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CHAPTER NINE

Grand Cayman

A week later Avery Tolleson and Mitch left for the Cayman Islands to do some tax work for a client.

It was the first time in his life that Mitch had left the country.

They landed on Grand Cayman, a jewel of land surrounded by clear blue sea.

Hardly anyone lived on the other two islands, Little Cayman and Cayman Brac, Avery told him.

And on Grand Cayman there were only 18,000 people, but 12,000 businesses had their head offices there on paper, and there were 300 banks.

They settled into the firm’s apartments on Seven Mile Beach and Avery suggested they go to Rumheads, an open-air bar on the beach.

As night fell, Avery was drinking heavily and a pair of sisters joined them at their table. They were dressed only in bikinis.

Soon one of them was sitting on Avery’s knees and the other one was trying to persuade Mitch to dance with her.

He pushed her away roughly and went for a walk along the beach.

In the darkness, all alone on the beach, with only the stars in the sky and the lights of a few boats far away out on the water, another beautiful woman approached him.

She reminded him of Abby. They lay on the sand and talked. She quietly took off her bikini - not that there was much of it -

and asked Mitch to look after it while she went for a swim. When she came back, rising out of the water and brushing her long wet hair off her face and body,

they made love. ‘Who will ever know?’ Mitch thought. ‘I’m not doing anyone any harm.’

In the morning neither of them felt like doing business. In the taxi to the Royal Bank of Montreal, where they had an appointment,

Avery cheerfully explained that he was different from the rest of the partners in the firm, because he liked drinking and women.

After they had completed their business at the bank Avery went off to meet the woman he had spent the night with,

leaving Mitch to wander around the town. They had another appointment at three in the afternoon.

Mitch went to the library and found a newspaper for 27 June of that year. He sat down beside a window to read it.

He looked out of the window and saw a man getting out of a car and crossing the street towards the library.

He recognized the car: he had also seen it near the bank in the morning. Mitch got up from the table and pretended to be looking at a business magazine in another part of the room.

The man, who was small and dark, came into the library. In a few minutes he appeared in the room where Mitch was. He walked past Mitch, paused as if to check what he was reading, and left the room.

When Mitch returned to the window he was back in the car, smoking a cigarette.

Mitch read the newspaper story about the explosion on the boat which had killed two American lawyers and their diving guide.

He left the library and, without looking back, walked quickly along narrow, crowded streets, and in and out of shops, until he was sure no one could be following him.

Then he caught a taxi to Abanks Diving School. The newspaper had said that the guide who was killed was Philip Abanks, the son of Barry Abanks, who owned the diving school.

Abanks agreed to speak to Mitch. He was certain Philip had nothing to do with drugs.

The accident had surprised him because the boat was found a long way from where it was supposed to be, but Philip hadn’t used the radio to tell the school about their new position,

as an experienced boatman like himself would.

He also hadn’t radioed about any engine trouble.The boat’s engine exploded, but the three bodies were found unharmed, in full diving clothes;

they had just drowned, although all three were experienced divers.

A few days later, in Memphis, DeVasher studied the photographs on the desk in front of him.

They were of a very high quality. The long distance night-sight camera had worked well. And the girl was excellent. He would use her again.

‘Mitchell McDeere,’ he said to himself with a smile, ‘now you are ours. Now you’ll do anything for us.’