Chapter One

We tried to slip into our hotel room without beingnoticed. It had stark white stucco walls with a big roundwindow, cleverly placed window seats, a cylindricalshower stall, strange and varying angles between the walland ceiling components and most of all a breathtaking viewof the ocean. We found it charming.

We made it clear from the beginning that we didn’twelcome any intrusion from the maids and my companionperiodically went down to the common dining area byhimself and brought back all of our meals to the room. I knew from the outset that I was using him but decided inadvance to enjoy myself for a brief respite before doingwhat it was I came here to do.

The proprietor was kind enough to supply us withany number of books to read. They were packed away on aconvenient little bookshelf to our left, just as we entered the room. My companion had brought his own readingmaterial. We spent a considerable length of time readingand enjoying our books and magazines.

My companion and I hadn’t brought any luggageexcept for our gym bags and I made sure early on that hisfit fully into mine.

We played chess. We conversed about the weather, about our jobs—where we worked for a common employer—about the small and trivial things in life thattend to bind couples and make them feel connected. There was no television in the room and no telephone but no onecould call us there anyway because my companion had lefta false identity with the receptionist. I had stolen a credit card with plenty of credit line and told him it was on loanto me while my “lost or stolen” one was being replaced.He registered us in the name of the cardholder and his wife,and I was confident the owner would not catch on until after our rendezvous had ended.

It was not long until we slipped off one another’sclothing, one delicious piece of apparel at a time. I eagerlypulled down his pants and got him very much into themood. After that we couldn’t wait to get my clothes offand we had intercourse repeatedly with vehemence andpassion. I knew this was not to be a long-term relationship but there was something about human intimacy, the sex actitself, that I found enthralling. The feeling of his sweaty body against mine, mine against his, the shrill high pitchedroar of an orgasm, the promises, the entreaties, the ritual,the hopes, the dreams, even the deception was a wonderfulaphrodisiac.

We did it. And we did it again, staying in ourunderwear all the while, in case either of us got the desire for more. We made a pact that if either of us wanted to dosomething nasty the other would oblige without question.

Other than that we mostly ate—delicious, light,nutritious meals brought to us by my lover. We read books and continued our one and only chess game. Mycompanion was very clever when it came to chess and Icould see his checkmate coming. I had already been incheck three times and knew that an evasive maneuver was in order, so as not to lose the game. I stalled and refused to play until it was nearly time to checkout on the last day.

We decided to have one last encounter before we left the room to return to the real world and our workadayresponsibilities. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to finish the chess game,” I said. “But I’ll make time for one more roll in the hay.” It was only midmorning and he was under theimpression we were staying until late afternoon so I toldhim that I had just remembered a pressing responsibility Ihad to attend to. In fact I had one forthcoming and was sonervous about it that I had skipped eating breakfast.

He climbed onto the bed and waited for me while I went into the bathroom and took off my panties. I freshened my lipstick and eye shadow. I found that the ritual of painting my face steadied my nerves for our next encounter. When I approached him from behind he waitedfor me to do something nasty. Instead I put my arm aroundhis neck and choked him until he gasped for air and flailedin panic and surprise.

He writhed in a similar manner to when we had made love and I found it erotic. The business had to be done before I weakened and gave in to the feelings I haddeveloped for him. When I yanked and twisted his neck Icould hear it snap. I flipped him onto his back, slit histhroat and cut him from his chin to his navel with a steak knife I had lifted from the breakfast dishes on a tray that welater placed outside the door. I left the knife inserted at the end of the incision. The blood oozed and gushed until hisheart stopped beating. The sight of it was exhilarating. I had to be extremely careful not to get it all over me. What blood did come my way, I soon rinsed off in the circularshower.

I dipped my index finger into his blood, took thewarm crimson liquid and wrote across the pure white walls.I had to hurry. Yet I couldn’t resist the compulsion toexpress my feelings about what we had done together.

