Trouble at High Tide (16 page)

“Yes. And they’re on the lowest rung of society. They’re street walkers, not upstanding citizens.”

“The killer could be attacking them on moral grounds, trying to eliminate an element he sees as corrupt. He’s angry—”

“Anger often plays a part in these scenarios.” A small smile played on his lips.

“This person may have had homicidal tendencies to begin with,” I said, “but circumstances have conspired to focus his anger on these young women. As outcasts, they are easy to dispense with. He rationalizes that no one will miss them.”

“He thinks: Who in Bermuda really cares what happens to them? They’re outsiders. Immigration is a hot topic in all countries that attract foreigners. Bermuda is no exception.”

“I think I see your theory,” I said.

“Go ahead.”

“He’s furious that foreigners are coming in. He thinks they’re ‘ruining’ his country. And he not only kills them,” I said, “he marks them in a way that serves as a warning to other potential immigrants to stay away from his land.”

Freddie sighed. “You have it spot on. I’m impressed. Would you like to accompany me on some of my rounds?”

I smiled. “I’m supposed to be here on vacation,” I said.

“I would adore having you work with me, Jessica Fletcher. Together we could solve all the cases in the world.”

We both laughed.

“That’s very flattering,” I said, “but I’m already committed to my other work.”

The waitress approached us again. “Are you Inspector Moore?” she asked Freddie.

“Yes.”

“There’s a telephone call for you at the bar,” she said.

Freddie patted his pockets. “Cor! I must have left my bloody mobile in the car. Would you please excuse me?”

“Of course,” I said.

He followed the waitress across the room to the bar where a young man handed him a telephone. When he returned to our table, his expression was somber.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “They’ve found another victim.”

A
crowd had already formed outside the yellow tape that the constables had strung across the alleyway at the latest crime scene. The victim’s body had been covered to shield it from prying eyes, but the edges of the pool of blood in which the corpse lay were visible. The police had put traffic cones around the stain to prevent investigators from treading in the blood.

Gilliam and Macdonald were already there when Freddie and I pushed our way through the throng to gain admittance to the cordoned-off area. The Scotland Yard inspectors were standing apart from the constables, talking to the police commissioner.

Commissioner Leonard Hanover’s eyebrows rose when he saw us walk into the crime scene together, but he greeted me cordially. “Mrs. Fletcher, I believe we met at Judge Betterton’s the other evening.”

I shook his hand.

“I must apologize, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said. “You’re not seeing the best side of Bermuda at this unfortunate time.”

“No need for apologies, Commissioner. Bermuda is always beautiful. I’m sorry you’re having to deal with such terrible crimes, and I’m sorry these poor women have been targeted by a madman.”

“Who found her?” Freddie asked.

“Some men from Works and Engineering,” the commissioner replied. “They were collecting trash and moved those bins.” The commissioner pointed to a row of large-wheeled garbage containers. “Her body was behind them.”

Freddie addressed Inspector Macdonald. “Was she killed here or was the body dumped here?”

“From the volume of blood, I’d say this is the site of the murder,” she replied.

“Same perp,” Gilliam added. “Same MO.”

“Do we have an ID?” Freddie asked.

“Not yet,” the commissioner said. “My boys are tracing her. She’s wearing some kind of fancy bracelet. They’re checking jewelry merchants. If she purchased it here, we may get a make on her. Superintendent Bird’s team is inquiring with its undercover officers to find out if any of the prostitution ring bosses and madams are missing a girl.”

“Anything from the Dominican community?”

The commissioner shook his head. “Nothing.”

Gilliam turned to me. “It’s a very touchy subject, as you might imagine. The Dominicans who work here are sensitive to any talk of prostitutes coming from their country. They’re afraid they’ll all be tarnished with the same label.”

“I’m ready to take a look,” Freddie said, his face grim. He
put on latex gloves and walked over to the body, gingerly raising a corner of the tarp high enough so he could see the face of the victim. He circled the corpse, carefully avoiding the puddles of blood, and checked under the covering at intervals before discarding his gloves and returning to us.

I wavered between curiosity about what he was seeing and relief that he hadn’t invited me to view the remains. I was grateful that he’d made the decision for me, but I wondered if I should have asked.

