Passenger 13 (7 page)

‘You haven’t changed a lot,’ she said.

‘Thanks. So now you know who I am, Mrs Martínez, will you talk to me?’

‘Call me Tamara,’ she said. ‘And yes, if Nick trusted you as a friend, then that’s good enough for me.’

Ben saw the connection right away. ‘Tamara, as in the large capital T in Nick’s address book, next to a mobile number?’

She nodded. ‘You’ve been straight with me, now it’s my turn. Nick and I were having an affair for the last eighteen months. That’s to say,
I
was having an affair with him. I was the one that was married with two kids. It was our secret, obviously. A very well-kept one, until now. I even had a secret phone he used to call me on.’ She paused a long time, then added softly, ‘I loved him so much.’

Now Ben understood the depth of pain in her eyes. She hadn’t just lost a work colleague.

‘Why the gun, Tamara?’

‘It’s my husband’s. I don’t normally …’

‘Walk about the island packing a pistol?’

She shook her head. ‘No, this is one of the safest places in the world. But I’m scared. I’m scared to death.’ The tears in her eyes caught the light. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. But the words building up in her throat were too strong to be hemmed in and after a few moments’ hesitation she blurted it out.

‘Nick didn’t kill himself,’ she said.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘I don’t think we should hang around here too long,’ Ben said after a beat.

Tamara sniffed, wiped a tear. ‘We can go back to my place. It’s okay – there’s nobody there right now but me and the maid. You follow me.’

After tidying up behind them and making sure nobody was lurking around outside, they left the villa by the front door. Tamara had parked her Mazda people carrier among the shadows of the trees. Ben watched her climb in and her car lights come on, then got into the Wrangler and followed. They drove eastwards across the island for a few miles, to an area called Omega Bay Estates. The Mazda led the way into what was obviously a prestigious and highly expensive gated community, and pulled up outside a sprawling house set far back from the road.

‘Where’s your husband?’ Ben asked as she led him inside. The tears had dried up now.

‘Dwight? Away on some legal conference. He’ll be gone another ten days. Even if he was here,’ she added with a grimace, ‘he’d be off sailing around the bay on that damn boat of his. And the twins are staying with my mom in Miami.’

Where Nick’s place was unassumingly tasteful and comfortable, the Martínez residence purposefully screamed ‘rich lawyer’ as loudly as it could and shoved its opulence right in your face. Ben got the impression that wasn’t down to Tamara’s influence. He paused to look at a photo of Dwight Martínez on a sideboard, posing with his motor yacht in the background, a sleek white vessel with the name
Santa Clara
on her bows.

Dwight might have been a fine figure of a man in his youth, but Ben doubted it. He was almost perfectly spherical in shape, all three hundred pounds of him, with thin sandy hair that looked glued on and a smile that was more like a sneer. Ben glanced covertly back at Tamara and muttered ‘Jesus’ under his breath.

‘Let’s get a drink,’ she said, and led him towards the kitchen. In the passage was a reproduction antique display cabinet filled with shotguns – a showy brace of Purdeys, a couple of skeet guns and a short-barrelled Remington semi-auto that looked as if it was kept for home defence. ‘Dwight’s quite the sportsman,’ Ben commented as he followed Tamara into the enormous kitchen.

‘Don’t get me started. Pity any poor creature that crawls or flies when he and his law cronies get together. You want a beer?’

‘I’d sooner have a scotch,’ he said.

‘Sounds good to me.’ Tamara opened a cupboard, fetched out a bottle of Bowmore and two glasses. Ben walked over to the long breakfast bar and pulled out a stool. ‘Mind if I smoke?’

She shook her head as she poured out the drinks. ‘Go ahead. There’s an ashtray on the side.’

‘Want one?’

‘Uh-uh. I quit months ago.’

Ben lit up. Clanged the Zippo shut and blew out smoke. Tamara joined him at the breakfast bar, setting the bottle down between them on the marble top. Handed him his glass and took a long, deep gulp of her own, as if she really needed it. ‘This has been a tough time for me,’ she said in the controlled voice of someone battling their emotions.