Then I cleaned and scrubbed with the suppliesobligingly left by the maids. I made sure there were no fingerprints, neither mine, nor his. No hair. I had been very careful of that. No clothing fragments. No residue from anything we had brought in except, of course, for mylover and his stains. I gathered all of our things, which didn’t amount to much and stuffed them into my gym bag.At no small exertion I lugged my victim to the window andleft him until I had a chance to make the bed. Mustn’t be untidy. The quilt was green, white and yellow and had twobright yellow and green Macaws on it.

I wiped a Bajan dollar coin clean with a tissue,dropped it onto the bed and watched it bounce. I knew the proprietor’s husband and all the hotel guests were out untilevening on a cove and castle nature walk, which was partof their regular schedule of events. The staff had Sundaymornings off after nine a.m. The only one left to contendwith was the proprietor and there were no check-ins expected that morning. My companion had inquired aboutthat on the way in when he asked for a late checkout. No lunch was served on Sundays. In short she wouldn’t miss us if we departed early and you could say that mycompanion had already departed.

I watched from the window ledge with the body justinches below, partially covered by a towel I had put over his face. He looked so forlorn otherwise. Like clockwork I could see the proprietor walk from the reception area to thekitchen to begin preparations for a lavish dinner they wouldbe serving tonight in advance of their star gazing show andastronomical discussion. Through struggle and sadness Ilifted the modestly heavy frame of my lover’s still supplebody and shoved him out the window. His corpseplummeted to the ground below. I tossed the key on thebed, made sure I had my gym bag in hand, looked to be sure the breakfast dishes had been removed for cleaningand locked the door behind me.

When I got to the ground I could see that his bloodhad splattered onto the wall on his descent but there wasnothing I could do about that. I hurriedly dragged thecorpse to the small circular hot tub adjacent to the pool. I grabbed a fallen palm frond and brushed the path from thewall to the spa of footprints. I was careful not to step inany blood.

I turned on the hot tub and set the thermostat as high as it would go. I removed the knife from the body,severed the testicles from my victim and pushed his bodyinto the spa. I tossed the knife into the pool. When I did so I could see the blood swirl into a cloud before it dispersedinto the water. The hot tub, on the other hand, looked morelike a Roman bath.

It was then that I noticed there were windsurfers just off the rocky shores near the pool. I had not counted on them but doubted any of them could see me clearly orguess what invigorating task I had been up to on this bright, sunny Sunday morning.

I kissed the tips of my fingers, transferred the kissto the top of my lover’s head and ran back to the car. I was in such a hurry that I didn’t pay particular attention towhether or not the proprietor might see me. Instead I held my upper arm over my face. I put the gym bag into thetrunk, jumped into the front seat and sped away.

On the way back to my abode I took the car, whichthe decedent had obligingly rented with the stolen creditcard, to a remote area of Welchman Hall Gully, pouredgasoline on it, as well as on the gym bag and its contents, and set it ablaze. The next morning I read in The DailyAdvocate that the body had been identified and that LiliKaleo was the last known person to have seen him aliveother than Mrs. Margaret Loveridge, the proprietor of thePeach n Quiet Resort.

* * *

Lili Kaleo arrived in Barbados several months before the murder. She stayed at a quaint little place calledthe Tower Hotel, which was a misnomer in that it was a wood frame low rise near Paradise Beach, consisting of twosmall buildings that looked more like converted housesthan part of a hotel complex. She didn’t bring muchluggage, only a small satchel, in that she had left home inhaste and been grieving to the point of not caring muchabout life’s incidental amenities, least of all her appearance.

When she first got there she spent most of her timealone in her room, quiet and reflective, feeling sorry forherself, wondering whether or not it made any sense to go on. She would have been happy to stay in her roomquilting, sewing and reading but the man who managed thefront desk and brought her her meals wouldn’t leave heralone.

“It’s no good to stay holed up in your room all thetime,” he said. “You’ve got to come out and get somesunshine, swim in the pool, meet the rest of the guests.”

At first she argued with him. “It’s my businesswhat I do with my time. You have no idea, no idea whatsoever what I’ve been through. You just don’tunderstand.”

