The Atlas Murders (51 page)

Chapter
Thirty-Nine

The reality of their situation
hit them and how to proceed was going to be of vital importance. Kerstin was
first to make a suggestion. “I think first thing in the morning we should see
if we can find the Captain’s Beach Hotel.”

 Henry stroked his chin, “yes,
you’re right.”

“Henry, I’ve a few things to
finish up on deck and then I’ll go ashore to the customs.”

 Slightly out of breath,
Kerstin was back on board after only ten minutes.

“Come on Henry, let’s go into
town and stretch our legs. After hours on the boat the walk will do us good.”

 “Ok, but do I need to wear
the hat and glasses now that it’s nearly dark?”

 “Yes, it’s best to wear them
all of the time we are ashore. Also, I’ve got to get used to what you now look
like!”

With Henry in full disguise
they headed ashore. It wasn’t long before they were wandering through winding
streets of boxy cement buildings. The traders were packing up their wares and
fruit and vegetable stalls were dismantling their canopies - another day’s work
done. The shops were closing, the café’s and bars and restaurants were open but
customers were scarce. It was only seven thirty, too early for the evening
tourist rush hour. As they explored the town, the sun was still casting long shadows
through side streets. They turned into a narrow street with old dilapidated
buildings which in their prime would have been quite elegant. Kerstin stopped
and grabbed his arm. “Henry look!” She was pointing to a building with paint
peeling off the walls and window shutters either missing or broken. But in
faded and discolored paint they could still see the name across the top of the
ground floor windows: ‘The Grenville Hotel.’

 They stood speechless.

“This is it,” she said, “you
know, in the photo of the woman and boy.”

 “Yes…this is just
unbelievable; they’re on this island, or at least they were.” He looked at what
was once a hotel but had long ceased to welcome guests. It was now home to a
number of families. There were children playing in the large entrance hall with
people coming and going to the apartments that were now their homes.

“I wonder if Juan is still on
the island?”

 Kerstin didn’t want to dash
his hopes but she had to make him see that finding his son wasn’t going to be
easy. “It’ll be a long shot you’ll find him even if he is still on the island.”

 “Maybe, but I have his full
name and there should be some record of Alicia’s death and burial place.”

 “Yes, he would have his
mother’s surname as she wasn’t married when he was born so that will be a help.
While we’re ashore tonight we should inquire about the Captain’s Beach Hotel.”

 Kerstin looked around at a
gang of teenagers standing outside an apartment building and tightened her grip
on her small money pouch she said, “Maybe they’re very law abiding here but I
wouldn’t be too sure. I wouldn’t like to spend too much time in these narrow
streets after dark.”

 “Right,” said Henry, putting
a protective arm around her, “let’s move and see if we can find a more affluent
part of town.”

 “I’ll take you back to
nearer the seafront where I noticed a lovely bar
on Bay Street.”

 A short walk found them at
Basil’s Bar and Restaurant below the luxurious Cobblestone Inn. Henry was
surprised to see such opulence after their short walk through the poorer area.
Kerstin stopped briefly to admire the outside stone façade, “I was here once
before but had forgotten what it actually looked like. It was converted from an
old warehouse. They’ve done a wonderful job of renovation and transformation to
make it like this.”

 “It’s certainly impressive
from here. Come on and we’ll try the food.”

 The bar was beautifully laid
out and the very cold beers refreshing. They then retired to the restaurant
where they were served fresh sea food and calorie loaded deserts. Despite the
swish surroundings, they were both tense, and the conversation was restricted
to their chance discovery of the hotel, the prospect of Henry finding his son
and what lay in store for them over the coming days. After spending another
hour in the bar trying numb the nervousness that had enveloped them both, they
decided they had done enough for one day and would shortly head back to the
yacht. While Henry was in the restroom, Kerstin spoke to the head barman. “Could
you please tell me how to get to the Captain’s Beach Hotel?”

“It is about two miles south
of here, down the coast road, have you got a car?”

 “No, we just arrived on a
yacht.”

 “You had better take a taxi.
I will call one for you.”

 “Not tonight thanks, we’ll
go there tomorrow.”

 Henry came back into the bar;
his unsteady walk was a sure sign that he’d had more than enough alcohol.

 Kerstin held his arm and
turned to the door. “I asked the barman about the Captain’s Beach Hotel and he
told me it’s a short taxi ride from here down the coast road. So we’ll head
there in the morning.”

 It was late when they
started out from the Amber Witch as both had slept a bit longer than normal.
With Henry in his full disguise, they hired a taxi just up from the pier where
they were moored. It was a short run down the coast to the very opulent hotel
situated on a hill overlooking the beach, with views to the islands of Mustique
and Bequia. The grounds were adorned with tropical flowering trees and shrubs, and
the lawns were immaculately manicured. The imposing entrance had carved hardwood
doors. Trying her best to act calm, Kerstin picked up a brochure of the hotel
from the lobby and they chose a table by the window in the coffee lounge away
from where the other guests were seated. They ordered coffee and a few minutes’
later the waitress came back with their drinks

 Kerstin sipped her coffee
and furtively glanced over to the lobby area. Henry was facing her and couldn’t
see the activity of customers and staff coming and going. She leafed through the
brochure and partly in jest Henry asked if she was thinking of booking a room.

 “Why not?” she replied,
somewhat indignantly,” it might be the best way to keep tabs on him without
causing suspicion.”

“I don’t like it, but you
could be right,” was Henry’s unconvincing response.

