The Atlas Murders (43 page)

Henry put out his hand to
take back the jewel but the wrinkled old hand closed a fist on it.

“We can work out something if
you are prepared to be reasonable and forgetful. I will have to have this sent
to Switzerland and the stones remade into different types of pieces; rings,
necklaces, or maybe a tiara for a European Princess. It will be a long process
and the market will only absorb one piece at a time; it may take twenty years
before all the pieces are released onto the market. That should give you an
idea how potentially recognizable this jewelry could be.”

 Henry was surprised how a
piece of jewelry could be so recognizable.

 “Would you be prepared to
buy it? If you did I will walk out of here with a rare form of jewelry-based
amnesia!”

 “It would have to be severe
amnesia before I could commit myself to taking it into my possession. I will
offer you two thirds of the market value, and you must realize one band of
three stones is missing. Where did they go to?”

 Henry told him some of the
story and where the part went. He concluded that some Panamanian jeweler
probably had it made up into rings.

“I will give you half a
million U.S. Dollars and have the money transferred to a bank, preferably a
Cayman Island bank; they ask fewer questions.”

 Henry stood up and shook
hands.

“It’s a deal and here is my
bank account number. It’s your local branch.”

 The old man walked around
the desk and wrote down the bank number, he showed the bracelet to Henry one
more time and smiling, put it into his pocket.

“Will you trust me to
transfer the money? It will be in your account before noon tomorrow.”

 Nodding, Henry smiled and
thought, he’s so dishonest he’d steal from his own mother. But then again, I
don’t really have other options and it’s a small island and Geller wouldn’t
want to bring attention to himself by cheating me.

“It’s a pleasure doing
business with you Mr. Geller,” he lied.

 Henry had a bit of time
before going to meet Monty at noon. He bought a daily paper and sat under a sun
shade sipping coffee, the newspaper had no major happenings of note in this
millennium year. He folded the paper and lost himself watching the day-to-day
life of the beautifully laid-back island. There were the housewives in their colorful
dresses carrying baskets of fresh produce sauntering in and out of the shops
and stalls exchanging local gossip. The young girls moved with a grace and
style. In stark contrast were the invariably obese tourists as they waddled in
small groups, clicking their cameras at anything that moved; their wide brimmed
sunhats shading pink, sunburnt faces. Most came from the cruise ships that docked
daily and seemingly only cater for the newlywed and the nearly dead. He amused
himself as he imagined a ship full of dithering old people, and then his smug
grin suddenly left his face when he realized his own puppy days were long gone.

He tilted his panama and
straightened his sun shades, got up and headed to meet Monty.

Monty was standing outside
the police station talking to a middle-aged man dressed in casual denims and
blue t-shirt. He had a cloth cap pulled over a dark tanned face with a mane of
brown hair down his neck. Henry thought this was a real action man; long of leg
and as lean as a hungry dog. His arms were strong and rippled with muscle.

“Good day Henry, this is my
friend Scott Everard.”

 “Pleased to meet you Scott.
I’m sure Monty has told you why I wanted to meet you.”

 He spoke with a very proper,
upper-class accent, Oxford or Cambridge, thought Henry and a colonial fortune
to boot, I bet.

“Why yes old man, you’re in
the market for a yacht I believe. We have a bit to discuss before we go
looking, you do much sailing?”

 “Actually, it’s quite a
number of years since I did a bit of sailing and that was in the merchant
marine.”

 “Had any yacht experience?”

 “Well yes, I did sail from
Havana to Georgetown some years back on a twenty five footer.”

 Scott tipped up the peak of
his cap and blinked at Henry.

“That’s something, but let me
see, you’re still young enough to learn.”

The three men laughed.

 “Come with me Henry, we’re
off have some lunch and we can talk further. I’ll be seeing you later Monty,”
he said as he marched off with Henry in tow.

“There’s a nice little place
round the corner here, serves the best lobster in the Caribbean and believe me.
I’ve been to every island as near as damn it.”

 As they talked, they savored
the delicious lobster, followed by desert and coffee. Scott enquired about the
price he wanted to pay, the size of yacht, the type of sailing and maximum
length of time he would be spending at sea. All in all, Scott left nothing to
chance. As an experienced yachtsman he knew exactly what would suit his client.

With lunch over, they walked
the short distance to the harbor. Scott Everard pointed out a number of craft
that were for sale and the price the owners were expecting. He also dismissed the
ones he knew as unsuitable. They went on board three of the yachts and to Henry’s
inexperienced eyes they all looked the same. However, Scott Everard was able to
point out the deficiency and short comings of two of the vessels. They stood on
the harbor and looked out over the vista of beautiful boats gleaming under a
bright sun, with dazzling shimmers like tiny mirrors reflecting off the
turquoise water. Scott Everard stood contemplative and silent; he took off his
sun shades and wiped them with his handkerchief. He stretched out his hand with
the glasses glinting pointing to the boat yard.

“There Henry, there’s one
that I believe will fit the bill.”

 There were six boats high
and dry being painted and refitted. Henry noticed how much bigger they looked out
of the water. Scott Everard walked straight to a yacht that was once bright
blue but now had her paint work sanded and her bare timbers were light brown
and the caulking where it had been replaced was diamond white. He stood under
her shadow and inspected the condition of her planking. He had a small pocket
knife with a sharp pointed spike and he used this to poke the timber.

“She’s as solid as the day
she was built. She’s a reliable and sturdy craft.

At that moment a woman
appeared from behind the stern carrying a paint pot and brush. Her blonde hair
was tied up in a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore tattered denim shorts
and a paint spattered white blouse tied round her middle. Her skin was the color
of burnt honey and her sparkling blue eyes shone with the luminosity of a Norse
Goddess. She laid down the brush and paint.

