James Patterson - Second Honeymoon

Kevin shook his head no.

And I just shook my head, period.

So much for incognito. Apparently, I was going to meet with the police a little sooner than I expected.

Did I mention how hot it was down here?

Welcome to Turks and Caicos, O’Hara.

Chapter 12

POLICE COMMISSIONER JOSEPH Eldridge, whose jurisdiction was every square inch of all forty islands and cays that made up Turks and Caicos, lit a cigarillo behind his spotless desk, blew out some smoke, and stared at me as if he knew something I didn’t.

Undoubtedly, he did. Namely, why I’d been “escorted” from the airport straight to his office.

In addition to him, there were two other men in the room: the chairman of the tourism board and the deputy police commissioner.

I didn’t get their names, but it didn’t matter. They were sitting off to the side and showed no intention of talking. This conversation was strictly between Eldridge and me.

“I didn’t know what to expect from Mr. Breslow,” began Eldridge. “Only that it was going to be something. Or, I should say, someone .”

Clearly, Breslow’s wealth and reputation preceded him. I smiled. “Well, it’s always good to be someone, right?”

Eldridge leaned back in his chair, letting go with a deep laugh. He looked a little like an older Denzel Washington and sounded a lot like James Earl Jones. All in all, he seemed to be a pleasant enough guy.

Still, there was a fine line between my being welcome or unwelcome on Turks and Caicos, and I was obviously straddling it like a Flying Wallenda in boat shoes.

“So what are your intentions while you’re here?” he asked.

If Eldridge was savvy enough to anticipate Breslow hiring a private investigator, and thorough enough to check the manifest of every arriving private plane until he found one owned by Breslow, I wasn’t about to get cute with him. My personal circumstances aside, I was an FBI agent “on leave” from the Bureau trying to help a man who had suffered an incredible loss.

That’s what I told him, adding: “I’m simply here to make sure no stone is left unturned in the investigation. No harm in that, right?”

Eldridge nodded. “Are you carrying a firearm?” he asked.

“No.”

“Does the FBI know you’re here?”

“Yes.”

“Are you working alone?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Your willingness to share information with me,” I said. “For starters, what has your investigation uncovered so far? Any suspects? Results of the autopsy?”

Eldridge tapped his cigarillo into a large conch shell on his desk that was doubling as an ashtray. He had a decision to make.

On the one hand, I could be a help to him and his investigation. It’s not likely he had anyone with my background and experience working under him. On the other hand, we’d only just met. I could be cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs for all he really knew. Oh, and did my boss happen to mention I was seeing a shrink, Commissioner?

Eldridge held my stare for a moment before glancing over at the two men sitting against the wall. It was the first time he’d even acknowledged their presence.

Maybe it was the look he gave them, or maybe it was the plan all along, but the two men suddenly stood up and exited the room as if they were double-parked outside.

I now had Eldridge all to myself.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Chapter 13

I WATCHED AS Eldridge took another puff of his cigarillo, the smoke leaving his lips in a perfect thin line.

“Agent O’Hara, when you arrived here, what did you see outside my office?” he asked.

“A horde of reporters from all over the world,” I answered. “Even the Middle East.”

“And how did they look?”

“Hungry,” I said. “Like a pack of wolves that hadn’t been fed enough for the past forty-eight hours. I’ve seen that look before.”

He smiled. “Yes, exactly. So please don’t take this personally when I tell you I can’t divulge any details of the investigation. If for no other reason than I’d like to think I’ve learned from other people’s mistakes.”

Right away, I understood what he was talking about: Aruba.

So much information and misinformation had leaked in the Natalee Holloway case that the Aruban authorities ultimately came off looking like the Keystone Kops. Eldridge seemed determined not to let that happen under his command.

Still, I had a job to do here, and he knew it.

“Can I at least assume that you have your entire CID working on the case? Every inspector? Every person, down to your last constable?” I asked.

I’d already done a little homework on the setup down here. Whereas NYPD detectives were ranked by grade—first, second, and third—on Turks and Caicos there were four levels of seniority to the CID, or Criminal Investigations Division: detective inspectors, then sergeants, followed by corporals and constables.

Hell, the way I saw it, even the janitor should’ve been trying to catch the killer.

“Yes, you can assure Mr. Breslow that we have everyone working on the case,” said Eldridge. “Everyone including you, too, now. Can I assume you’ll be heading over to the Governor’s Club as soon as possible?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m sure you know that the Governor’s Club is a private resort, and they can press charges for trespassing, if they so desire.”

I stared at Eldridge again, trying to get a read on him. I couldn’t. Was he really trying to stand in my way?

“Do you think that’s a possibility?” I asked. “I mean, would they really consider my being there to be trespassing?”

“It’s very possible,” he said. “They cater to a high-class clientele, people in the know, and are very sensitive about respecting the privacy of their guests.”

It suddenly dawned on me what Eldridge was doing. He was actually trying to tell me something, only not in so many words. This was off the record. Between the lines. Code.

So long as I was smart enough to figure it out.

“Yes, I see what you mean,” I said. “I’d hate to put you on the spot with something as frivolous as a trespassing charge. You’d have to arrest me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I would,” he said. “Without hesitation.”

I stood up and shook his hand. “Then I’ll do my best to save you the trouble.”

Chapter 14

I FELT A little like a kid with a secret decoder ring from a box of Cracker Jack. Quite cleverly, Eldridge had managed to tell me that he had no leads and would appreciate my help, although I’d have to help him on the sly. The management of the Governor’s Club had apparently been uncooperative, and while they couldn’t block his access to the staff, the guests at the resort— people in the know —were another story.

As for that talk about my being arrested for trespassing, that was just Eldridge advising me to check into the resort as a guest. They could get wise to me and kick me off the property, but it wouldn’t be for trespassing. They couldn’t press charges.

So after only an hour on Turks and Caicos, my plans were changing yet again.

“Would you like smoking or nonsmoking, Mr. O’Hara? We have both types of rooms available.”

The polite and pretty brunette behind the check-in desk at the Governor’s Club didn’t let on, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist or even a suspended FBI agent to figure out that in the wake of two guests being murdered at the resort there’d be, oh, maybe just a few cancellations. How else to explain my walking in without a reservation in June—peak honeymoon season—and getting a room?

“Nonsmoking, please,” I said.

“Very good, Mr. O’Hara.”

I was staying in a garden-view bungalow, the cheapest they had—or, more accurately, the least expensive. It was still seven hundred and fifty dollars a night. What a bargain! Good thing Breslow was covering all my expenses.