69
It was only the third time in twenty years that Miles had been to the Bahamas. Despite the huge potential of resorts on the islands, particularly due to their proximity to the States, he had always avoided the area, even declining any invitations to nearby islands. It just wasn’t somewhere he wanted to be. If that was true in the normal run of things, it was doubly so right now, as he walked down the narrow steps of the corporate Gulfstream on to the hot tarmac at Nassau airport. He felt sick just being this close to Angel Cay.
A car met Miles and Michael and took them to the Ashford Nassau, where the penthouse suite had been lavishly prepared for the chief executive’s arrival. Miles took a shower and, wrapping himself in a white robe, walked out on to the roof terrace.
‘I hope you’re not going to make me go to the bloody police station,’ he grumbled, looking out over the city, a carpet of pale low-rise buildings fanning out to stripes of white sand and vivid green ocean. ‘Those places make you feel like a criminal as soon as you’ve stepped foot inside.’
Michael looked up from his laptop and shook his head. ‘I’ve arranged all that. A detective from Nassau’s Central Detective Unit is meeting you here at four.’
‘Detective? From Nassau?’ said Miles.‘I thought the George Town lot were dealing with this.’
‘Miles, don’t worry,’ said Michael soothingly. ‘It’s best we talk to the top men in the area and get this over with as soon as possible. We don’t want you repeating yourself to a bunch of local flatfoots.’
r /> Miles didn’t want to be talking to the police at all, especially not here where the afternoon sun was so oppressively hot. He retreated into the bedroom, drew down the blinds and stayed there fretfully until he heard Michael’s knock on the door. He’d had a couple of shots of bourbon an hour earlier to steady his nerves, but now realised that the police would smell the sour oaky liquor on his breath: not a good start. Running into the bathroom, he scrabbled around for his toothbrush, then gave up and swilled some toothpaste around his mouth until he was ready to answer the door.
‘Miles Ashford, this is Detective Inspector Carlton,’ said Michael.
Carlton was fiftyish, short greying hair contrasting with his cocoa skin. Miles showed him into the suite and they sat on facing sofas. Miles wished he had taken the meeting on the terrace where sunglasses could have hidden his eyes. Calm down, he said to himself, you have nothing to be afraid of. No evidence, a twenty-year gap, there’s nothing left to find. He smiled at the detective.
‘So how can I help?’ he asked.
‘I assume Mr Marshall has filled you in?’ asked Carlton.
Miles shrugged. ‘As much as he could. Neither of us knows a great deal, but we’d be grateful for anything you could tell us. As I’m sure you’re aware, I have a fifty-million-dollar business deal at stake here. Fairmont – the company buying Angel Cay – won’t exchange contracts until they get a satisfactory survey, and I’m sure you can appreciate that finding a dead body where they’d like an infinity pool to be hasn’t exactly gone down well with their board of directors.’
Carlton simply nodded. ‘So you know nothing about the body other than the details we have told Mr Marshall?’ he asked.
‘Of course not. My family have owned the island for nearly thirty years and we’ve had no reason to ever think that something like that was buried on the west coast beach. Can I ask how old you think the remains are?’
Carlton held out his hands. ‘Forensics isn’t an exact science, I’m afraid, particularly when the body is so decomposed. But the initial report from the lab dated the time of death between twenty and thirty years ago.’
Miles felt his heart jump. ‘Which suggests the previous owner of Angel Cay might know something about it?’ he offered helpfully.
Carlton flipped over a few pages in his notebook. ‘A gentleman named Ron Casey. Lives in Las Vegas now. It’s not making our lives easy, all you people being so far-flung.’
‘I can only apologise,’ said Miles with a sympathetic laugh.
For the next twenty minutes, Carlton continued questioning Miles. What could he remember about the guests they had had on the island? Did he ever remember anyone unconnected to the family docking on Angel Cay? Did his father only invite business associates or did he rent the island out to friends? Miles was able to honestly answer that he had little recollection. He had only visited the island as a young man on family holidays. How his father used it in between was a mystery to him.
‘And you can’t remember anyone ever going missing?’
Despite the air-conditioning, Miles knew that his hands were clammy. He felt dehydrated and dizzy, but he had to maintain a cool exterior. He’d been under worse pressure than this, many times.
‘Missing?’ he said.
‘A guest, a member of staff . . .’ suggested Carlton.
Miles shook his head. ‘No, although I’m sure we’ve had staff do a moonlight flit on us.’
‘Moonlight flit?’ said Carlton. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that term.’
‘My apologies. It means they left the island without notice. I do remember someone made off with my mother’s pearl earrings once.’ He smiled. ‘But missing, no, I don’t recall anything like that.’
Carlton nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Miles’.
‘I assume I’m allowed to go to Angel Cay?’ asked Miles. ‘I wasn’t expecting to make this trip, but now I’m here, it’d be nice to have one last look around the family home before the developers move in.’
‘We can’t ask you to stay in Nassau, Mr Ashford. Not yet,’ said Carlton, rising and shaking Miles’ hand. ‘But I trust you’ll be available to speak to us at any time?’