Bill Pronzini - The Crimes of Jordan Wise

As the day of her leaving approached, she was like a kid in her excitement. She talked nonstop, making plans, discussing the kind of home we should have and where it should be located and what amenities it should have. I wanted her to pick it out, make all the preliminary arrangements—that was part of the reason for her moving to St. Thomas a month ahead of me. I kept telling her I'd be happy anywhere she was happy, and I meant it. Living space and all its trappings mattered more to her than they did to me.

Two days before her flight, we took the Mercury to a South Side dealership and sold it for $800 cash. Another $1,500 to cover her immediate expenses in St. Thomas came out of our joint safe deposit box. Our last night together we made love three times, and in the morning I rode the taxi with her to O'Hare to see her off.

She called the following night at a prearranged time, full of news and glowing praise. She'd opened a bank account, her first order of business, and she already had an appointment with a real estate agent to look at houses for lease. She loved the island, the weather, everything about the Caribbean. "You were right, Richard," she said. "We're going to be so happy here."

The next morning I went to the Mutual Trust branch and had $15,000 wired to our new account in Charlotte Amalie. Then I called a small brokerage house I'd picked out and made an appointment with an investment counselor. The broker turned out to be discreet as well as knowledgable, the more so when I told him how much money I intended to invest. We spent two hours discussing various possibilities and the current state of the stock market, and he gave me a stack of literature and performance charts to comb through.

Annalise called again that night. "I found the perfect house for us," she said. "Absolutely perfect!"

"Tell me about it."

"It's on the hillside above town, the oldest and most exclusive residential district on the island. A seventy-five-year-old villa just dripping with charm. Tile floors, beam ceilings, everything you could want, including a small garden and a cobblestoned terrace with a fabulous view of the harbor. Cobblestones! Can you believe that? Of course it's small, only two bedrooms, and the garden has been neglected, but we could put up with that."

"Sure we could."

"It's only been available since the end of last month and the agent says it won't last long. And it's vacant, I could move in right away." She paused before she said, "But there's one drawback."

"Let me guess. It's expensive."

"Yes. Because of the view and the location."

"How expensive?"

"Twenty-five hundred a month on a two-year fixed lease. Can we afford that much?"

"I don't see why not."

"Richard! Do you mean it? Are you sure?"

I said, "I'll never deny you anything you really want, you know that."

She said, "God, I love you!"

The apartment was lonely as hell without her. I got out as often as I could, shopped, went to movies, wandered through parks, took bus rides to various parts of the city. In the evenings I made a careful study of the literature and charts the investment counselor had given me, and an informed decision as to which mutual funds and blue-chip stocks best suited Annalise's and my long-term needs. Then I arranged another meeting with the broker and opened an account for the purchase of the selected funds and stocks with a wire transfer of $150,000 from Richard Laidlaw's Cayman account. I told him that I would be moving shortly to the Virgin Islands and requested that all dividend checks be sent to the Cayman account, all business correspondence to me at my new address in Charlotte Amalie.

The portfolio was fairly conservative, with as much guarantee as it was possible to have of substantial income. A third of the dividends would be reinvested in more shares and mutual funds; the balance would supplement the cost of our new lifestyle. Later, once I was sure I had made the right investment choices, and over a period of time, I planned to invest another $150,000. Eventually we might be able to live comfortably off the dividends alone, preserving what was left in the Cayman account for special needs. Richard Laidlaw would have to pay income tax on dividends that exceeded $600 per year, to prevent the IRS from sniffing around, but the annual tariff wouldn't amount to much even in windfall years.

There was not much else left for me to do in Chicago. I informed the landlord at the end of November that I would be vacating the premises on December 15. A few days before I was due to leave, I closed the Mutual Trust account and had the remaining balance wired to the bank in Charlotte Amalie; I also emptied the safe deposit box of the last of the cash and turned in the key.

One final errand. In an exclusive jewelry store in the Loop I bought Annalise's Christmas present: a $2,000 white-gold wedding ring with a two-carat diamond setting, to replace the plain gold band I'd given her after our Nevada marriage.

She called four more times during that period. She had leased the house, moved in, hired a gardener to cure the garden's neglect. She'd bought a car for a good price, a two-year-old Mini, "a cute little thing, what everybody down here drives." She'd met some of our neighbors and become friendly with one couple in particular, the Verrikers, Royce and Maureen. "He was born here; his people came down from Miami before World War II. He's a divorce lawyer, but not the sleazy kind. St. Thomas is sort of the Reno of the Caribbean, a lot of women come here to get divorces, did you know that? That's how he met Maureen, she was one of his clients five years ago." She'd been invited to a party at the home of another couple, the Kyles, where she'd met several other locals. "I told everyone about you, the story that you made enough in the stock market so we could move down here, I mean, and that you'll be here before Christmas. They can't wait to meet you."

Chicago had stifled her, but in St. Thomas she had found her element—established herself among the kind of people she related to and the kind of society she aspired to belong to. Her natural charm and friendliness led everyone to accept her without question, which in turn would lead them to accept me.

Her enthusiasm was infectious. As the day of departure neared, I grew more and more eager. My bags were packed a day early. I didn't sleep much the night before—left the shabby confines of the apartment and took a taxi to O'Hare four hours before my flight.

How did I feel that day?

Like I had the world by the tail, man. Like I could ride it anywhere, ride it forever, and nothing and nobody could ever tear me loose.

ST. THOMAS

1978-1982

ANNALISE WAS THERE to meet me when my flight arrived at Truman Airport on St. Thomas. The trades weren't blowing that day and the overheated air dripped with humidity, but she somehow managed to look cool and fresh in a white skirt and madras blouse and white straw hat. She was tanning already, too. I kissed her passionately right there in the lobby and I didn't give a damn what anyone thought about it.

The Mini she'd bought was bright blue. It had a tendency to make farting noises when you started the engine, but it ran efficiently enough. She drove us down off the plateau where the airport was located, into heavy traffic that was mostly tourist-related—tour vans and buses, taxis, rental cars.

Tourists were the island's major drawback then, same as now. There weren't nearly as many in those days, but still they clogged the airport, Lindbergh Beach across the street, the roads into Charlotte Amalie, the waterfront, and the downtown shopping streets. The seventies building boom—villas, condos, a couple of big resorts—was partly responsible. You could lay the rest of the blame on the damn cruise ship industry. St. Thomas was a primary lure because of the size of its harbor and the fact that it's a duty-free port where you can buy Swiss watches, Irish linen, French perfumes, Italian weapons, single-malt Scotches, Caribbean rums, and a hundred other things at bargain prices.