The Atlas Murders (47 page)

 Outside Kerstin noticed the
quite resolve and a calmness drift over Henry as though something divine had
touched him.

“Did you experience a feeling
of peace? I felt I was being carried up with the light and I could look down.
It was like I was a roaming spirit.”

 Henry held her hand.

“For me it was like a
spiritual journey that took me back to my youth in such a short time. Thank you
Kerstin for bringing me here.”

 She took charge again.

 “We’ll have a coffee if you
like before we move on to our next sightseeing venue.”

While waiting for their
coffee and sweet cakes to arrive, Henry took from his pocket book the photo
Martha had given him of Alicia and her son. He had told Kerstin about this part
of his life and now just to refresh their memory, they would be keeping a
lookout for any building resembling the one in the photo. It was likely that The
Grenville Hotel might have changed names after all these years, but the
building itself was unique and its exterior probably wouldn’t have changed much.

 “I will not forget the name
of the hotel and I have a good memory for buildings. If I ever see it, I will recognize
it immediately,” she said, before devouring a delicious cream cake.

  The next stop was the
historic Alcazar de Colon. Henry was thrilled at the sight of such a colorful
building. Kerstin did her tour guide duties: “It was built for Columbus’s son
Diego in about 1505. He became the colony’s governor in 1509. It is a
magnificent structure built from coral limestone. It was built on the Italian
Renaissance style. The building played host to such historic persons as Cortes,
Ponce de Leon, and Balboa.”

 As they moved through the rooms
and open air loggias they admired the period tapestries and sixteenth century
furniture with priceless paintings beckoning from every wall. They sat relaxed looking
over the Ozama River luxuriating in the coolness of the shaded balcony of stone
columns.

 The shadows were long as
they walked back through the shaded streets among playing children and chaotic
traffic. They next visited the Columbus Lighthouse built in 1992 to commemorate
his five hundredth anniversary.

Henry followed dutifully, as
she walked past noisy stalls and bustling shoppers.

“At last, here we are,” she
announce, “you can rest your tired body and I’ll order a refreshing drink.” She
came back to the table which was under a balcony and caught a slight breeze
from the sea, holding two large glasses of chilled beer with dew trickling down
the frosted amber glass.

 “Just what the doctor
ordered,” he pronounced as he lifted the glass and took a long sip of the cooling
liquid.

“Never was a drink so
appreciated.”

The dinner was again
delicious. There followed an evening of music and dancing which carried through
to midnight. Henry held her covetously and whispered, “where to now my lovely
tour guide?”

“I know just the place,” was
her grinning reply.

 The taxi dropped them at the
Conde De Hotel, and a large size bed with air conditioning lent extra somnolence
to a sound sleep.

 Henry woke to a bright
sunshine creeping under the drapes, he stood admiring the sleeping beauty as
she lay naked hugging a pillow. Her blonde mop spread across her face. He
ordered breakfast and while showering he mentally went over the day’s tasks. He
could do with an aspirin, he thought, but he’d soldier on. The previous day
seemed like something one could only dream; he looked hard at himself in the
fogged mirror and said, “Is this really happening?”

Then a smiling face appeared
beside his.

 “Yes, it is really happening.”

He felt her arms enfolding
him and her naked body pressed against his wet skin.

 A loud knock on the door
halted the little tryst.

 “That’s the breakfast I
ordered while you were asleep.”

 She pinched his bottom.

 “It’ll have to wait, go let
him in.”

 After breakfast Henry got
the telephone directories for the Dominican Republic and Haiti from hotel’s
front desk.

“Now my dear,” he handed one
to Kerstin. “Haiti for you and Dominican for me.”

 They scanned through the Ts
but there was no Tukola listed in either directory so they decide it was time
to go into town and do the other checks.

They donned their sun hats
and headed out into the bright sunshine. The police station was a short walk
away and Henry produced his photo of Tukola and explained his mission to the
chief constable on duty.

“No, I never heard of anyone
of that name since I took up duty here 25 years ago, but if you give me your
contact details I will keep the picture and ask my colleagues if they’ve come
across him.

