Deadly Deceit (2 page)

Can’t you just look away?
Those words were whirling around in his head
.

That’s exactly what he had done. Looked away. But he couldn’t get their screams out of his head. They haunted him, even during waking hours. If he had any guts, he’d wade out to sea and drown himself right now. That way it would be over quickly, and Jayne and the kids wouldn’t have to live with the shame too.

He slumped down on the wet lighthouse steps and buried his head in his hands. Water seeped through his trousers, but he didn’t care. He pulled a packet of cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. His hands shook as he lit up and inhaled tobacco deep into his lungs.

Why the hell had he applied for this job? What made him think
he
could succeed when so many had failed before him? These islands were
cursed.
And now he’d blown everything he’d worked so hard for over two decades.

He came out in a cold sweat just thinking about the time and effort he’d put in. Working all hours, always the last to leave, always helpful and loyal, pandering to the morons above him. Everything, so diligently planned and executed to propel himself up the career ladder, lay smashed to bits on the rocks.

A distant rumbling. He pricked up his ears. It sounded like an engine. A car? More like the roar of a motorbike. He stood up and ducked behind the lighthouse. Silly really because his Land Rover was in plain view. He peered back down Lighthouse Road. No sign of any headlights. He listened hard, but the only sound he could hear was the sea.

He sat back down on the steps and pulled his torch out of his pocket to check his watch. 4.30. He looked up at the sky. Light would soon be breaking on the eastern horizon. He sighed. Of course he should never have brought Jayne here too. He
knew
she’d soon be bored and start hankering after her old life in London, with the shops and restaurants. That was the trouble, he thought bitterly. His UK salary was never enough for the lifestyle she craved. Poor Jayne, none of this was her fault, he chided himself. She’d made an effort to settle here. Had even been content for a while, especially as their young son was with them. Of course she missed their daughter at boarding school in the UK, and tried not to show it. But it hadn’t been long before she started making excuses to go back to the UK for one reason or another. Still, thank God she was over there at present with the children.

The irony was they were set up for life now. She could spend whatever she liked. He’d paid the school fees, the mortgage and all their debts. Except now the guilt and fear of discovery was paralysing. He couldn’t work, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat.

He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and studied what he’d written with his torch. He’d tried several times to start this letter, to tell Jayne everything, to explain. But he’d never got past the second paragraph. How to explain something so terrible? He tore out his latest attempt and folded the piece of paper up into a small square.

A shuffling noise startled him.

“Who’s there?”

A harsh sound rang out.

He leapt to his feet, but it was only a donkey braying back at him in the dark. The animals wandered freely around the island, a legacy of the days when their ancestors worked the salt mills.

He shook his head and looked down the road again. Still no headlights. He turned back to the sea. Of course his career would be over. He’d probably end up in prison. People in his position had to be made an example of. All the money would be confiscated. Then what would happen to Jayne and the kids?

He was even more nervous now poor old Clement Pearson was dead. He shivered. This had to stop.
He
was going to stop it, even if it meant his own ruin.

He flopped back against the wall of the old lighthouse with the sheer weight of his decision. The structure had stood since the 1850s, surviving storms, hurricanes and tidal waves. Its bright light beamed out to sea, warning ships of the hazard of the reef. Made of cast iron, it was permanent. Something that would never crumble. Something that would never break.

Not like him.

He threw the cigarette butt to the ground and stamped on it. Now, he was going to do what he should have done a while ago. Face the music. He wouldn’t be frightened or intimidated. He’d go back to the office right now, and explain everything to London. It was the only way. He’d send a classified telegram for greater security, rather than an email.

Steeling himself, he got into the car and fired up the engine. Pulling out of the lighthouse car park, he started down the road back into town. With no street lights or other cars around, it was deathly quiet in the dark. He put his foot down and sped along. It was a bumpy ride as the tyres sloshed and bounced through water filled potholes. As he drove, his mind was rehearsing exactly what he was going to say.

Approaching the crossroads, he suddenly saw a truck hurtling along from another direction in the darkness. Why did it have no lights on?