“Good afternoon Kerstin,” exclaimed
the smiling
Everard, as he rubbed his hand over the yacht’s smooth hull.

“Good job you’ve done here,
Kerstin, did you have any help?”

The youthful forty year old
smiled, showing dazzling white even teeth; her full red lips perfectly framed
her sensuous mouth.

“My helper has got a berth on
an English yacht and she’s sailing for the Pacific tomorrow. Everything is done
here except for the painting. We should have her back in the water in a few
days.”

 Scott Everard turned to
Henry who was looking at the propeller and rudder.

“My friend Henry is
interested in buying a yacht to do a bit of sailing around the islands.”

He stretched out a hand. “Pleased
to meet you Kerstin, I’m Henry Carter.”

Her grip was firm and her eye
contact true and straight as she quickly sized up the man standing before her. Honest
and solid, were her initial thoughts.

“You can come and see the
inside, just follow me,” she said in an educated English middle-class accent.

 Henry climbed the ladder
behind her and whoa, he thought, what a sight, her ‘stern’s’ stretching the denim
material of her shorts to near bursting point!

The deck and hand rails were
gleaming after a new coat of varnish. Down below everything was spotless. With
the aroma of freshly applied varnish gently pervading his nostrils, the short
voyage with Roy and Maud seemed only like yesterday.

 Kerstin’s voice carried up
from the engine room. “It’s a twenty five horse power Volvo and it’s just had
an overhaul, so have the pumps. She carries eighty gallons of diesel and one
hundred and fifty gallons of fresh water.”

They went back on deck and
Kerstin listed off all the attributes of her beloved boat that had also been
her home for the past three years.

“She’s forty five feet long,
beam nine feet, draft six feet, she is built of Honduras mahogany planking with
oak frames, and teak on marine plywood. She’s a dream to sail and comfortable
even in moderately bad weather. She has a spare set of sails and of course, all
the charts for the Caribbean.”

Kerstin then showed off her
navigation equipment: radar, depth sounder, V.H.F radio, G.P.S. and normal
radio receiver.

Henry couldn’t help but be
impressed with the pristine condition of all the equipment, which included, lifesaving
equipment and firefighting gear. She also carried an EPIRB distress beacon.

Scott Everard was at the
chart table fingering the dividers and lost in thought, he glanced up at the
barometer and gave the bulkhead a little knock. “Weather is going to be good
for a time yet.” He turned sharply as if coming back to reality from a dream. “So
Henry, how about we first go and discuss the important part - the money?”

 When she came back to the
cabin, Henry smiled at Kerstin and thanked her for showing them around the
yacht.

“It was my pleasure and I
hope you’ll go ahead with the purchase, we need a kind owner and captain.”

 On leaving the boatyard, Henry
looked back to steal another quick glimpse of the compact, sleek marine
creation that was going to be his home and small world for some months to come.

 “What do you say Henry? Do
you think she suits your needs? Personally,
I would think so, she’s a fine craft and well
maintained.”

 They looked back down at the
blonde girl, busy with her paint brush and the gloss of a new blue livery
increasing with every stroke.

 “Yes, I like her very much, and
even with my limited knowledge of sailing and boats she still looks in perfect
condition and big enough for what I want.”

 Scott Everard took off at a
brisk step. “Good, my dear man. All we have to do now is to try and get her at
the best price possible. They’re looking for seventy-thousand U.S. dollars, so
I think we should offer sixty-five; you leave the horse trading to me. It’ll
come in below your budget, but you will have some more expense with insurance
and of course stores.”

 Henry wiped the perspiration
from his forehead. “When will you know about the sale?”

 “The people that own her
have gone back home to the England.  But I’ll call them when I get back to the
office and try to do the deal. Can you have a money draft to send to their bank?”

 “Yes, I have an account here
in the local bank and I can do the transfer as soon as you need.”

 “Scott Everard whistled a
happy little tune. Very efficient, that’s the way I like to do business. This
should run quickly and smoothly. You go and have a little siesta and I’ll have
word for you in a couple of hours. Here’s my office now and here’s my phone
number,” he said, handing Henry a business card. Call me in a couple of hours.”

 “Good luck with the deal,
I’ll see you later.”

Henry felt elated as he
tucked the card into his shirt pocket.

 After a shower and the
briefest of siestas, Henry made his way back to the police station. Monty
wasn’t around but the orderly who brought in the coffee on his last visit, was.
“I’m sorry my chief constable is not here but can I help you?”

 “Yes maybe you could.”

He took out the faded photo
that Martha had given him and handed it to her.

 ”Would it be possible with
your equipment to enlarge this photograph and perhaps make it clearer?”

 “Yes, follow me. I think I
can improve it,”

She went into a room with
three computers and scanners and printers.

 “Sit here Henry. I hope you
don’t mind me calling you that. You know your name is legendry around here even
after all those years. You are like Wyatt Earp and the O.K. Corral the way you
arrested that dangerous murderer. They say you drew your gun and stuck it
behind his ear and told him don’t move or I’ll blow your head off. Is that true?”

 “Yes, I suppose that’s how
it happened.”

 “Nothing like that ever
happens around here now,” she sighed.

 She looked at the screen and
clicked the inbox. Here’s a picture. I think it’s for you Henry, I’ll print off
some copies.”

 He looked at the latest
version of Tukola; he had aged quite a bit; older looking than he thought. He noticed
the scar over his eye was still noticeable and his dead, remorseless eyes now stared
out under white bushy eyebrows.