 Henry thanked the officer and
got directions to the company’s registration office where they also drew a
blank. They then decided to have lunch.

After a light lunch in a
nearby restaurant, coffee was served as they discussed their next trip. Kerstin
agreed with Henry that giving the U.S. islands a miss would be a good idea.
They both thought that the chances of him trying to get residence on in U.S.
territory would be remote.

“I think we should make St.
Martin our next call. We can do some of the other smaller islands from there
and make our way down the chain.”

 “Yes my dear Kerstin, I’m in
your capable hands. Do we have all the charts for those islands?”

 “Good to see your nautical
awareness. Yes, I checked we have all the necessary charts for the whole island
chain right down to Trinidad.”

“Great!” Let’s go back to the
Amber Witch; that is if you haven’t anything else in mind?”

Kerstin put a hand on his arm
as they walked from the restaurant.

“No, I haven’t anything else
in mind. We’ll make preparations so we can sail first thing in the morning.”

 Back on the yacht they
checked the water and fuel; they decided to top up both as the smaller islands
they were going to might not have very good facilities. The run south of Puerto
Rico would be a couple of days and then it would be literally island hopping
from there on.

Chapter
Thirty-Six

They sailed early next day and favorable
winds brought them south of Puerto Rico on the second day. The only shipping
other than a few yachts like themselves was a U.S. Coast Guard vessel from Puerto
Rico which circled them a few times but did not ask them to stop. They were on
deck relaxing under a sun shade. Kerstin was reading and took little notice of
the probing vessel. Henry stood up and walked to the rail with the binoculars
watching the coast guard circling around them. “What do they want? I suppose
they think we’re smugglers; typical American paranoid attitude.”

 Kerstin looked up from her
book.

 “Sit and don’t take any heed
of them. They do that to all the ships and yachts that pass close to the island.
They will have noted our name and course and where we’re registered because
that’s their job.”

 “It’s just as well they
haven’t many islands or it would be a nightmare sailing near them.”

 “You should be on board
sailing close to Key West coming from the south. They follow you and nearly
always tell you to stop. Then they board and conduct a thorough search and a
check of all the papers and passports of everyone on board. I suppose it’s a
lot to do with drugs and the illegal people smuggling, but there are so much
traffic, literally hundreds of big launches and yachts coming and going in
those waters, so it must be an impossible job to check them all.”

 It was early afternoon when
they dropped the anchor at the yacht club
in Simpson Bay. Kerstin decided not to go
into the inner lagoon as they would only be staying a couple of days. She opened
a bottle of Merlot and poured two large glasses.

“To our safe passage,” she
toasted, and clinked Henry’s glass.

“I must fill you in on St.
Martin,” she announce, sipping her wine and once again relishing her role as official
tour guide. “Firstly, it’s divided between the French and Dutch. It has, like
all these Caribbean islands a mixed history. So I’ll just skip the bit about how
at just 37 square miles it became to be the smallest partitioned piece of land
on earth. Now, the border although it does officially exist, the two parts are
governed separately there are no border crossings as such; one part is St.
Maarten, the other St. Martin. St. Maarten, the section we’re in now is Dutch
but they all generally speak English. Simple! Would you like to venture ashore
after our little tipple?”

 Henry rubbed his day old
stubble.

“A shave and shower and I’m
ready.”

 There were a number of
yachts in the Bay Lagoon and lots of tourists about. They enjoyed light
refreshment at an open air café. Like most Caribbean islands the pace of life
was pedestrian and many of the laid-back, smiling people wore colorful clothes
and carefree expressions. Kerstin went into the café and enquired where the
nearest police station was. A minute later she came back to the table with the
information she wanted.

 “It’s in Philipsburg which
is a decent walk away. It will do us good to stretch our legs.”

Philipsburg retained some of
its old colonial style buildings of sturdy stone weathered brick and had stood stoically
through a century of hurricane winds, rain and under relentless tropical sun.
The police station was situated along the main street and easy to find. A duty
sergeant showed them to a waiting room.