“No need,” Freddie said, reading my mind. “It would just upset you, and I don’t see anything new to change the picture we discussed today.” He wandered away to consult with an officer, leaving me standing with his colleagues and the commissioner.

A flash of light from behind the yellow tape alerted us to the fact that the press had arrived and were taking pictures. The commissioner excused himself and walked over to confront the photographer. I heard him say, “We have scheduled a briefing for eighteen hundred hours. We ask that you please allow the authorities to complete their work unimpeded.” He signaled to some officers in police vests and tall helmets and they pushed back the crowd.

A reporter called out to me. “Mrs. Fletcher! Mrs. Fletcher!”

I turned at the sound of my name and the photographer’s flash went off again.

“It’s Larry Terhaar, AP.” He beckoned to me. “We met earlier. Can we have a word with you?”

I ignored the appeal, and the constables began lining up the garbage bins in a row across the alley entrance, effectively
obscuring the scene so the crowd couldn’t see us, and we couldn’t see them.

“You have to stay away from those fellows,” Veronica Macdonald said, not bothering to lower her voice. “We can’t have information about the investigation leaking out to the press.”

I looked at her sharply. “Any leaks about your investigation didn’t come from me,” I said. “It may have been my misfortune to discover Alicia Betterton’s body, but I’ve never spoken about it with the press.”

“They certainly seem to know who you are.”

“I can’t help that my photograph appeared in the newspaper. I didn’t invite this reporter’s attention, nor have I responded to it. And I don’t appreciate being accused of something I haven’t done.”

“I wasn’t accusing you,” she said icily. “I’m merely warning you to be careful who you speak with. Any casual remark can be passed along and blown out of proportion.”

“Has that happened to you?” I asked, making an effort to tamp down my rising indignation.

She pulled back her shoulders. “It has not. I’m very mindful of keeping mum on my work. I don’t share information with anyone outside my team and I don’t associate with the islanders beyond the office.”

I wondered whether Freddie heard her comments. Clearly she didn’t approve of his discussing the Bermuda Ripper cases with me.

“I’m a guest of one of the islanders,” I said. “I can hardly avoid communicating with my host and his family when I’m taking advantage of their hospitality. And, yes, we certainly have discussed the terrible tragedy that they’re experiencing.
But I don’t see how I could have revealed anything about the Ripper cases, since I didn’t know anything other than what I’ve read in the local paper.”

“Unfortunately, you do now. Please don’t take this the wrong way, Mrs. Fletcher, but while you may be a very talented amateur, you are not a police official, and it is imperative we do nothing to jeopardize the safety of others like this girl.” She waved her hand at the body that was being wrapped for removal.

“And just how do you think I have jeopardized anyone’s safety?” I demanded, no longer concealing my annoyance.

Gilliam, who had been standing by silently, jumped in. “Now, Ronnie. That’s going a bit far, don’t you think?” he said. “The CI wouldn’t approve.”

Macdonald eyed him coldly. “George is a professional, as am I. He would not want us to breach security, even in the name of friendship.”

Freddie, who’d caught the drift of our conversation—if so gentle a word can be applied to our exchange—hurried over to try to calm the waters. “Mrs. Fletcher is a trusted associate, Ronnie. I have total faith in her discretion, as I know the chief inspector also does. No need for worry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought her along just now, but what’s done is done. I’m going to take Mrs. Fletcher back to her host right away.” He aimed a smile at me. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll be happy to leave with you,” I said. “However, I just want it made clear”—I looked directly at Macdonald—“that ‘talented amateur’ or not, any involvement I might have with the cases you are investigating came at your request. It was not something I looked for, but a favor Chief Inspector
Sutherland asked of me.” I purposely used George’s formal title. “And in response to the invitation from you and your colleagues, I came to headquarters today to provide whatever help I could offer.”

“And you provided very good information, indeed,” Gilliam put in, clearly hoping to draw this discussion to a close. He glared at Macdonald, who seemed taken aback.

“I apologize if I said anything to offend you, Mrs. Fletcher,” she said stiffly. “This case has been very difficult, and…” She trailed off, her gaze dropping to her shoes.