Ben didn’t reply. Looking at her he could see a strong-willed woman bravely trying to hold it together, trapped in a nowhere marriage and unable to grieve openly for the man she’d loved. He knew there were times she must veer close to the edge. He understood it. He’d been there in the past, and would certainly find himself there again in the future. Some things didn’t go away.

‘Nick said you didn’t have any family,’ she said. ‘Is that still how it is for you?’

‘That’s still how it is,’ Ben said.

‘I think he told me you’re from Ireland? You don’t sound it.’

‘I wasn’t born there,’ he said. ‘But I love Ireland. My mother was from Galway. I have a home there.’ He pictured it in his mind: a large rambling old house close to the rocky shore where he loved to spend time alone whenever he could, sometimes sitting for hours gazing out to sea. He often missed it.

‘You talk about your mother in the past tense,’ Tamara said.

‘She died a long time ago.’

When Tamara understood he wasn’t going to elaborate, she asked, ‘Do you have any other family?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s just me and Winnie. She was my parents’ housekeeper. She moved with me to Ireland after they died and now she just looks after the place for me when I’m not around. A mad old bat, and it drives her crazy trying to keep me in line,’ he added with a smile, which quickly dropped from his face. ‘She’s the only family I have left now.’

Tamara sensed there was something paining him, something he kept bottled up deep inside and didn’t want to talk about. ‘You want a top-up?’ she asked him.

He nodded, and slid his half-empty glass across for her to refill.

‘Why are you here on Grand Cayman, Ben?’ she said. ‘You don’t believe this bullshit about suicide either, do you?’

‘Let’s start from the beginning,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you know.’

‘I know Ni—’ she started, then broke off. ‘I knew Nick. He told me all about his history – the divorce, the breakdown, his depression, how he’d left the army under a cloud. He didn’t try to hide anything from me. But that was years ago. He wasn’t depressed any more. He was one of the most contented people I’ve ever known. Did you see that yellow plane outside the office?’

‘The Sea Otter.’

‘Nick rescued it from a scrapyard and restored it himself. His pride and joy. He was like a boy with it – any excuse, he was in the air. He had a passion for it that was so infectious, he even got me learning to fly. Nick loved planes, he loved this island, and the new life he’d created here …’ Tamara paused a moment, swallowed and added in a choked voice, ‘And he loved me. That’s why this Cifuentes stuff made no sense to me, no sense at all.’

‘Cifuentes?’

‘Dr Carlos Maria Cifuentes. This psychiatrist in Miami who was allegedly treating Nick for severe bipolar disorder and prescribing antidepressants for about the last nine months. At least that’s what the police report said.’ Tamara shook her head vehemently. ‘But there’s no way Nick would have touched that stuff, let alone go all the way to Miami for it. He swore he’d never go near antidepressant meds again, after all the horrendous side effects he’d had in the past. He wouldn’t even take painkillers for a headache. And most of all, if he’d been suffering, I
know
he wouldn’t have kept it from me. He’d have reached out to me for help.’ Tamara was working hard to stay composed, but it was a struggle for her and she was knocking back the whisky as she talked.

‘So I called the clinic. Guess what. They’d never heard of a Dr Carlos Maria Cifuentes. The whole thing was fabricated to make people believe that Nick would have
done
that. Of all the reporters that came swarming over this whole island picking over the bones, wouldn’t you think at least one would have checked it out and seen what was going on? No. Of course not. The bastards.’

Tamara’s voice had risen to a breathless pitch of anger. She stopped suddenly, breathing hard, and collected herself. ‘You know, even if Nick had wanted to die, he’d never had done it in a way that could harm someone else. Mark and Cindy, the co-pilot and flight attendant – they were two of our best friends. And they’d just gotten engaged. And all those poor people – and the
children
…’ She closed her eyes.

Ben told her about his investigations that day: his visit to Bob Drummond’s place; Drummond’s unexplained and somewhat sudden disappearance; the mysterious black Chevy Blazer; the men outside his hotel.

‘Who were they?’ Tamara said, frowning.

‘Just heavies for hire, local Cayman boys. They didn’t even know who they were working for. But the two in the car – they might have been a different matter.’

