“They like to blame the surf for every rotten thing that happens here on the island,” he declared. “Your report probably said, riptide did it. Now I happen to love riptides. There’s not one bad thing they can do to you. If you invade their territory, whose fault is it if you’re dead?”
“Clint understood the ocean. He was a powerful surfer.”
“Not powerful enough.”
He closed his eyes a moment, and he started chewing on his lip again.
“There’s plenty of ways to get yourself killed down here on the island. “
“I need information about the investigation,” she persisted.
“You don’t say? What kind of information?”
This was fun for him, a distraction in the afternoon. He was dangling her as though she were a little fish.
“Who found the body, who were the witnesses? It’s strange that we didn’t hear anything about them.”
He made a sour face then, as if his lunch were repeating on him.
“To Americans everything is strange. Down here on the islands, everything is beautiful. Seems like you think you know a lot. But I’ll tell you something you never thought of - someone dies because they’re supposed to. If we say case closed, that’s what it means. Go take up your grievance with God, not me.”
“I’m not coming to you with a grievance,” Cindy said. “I need to have some questions answered.”
His big head bobbed up and down. “There are people who cannot accept reality. They’ll fight it down to the last minute. Even get themselves killed doing it. I hope that’s not you, tiger lady.”
He pushed his plate back and motioned to the waiter. “Bring me another plate, another beer, and bring the same for the lady.”
“I’m not hungry”
“You guys come down from the U.S. and think you’re hot shots and we’re a bunch of idiots that you can push around. Well, you guys got another thing coming. We used to be slaves but we’re not anymore. We fought the battle for our independence, and we won. Barbados is an independent nation, even though we Bajans have more British flavor than any other island in the Caribbean. We’re proud of our island, we’re proud of everything, and, we have more smarts than you.”
He raised his hands to the sky as if he were preaching a sermon that was long overdue. The more he spoke, the more exhausted Cindy became and the more the sun seemed to beat down on her.
“This is our home and we love it,” he went on. “We understand how the island twists and turns in funny ways. We know it’s moods, hungers, disappointments, we take the beating of its storms.” His voice was getting louder and louder. “We watch the animals that live off it . Some people, the island spits out. Others, it draws into its gut. Some it will never let go. Which one are you?”
He looked at Cindy with foggy, shifty, eyes.
The reggae music in the background was getting louder, as more people began filling in the tables for lunch. Cindy’s head began to hurt.
He could ramble all he wanted. She wasn’t going to let him throw her off course.
“I’ve seen the report,” Cindy said, bluffing. “I’ve seen the Coroner’s report. My husband didn’t die from drowning. He died from trauma to the head. Someone falsified the findings.”
She won. She caught him off guard for a second.
“I want the case re-opened,” she added.
“When it’s case closed, it’s case closed,” he said, scowling.
Cindy got it. The police had been paid off, not to investigate the case. It was clear as day. She suddenly became frightened about whether the Coroner would actually email her the report . Did he just say he would to get rid of her? She needed the report desperately.
She quickly opened her phone, under the table, to see if the email was there. Not yet.Oh God, Cindy, thought, could this all be for nothing?
“If I were you,” the Police Chief went on, digging into a plate of rice and prawns, “I’d enjoy myself on the island of Barbados, take a vacation, relax in the sun. Go to the beach where your husband died, and say good bye to him. Then go back to your country and start again.”
Then he put down his fork and took a huge gulp of beer.
“That’s what you learn here on the island, how to start all over again. The waves teach you. They wash all kinds of stuff onto the beach and then they wash it away again.”
Cindy couldn’t bear listening to another word. The tone of his voice, smell of his food mixed with the hot sun was nauseating. She stood up to go.
“Thank you for everything,” she started.
He didn’t seem to want her to go. “Hey,” he tried to stop her, “thought you were going to stay all night and keep me company. It can get pretty lonely down here once it gets dark.”
Cindy shuddered.
“Who knows?” he grinned, “maybe if you stayed with me all the way until morning, I could find something to tell you?” He looked at her, questioning.
Sleep with him in exchange for information. Cindy would rather die. If she died, at least she’d meet up with Clint and this horrible charade would be done.
“Why don’t you go drop dead,” she said angrily, then stood up and stormed off.
She could hear him laughing behind her, his biggest laugh yet.
“Maybe I will, lady,” he said. “But that ain’t goin to bring your husband back, is it?”
Chapter 23
Cindy jumped back into her car and sped towards her hotel. Her mind raced, as she struggled to figure out who to talk to next. She couldn’t go back home empty handed. She again tried to piece together everything that happened that final day with Clint. She remembered their breakfast, her nap…And suddenly, something came back to her: her waiter. His smile. That torte she served him. Could it have been poisoned? Could he have had something to do with it?
Cindy checked her email again. The report still wasn’t there. The Coroner might still be out for lunch. She had to believe he wasn’t lying, that it would arrive later.
She stepped on the gas, urging the small rental car to go faster. As she checked her rearview, she saw a police car a few blocks behind her, trailing her, and wondered if it could be following her. She drove faster.
When Cindy walked into the hotel, Alex was there behind the main desk, as he had been during the honeymoon. He looked up and greeted her warmly with a beautiful smile. It was time to let him know.
“Are you having a good day, Miss Cindy?” he asked.
Cindy went over and sat on a stool opposite him.
“Very good,” Cindy said. Then she paused, “Alex.”
“Yes, Miss?” he smiled lavishly.
“I came back down here for a reason.”
His smile got stuck on his face.
His eyes opened wide. “What do you mean?”
“I need to find out more about what happened to my husband.”
“Like what?” he seemed nervous.
“Anything I can find. His death wasn’t an accident,” she said bluntly.
“My God?” he looked startled. “You came down to stir up bad memories?” he opened both hands wide.
“I came down to find the truth.”
“Down here on the islands, the truth has many faces,” he flushed. “What do you want to do this for? What will you get out of it? I can tell you what the newspapers said, surfing accident -riptide came in. Surfers swim at their own risk here. I told you both as soon as you came in the door. New surfers go to Duncan Surfers School first, three miles down the road.”
“He wasn’t a new surfer.”
“Even strong surfers get trapped in a wave. Especially in a riptide.”
“Alex,” she said,
Can you tell me the name of the waiter who served us lunch every day?”
The veins in Alex’s neck bulged. “Why him?”
“The day Clint died, I got very sick after lunch. That’s why I didn’t go with him. It felt like food poisoning.”
“Oh my God,” said Alex.
“I just want to have a talk with the waiter.”