“Apology accepted,” I said, although it was difficult to get the words out. Pulse up, I wrestled with my irritation as Freddie and I walked out the far end of the alley.

“Oh, my dear, dear lady,” Freddie said. “I hope she didn’t upset you. Ronnie is very competent, but she’s also a little blinkered… that is, only sees her own point of view. Perhaps a bit guarded as well. She didn’t mean any harm.”

“She may not mean any harm,” I replied, stopping to face him, “but she appeared to me to be fending off what she sees as an intrusion into her territory by an outsider.”

“No. No. You’re no outsider.”

“I just don’t want to be put in that position.”

We walked in silence to where he had parked his car, and—thank heavens!—didn’t encounter any more press people.

Once we were strapped into our seat belts, and on the road to Tucker’s Town, I voiced the thoughts that had been churning in my mind. “Freddie, I hope you won’t think that I’m stating the obvious or that I’m uncaring, but the Ripper murders are your responsibility, not mine.”

“Absolutely they are, Mrs. Fletcher. I didn’t mean to burden you.”

“You didn’t burden me. I enjoyed our talk and I learned a lot more from you than you learned from me.”

“It’s a great boon to have someone to bounce ideas around with, someone who approaches an investigation in the same way I do.”

“You have two colleagues with you from Scotland Yard. Can’t you do that with them?”

“They are consummate professionals—no skin off them—but they don’t immerse themselves in the case the way I do. And the way I believe you do.”

“I’m flattered. If I think of anything that could possibly be useful, I’ll happily pass it along to you, but—”

“Yes, your input is always welcome,” he put in before I had a chance to finish my thought.

“I don’t think we had better work together, even in an informal sense. There’s too much risk to you,” I said.

And to me
, I was thinking but didn’t express. I wasn’t concerned about a physical risk, but I didn’t care to give Veronica Macdonald another opportunity to take me to task.

“I don’t see how I hazard anything consulting with you,” he said.

“You could endanger your reputation. And clearly it upsets your colleagues.”

“My reputation is secure,” he said. “Please don’t let Ronnie’s intemperate remarks keep us from sharing confidences. I know that you would never compromise our investigation, and I value your opinions. And our chief trusts you implicitly.
Otherwise, he never would have suggested we take heed of your views.”

I hated to say it, but I knew it was what his colleague was thinking. “I’m afraid Inspector Macdonald suspects that our personal friendship—George’s and mine—may color his judgment.”

“You can’t believe that for an instant. Our chief is the soul of professionalism.”

I was grateful to hear that, but didn’t change my mind. “I have the utmost confidence in Chief Inspector Sutherland,” I said. “However, even the smallest appearance of inappropriate special treatment is just as perilous as the reality.”

Freddie refused to acknowledge that my input into his investigation exposed him to criticism, but I was not convinced. He argued with me all the way to the Betterton house and, against my better judgment, extracted a promise from me not to make a decision about working with him just yet. He would “ring me up” in a day or two.

I thanked him for the tea, told him how happy I was to make his acquaintance, and said I would give his arguments careful consideration. What I didn’t know was that the choice would soon be taken out of my hands, and that my participation in the Ripper cases would have an impact on more than Freddie’s good name.

S
tephen Betterton had invited me to see his studio. We’d been the only ones at the dinner table the previous evening because Tom, Margo, Madeline, and Adam had taken the Betterton boat out and were not expected to be home until later in the day. The Reynoldses were eating out. I didn’t know if they’d resigned themselves to staying in Tom’s cottage or were still hunting for a hotel, but they evidently hadn’t informed the cook of their planned absence because Norlene had prepared an elaborate meal including enough food for all. She was obviously disappointed when only Stephen and I showed up and questioned whether we wanted to have dinner in the dining room. We decided that we did, if only not to see her efforts wasted.

Over a delicious dish of baked lobster and spinach, accompanied by a salad of potatoes and Bermuda onions and a sweet biscuit, Stephen and I had found ourselves discussing life and art. I was pleased to have the chance to spend time with him alone. There had only been limited opportunities
to get to know various family members and I’d pledged to myself that I’d seek out those moments.