– but that’s chicken feed, and dangerous, too. Easy to detect.’
‘You’re right. Your boat is probably on the sea bed by now, with all its equipment intact. These people are not going to risk selling a few items for a few dollars. Mr Mangan, I think we’re dealing with coke smugglers, and I don’t mean Coca-Cola – I mean cocaine. It comes through here from South America and goes to the States. Some heroin, too, but not much because we’re not on that route. Some marijuana, also, but again not much because it’s too bulky.’
He nodded and gestured towards the large map of the Bahamas on the wall. ‘Look at that – 100,000 square miles of which only five per cent is land. If the land were conveniently in one place our task would be easier, but there are thousands of cays. An area the size of the British Isles with a population of 220,000. That’s what we have to police.’
He walked over to the map. ‘Take only one small group.’ His arm slashed in an arc. ‘The Ragged Island Range and the Jumentos Cays – 120 miles long with a total population of 200, mostly concentrated in Duncan Town in the south. Anyone could bring a boat in there with a nine nines certainty of not being seen even in daylight. They could land on Flamingo Cay, Water Cay, Stoney Cay – or any one of a hundred others, most of which don’t even have names. And that’s just one small chain of islands among many. We could turn our whole population into police officers and still not have enough men to cover.’
Debbie said, ‘How does piracy come into this?’
‘It’s not called piracy any more, although it is,’ said Perigord tiredly. ‘It’s become prevalent enough to have acquired its own name – yacht-jacking. They grab a boat and sail it out of the local area, fast. A quick paint spray job of the upperworks takes care of easy identification. They head for the cay where the cocaine is hidden and then run it to the States. Once the cocaine is ashore they usually sink the boat; sometimes they may use it for a second run, but not often. And you know how many we’ve caught?’ He held up a single finger.
‘And for that they murder the crew?’ I demanded.
‘Do you know what the profits are, Mr Mangan? But normally the boats are stolen from a marina and there are no deaths. That’s easy enough considering the informality of most boat owners and the laxity of the average marina.’
‘Lucayan Girl wasn’t stolen from a marina.’
Perigord said deliberately, ‘When a man like you sends his wife and small daughter to sea with a crewman he has never seen and whose name he doesn’t know he’s asking for trouble.’
He had not come right out and said it, but he was implying that I was a damn fool and I was inclined to agree with him. I said weakly, ‘But who could have known?’
Perigord sighed. ‘We hand out circulars, put posters in marinas – watch your boat – know your crew – use your keys – and no one apparently takes a damn bit of notice.’ He paused. ‘I wouldn’t say that the case of Lucayan Girl is the norm. Boats are lost at sea for other than criminal reasons; storm damage, fire, explosions, run down, and so on. But if they’re taken by piracy and then sunk who’s to know the difference? That’s our problem; we don’t know how many acts of piracy are occurring. All we know is that too many boats are being lost.’
Debbie said, ‘Are you implying that the crewman on Lucayan Girl might be alive?’
Perigord spread his hands. ‘Miss Cunningham, if this is a simple matter of sinking, which we can’t discount, then he’s probably dead. If it is piracy, which is more than likely because of what we found on Cat Island, then he is probably alive. And that’s why I want your silence. If he’s still here I don’t want him to know he’s being looked for.’ He pursed his lips in a dubious manner. ‘But without a name or description he’s going to be difficult to find.’
I said, ‘Commissioner, find the bastard. If it’s a matter of a reward to be offered I’ll put it up, no matter how much.’
‘I mentioned discretion,’ said Perigord softly. ‘Offering a public reward is hardly being discreet.’ He clasped his hands in front of him. ‘This is a professional matter, Mr Mangan; a matter for the police. I don’t want you butting in, and you did give me your word.’
‘He’s right, Tom,’ said Debbie.
‘I know.’ I stood up and said to Perigord, ‘I’m sorry if I blew my top.’
‘No apology is necessary. I understood.’
‘You’ll keep me informed of developments?’
‘Insofar as I can. You must understand that I may not be able to tell all I know, even to you. Discretion also applies to the police when in the public interest.’
He stood up and we shook hands, and with that I had to be satisfied. But, as Perigord had warned, it was not to my entire satisfaction.
And so there was a funeral after all, but before that, the inquest. I attended, but before the proceedings began Perigord had a word with me. ‘Regardless of the findings of this inquest we’re treating this as a murder case.’
I looked at him sharply. ‘New evidence?’
‘Not really. But your daughter didn’t die by drowning; there was no salt water in the lungs. Of course, in the event of an explosion on the boat she could have struck her head hard enough to kill her before entering the water. The head injuries are consistent with that.’ He paused. ‘It might help you to know that, in the opinion of the forensic pathologist, death was instantaneous.’
Debbie sat with me at the inquest – she was staying until after the funeral. The inquest was beautifully stage-managed; by Perigord, I suspect. The coroner had obviously been briefed and knew all the questions he was not supposed to ask, and he guided witnesses skilfully. As I gave my evidence it occurred to me that one of the factors in Perigord’s decision to tell me what he had was to prevent any awkward questions coming from me at the inquest.
The verdict was death by unknown causes.
The family was at the funeral, of course. Grace came from Florida, and Peggy and Bob from Abaco, bringing Karen with them. Karen had regained most of her spirits but the funeral subdued her a little. In Peggy’s opinion it was a good thing for Karen to attend. She was probably right. Also present were some of my Bahamian friends and a surprising number of Corporation employees.
It was sad to see the pathetically small coffin being lowered into the sandy earth. Karen cried, so I picked her up and held her close during the brief ceremony. A few last words were said and then it was all over and the crowd drifted away.
Debbie left for Houston the next day and I drove her to the airport. I picked her up at the Royal Palm and, on the way, she asked me to stop at the International Bazaar as there was something she wanted to pick up. I parked outside, and she said, ‘Don’t bother to come in; I won’t be long.’ So I sat in the car and waited, and she was back in five minutes.
At the airport we had coffee after we had got rid of her luggage and were waiting for her flight announcement. I said, ‘You can tell Billy I’m willing to talk business as soon as he’s ready.’
She
