‘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.’
Ben had to smile.
‘Nick joked about it for months afterwards,’ Tamara said. She stubbed her cigarette out angrily. ‘Damn, how could I have forgotten?’
‘Julius T. Brigman,’ Ben said thoughtfully.
‘There’s someone with the dough to make anything happen,’ Tamara said. ‘Anything he wants. He’s a billionaire, Ben. Number one big shot on the island. And he’s a ruthless sonofabitch who’d stop at nothing to make a buck.’
‘I imagine everyone would know where such a big shot lives?’ Ben said.
‘Cobalt Coast. Up on the North Side. I haven’t been there myself but I knew a woman who worked as one of Brigman’s gardeners for a while. Said the place was a real palace.’