Alicia. What was all that stuff about Laura, about a show?”

  “You’ll have to get Harry to tell you all about it,” Kate said sarcastically. “He thoroughly enjoyed himself.”

  I grinned at her. Hell, it was true. Married I might have been, but I’m still a man, for God’s sake.

  Chapter 21

  Monday November 14, Evening

  Dinner that evening was something special. The menu included conch salad, cracked conch, and blue crab claws for appetizers, and huge grilled spiny lobster tails imported from Mayaguana for the main course, served with crispy coconut grouper steaks and red beans and rice. For dessert, a choice of either pineapple or chocolate bread pudding—or both, if you were Amanda. All of this was followed by unlimited cups of Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee; the real thing, not the blend. It wasn’t until later that I learned Amanda had brought the beans with her; she’d plundered my special reserves, bless her. Coffee was followed by large snifters of Remy Martin XO.

  It was inevitable, then, that the conversation turned to the investigation. My father, being the lawyer he is, wanted a complete breakdown. Me, being the tired and ill-used PI I figured I was, refused to go that route. I made him settle for the short version.

  “Tell them about the floor show, Harry.”

  “Laura Collins, you mean? Hell, Kate. You were there. You saw it all, same as I did. You tell them.”

  “But you had the best seat in the house, didn’t you, Harry?”

  “Do tell, Harry,” Amanda said sweetly.

  “Oh hell, the woman wasn’t wearing underwear. That’s all. It was no big deal.”

  “So that’s what it was,” Bob said. “Damn. I did miss the show, didn’t I?”

  “So you did, my love,” Kate said. “But if you’re a good bear… who knows what rewards you might receive later.”

  His face was a picture. I had never seen him so embarrassed. But his red face belied his feelings.

  I think he truly loves her. Wow.

  “So.” My father was not about to give it up. “What’s next?”

  “What’s next,” I said dryly, “is nothing, at least not for the next day or two. I need some input from forensics and the ME in St. Thomas. Until I get that, I’ve done all I can. I’ll spend some time with Amanda: I want to take her back to the Rhone, this time with scuba gear. I’ll also let you cheat me at golf. Bob, you wanna go eighteen holes with my dad and me?”

  He said he did, but I wasn’t sure he was too enthusiastic about it. Still, he played a wicked ten handicap and would give my old man a run for his money.

  And so the third day of my new life slowly wound down. I was thrilled with the idea that the next several days would belong to me and whomever I wanted to include, and no one else.

  Chapter 22

  Tuesday November 15, 12:45

  “No work today my love,” I said as I placed a cup of coffee on the nightstand beside her. “I’m all yours. Better yet,” I said, climbing back into bed beside her, “you’re all mine. C’mere.” I made a grab for her, but she wriggled away.

  “Harry. No. I need the bathroom and my coffee.” Like a greased snake, she slipped out of my grasp and ran to the bathroom. She was gone for maybe five minutes, and when she returned she’d done her hair and looked fabulous. She kneeled on the bed, leaned in, and brushed my lips with hers—she tasted minty. It took my breath away. I put my arms around her, but she pushed back.

  “Patience, big boy. I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

  And boy did she ever take her time. I watched as she sat on the edge of the bed, her cup cradled in both hands, her eyes closed as she sipped. It was quite an act, and I was mesmerized.

  Finally she set the cup down, turned her head, and looked at me over her shoulder, chin down, eyes half closed, and gifted me with a smile that, if I hadn’t known better, I would have taken for pure evil.

  “Ready?” she asked in a low voice.

  I grinned, nodded, put my hands behind my neck, and lay back on the pillow.

  She climbed over me, straddled me, sat on my belly, took the hem of her white satin chemise in both hands and, in one smooth move, stripped it off over her head, stretching upward like some great cat as she did so. It was the sexiest move I’d ever seen, designed to do nothing other than blow my mind… and it did.

  The next hour passed in a dream, a swirling cloud of utter bliss. To this day, I remember every touch, every whisper, every kiss. And all before eight o’clock in the morning.

  We hit the shower, had some breakfast, and headed out to the beach. I insisted we leave our phones at the cottage. I felt naked without mine, but I was determined to have some time alone with her.

  “Harry,” Amanda said later, as we lay stretched out side by side. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about the spot of blood on the carpet. That it wasn’t spatter; that
it fell from Gabrielle’s head when she was moved. Suppose it wasn’t hers? What if it belonged to the killer? It could. Couldn’t it?”