 After a short wait a senior
officer called them into his office. He introduced himself with a strong
handshake and a loud baritone voice, “Carsten Van Dijk, senior police officer
for the Dutch section of St. Maarten.”

Henry came to the point
quickly and the big blonde Dutchman graying at the temples, listened with a
noticeable look of concern. Then Van Dijk laid his arms on his desk and leaned
over to engage the two. “What you have related to me is most disturbing and
when I think back to…” he stopped and stared vacantly, “yes, it was 1968, I’m
sure. We had a girl killed by someone I believe to be a very evil man.”

Kerstin showed him the photo
of the now older Tukola.

 He looked as though he’d
seen a ghost. Then he stood up and walked out of the room, turning back he said,
“I’ll only be a few minutes.”

 Henry’s voice seemed to
falter a little, “what do you think has upset him?”

 “I don’t know but I’m sure he
has had some kind of serious confrontation with our man. He was visibly shaken
when he saw the photograph.”

 The door swung open and Van
Dijk had a folder in his hand which he placed on the desk

 “It’s all in English, you
can read through and I’ll sit and wait until you finish.”

 As they were reading, several
photographs fell from the folder on to the desk. They were stunned as they
looked at images of a young girl’s corpse; she was a Caribbean native, the photos
showed fish hooks arranged around her face and body. Her mouth and orifices
were stuffed with her torn clothing the bruises around her neck were consistent
with a savage and sustained strangling. Henry had seen enough. He looked at Van
Dijk whose stoic expression hid the sense of failure and disappointment at they
not being able to solve the only murder on the island in a hundred years.

“He’s our man. Did he take
anything from the body?”

 “Yes, if you could call it
that; the maniac cut off a piece of her genitals.”

 “That is his trade mark
officer; he collected this type of sickening trophy from all of his victims.”

Henry looked at the next page
and saw she was only fourteen years old. It also stated in the autopsy report
how her neck was broken from what could be termed sustained manual pressure. Kerstin
sat dumb trying to take in what she had just seen and heard.

“How did Tukola become a
suspect, was he living on the island at the time?” Henry visualized him not
being too far away, perhaps the owner of some big hotel or plantation.

Van Dijk pulled his chair
close into the desk. “Hadar Tukola was well known on this side of the island,
he owned a large hotel and casino. Tourism was only in its infancy back then so
any large investor was treated like royalty. He naturally employed a large
number of the local people and paid good wages. Business was constant and
growing, but money to him seemed to be no object. He could spend large amounts
on extensions and refurbishment; he also owned a large launch which he usually
anchored in the lagoon when he was here.”

Henry interrupted him, “what
do you mean, when he was here?”

“I was coming to that; you see,
he only visited on occasions and would stay maybe two or three weeks at a time.
It was during one of these visits the young girl was killed. Her mother worked
for Tukola in the hotel. She was an accomplished chef. She sometimes brought
her young daughter with her to work, she would help out around the hotel doing
the rooms and cleaning. We found out that she also helped in Tukola’s private
suite. Her mother worked late the night of the murder and didn’t report her
missing until the next day. But even with extensive searches her body was not
found for five days, by which time a lot of evidence was lost. Tukola with a
number of his staff were brought in for questioning, and I noticed on the back
of his wrist two deep scratches that had actually become infected. We had
detectives flown in from France and Holland to assist in the investigation.
They questioned Tukola as well as about fifty staff, but nothing showed as to
her whereabouts after she left the hotel, supposedly, at ten o’clock that
night. His henchmen gave Tukola a concrete alibi.”

 Henry had sympathy for this
man who sounded as if he had failed the only real test of his career. “What are
your personal thoughts on the case? It’s not easy after all these years but you
are seemingly pointing the finger at Tukola.”

 “My personal belief never
mattered because the detectives from France and Holland took over the
investigation which lasted for four months. They were convinced it was a local
man who killed her, but the same man, their main suspect, is working not far
from here, married with four children and was never in trouble before that or
since. I believe Tukola somehow brought her to his launch and this is where she
was killed and her body thrown over into the lagoon. Part of Tukola’s alibi was
that he spent the night on the launch as he intended to sail next day, but there
was a hurricane warning which delayed him sailing and that is why he was around
for questioning when the body was found. If he had sailed as planned we might
never have got to question him or ever found her body.”

