Steve nods. “As soon as I’ve got Wi-Fi.”
“Just a little way to Emerald Bay now,” says Ferdy from the front.
Amy sees Steve breathe a slight sigh of relief.
“Though I should warn you,” says Ferdy, “the last stretch is terrifying.”
Amy sees Steve’s knuckles whiten around his phone. God bless that man.
“Do you take everyone to Emerald Bay?” Rosie asks Ferdy. “You’re the official driver?”
“Most people,” says Ferdy. “Sure, most people. Some people take a helicopter because the drive is so dangerous. Or you can take the boat. Much safer. Zero deaths.”
“I don’t suppose you took this woman? Bella Sanchez?” Rosie asks, showing Ferdy a picture of Bella Sanchez. Ferdy takes the briefest of glances.
“I remember her,” says Ferdy.
“You drove her?” asks Amy from the back.
“No. But I remember her,” says Ferdy. “She got picked up by a private car. Never saw it before.”
“Did you see the driver?” Amy asks.
“Only when they crashed,” says Ferdy.
“They crashed?” says Rosie.
“Everybody crashes,” says Ferdy.
“Except you,” says Amy, squeezing Steve’s hand.
“Oh, I crash plenty,” says Ferdy. “Don’t you worry about that. That final kilometer is crazy: they won’t pave it, because they want the resort to be private. If it was easy to get to, everyone would drive down and use the beach. All the beaches here are public.”
“So you saw the driver?”
“Saw her,” says Ferdy. “Tried to drag the car out too. Went about two meters down the rocks, got stopped by a tree. I stopped to give them a hand.”
“Could you describe her?”
“White lady,” says Ferdy. “Long, red hair, baseball cap.”
Sounds a lot like the woman who picked up Andrew Fairbanks. So proof, at least, that the deaths are connected. Amy is glad of the certainty.
“Did you happen to see Miss Sanchez’s luggage at all?” asks Rosie.
“Sure,” says Ferdy. “Clambered down the rocks to get it for her. Three big cases.”
“You can’t carry three cases,” says Amy.
“I carried two,” says Ferdy. “The driver insisted on carrying the other one.”
“What sort of bag was that?” Rosie asks.
“Big leather holdall,” says Ferdy. “Brown. Expensive-looking.”
“Anything like this bag?” Amy asks. She shows Ferdy a photograph of the bag found with Andrew Fairbanks on the yacht. The bag containing the money.
“Identical,” says Ferdy. “Same bag.”
For the first time Steve dares to look up. “Same driver, same bag.”
Amy nods. That’s more like it. Forget Companies House. A real-life killer, and a real-life bag of money.
“I told you it was worth coming to St. Lucia,” says Rosie.
“You guys movie people?” Ferdy asks. “Sounds like you’re working on a script? We get a lot of movie people here. Stallone was here. He couldn’t believe I was more famous than him.”
“Just tourists,” says Steve.
“Private tourists,” says Amy. “So if anyone ever describes us to you, you never met us.”
“I never speak about anyone I drive,” says Ferdy. “You have total privacy.”
“Though you did just tell us about Stallone,” says Rosie.
“Yeah,” says Ferdy. “But, with respect to the three of you, that’s Stallone, isn’t it?”
“And if anyone tries to ask you about Bella Sanchez,” says Steve, “will you let me know? I’ll leave my number with you.”
