Cutler was a generous lover. Repressing the massive urge to make love to her, he waited; he kissed her, he touched her. Taking his time he caressed and fondled her gently until her back was arching as she climaxed. Eager to please, he brought her to another, more intense orgasm. It was Cathy who could not wait any longer, and she flipped him on his back and mounted him. She sat astride him; she had control of the pace of their lovemaking. She was in awe; she had felt Cutler reach his peak, but he just kept on going, and going.
All the men she had slept with previously—and there had been eight of them—had either turned over and gone to sleep or needed a good hour to recover. Cutler just carried on for the next forty-five incredible minutes.
Finally, they slept. For Cutler, it was the first solid six hours of sleep he had had in months. Cathy was on her left side, with Cutler sculpted into her curves, and both slept in a semi-foetal position.
It was a repeat experience the following morning; the difference was they ate a hearty breakfast Cathy prepared instead of sleeping after they had made love.
Finally, Cutler got around to the main reason he had come to see Cathy. Cutler wanted to know if she had heard of anyone who had got through the red tape and ignorance surrounding those who had disappeared at sea, and could she give him any pointers or assistance.
Cutler was an experienced investigator. He knew that if he were to find out what had happened to Elisa, he would need help; he would need someone who could navigate the problems and get him to see the right people—someone in the know.
Cathy had heard of an organization; in fact, she had had a full discussion with the founder last year on a flight back from Egypt. Cathy retrieved the black, leather-bound diary from under the cushion of her white cloth sofa and began to scan through it.
“Cheryl Ross lives in Everglade City down in Florida. Her husband went missing several years ago while leading a school trip on the Large Pink Boat,” Cathy explained.
“Large Pink Boat?” Cutler asked, confused.
“Out of Fort Lauderdale, Nassau registered. They gave it the name thinking it would attract the youngsters, and it does. Drinking age is twenty-one on land. Go five miles offshore heading to the Bahamas and it comes under the law of the registered authority, and that happens to allow drinking at eighteen years old. Parents organize trips for the kids when they pass major exams, pass their driving test, you name it. They have to be sixteen to travel without a parent and believe me, it is full of them,” Cathy continued.
“Cheryl’s husband, Don, went missing during a cruise on the ship, and no one could throw a light on his disappearance. To cut a long story short, Cheryl launched an investigation when no one would help her.”
“You mean no one investigated this, either from here or in the Bahamas?” Cutler asked incredulously.
“No, no one was willing to investigate it. She hired private detectives from New York. I met her on a trip back from Egypt. She had gone there to talk to a family who had been on the ship at the same time and had witnessed an altercation. She was convinced her husband had been murdered. Last I heard she had taken a file to the police in Fort Lauderdale on the case, but as it was in Bahamian waters, they said it was out of their jurisdiction. I think she’s still trying to get the Nassau police to investigate,” Cathy explained.
Cutler wrote down the name and address and jotted down notes; this was routine. It was not that his memory was poor, it was his training that had been instilled in him.
They were not Cutler’s strong points: commitment, and goodbyes. He assumed Cathy would take it as fact that he would come back and see her soon. Cathy fretted she may have slept with him too quickly. Maybe he had tasted the forbidden fruit and now would move on to the next orchid.
Cutler realized he could not settle down until he had kept his last promise to his father, to find out what had happened to Elisa. The night of love and passion had brought Cutler some semblance of clarity, for the first time in months.
***
Werner was locked up and not going anywhere for months. Richter was safely resettled in Scotland, and the money was safe in a Swiss bank in Geneva. Cutler could afford to let the Werner investigation simmer on the back burner for several months. Cutler wrote out his request for a six-month sabbatical to his senior in the agency. He was sure there would not be a problem; after all, his boss knew he was not 100 percent committed in his present state of mind.
Chapter Fourteen
Cheryl Ross was in her early thirties. She had outgrown the youthful lustre of life, and the loss of her husband had etched some sorrow lines around her eyes. She could be described as growing older gracefully, certainly in her appearance and dress code. She was petite, at five foot two, but looked taller in the high heels she wore at any time of the day. She wore Burberry with long, silk scarves and matching accessories.
Elisa had been missing five months by the time Cutler met with Cheryl. He had taken a flight down to Miami. After a quick transfer from the airport, he settled down for the night in the Thunderbird Hotel on South Beach.
Following an early morning swim, he picked up the Hertz rental car, a Chevrolet. The two-hour drive across Alligator Alley, until he reached the turning for Everglade City, was
