barrier reef, had been discovered, no one had ever heard of the Caymans, but word had spread among divers the world over. As a result, divers were always arriving and dive outfitters and excursions were one of the island’s leading tourist industries. Every other shop along the wharves sold to or outfitted snorkelers and divers.
Jessica, on her earlier visit to the island in the company of Alan Rychman, had become familiar with the busy retail enclave here called Coconut Port and she and Rychman had outfitted themselves out of Aquanauts. Everywhere in Cayman you heard the expression, “Sorry, mon, can’t help you tomorrow, ‘cause I’m doing The Wall.” She recalled her own sense of freedom forty and fifty feet below-over the legal limit for these waters-as friendly black-and-yellow angelfish, electric-orange fish and others of many colors swam past stalk after stalk of elkhorn coral and wave-spreading fan coral. There were dry alternatives to exploring The Wall, like booking a seat on the Atlantis submarine, which carried tour groups on dives to one hundred feet-eight hundred if you wanted the deluxe treatment, which she and Rychman had opted for, at about what it had cost the two of them to learn to dive over the years. But The Wall was wondrous, magnificent, worth it, and Cayman-especially for the underwater enthusiast- was truly one of the few places on earth where the hype was not overkill and the reality disappointing. Still, to the naked eye and raw spirit, reality here seemed unreal, a mirror held up to another time, place, dimension-a colorful dimension like that of a cartoon. It was spectacular and breathtaking, reminding her of Hawaii, and of Jim, which all seemed now an illusion as well.
Had Hawaii ever happened? she silently wondered.
Only the wind coming in from over the ocean had an answer. It might be a wind that had traveled here all the way from Hawaii, she thought as she walked the lovely gardens where Aliciana had planted literally thousands of flowers of all color and variety.
Yes, the wind affirmed to her… Hawaii had felt real, Jim’s touch and his love for her had certainly felt real, regardless of its near-magical qualities, its seeming like an illusion, just like this dreamworld place called Grand Cayman. It was quite as terribly real as it was beautiful. Nowadays, in fact, the orderly, tidy and superficially wealthy British colony was considered the Caribbean’s best place for an underwater getaway, and how much further from ugly reality could one get than to become a fish?
Ja’s home and grounds were beautiful and ugly, double-edged remnants of a time past, when the colonials ran things here and no native such as Ja stood a chance at capturing a brass ring like a good job, a career, a well fed family and. least likely of all, a mansion, Jessica thought. Her walk at an end, she returned to the house to find Aliciana, still somewhat sleepy, preparing a native breakfast with much attendant fruit for them all. It appeared obvious that Ja had clamored until she climbed from bed and went to work in the kitchen, to fulfill her duty as a well-kept wife, but she was a kind lady, gracious and easily giving; she extended a genuine and lustrous smile for Dr. Jessica as she, Ja, and the children had come to call her.
Soon the others were finding their way downstairs from their various rooms, enticed by Aliciana’s cooking, the sweet, luring odors enough to brighten even Santiva’s day. Still, Jessica was anxious to get down to the airport and out over the water in search of their prey, and to this end, she hustled the others through their breakfast, despite Ja’s insistence that one couldn’t hurry an island meal.
Sunlight buttered the island and the bays and the wharves. To get to the airport, Jessica and the others had to drive by George Town Port, where they saw a crowd milling about the boats moored in the heaviest tourist district. The floating docks were mobbed with reporters, photographers, tourists and what Ja told them were friends and family. “Friends and family of whom?” asked Jessica. “The racers, of course-the sailboat racers who stop here today. They are touring the entire Caribbean Sea and now they stop over here, later today, tonight, depending on the sea and the condition of their sails, of course.”
Jessica now realized what she was looking at, so she saw that not everyone on the docks and wharves were idle onlookers, that many were shore-crew personnel, people struggling to prepare for the arrival of the boats. Amid the crowd she saw the bustle of business. She saw hoses, vacuum cleaners, water jugs, crates of food, folded sails, lines piled high, saws, drills, marine sealant, flats of cardboard, all shining in the blood-orange glow of morning sun. It looked like the contestants had quite a welcoming committee on deck.