He slammed his foot on the brakes. Nothing.

They were going to collide.

He pressed down on the horn in warning, but the truck wasn’t stopping. Frantic, he pumped the brakes.

Nothing.

Yanking the handbrake on, he tried to swerve. Too late. He raised his arms to cover his face, but couldn’t block out the sound of his own desperate cry, as the truck smashed into his door with tremendous force.

Semi-conscious in the silent aftermath, he tried to move. The steering wheel pinned him to the seat. He could smell petrol.

Then he heard the crackle of flames.

Providenciales

Turks and Caicos Islands

Jess followed the first group of well-heeled American tourists as they hurried across the tarmac. Judging by their noisy banter, they’d made the most of the open bar on the plane and were already well into the holiday spirit.

By contrast, the returning islanders sauntered along with all the time in the world, their flip-flops slapping on the ground as they went. Dark-skinned women wore cotton dresses. The men left their short-sleeved shirts loose over their trousers to keep cool.

Jess looked down at her high heels and navy-blue trouser suit. She felt way overdressed, but then she was here to work.

She still couldn’t believe how quickly her life had changed in 24 hours. Yesterday, she’d been in Washington on special unpaid leave from the Foreign Office, with her diplomat partner Simon, when London had called out of the blue. Would she go to the Turks and Caicos Islands immediately on temporary duty to cover for the Head of the Governor’s Office, David Evans, whose mother was gravely ill in the UK?

She’d hesitated, because it meant leaving Simon alone in Washington to continue his job in the Embassy. But London had wanted a decision on the spot, so she’d just said ‘yes’. How could she refuse to help? She’d been passing the weeks going to coffee mornings and ladies’ lunches, even enjoying her new found freedom for a while. And she’d played so much tennis she was developing the calves of a mountain climber. But, as a diplomat too, she missed working and felt the need to get back to it.

So, this morning, she’d jumped on a plane from Washington to Miami, then transferred onto a flight to the islands. Now, here she was on Providenciales, the main tourist and economic island in the British Overseas Territory of the Turks and Caicos. What a turn of events.

Brilliant sunlight reflected off the white-washed walls of the international terminal, dazzling her. She felt her spirits soar for the first time in ages. As she stepped through the door, a steel band struck up in the far corner of the arrivals’ hall to welcome the tourists.
Definitely in the Caribbean!

After clearing passport control, she hauled her suitcase off the single baggage belt, and walked through customs. Now she had to transfer onto a domestic flight to the island of Grand Turk, the capital and seat of Government. She was relieved to discover the domestic terminal was in the same building. Now, she could see the Island Airways check-in for Grand Turk on the other side of the cavernous waiting area.

She went over. There were two desks, each with a set of weighing scales, and a line of ‘queuing’ suitcases. But no sign of any check-in staff, or passengers. No security officers either to monitor the unattended baggage.

In the far corner, a caf
é
heaved with people. They had to be the owners of these suitcases, she thought. They weren’t all going over to Grand Turk: flights to other islands were up on the departure board too. She had another look at the café and decided to give it a miss. She wasn’t going into that scrum, no matter how desperate she was for coffee. She pulled her suitcase over to a row of plastic seats and sat down to wait for check-in to open.

She switched on her mobile to call Simon and let him know she’d arrived. She waited for a signal… and waited.

No signal.

Other people were on their mobiles in the terminal, so she could only think her US provider didn’t cover the Turks and Caicos.
Damn!
She’d have to phone Simon on a landline when she got over to Grand Turk.

Relaxing back into the seat, she watched everyone. Airports were fascinating and gave a real insight into the locals. Flying brought out the worst in people, but this lot didn’t seem at all worried. They were too busy eating and drinking.

She smiled thinking back to the conversation with her Personnel Officer in London. She told him she’d barely heard of the Turks and Caicos Islands, let alone worked in a Governor’s Office in a British Overseas Territory before. He was upbeat about it, although she detected a note of desperation in his voice. She guessed she was the only person available to drop everything at a moment’s notice and jet off to the Caribbean, and he wasn’t about to let her off the hook. “You’re one of life’s troopers, Jess,” he said with as much honesty as he could muster. “You’ll cope.” And that was that.

