Second Honeymoon Part 8

The question now was, Did it have brakes?

The car wasn't slowing down. If anything, it was getting faster as it got closer.

Finally, pulling a move straight out of the Starsky and Hutch school of driving, the car skidded to a stop right in front of us, the back wheels drifting across the hot asphalt of the tarmac.

On the side of the car it read ROYAL TURKS & CAICOS ISLANDS POLICE.

I glanced over at Kevin, who looked as if he were about to soil his linen shorts. "Mr. Breslow didn't arrange for an escort by any chance, did he?" I asked.

Kevin shook his head no.

And I just shook my head, period.

So much for incognito. Apparently, I was going to meet with the police a little sooner than I expected.

Did I mention how hot it was down here?

Welcome to Turks and Caicos, O'Hara.

Chapter 12

POLICE COMMISSIONER JOSEPH Eldridge, whose jurisdiction was every square inch of all forty islands and cays that made up Turks and Caicos, lit a cigarillo behind his spotless desk, blew out some smoke, and stared at me as if he knew something I didn't.

Undoubtedly, he did. Namely, why I'd been "escorted" from the airport straight to his office.

In addition to him, there were two other men in the room: the chairman of the tourism board and the deputy police commissioner.

I didn't get their names, but it didn't matter. They were sitting off to the side and showed no intention of talking. This conversation was strictly between Eldridge and me.

"I didn't know what to expect from Mr. Breslow," began Eldridge. "Only that it was going to be something. Or, I should say, someone."

Clearly, Breslow's wealth and reputation preceded him. I smiled. "Well, it's always good to be someone, right?"

Eldridge leaned back in his chair, letting go with a deep laugh. He looked a little like an older Denzel Washington and sounded a lot like James Earl Jones. All in all, he seemed to be a pleasant enough guy.

Still, there was a fine line between my being welcome or unwelcome on Turks and Caicos, and I was obviously straddling it like a Flying Wallenda in boat shoes.

"So what are your intentions while you're here?" he asked.

If Eldridge was savvy enough to antic.i.p.ate Breslow hiring a private investigator, and thorough enough to check the manifest of every arriving private plane until he found one owned by Breslow, I wasn't about to get cute with him. My personal circ.u.mstances aside, I was an FBI agent "on leave" from the Bureau trying to help a man who had suffered an incredible loss.

That's what I told him, adding: "I'm simply here to make sure no stone is left unturned in the investigation. No harm in that, right?"

Eldridge nodded. "Are you carrying a firearm?" he asked.

"No."

"Does the FBI know you're here?"

"Yes."

"Are you working alone?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Your willingness to share information with me," I said. "For starters, what has your investigation uncovered so far? Any suspects? Results of the autopsy?"

Eldridge tapped his cigarillo into a large conch sh.e.l.l on his desk that was doubling as an ashtray. He had a decision to make.

On the one hand, I could be a help to him and his investigation. It's not likely he had anyone with my background and experience working under him. On the other hand, we'd only just met. I could be cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs for all he really knew. Oh, and did my boss happen to mention I was seeing a shrink, Commissioner?

Eldridge held my stare for a moment before glancing over at the two men sitting against the wall. It was the first time he'd even acknowledged their presence.

Maybe it was the look he gave them, or maybe it was the plan all along, but the two men suddenly stood up and exited the room as if they were double-parked outside.

I now had Eldridge all to myself.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Chapter 13

I WATCHED AS Eldridge took another puff of his cigarillo, the smoke leaving his lips in a perfect thin line.

"Agent O'Hara, when you arrived here, what did you see outside my office?" he asked.

"A horde of reporters from all over the world," I answered. "Even the Middle East."

"And how did they look?"

"Hungry," I said. "Like a pack of wolves that hadn't been fed enough for the past forty-eight hours. I've seen that look before."

He smiled. "Yes, exactly. So please don't take this personally when I tell you I can't divulge any details of the investigation. If for no other reason than I'd like to think I've learned from other people's mistakes."

Right away, I understood what he was talking about: Aruba.