“Boy, I know it was you. I thought I see some white boy walking around my work that day. Yeah, took me a while to see it. Nobody else gonna do it. And I doonh see yah walkin ‘round ‘ere for months. You hidin, thinkin I forgot, huh? But now I see you walking ‘round like you own the place.”
“Let me get this straight. You saw a white boy and you think it was me? So, you think all white boys look alike?” Edward let loose with a laugh that went on a few moments. To show that he was trying to control himself, he contorted his face, pinching the top of his nose and wiping under his sunglasses.
“Boy, you lyin – you lyin.” Isaac’s arm-flapping grew wilder. “I should knock you out right now.”
Isaac threw up an open hand at Edward’s face. But Edward expected the feint and didn’t flinch, maintaining his dumbfounded smirk.
“Look, I don’t know why someone would slash your tires.” Edward was in such an elated mood, feeling generous and lucky, he thought he would let Isaac punch him. He would take a hit, go down, start screaming, and play the victim. That was his plan. There were a few people walking around on the street. Surely, they would stop Isaac before he did real damage.
“Maybe it’s because you’re so angry. Maybe that’s why someone would slash your tires.” Edward smirked, preparing himself to take the hit, planning where he would fall.
“I’m gonna take you out right now, boy—”
“Isaac Rochussen? What’s going on?” A man behind Edward said.
Edward turned to see Inspector Woodes walking up to them and knew it really was his lucky day. Woodes was hand-in-hand with one of his daughters, a skinny girl who looked not more than eight years old. Isaac dropped his arms, and took a step back, burying his hands into his pockets. Isaac’s face changed like a mime switching emotions. He was now quiet.
“Nothing, Mr. Woodes. Nothing’s going on.”
“Is that right?” Woodes asked Edward. “Nothing, mhh? Looked like you two were arguing.”
“No. I saw this man here and he looked lost, so I was stopping to see if he needed any help.”
Woodes looked at Edward. Edward shrugged, maintaining his happy-go-lucky expression. Woodes looked back at Isaac.
“Uh huh. Your father going to Sunday’s match, Isaac?”
“Yes, sir. He’s going. And you, Mr. Woodes?”
“If I can.” Woodes sighed and looked down at his daughter. “May have to fly out to The Home Office in London.”
Woodes stood there, watching the two younger men. It was clear he was waiting for them to act, knowing there was more going on than either admitted. After five seconds of silence Isaac spoke.
“Well, I gotta go.” Isaac uprooted one hand from a pocket and waved. Without saying anything else, he got in his SUV, and started away at a cautious pace. Gravel crunched under tires until the vehicle was completely on the road. Isaac made a complete stop at the intersection, put on his turn signal, and made a complete right turn before rolling out of view.
Edward and Woodes turned at the same time to face each other.
“Sorry, it was Avery, Allen or—”
“Edward.”
“That’s right. And everything OK with you two?”
“Oh, nothing but a misunderstanding.”
Woodes eyebrows sank and rose. “OK. And everything good out there on Peter Island – not too lonely?”
“Oh, no. I’m dating Mary.”
“Mary, the quiet librarian?” Woodes beamed.
“Yeah. And I like living out on the island. I mean, yeah, it’s quiet, but it’s good.” Edward pushed his sunglasses up his nose to cover the remains of his black eye. “I’ve been in the zone with my painting. Finished a few things I feel good about. It’s weird, it is quiet, but I find that brings something out of me. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like the mind is allowed to work when it’s quiet, when it’s not taking in, it’s producing, you know. I actually need to get some more canvas for my acrylic work. The art store I buy from here ran out – said they’d reorder and have more next week.”
“Well, good. Sounds like you’re finding your fit. Some people have a hard time adjusting.” Woodes introduced his daughter, who looked off with no interest as Edward gave a few patronizing compliments. She had a storybook to return to the library and they all started walking together up the road.
“You bust any criminals this week – your days must be awesome, I mean exciting.”
“Well, I don’t know about that.” Woodes huffed. “If by awesome you mean lots of paperwork and meetings. Maybe when I first joined. It was different then. When was that? Oh, I hate to count it up, twenty – no twenty-two years. God, back then the job was non-stop smuggling disruption. The day I started, we caught a boat carrying fifty kilograms of cocaine. I think back then everyone was tougher. Everyone. Drug runners, police. The smugglers wouldn’t stop for the coast guard until a couple shots were put through their hull.”
“Really? I would think this place is too small for them, I mean to make a big profit.”
“Well, BVI’s not their destination. It’s just a stop on a highway that starts in Venezuela, runs straight up through the Lesser Antilles, Puerto Rico, The Turks, Bahamas and ends in Florida or one of the gulf states. If smugglers make it to the intracoastal waterways, they know they’re home free. However, today, that highway’s been reduced to a walking path compared to what it was in the ‘80s. Maybe we see two or three major drug busts a year, now. Marijuana out of Jamaica and domestic product has changed a lot. But what really killed it is the drop in demand. I have a friend, an American Coast Guard captain from Miami, who comes down every summer to wreck dive around Salt Island. I asked him what happened to all that demand. Have Americans stopped using drugs? He told me Nintendo. That’s what happened. Internet, cell phones, video games. New diversions.”
When they neared the library’s front door, Woodes let go of his daughter’s hand. She ran up to the handle and attempted to pull open the heavy door. Woodes stepped up behind her and pulled it open. Edward watched the girl dart inside and run straight to a rack of colorful children’s books.
“Inspector, I wanted to ask, did you ever find the guys who killed that man?”
Woodes was ready to follow his daughter in, but stopped and let the door close, staring in through the narrow window. He took in a breath, and his broad chest rose and fell.
“I’m afraid it’s still open. The man’s name was Jim Baldridge, a chairman for a US company called Waterfall International. The newspaper did a story about him when they found out the FBI came down.”
“The FBI?”
“Yes, well, he had connections. His company supplied raw materials to some military companies and he had some important senator friends. Important people. So, it was a big deal. We know he kept a boat here in Tortola, came down to use it about five times a year. He took the boat out of dry storage the day before he went missing. You can read all about it in the BVI Beacon article.”
“Did you find the boat?” Edward asked.
“Well…” Woodes gave him a short look, rolling his tongue around his cheek. “We haven’t found it. Yet. Shouldn’t be too hard. It’s a real collector’s item. An old, 57-foot, wood-hull yacht, something you’d see sixty years ago. Not very fast, but you could live comfortably on it for days. His wife called it his mistress. I expect we’ll find it abandoned in some Florida estuary. At some point,” he said the last words with less confidence.
“Inspector, you know, I’ve seen men on that island in front of my house. I think they were drug runners. I told the policeman at the village pier, but he said I need to see drugs else he couldn’t do anything. I know they were doing something. You should check out their boat.”
“Ah, well, that policeman’s right.” Woodes shook his head, making a hand gesture that told Edward to slow down. “We can’t go around searching every boat out there. BVI is the world’s sailing capital and, the problem is, we’d find drugs if we looked. We’d find lots of drugs. And if we impounded every boat with a joint on it, we’d run out of room in our yard. Police have to follow laws too. That’s why it’s important to stay determined to protect more than punish. And, to be frank with you, Edward, one crime doesn’t connect someone to another.” He looked through the door’s window at his daughter inside. “Well, alright, Edward. Nice seeing you again. I’m afraid I’m short on time and I need to do the impossible, get an eight-year-old to make up her mind in less than five minutes.”