HER FINAL WORD (JACK RYDER Book 6) Read online

  She retracted and hid her wrist.

  "She fell," Henry said.

  I turned and looked at him, wondering why he felt compelled to answer for her.

  "Yesterday," he continued. "On the stairs. I wanted to take her to the ER, but she wouldn't hear of it. Most of the Bahamians don't have insurance and can't afford to get treatment. I even told her I would pay for it, but she wouldn't have it. Proud people, the Bahamians."

  The woman gave me another shy look, then nodded politely and left. I kept looking after her as she disappeared, her head bowed.

  "So, you wanted to talk about Ella Maria?" Henry asked, and I turned to face him, then nodded.

  "Yes, Emily here is related to Sofia Rojas and her daughter Sydney," I said. As I mentioned Sydney's name, Henry blushed, then almost choked on his coffee. He coughed a few times, then forced a smile.

  "Oh, really?"

  "Yes, and to cut to the chase, we believe Sofia is innocent."

  Henry coughed again. "Oh, really? Why so?"

  I leaned forward and looked into the young boy's eyes. "Because the killer just struck again."

  33

  Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018

  "Is that so?"

  I was observing Henry as he put the coffee cup down. It wasn't even shaking in his hands. Yet I sensed something was off. He was just good at hiding it.

  "A young girl named Nancy Elkington visiting from a cruise ship was taken a few days ago, and she turned up last night in the water, killed."

  "And just how is that related to what happened to Ella Maria?" he asked.

  "Her tongue was cut out."

  Henry nodded. "I see."

  I leaned back in the chair I was sitting in and sipped from my coffee cup while watching the boy. He didn't seem shocked, but he didn't seem indifferent either. He was very hard to read.

  "And just how might I be able to help?" he asked, sounding very polite and genuine, yet detached.

  "I would like to know more about Ella Maria, and your relationship with the family," I asked.

  "I see. Well, it has never been good between our families, as you might know."

  "So I have heard, yes," I said.

  "Ella's parents didn't want us to see one another because of the feud. But we were young and in love and well…you know. Forbidding us to see one another just makes it that much more interesting, right?"

  "So, you saw each other anyway?" I asked.

  "Of course. Our parents travel a lot and well…they are quite busy with their own lives, and so…it wasn't exactly hard for us. Ella was wild and liked to do things her family didn't approve of."

  "For instance?"

  He shrugged. "Just stuff like going boating and scuba diving at night, drinking, and so on."

  "Why do you think that was? Why do you think she was so wild?" I asked. Henry kept staring at Emily, and I didn't like the look in his eyes. I regretted bringing her.

  He chortled. "Isn't it obvious? They kept her on a tight leash all her life, never let her do anything. You can't do that to a girl like Ella. Or to any girl. At some point, young girls want to fly."

  "And so, you helped her do that?" I said.

  He chuckled. "Ella didn't need any help. She managed fine by herself."

  I nodded. "I see."

  "And the feud between your families, what was that about?"

  Henry snorted. "It really isn't that interesting. It’s a typical feud in wealthy communities like these. We're the newly rich, and we're annoying them, the old rich, because we change things up and do it differently than what they're used to. They have boring stuck up lives. We like to have fun. And when we moved here, my dad bought up a lot of land and built a house bigger than any of theirs."

  "So, you say they're jealous?"

  "You said that; I didn't," he said and sipped his coffee again, smiling endearingly at Emily. "It's all very ridiculous if you ask me. But us kids can't really do anything about it except laugh at them."

  I wrote a couple of notes on my pad, then looked up at him again. "How did the Chaunceys react when they found the body of their daughter?"

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "You were the last one to see her alive. Did they, at any point, blame you for it?" I asked.

  Henry chuckled again and nodded. "They sure did. I wasn't even allowed to go to the funeral. Everyone believed it was me."

  "Everyone? But you were never arrested?"

  Henry thought for a second. "Well, no, but that doesn’t mean people don't think you did something. I think a lot of them still think I did it. The school won't even let me come back, and it's been seven months. They're afraid that me being there will cause too much trouble, they say. So, my dad hired private teachers for me. I don't mind; I didn't like the school anyway. But the hatred between our families is worse than ever. I’m sure the Chaunceys still blame me. If not for killing her directly then for luring her out at nighttime or not walking her home properly."

  I rubbed my chin while staring at the young boy, wondering if the police had simply just arrested Sofia to secure peace, to make the rich white people feel safe again, to make sure they didn't leave the island? They didn't dare touch the wealthy white Americans, did they? Of course not. Not even when everyone else thought he had done it. And so, they had thrown themselves at Sofia like wolves on prey. The question was, had she done anything besides find the body floating in the family's pool? Was that the sole reason she was imprisoned? If so, then I was her only hope, and there was no way I was going to simply look the other way.

  "So, did you do it?" I asked, not because I believed he would say yes, but to see his reaction and to at least have asked.

  He shook his head, not seeming surprised by my question.

  "No."

  "Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt her?" I asked.

  He shook his head a second time, but I saw something in his eyes that told me he wasn't being completely honest with me.

