Nelson gives a small laugh.
“You don’t think so?”
“I’ll tell you one more thing,” says Nelson.
“Go on,” says Steve.
“François Loubet.”
“You know him?” Steve asks.
“I got a message from him once,” says Nelson.
“And?” says Amy.
“And whoever he is,” says Nelson, “he’s not a French guy called François. That message was from an English guy, for sure.”
Steve, his arm around a drug dealer he has just shot, has an idea.
53
Eddie Flood gets ready to disembark from the Piper. St. Lucia looks beautiful, but then Hawaii had looked beautiful too, and look how that turned out. Eddie ended up having a drink with Barb in one of the airport bars, no hard feelings. She gave him some amphetamines to help him get over his jet lag, and to prepare him for the flight to St. Lucia.
Eddie yawns with real intent. In his head, Hawaii and St. Lucia were fairly near each other. A two-hour flight maybe? Hopefully even shorter.
He certainly hadn’t expected a thirteen-hour flight. Hawaii was a quick ferry ride from California, right? It’s America, after all. Looking at the map on his phone, he could sort of see it now, though.
Of course, the thirteen-hour plane journey had had its upsides and its downsides. Downside: he is arriving in St. Lucia nearly twenty hours after Amy Wheeler and Rosie D’Antonio. Upside, he has had plenty of time to work. He’s been looking into bribes, police corruption, that sort of thing. The sort of money it takes to get the police to work for you.
He closes his laptop and packs it away. Private jets are pretty good for concentration.
Eddie recognizes, though, that the downside of the unnecessary journey was worse. If he doesn’t kill Amy Wheeler this time, then, old friend or not, Rob Kenna might decide he is surplus to requirements. And that would be bad timing, given Eddie’s plans.
The door of the plane folds down in front of him, transforming itself into steps. At the bottom of the steps a taxi awaits. Eddie needs to pick up the gun, then find Amy Wheeler. Again, if she’s still traveling with Rosie D’Antonio, that shouldn’t be a problem. Eddie very much hopes that she is.
As he reaches the bottom of the steps, the driver offers his hand. Eddie shakes it.
“Eddie,” says Eddie.
“Ferdy,” says Ferdy. “Welcome to St. Lucia.”
Eddie’s phone buzzes. Rob Kenna is the only one who knows the number.
Found her. Emerald Bay Resort. If you lose her, I’ll bet any money she’ll head to Dublin next.
Dublin? Quite the tour Amy Wheeler is taking.
“Where can I take you?” Ferdy asks.
“Emerald Bay Resort,” says Eddie. “You know it?”
“Sure,” says Ferdy, laughing. “Been there once or twice!”
“Great,” says Eddie. “You take a lot of people there?”
“Lot of people,” confirms Ferdy. “Lot of people. Stallone once.”
Eddie nods. “Rosie D’Antonio?”
“Rosie D’Antonio?” Eddie sees that Ferdy is now studying him in the rearview mirror.
“The writer,” says Eddie. “My favorite. I read somewhere that she comes here.”
“Sure,” says Ferdy. “She was staying there, but I drove her back here an hour ago. She’s flying to Fiji.”
“Fiji?” says Eddie.
“It’s an island,” says Ferdy. “She’s researching a book.”
So Rob says that Rosie is at Emerald Bay, and suddenly a random driver says she has gone to Fiji. Why does Eddie feel like he’s been given the runaround again?
“You know what,” says Eddie, “is there a bar at the terminal? I need a bit of thinking time.”
“Sure, boss,” says Ferdy. “Whatever you need.”
Having just sat through a thirteen-hour journey, Eddie is not in the mood to mess around. He opens up the FlightStats app on his phone and checks the three most recent private jet departures from the airport. Fiji is nowhere to be seen.
So why is this man who recently drove Rosie D’Antonio, and presumably Amy Wheeler, lying to him?