“ How many contestants are in this race of yours, Ja?” she asked.
“ Oh, it varies now. Some have given up. It may look calm out there in the Caribbean, but there are surprise storms, problems no one can plan against.”
“ An approximation then.”
“ Hmmmm, maybe one hundred twenty, maybe more.”
“ That many?”
“ They will be spread about from here to Cuba this morning.”
“ Damn, that’s going to make our guy hard to spot,” Santiva complained.
“ The Caribbean Classic is larger, but this one means big money, too.” said Okinleye with a wide grin. “And it brings in de money to de island, as they say.” His gesture was that of a penny-pinching banker or Scrooge as he said this.
“ Well, we’ve got our own little welcoming committee for the Night Crawler,” replied Jessica. “Let’s get airborne, gentlemen.”
Okinleye told the driver to “rush rush,” and soon they were at his cousin’s helicopter hangar, where a large sign read paradise flights. But there were immediate problems. His cousin Henri would not release his best helicopter-he had two machines-to “no udder man” without a signature on an insurance form and twice his double fee. Okinleye nearly took the man’s head off, and he settled for the usual fee and the signature, with Lansing taking up the better of the two birds.
After the haggling, Don Lansing took the helicopter up with Jessica beside him and Santiva in the rear. It was a large bird, with hatch doors on both front and rear seats, and Santiva’s view was almost as good as Jessica’s. They circled the island once on takeoff and then headed due north toward the incoming fleet of racing ships. Within an hour, they came into view of the racing ships, their tall masts and sails like miniature fingernails on the horizon at first, soon enlarging to half moons. The sun and shimmering emerald-blue waters here created a blinding effect of beauty and brilliance against which the sailing ships existed like cartoon cutouts. “Fly in low over those boats. Let’s be sure our guy hasn’t gotten smart and is camouflaging himself among them,” said Jessica over the headphones.
“ Why would he bother?” asked Santiva a bit sullenly, still feeling jarred by last night’s revelation that the killer might well still be in Florida. “He doesn’t know we’re here. If he has come to the Caymans, he’s got no reason to suspect we know that, right?”
“ We know he’s outfoxed any number of port authority agents, Eriq,” she countered. “We know he’s cunning. Maybe he’ll take the race for a way for him to slip into the Caymans unnoticed.”
“ And maybe he knew about the race all along?”
“ Maybe… either way, we best not take any chances. Go in lower, Don, please…”
Don did as Jessica instructed, and together they studied each boat for any sign of perversion-a ragged sail, a weathered-the-storm appearance, any sign of death, as if it would leave a pall over the ship. What they found on closer inspection was that there were many ships in the race with torn and stripped sails and a beaten-up look. It appeared they had all seen some rough weather since their last stopover.
The brilliant yellows, oranges, blues, greens and reds of the boat markings only added to the needle-in-the- haystack feeling of the search.
“ If he has chosen to hide among this flock, he couldn’t have selected a better one,” Jessica said, a sigh releasing some of her pent-up frustration.
“ There’re too damned many…” complained Eriq.
“ Look for a large ship, larger than sixty feet,” she suggested.
Lansing added, “A schooner class is sleek, smooth-lined, but I gotta tell you, most of those below are schooner class. You gotta be to be in a race like this. Santiva said through his teeth, “There’re too damned many. If he is among them, how can we know?”
“ He’s got to be farther out than this. If he’s trailing the race, he’ll be due north ahead, and he’ll be standing alone. Take us up and northward, Don,” Jessica suggested.
The ships below were beautiful, the sails flapping in the wind, their brilliant colors winking up at the sun and the passing shadow of the helicopter. The trio moved onward, northward out to sea and toward Cuba, looking intently at those straggling, losing boats at the end of the race line. But none called out to Jessica or to the others