  I got up and reached out my hand. "Thank you for your time," I said as he took it. "I would like to talk to your father at some point; when will he be home?"

  An expression of hopelessness emerged on Henry's face.

  "I don't know," he said. "He never really tells me where he goes and when he’s coming home."

  I nodded and handed him my card. "Just tell him to give me a call when he gets back, okay?"

  Henry nodded, but I wasn't convinced he was actually going to do it.

  "Sure."

  34

  Bahamas, July 1983

  The girl had heard about the shed but never known exactly what it was. Not till Gabrielle was put inside of it did she know.

  It was a small metal garden shed in the part of the yard that no one used, which was covered by the tall palm trees and dense bushes. Gabrielle was placed in there and the door padlocked from the outside.

  The first day that Gabrielle spent in there, the girl didn't dare to go out there, fearing The White Lady would see her and maybe punish her. But as she woke up the next morning and Carla opened her door, she rushed out there before The White Lady woke up.

  At first, she didn't dare to go close and stood far away from the shed, staring at it. She could hear Gabrielle knocking on the metal door and it made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, even though it was so hot out that she could barely breathe.

  How was Gabrielle breathing in there if she could barely breathe out here? She wondered and took a few steps closer. Gabrielle was still knocking, calling for help, and the girl walked so close she could place a hand on the shed, but she had to pull it back fast because the metal was so hot it burned her hand.

  She sat in the grass while staring at the shed and listening to Gabrielle knocking and crying for help for about an hour before Carla came out to get the girl and pull her back inside. She took her into the kitchen, then knelt in front of her, brushing off the grass from her clothes.

  "You can't go out there," she said.

 
"Why can't we let her out?" the girl asked.

  "She's being punished for what she did," Carla said. "It's her own fault. Just be glad it's not you in there."

  "But it’s hot," the girl said. "The metal is burning hot."

  Carla shushed her, then told her to go peel the potatoes and forget everything about it. But she couldn't. It was all the girl could think about all day long as she went about her day, taking care of Dylan, listening in on his private lessons, and washing the sheets that Carla told her to. But she couldn't concentrate on any of her chores. All she could think about was Gabrielle and, as she did the laundry, she could still hear her screaming. The sounds of her terrifying cries were haunting her.

  Later in the evening when it had gone dark outside, she took the chance and ran into the yard, only to realize that the screaming and knocking had stopped. Heart throbbing in her throat, the girl sat in the grass and stared at the shed in front of her. She heard a noise that, at first, she thought was rats, but soon she realized came from inside the shed. It was a scraping sound, sounding just like when the rats went through the garbage in the big containers in the back. She would often hear them when taking out the trash and she hated it more than any sound in the world.

  As the scraping slowly died out too, she realized she now hated the sound of silence more than that. The girl stared at the shed, then put a hand to it again and scraped on it, wanting to let Gabrielle know she was out there. But there was no answer, no sound coming from inside of it. Crying desperately, the girl then knocked on the shed, hoping Gabrielle would knock back, but she remained silent.

  Eyes filled to the brim with tears, the girl then turned around and ran back inside the house, running as fast as she could without falling, praying she would be able to outrun Gabrielle's ghost that she was certain would come back to haunt her.

  And it did. For years to come, the scraping sound of Gabrielle's nails clawing on the metal door would keep her awake at night, causing her to scream her terror out.

  35

  Nassau, Bahamas, October 2018

  "What do you make of him?" I asked, looking at Emily. We had stopped to get some lunch on the way back from Lyford Cay and brought it back to the hotel. Emily had ordered a salad with chicken and was eating it, actually enjoying it, if I wasn't much mistaken. I didn't say anything but just watched her eat. Meanwhile, I had a jerked mahi-mahi sandwich that was out of this world.

  "He's definitely lying about something," she said.

  "Do you think he killed her?" I asked.

  Emily exhaled pensively. "That's a hard one. He's very slick. A real womanizer."

  I chuckled hearing her say that word since it was so old-fashioned. "I thought you young people said player," I said.

  She shrugged, not really caring that I was mocking her. She was so deeply into solving this case; I felt proud of her. It had been years since I had seen her care this much about anything, to be honest.

  "But is he a killer?" she asked, pointing at me with her fork.

  "That's the question, Miss Marple," I said.

  She wrinkled her nose. "Who?"

  "Never mind," I said, shaking my head with a grin.

  "But we do agree it's the same killer in both cases, right?" Emily asked.

  I nodded. "It has to be. At least I think so. The Royal Bahamian Police don’t, but I think we could prove them wrong. I mean cutting their tongues out sure sounds like a signature from a serial killer. I just wished I knew what else was similar in the two cases. I mean, they were both found in water as well, but what else?"

  "Can't we get to the autopsy report?" Emily asked.

  I shrugged. "I don't think the police here will be very cooperative, especially not since they see me as a main suspect."

  "They do what?" Emily asked.

  I shook my head. "It's nothing but a misunderstanding. I found the body, so they apparently think I might have placed it there too. I have a feeling it's a thing here. That the commissioner, that Maycock guy, he believes a lot in whoever finds the body must be a suspect. I mean he did it to Sofia and now me."