  I looked at her, smiled at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I already thought of that. I really have to try not to leave you alone anymore.” I was joking. “You’ve been watching too much TV, too much CSI.”

  “Pig!” She punched my arm. I screwed up my face in mock pain.

  “Oh my God, Harry, I’m so sorry.” She was mortified. “I forgot about your arm.”

  I jumped up, grabbed her hand, pulled her to her feet, slung her over my shoulder like a sack of flour, and ran with her, squealing, into the ocean. For ten minutes we played together like a couple of kids, running and splashing, tackling each other until finally, exhausted, we staggered back up the beach and flopped down on the towels. And we lay there, holding hands, breathing hard, staring up at the scudding white clouds; it was a beautiful moment.

  “You know,” I said after some minutes, “what you said, about the blood. I don’t see how it could belong to the killer, but it’s a good thought. Sheesh, I might be able to make a detective of you yet…. But we couldn’t get that lucky… could we?”

  “Come on, Harry. You don’t need to get lucky. You’re the king of deception and trickery. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know what I mean. Tell them what you found, and that you think the blood belongs to the killer and that you want everyone to provide a DNA sample. If it does belong to the killer, it could cause him to panic. If not, you’ve lost nothing. You’ll just need to watch them all carefully…. Stop laughing at me, you ass!”

  “I wasn’t laughing at you! Well I was, but not the way you’re thinking. I was laughing at how well you’ve gotten to know me, and how far we’ve come these past three years. But I’m not going to give you credit for the idea. I was way ahead of you…. Ow! Damn it, Amanda. That did hurt.”

  “I know you better than you think I do.” And with that, she rose to her feet, gave me one of those “don’t you wish?” looks, and walked slowly back to the water, swinging her hips as she went, the pink bikini bottom barely hanging to her amazing….

  Wow. Talking about getting lucky.

  I jumped to my feet and ran after her. She heard me coming and headed out into deeper water, took a header into the surf, and began a strong crawl away from the shore, and damn it, I couldn’t catch her. I hadn’t realized what a strong swimmer she was.

  I gave up and waited, treading water. Finally, she flipped over onto her back and waved.

  “Come on, Harry. Don’t be a baby. You can do it.”

  Do it? Sure I could, but I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction. I turned to swim leisurely back toward the resort, and that’s when I realized how far out we were. At least a hundred yards, probably more, and the distance was increasing. Riptide.

  Oh shit.

  I turned and looked at Amanda. She was now in rough water, and I could barely see her head bobbing above the waves. I began to swim hard toward her, and a couple of minutes later I felt the pain in my arm start searing through the muscle. And soon it was me that was in trouble. I could no longer see her, and I all but panicked. I treaded water, looked wildly around; I couldn’t see her. Where was she? I felt my stomach tighten. I splashed around for what seemed like an hour, but it could only have been five, maybe ten minutes. My damned arm was virtually useless, I still couldn’t see her, and I was struggling to stay afloat. Oh shit. Oh my God. Where the hell is she?

  “Stop it, Harry,” she shouted in my ear.

  Oh thank God.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” I shouted.

  “Stop thrashing around. Be still. Relax. Turn over. On your back. Use your legs. Take deep breaths and hold them as long as you can. It will help you float.”

  I felt her slide underneath me. Her hands went under my armpits.

  “This way. Just take it easy. Let me handle it. We’re going this way.”

  For five, maybe ten minutes, we swam—no, she swam, with me in tow, parallel to the shore, and then we turned for home. It must have taken thirty minutes for us to reach water shallow enough for us both to stand, and by the time we did I could tell she was exhausted.

  She let go of me and flopped down on her back in the crystal clear, but oh-so-deadly water, floating, breathing heavily.

  “What the hell happened out there, and where the hell did you learn to do that?” I gasped, on my knees beside her.

  “Do what?”

  “You swim like a fish. I couldn’t see you. You’d disappeared. I thought you had drowned.”

  “Not on your life. I only just snagged you.”

  “No, Amanda. Seriously. I thought I’d lost you. I was coming for you, and then I couldn’t move my arm anymore. I….”