The second page of the
brochure listed the staff. The manager’s name caught her attention. “Look here
Henry,” she pointed to the manager’s name. “Could it possibly be?” Kerstin had
never heard his surname but the first name jumped out at her: ‘Juan Pereira,
manager.’

 Henry’s hands were trembling
as he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He held the glasses in his
hands and looked at the leaflet again. “That’s his name… Good grief Kerstin,
could this be true?”

 She reached across and held his
trembling hands. “This has to be true and he’s somewhere close so be prepared.
You might even recognize him when you see him, but you don’t want to reveal who
you are just yet.”

 “Yes I realize that, it’s
just so remarkable who he’s working for. This is this going to complicate
things even further.”

 “Come on Henry, we better go
for a walk, we have a lot to discuss.”

 They left the hotel and went
down to the white sandy beach, neither spoke until they reached the water’s
edge. Henry broke the silence. “First we will have to confirm he is who we
think he is, but presuming he is my son, what course of action can we take?”

 Kerstin blinked as she
looked at the sun reflecting off the dappled water. She thought for a minute
before turning to Henry. “It’s a real dilemma for sure, but if Juan could only
be reunited with you without compromising our business with Tukola, that would
be good,” however, she added cautiously, “it’s unlikely we can achieve this.”

“As always, I think you are
right, it will be nearly impossible.”

“I know you’re not going to
like it Henry, but I’m going to spend some time in the hotel on my own and do
some discreet investigating until we have a more complete picture of Juan and
also what role Tukola takes in the running of the hotel.”

 “No, I’m not at all keen on
that, but a lone woman would probably be more effective than   a man with a not
totally convincing disguise.

Back at the hotel they
ordered a taxi and headed straight back to the yacht. Kerstin packed a large overnight
bag ready for the following day. “I’m going to have to act like any tourist so
I better bring my bikini and sunshades.”

The next morning Henry was very
uneasy about her going alone, but he knew this was the only way to get
information on Tukola.

 “How are we I going to stay
in touch without raising suspicion,” Kerstin enquired. Then she answered her
own question, “I know, I’ll come in to meet you each day and report what I’ve
found out. I think that would be our safest route.”

 Henry had her bag ready to
take out. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll meet you at Basil’s Bar, say from noon on. If
anything untoward should happen while you’re at the hotel, which hopefully will
not, you should phone Basil’s. I’ll make sure the members of staff know that
the yacht is only a short distance away and I’ll ask them relay any messages to
me.”

 They walked onto the pier
and found a waiting taxi. “Right,” she gave his hand a squeeze, “see you
tomorrow.”

 Henry tried to wile away the
time reading a new Wilbur Smith book. He started but hadn’t got past the first
chapter. He couldn’t get Kerstin out of his mind, but then he calmed himself
and brought everything into perspective that she was in no immediate danger; as
far as Tukola was concerned she was just another tourist, and too old to be of
interest to him as potential prey.

Kerstin booked in for three
days and got a spacious room on the third floor with spectacular views out over
the Caribbean. She spent some time reading a magazine under a sunshade in the
rather enclosed garden of flower laden urns and blooms. A waiter came and polishing
his silver tray asked if she wanted any refreshment. She ordered the house
special, a ‘Moon Beam Cocktail’ she had seen some other guests order. He
brought her a hollowed out pineapple with a mixture of rum and lime juice,
chilled in crushed ice with a straw. Kerstin felt she never tasted anything so
refreshingly delicious in her life; she checked herself after the second one
and thought how she could become a fan of this.

Just as she finishing the
last drops, a well-dressed man appeared from the lounge door. As he got nearer
Kerstin could see from his remarkable likeness to Henry that this was Juan.

Noticing her somewhat
transfixed expression, Juan came to her table and bending over to speak to her
he asked, “Is everything to your satisfaction madam?”

“Yes, I would like to
compliment you on the wonderful room and the service was more than I expected,
also this garden is so enchanting as to be unreal.” As she finished speaking,
she silently admonished herself for her clumsy response which she put down to
the effects of the rum.

“The owner must take credit
for the landscaping and the layout of the gardens; it’s his pride and joy and
he often sits here sipping a cocktail enjoying his creation.”

“In case you didn’t notice my
badge, I am the manager, Juan Pereira. Pleased to meet you madam.”

“You can call me Kerstin. I’m
staying for a few days of rest and relaxation.

“Ok, Kerstin, may I sit here.
I’m always happy to talk to our guests. Their opinions of the hotel help us
improve our service.”

 “But of course.” The
resemblance was so striking; she could have been speaking to Henry when he was
in his forties. He had almost the same eyes but a soft gray not the intense
blue of his father and the same warm smile. The fair hair was parted the same
and generously covered the shapely head crowning a very handsome face.

“The gardens and hotel are a
credit to the owner, and of course you and all the staff. What is the owner’s
name,” she asked, and again admonished herself for taking things too fast.

 “Mr. Hadar Tukola. If you
are here when he comes round, I’ll introduce you to him, he’s a very affable
man.”

 “That would be nice,” she
said, trying not to gag.

 “You have quite a command of
the English language, but obviously you are not English.”

“No, I am Cuban, but haven’t
been back there since I was a child. I still have some relatives there but it
is a disturbed country and if I went back I might not get out again so easily.
You see my mother left illegally when I was very small. You remind me
especially your blonde hair of my late wife Lilja she was Finnish.”

“Did you say your late wife?”

 “Yes, I did and she was so
beautiful. She was lost three months ago while diving near a small rocky islet
called Milligan Cay. She and a work companion were both lost; their bodies were
never found.”

 “I am so sorry, please
accept my sincere condolences. I can see how much of a loss it’s been.”