  Emily chuckled. "He probably read it in some book."

  "Or saw it on some American crime show, is more likely. I don't think he reads many books, to be honest."

  That made Emily laugh. I smiled when hearing her light laughter. It felt good to be with her like this again. This was the Emily I knew and loved. And us bonding like this over the case seemed to be the thing that brought her back out. It was like she completely forgot to be anorexic.

  "But isn't there some other way to get ahold of an autopsy report?" Emily asked. "Will they write about it in the papers?"

  "They'll only write whatever the commissioner tells them, and I have a feeling he might leave out everything that will make it look like this is the same killer since it will only create chaos and panic, and that's bad for tourism."

  "Not to mention the fact that he'll come out as looking pretty silly for having arrested Sofia for the first murder," Emily said and finished her salad. She put her silverware down on the plate, and I tried hard to hide my joy over the fact that she had finished it all. It wasn't much, but it was a small victory.

  "So, these autopsy reports," she said pensively. "Are they electronic?"

  "Sure," I said. "The copy they gave me was printed by his secretary from her old stationary computer. Why?"

  Emily nodded.

  "I might have an idea."

  36

  Nassau, Bahamas, October 2018

  I went to bed while Emily was still on her laptop. She wouldn't let me in on what she was up to, so I watched TV until I dozed off and finally decided to go to bed. A few hours later, I woke up as the light from her screen lit up the room. I rubbed my eyes and sat up.

  "Emily?"

  She didn't answer. She was staring at the screen, her fingers dancing across the keyboard, her eyes fixated on what was on the screen, looking like she was almost hypnotized by it.

  "What time is it?" I asked and looked at the clock underneath the TV. "It's three a.m.! Why are you still up, Em? Em?"

  She paid no attention to me but continued whatever she was doing. I got out of bed and walked to her.

  "Emily, baby. You really should get some sleep. It's not health…"

  She stopped me, holding a finger in the air. "I'm almost done."

  I sat down next to her on the bed. "What are you doing?"

  She turned her head to face me. "I just gained us access to Nancy Elkington’s police report."

  Emily turned the laptop so that I could see. My eyes grew wide in the darkness, and I was suddenly very much awake. My eyes stared at the screen and the report in front of me, then at Emily.

  "Em, I am…I am in…when did you learn how to do something like this?" I asked.

  She shrugged. "I’ve had a lot of time on my hands lately."

  "So, this is what you've been up to in that room of yours? Hacking? That's what you're doing now?"

  "Please, don't be mad," she said.

  "It's illegal, Emily. Have you been…hacking from your room, from our house at home?"

  "Just a little bit."

  "You can't break the law just a little bit, Em," I said with a deep exhale. "You either do it, or you don't."

  "But I am always careful," she said. "I know how to reroute the IP address, so no one can trace me. I am still a newbie, but I’m actually getting pretty good at it."

  "Well, of course you are," I replied. "You're good at anything you set your mind to. That doesn’t make it less illegal."

  "Please, don't be mad."

  I stared at her, my eyes softening slowly. "I can never be mad at you. At least not for very long. You know that."

  She smiled and pushed the computer closer to me so that we could both see the screen.

  "Besides, this might end up helping someone. It's not all bad," she said. "We'll just take a quick look, then get out."

  I chuckled and leaned closer. "Just one look, then."

 
"It looks like they're not done with the medical examiner's report yet," she said, "but there are some preliminary examinations in the file. You were right; the tongue had been cut out. They don't know the cause of death yet or the time."

  "There are photos," I said. "Can you open them, please?"

  "Sure," she said and clicked on one of them. It showed Nancy Elkington right after she had been dragged out of the water, where I had found her. The sight of Nancy Elkington’s naked bruised body made Emily wince, but her reaction wasn't as brutal as I had feared. She seemed to look at it with the eyes of someone looking for clues, as opposed to someone she could have known. Emily’s response had a very nice distance to it, a professionalism that surprised me in such a young girl.

  "Can you zoom in on the picture right there?" I said and pointed to a photo that was taken of the girl's back. I pointed at a mark on the lower part of her back. "Right there."

  "Sure," she said and zoomed in. "What is that? A tattoo?"

  I nodded. "Yes, but look at how swollen it is."

  "Is that because it's been in the water?" she asked.

  "Maybe," I said. "Or it could be because it is very fresh."

  "What does it say?" she asked and zoomed even closer. The picture became pixelated, but I could still read it just fine.

  "Can you take a screenshot of that for me please?"

  Emily gave me a look.

  "What do you think it means?"

  I shook my head and wrote the word down on my notepad. "I don't know…yet."

  Part III

  37

  Bahamas, October 2018

  The itch was back. The person didn't really understand how it could be back so fast. It should have stayed away for at least a couple of weeks or at least days. But there it was, and it wouldn't stop. The person knew there was no way out of it.

  There needed to be another one.

  The person had about an hour to kill, so there was time to check her out. The person knew exactly which girl should be next and where to find her. The person had kept an eye on her for quite some time and knew she would be perfect. The person had held back, kept her as a treat for one special day, waited for the perfect timing.