He’d instructed London’s Overseas Territories Department to email her a background brief on the Turks and Caicos overnight. She’d spent the entire journey reading it over and over to get the facts straight in her head.

The history of these islands made interesting reading. They’d first been claimed by the Spanish, then the French, with the British Empire finally gaining control in 1764. Initially the islands were annexed to Jamaica, and governed from there. When Jamaica became independent, the islands were annexed to the Bahamas. However, when they gained independence, the Turks and Caicos voted to remain British, and finally got their own resident Governor, on Grand Turk. And that’s where Jess was now heading.

Suddenly, a young woman in red trousers and jacket, with black hair tied back in a ponytail, clambered over some weighing scales and stood behind one of the desks. She wore a huge Island Airways badge on her lapel.

The stampede from the café that followed was unexpected. The relaxed crowd turned into a crush as people pushed and shoved to check in their bulging suitcases.

Jess watched fascinated.

Suddenly the crowds parted as a man swept out of the café and walked straight up to the desk. Must be someone important, Jess thought, as he swaggered along dressed in a smart business suit. His curly hair was rigid with gel, and his black skin, above the collar of his white shirt, glowed with good living.

The check-in girl gave him a big smile. A baggage attendant appeared from nowhere and lifted his suitcase onto the weighing scales. Jess couldn’t see if the man acknowledged either of them, because he had his back to her. He certainly didn’t stop talking on his mobile for a moment. As he walked away from check-in, a little girl darted in front of him, causing him to stumble and drop his briefcase.

“Keep that kid under control!”
he barked at the child’s mother. His penetrating voice reverberated around the terminal. People stood shocked and hushed.

The woman pulled the child close, her eyes lowered submissively as he continued his rant.

Jess stood up.

He caught the movement, and glared at her. Then he picked up his briefcase and went over to security.

The crowd closed in again at check-in and the chaos resumed.

Rude oaf!
Jess watched him pass through security. He obviously thought he was some kind of ‘Big Shot’. She sat down again to wait until everyone else had checked in. Huge suitcases, pushchairs, boxes, food hampers, and trunks were all being weighed. Nothing, she noticed, was ever turned away.

Suddenly an old lady was lifted up onto the baggage scales by two passengers. Were they weighing her?

Then Jess realised…
Oh God!
She jumped up and rushed over to the window. Outside a row of propeller planes stood gleaming in the sunshine – not a jet in sight. Now she knew why the weight of the bags and passengers mattered so much. Her stomach turned. She hated propeller planes. Every movement, every turbulent bump, every lash of rain seemed magnified inside them.

It was at that precise moment she wondered just what she was letting herself in for. Had she been a bit hasty in accepting this assignment? Almost immediately, she dismissed her uneasiness. She’d agreed to do this job for a couple of months, and that’s exactly what she was going to do.

At the check-in desk, she put her ticket on the counter and her suitcase on the baggage scales. The other passengers had gone through the metal detector arch, and were sitting in a tiny room on the other side.

“Weight?”
The check-in girl barked without looking up.

Jess looked at her suitcase on the weighing scales.

“
Your
weight.” The girl’s eyes never left her computer.

“Fifty-six kilos.”

The girl looked up in disbelief, her lips pursed under a single slash of bright red lipstick.

Jess couldn’t blame her for being sceptical, given the size of the other passengers.

The girl looked her up and down, and slapped a boarding card on the counter.

In the tiny departure lounge there were only half a dozen seats, not enough for all the passengers. Big Shot sat by the door leading to the tarmac, and was now deep in conversation with another man. Jess had noticed this other man at check-in, not only because of his blond ponytail, but because he was the only other white person around. With sun-bronzed skin and dressed casually in a black polo shirt and jeans, he had a rugged look about him, as if he spent his life outdoors.