 “Where did he sail to, and
what island is he resident on now?”

 “I’m sorry I cannot help you
as to his whereabouts since he left here. Six months after the girl’s killing
he sold the hotel and casino and was never heard of again around these islands.”

 “Could we trace the sale of
the hotel to a particular bank account? That might give us a lead.”

 “After the hotel was sold I was
given instructions and also the French police on the island, to send a file on
this killing, now naming Tukola as chief suspect, to all Dutch and French
authorities in the Caribbean. We tried at that time to trace him through his
bank but came up with a numbered account in Caracas in Venezuela.”

 “Why did they change their
mind about who they thought the killer might be?”

“A girl went missing on a
small remote island and her body was found by fishermen a day after she went
missing. It was the same type of killing and the launch belonging to Tukola was
in the harbor the day she went missing. The island‘s called Marie-Galante. It’s
a French administered island. Unfortunately, the French police didn’t conduct a
search of Tukola’s launch or carry out forensics; they believed it was not
relevant at the time.”

 Henry took note of Kerstin
who had remained silent throughout this exchange.

 “Kerstin, would you with
your knowledge of the islands venture an educated guess as to where he might have
settled?”

 “I think if he is using
Caracas in Venezuela for banking he must be somewhere near there, because he’d
surely have to visit on occasion, and if a launch is his chosen transport, I’d
suspect he’s not far from the Venezuelan coast. Naturally, I’d rule out any
island under French or Dutch control, so that considerably reduces the amount
of island hopping we will have to do.”

  Van Dijk commended her on
her summing up. “I hope to God you do catch him Henry. And I sincerely wish I
could go with you.”

Kerstin glanced at Henry, “we
have a bit of sailing ahead of us yet.”

 They thanked the police
officer for all his help. He gave them a phone number to contact him at any
time if they thought there was anything he could do for them.

They arrived back on the
yacht and opted to spend the rest of the day on board. Henry was still trying
to come to terms with the knowledge that Tukola, albeit many years ago, had
killed again. He credited himself for guessing that Tukola had indeed chosen
the Caribbean as the place to operate, but any self-satisfaction quickly
evaporated when he realized that the killer could still be active and could
potentially strike at any time.

“Kerstin, my dear,” he said
with a noticeable urgency in his voice, “from now on we need to stay fully
focused on finding this monster. I know after all this time he might not even
be alive, but with the possibility of young girl’s lives’ at stake, the
importance of our quest has just risen to a whole new level.”

“I totally agree Henry. If
he’s out there we need to find him and stop him at all costs.”

The next morning Henry
decided to have a quick swim while Kerstin was below deck scanning through the
charts. Minutes’ later, dripping wet and shaking his hair from his eyes he
joined her at the chart table.

She pointed to the islands
south of them and put a little mark on tiny St. Christopher (St Kitts) and the even
tinier neighboring island of Nevis. “I think these two are so small and
insignificant we could give them a miss and head straight for Antigua.”

 “They are rather small and I
suppose there’s not enough business there for his criminal activity. But could
we just call on our way to Antigua; you know a short stop?”

 “You’re right, it won’t be
much off our course, half a day’s sailing and a brief stop will be nice. Henry,
what do you think of Montserrat? Personally, I believe after the devastating volcanic
eruption in 1995, if he was ever there, he’d have left like most of the other
inhabitant did.”

 “I’d agree, so I think we
could safely give it a miss.”

“Ok, Henry, it’s your turn to
do the navigation.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, you can do it.”

 Nervously, he moved the
parallel rules around until he was satisfied with a course to St. Christopher,
and penciled in a line. He ran the rule to the compass rose and wrote down the
course. “There now, I think we have no more business here, so I we should heave
up and go. What do you say Kerstin?”

 “Yes, so I’ll start up the
engines and get ready to heave up.”