Tamara shook her head in bewilderment. ‘So what the hell is going on?’

Both their glasses were empty. Ben reached for the bottle and filled them again. ‘Before, I didn’t know what to think. Now, I think there’s only one possible scenario that makes any sense.’ He looked at her. ‘You’re right. Nick didn’t take that plane down. Someone else did. Maybe some kind of sabotage. Right now, I’d go with a bomb. Whatever it was, Nick was forced to crash-land in the sea. Maybe he hit the reef accidentally – I don’t know. Whether everyone else was killed right away, I don’t know either. But what I do know is that Nick was alive long enough
after
the crash to call his daughter, to leave her a message to say goodbye. I’m sure he’d have called you, too, if he’d had time. He obviously didn’t. As to what happened next … well, that’s what I intend to find out.’

Tamara said nothing, just stared into her drink.

Ben went on. ‘Whoever’s behind this whole thing must have known that Nick called Hilary. That could mean they were tapping her phone, but I don’t think that’s likely. What I think is more likely is that someone retrieved Nick’s phone from the wreck and was able to trace his call to her. They didn’t know how much he’d been able to tell her about what had happened. So they couldn’t take any chances. She had to be silenced, and all trace of the message had to disappear.’ He paused to take a gulp of whisky. ‘And it could have been avoided, if I hadn’t acted like a jerk. I didn’t listen to her. I let her run out into the road and they mowed her down like a daisy.’

‘Hold on. You mean—?’

‘You hadn’t heard?’

‘I’ve been avoiding the TV, the radio, the newspapers, everything,’ Tamara breathed. She closed her eyes and rested her head in her hands. ‘Oh my God. Oh Christ. I can’t bear this.’

‘And now the moment I land on Grand Cayman and start poking around, someone’s not happy about it,’ Ben said. ‘And they’re going to get a lot more unhappy about it, because I haven’t even started yet.’

She looked at him. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to find the people responsible and kill them all,’ he said.

Tamara’s face had turned pale. ‘Give me one of those cigarettes.’

‘I thought you’d quit.’

‘I just started again.’ Tamara cupped her hand lightly over Ben’s as he lit the cigarette for her. She coughed. ‘These are strong.’

‘They’re Jordanian,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk about Dwight. He seems to make a lot of money.’

‘A gross amount. He made partner last year.’

‘Can you be absolutely sure you and Nick kept your relationship secret from everyone?’ Ben asked.

‘Are you saying that
Dwight
—?’

‘Jealous husbands have been known to do rash things. It takes money and connections to make murder look like an accident and cover your tracks halfway around the world.’

‘Dwight wouldn’t give a shit if I walked out tomorrow. And I was going to. I still am going to. The guy might be an asshole. And believe me, he
is
an asshole of the first order. But he’s not a killer. He wouldn’t have the guts.’

‘It was just an idea,’ Ben said. ‘We’re going to need more of them if we want to figure this out. Someone out there, someone powerful, wanted Nick out of the way. Why?’

Tamara stared into the middle distance as she smoked. Her brow flickered as a thought seemed to come to her. Her eyes hardened and she nodded slowly to herself. ‘Brigman,’ she said. ‘Shit.
Brigman
. Why I didn’t think of it before …’

‘Okay, who’s Brigman?’

She turned her gaze on him. ‘Julius T. Brigman. He’s a Texan who settled here about twenty years ago. Owns half the luxury real estate on Grand Cayman, and just about all the yacht charter business. Last October, he decided he wanted to break into air charter as well, and made Nick an offer to buy him out.’

‘I’m guessing that Nick turned him down.’

‘Sure he did. In no uncertain terms. But Brigman’s not the kind who gives up so easily. He kept coming back. The offer went up and up. Nick kept on refusing. Then one evening in November, when Nick was alone at his place, Brigman turned up with two of his gorillas, and laid down a final offer. Nick told him to take a hike. It got a little ugly. Brigman became abusive, and in the end Nick grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and kicked his ass out into the street. Told the gorillas he’d break their arms if they ever came snooping round his house again.’