James Patterson (24 page)

In a special session of the San Dominican Assembly, Prime Minister Joseph Walthey was named president for life on the island. He made a long speech about nationalism, the economy, and tourism on San Dominica: he lied at length.

October 1, 1979; Turtle Bay, San Dominica

The first casino to open on San Dominica was in the Playboy Club—not five miles from the Plantation Inn.

The grand opening was marred by minor student demonstrations. Black boys and girls waved a psychedelic poster of Dassie Dred that was making the rounds at the University of the West Indies and other schools throughout Central and South America. They played loud reggae and soul music, and some cars and walls at the Playboy were spray-painted DRED! The students waved signs that read JOE IS THE BLACK HITLER.

March 3, 1980; Zurich, Switzerland

Nearly ten months after Damian’s death, on the afternoon of March 3, 1980; 4.5 million Swiss francs were deposited in the numbered account of Mrs. Susan Chaplin in the Schweizer Kreditverein in Zurich. The money represented nearly $2 million from the diary sale.

Curiously, three days after her withdrawal of $600,000 (American) in May of 1979 (a Damian-style safeguard—what if he had eluded Hill at the Tryall Club?), the woman had redeposited her money in a new account.

Filling out the necessary tax forms for the 1980 deposit, S. O. Rogin found himself thinking once again of Mrs. Chaplin in terms of the actress Faye Dunaway. So many actors and actresses, the red-faced munchkin thought. All the world a stage for these Americans.

May 9, 1981; Paris

Peter Macdonald had begun to wear the same Harris Tweed jacket every day, the same green crew-neck sweater. His brown hair fell down over his white shirt collars now, and he had a thick, bushy mustache.

Each morning from ten to eleven he sat in the same St.-Germain-des-Pres cafes—Flore, Deux Magots, occasionally Brasserie Lipp. He always drank cafe au lait, read the
International Herald-Tribune,
watched the pretty women like any other American in Paris. Occasionally he even read the obscene, arrogant diary.

Beside Peter at the cafe table, Meral Johnson sat and ate half a dozen biscuits with his tea. Antagonist of the Joseph Walthey regime and the Central Intelligence Agency, currently on permanent leave from the San Dominican police force, Johnson exerted a steadying influence on Peter here in France. He was his traveling partner and occasionally his Dutch uncle as well.

According to their latest plan, they would spend at least the next six months in Europe. In and around Paris … down on the Riviera in Nice… in Zurich around the Stampfenbachstrasse. Whatever it took.

Paris was nice in May, Peter thought as he sipped his coffee this particular morning. It wasn’t the sunny Caribbean, there was no Jane to share it with him, but Paris was quite acceptable, to his way of thinking.

At ten-thirty that morning, a hip little Frenchman carrying a thick leather valise approached. He sat with them at their cafe table.

“You are the men who look for Carrie Rose?” the Frenchman asked.