“It happens. Sorry dude.” Edward said in the same voice his father had used, surprised by his own calmness.
He squatted at the top of the dead man’s head, seeing the tightness of pale flesh over skull through the thin hair. He grabbed the man’s shirt, rolling the cloth above the shoulders into his fists to get a good grip. He only wanted to do this once. Holding his breath, he took hold and pulled, expecting the body to be heavy, but the man was fairly thin. The wet clothes, seaweed and bloated flesh made the corpse appear heavier than it actually was. Edward dragged the body up where the water would not reach it anymore. As the body slid over the sand, the crabs emerged. Dozens of the little white crabs jumped out from the shirt and pants of the corpse. They landed on the sand and scattered. The head flopped back as soon as he lifted the shoulders. After four steps, the corpse’s crusted lips split apart and a crab emerged, leap off the face to escape. Edward twisted his lips in disgust and had to let go. Feeling a nauseous ball rising up from inside his stomach, he let the body lay there halfway between the waterline and berm.
Fucking crabs, Edward thought, wiping his hands on his shorts, they’ll eat anything.
~~~
It might have been the crown molding, paned windows, long-stemmed fans hung from high ceilings or walls of cracked plaster. It could have been the white coated British uniforms the two police wore at the front counter. Or maybe it was the claw-and-ball feet of the chair he sat in that made him feel for the first time that he was in a different country. It was like a themed section of Disney World: Colonial Caribbean, live the life of early English governors as they battle fierce hurricanes, monstrous leviathans and barbarous buccaneers!
Across the wall from him hung a poster with three happy, young afro-Caribbean police recruits, all gazing up idealistically towards what certainly must have been the law written in the heavens. At the bottom was the word SERVICE in large Helvetica font. A skinny woman with long fingers sat at the desk in front of him, typing away in a blur about a thousand words a minute, stopping only to examine something on a handwritten report on the side of the computer. She occasionally glanced at Edward without slowing her typing, trying to figure out what sort of trouble he was in.
For the past fifty minutes he had studied the BVI Police at work, which mostly involved secretaries moving around the room to answer phones, enter reports into computers, and file manila folders into the array of steel cabinets against the walls. On top of these were half a dozen framed certificates and awards.
At one point Edward leaned forward as one uniformed policeman rushed by.
“Excuse me. Can I—”
The man responded with a quick flapping of a hand as if dribbling a basketball, motioning for Edward to stay seated and wait. Wait, wait, keep waiting. Edward watched him leave the room.
It had been over four hours since he had found the body. After he’d told the policeman at the village pier, and a patrol boat verified that there was a corpse on his beach, another boat brought him to Road Town’s main police station that served as the headquarters for all of the BVI.
“I’m sooo hungry,” Edward sang out to no one, watching the front door. The woman typing glanced at him when she must have thought his head was turned away. He wondered what they’d do if he got up and walked out. Would they even notice?
“I’m really hungry—”
“Well, I apologize. Edward Tache? Is that correct?” a man asked, one of three policemen that had entered through a back door leading to the parking lot.
“Yeah,” Edward said. His mouth opened as he looked up at the tall man hovering over him.
The man wore a pressed-white dress shirt, business-brown slacks, and a baseball cap with the BVI Police insignia on its front. The two policemen behind him wore uniforms and checkered-banded hats. The plainclothesman’s chrome badge was on his belt, eye-level with Edward. He could see his reflection in it.
The man gave an easy smile. His head tilted slightly as he looked down at Edward with a concern he might have shown to a child found wandering around on the beach. His dark skin was clean-shaven and had a healthy thickness to it. Deep lines on his forehead were the only clue to his age, which might have been anywhere from mid forties to late fifties. He removed the baseball cap and tucked it under his arm, revealing short hair and stray curls of grey.
“Chief Inspector Martin Woodes, Crime Investigation Department.”
He held out his hand to Edward. They shook.
“OK.”
Inspector Woodes thanked the men behind him. They took off their hats and walked away, one to a desk, the other into another part of the station.
“So you’re hungry?” His smile didn’t waver.
“Yes,” Edward said. “Can I go get something?”
“No. I’m afraid not.”
Woodes accent was more English than Caribbean. His voice strong, but friendly. When he told Edward no, it was the no of a cheery and supportive game show host telling a contestant he had just chosen the wrong answer and lost all his winnings.
“I need you to help me fill in a report, but what I can do is get you some lunch.” He turned toward the desk behind him, picking up some slips of paper, phone messages, and quickly flipped through them before looking up at the woman in front of the computer.
“Kell, would you get us Ginger’s. Two number ones.”
Woodes turned back to Edward, casually sitting on the edge of the desk behind him, putting his hands down for support.
“French fries?” she asked.
“You know it,” Woodes replied, secretly winking at Edward.
He looked Edward over with a serious gaze as the woman picked up her phone and placed the order. Soon he brought back his smile, watching Edward adjust his position in the chair. Edward forced a smile, sighing and shrugging, curious about the look-over the inspector appeared to be giving him.
“I apologize, but we’ll have to interview you formally. Is there anyone you’d like to talk with before we begin?”
“Talk with? Like who?”
Woodes’ shoulders flicked up. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you want a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” Edward pushed down on the armrests of the chair ready to rise. “Why would I need – you think I drowned that man?”
“No-no-no, my friend, please take it easy. Take it easy. The question’s just formality. It’s really not necessary if you didn’t do anything wrong—”
“I didn’t do anything wrong—”
“No problem – no problem, my friend. So, you’re saying you don’t need a lawyer. I hear you. You understand I’m just asking questions. We find a dead body and we have to ask questions before we can let you return to your home. Please. I’m not trying to scare you here.” He briefly held open his hands, flashing the lighter flesh of his palms.
Edward grimaced. He sat back, conscious that his pulse was racing.
“Yeah, I get it,” Edward said. “You probably have a lot of drownings here.”
Inspector Woodes nodded, keeping his eyes on Edward.
“How do you like living out there on Peter Island?” The abrupt question felt odd, and came out like a car salesman’s conversation. “You like it out there?”
“What – well, it’s nice. Very beautiful.”
“Pretty hot, though.”
“Yeah, but the water’s cool.”
“Yes. Yes, it is. Must be different from the Big Apple—”
“How do you know that?”
“Oh, sorry, my friend. I run into the property manager, Ms Sarah, a lot. It’s a small island, you know. She told me she had a new caretaker out there. I know that real-estate company’s based in the US. Most of their clientele are from that area. I guess they want to get away from all that snow.” Woodes opened his mouth as if to laugh, but didn’t. He slapped his knees and let his head tilt to the side.