  She looked at me, smiled, and whispered, “I went out too far. I tried to get back, but the current was too strong, so I swam parallel to the shore until I could no longer feel it, then I turned in toward shore…. I… I could see you were in trouble, so… I swam toward shore until I was sure I could come up behind you. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

  I put my arms around her, pulled her to me, and kissed the tip of her nose, her eyelids, each cheek, and finally her lips. “Thank you. I don’t think I could have made it back on my own.”

  She stood, took my hand, and said, “Well. Let’s go in. I need to look at your arm.”

  “Okay, but don’t say anything, especially to my father and Rose. They have enough on their minds right now with Henry. They don’t need to be worrying about me.”

  -----

  My left forearm was a mess. The wounds hadn’t opened; they were well healed. The interior workings—artery and bone—were not. From my elbow to my wrist, my arm had swelled up like a damned balloon.

  Amanda took my hand, looked at it, looked up at me, her eyes watering, and said, “Oh my God. That’s not good, Harry. Please tell me I didn’t do that when I punched you.”

  “You didn’t. I promise. It was my shoulder you punched.”

  “We need to get you to a doctor. I’ll get a towel and make an ice pack.”

  Hell, she was right. The look of the thing put the fear of God into me. Shit, I could lose my damned arm. Who’s the doctor?

  “Get my phone,” I said when she returned. “It’s in the bedroom. Call Jane Matheson. She’s a gynecologist, but I think she’s the only doctor on the island. Her number’s in the list.”

  She made the call and caught the doctor on her lunch break. Matheson told us to go right on over to her clinic, she would join us there, and so that was what we did.

  Three hours, a little blood work, and an X-ray later, we were back in the cottage. Fortunately, the white cell count was normal, so there was no infection, and there was no new damage to the artery. The stent was still in place and there was no internal bleeding; the wound had simply become inflamed due to overexertion. Ice, a mild antibiotic, and a little ibuprofen, and I’d be back in shape soon, so she said. She had also offered a prescription painkiller, but I turned that down.

  Amanda and I spent the rest of the day together on the private patio at the rear of the cottage. By the time we were called to dinner, the swelling had gone down enough that it attracted neither attention nor unwanted questions. It was the end of a day I was glad to see the back of, and one I was sure I would never forget.

  Chapter 23

  Friday November 18, Noon

  Amanda and I spent the next several days doing what newlywed couples do when on their honeymoons, and I played a couple rounds of golf with my dad and Bob. August won, as usual, and took great delight in relieving each of us of a twenty-dollar bill. For a man who was almost a billionaire, he took a childish delight in winning such small sums. It was the same when he played poker—he was a master at that too. He never played for more than a two-dollar ante, and he always came out ahead. Me? I avoided poker like the plague. The principles—bluff and observation—I used as to
ols in my work as an investigator and interrogator; the game I steered clear of.

  The early mornings were pure bliss. We stayed in bed late, drank copious amounts of expensive coffee, and… well, we made love like there was no tomorrow. After almost three years, I thought I knew the woman. But during those three days I found out that I’d barely scratched the surface. She was caring, attentive, loving, and every moment I spent with her was a learning experience—for her too, I’m sure.

  Bliss those days might have been, but lurking somewhere never very far from the surface of my subconscious was the riddle that was the Martan family murder. Time and again, at the most inopportune moments, it would break through and, like a cold hand at the scruff of my neck, drag me back to the real world.

  Early that Friday afternoon, it happened again. We were still at lunch. Bob and Kate were off somewhere together. Tim and Sammie were at another table huddled together over a laptop, Jacque and Wendy were poolside, and my dad and Rose had just left to take a nap.

  “What on earth is going on in there?” Amanda asked.

  I snapped back to reality with a jerk. “What? What do you mean?”

  “Where were you, Harry? You certainly weren’t with me.”

  I shrugged. “I was away with the birds, up at the Martan home, trying to make some sense of what we know…. No, it’s what we don’t know that I can’t get a handle on. We have no physical evidence. Nothing to tie anyone to the scene. I also think we’re missing something. I think we need to get the forensics people back and have her room gone over again. I’ll organize that right now. Just hang tight while I do.”

  I flipped the screen on my iPhone and dialed Daisy Patel’s number.

  She answered on the second ring.

  “Ms. Patel? How is your daughter? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. She has a little girl. They’re both doing fine.”

  “That’s wonderful. Congratulations on your first grandchild.”

  “…What do you need, Mr. Starke? I know you didn’t call to ask about my daughter.”