Yet he was persistent. “It’s for your own good,Mum. You’re not eating enough to nourish a bananaquit.You must’ve lost ten kilos since you’ve been here.” He putthe service tray down on her table and said, “Come overhere and look in the mirror.”

She refused. But after he left the room and closed the door she did as he suggested. “Mon Dieu, Lili Kaleo,” she said to herself. “Two more weeks like this and there’ll be nothing left of you!”

* * *

That night with considerable reluctance, she joinedthe nightly gathering around the big round table on theporch of the auxiliary building. It was nothing more than abig wooden spool that used to hold electrical or telephonecable. It had been painted dark green and placed on its side to host cocktails, hors d’oeuvres and light dinner fair.

As she climbed the steps to the porch, Hans Jenkins,a man who introduced himself as a radio operator from theNetherlands working on a cargo ship out of Antigua said, “I’ve seen you skulkin’ ‘round here in the hallways,” as thesoft white suds from his ale spilled over the edge of hismug onto his heavily tattooed hand. He wiped his handwith his handkerchief and shook hers. The beer was pungent.

“I’m Lili . . . Lili Kaleo,” she said as she returned his handshake and sat down. “Some people call me‘Sugar.’”

Hans had a terrible burn mark on the side of his cheek, a large potbelly and enormous, perfectly sphericalblue eyes protruding from his heavily wrinkled skin, inmuch the same fashion as those of a crocodile. “What’s a gorgeous creature like you doin’ hidin’ in your room?”

She responded with a glare as brittle as the islandcoral. “I’m not hiding, Mr. Jenkins. I spend the days in myroom reading and sewing, writing letters, tending to myaffairs.”

“And, if you don’t mind me askin’, Miss Kaleo,why are you doing that when you could be bustling aboutwith the rest of the tourists?”

“Oh, but I’m not a tourist.” And, who said I didn’t mind you askin’?

“What brings you here, then, Missy?” the sailorasked. There are people who can ask impertinent andprying questions and get away with it and there are peoplewho can’t. Hans Jenkins was one who could. In spite ofhis brash nature there was an aura of kindness beneath his crusty exterior.

Lili paused. “Business,” she said in an almostimperceptible tone. “I have some personal business toattend to.”

Mr. Appleby—one-hundred-twenty kilos, at least,with flushed fair skin—chimed in. “Pardon him younglady.” He glowered at Hans. “I’m sure Miss Kaleo doesn’t want to share her business with everyone who comes along.If she has something to tell us, I’m sure she will. Don’t mind him, Miss Kaleo. We’re just glad you’ve chosen tojoin us. We were worried about you.”

Monique Appleby, a plump matronly woman fromMarseille, said, “Yes, I’ve seen you about. I tried to getyour attention the other day but you jumped back into yourroom as quick as a cricket. Do you remember?”

“Was that you? I apologize,” Lili answered. “I’ve been through a lot lately. I’m afraid I haven’t been myself.I haven’t felt up to doing much.”

Mr. Appleby nodded in empathy. “I know how that goes. This heat is stifling. It’s enough to sap anyone’sambition.” He fanned his face with a cardboard coaster.

“It’s gorgeous around here, though,” mused Monique as she gazed off into the sunset over the clearturquoise waters of the Caribbean.

“Monique. Monique, dear. You’re not supposed tolook directly into the sun. You might be blinded,” Mr. Appleby reminded her. He still had on a white hat with a black band which kept his bushy gray hair corralled justbelow the brim, next to his mutton chop sideburns. He took off his thick, dark sunglasses and handed them to hiswife.

Mr. Appleby continued, “Enough of this depressingtalk,” he said. “Where’s the minkee? Has anyone here seenSea Cat? And where’s his minkee?”

Sea Cat, the man who rousted Lili from her room,was also the waiter, housecleaning supervisor, maintenanceman and Casanova extraordinaire, whenever he found enough time off from work to walk down the SpringGarden Highway to the wharf to entertain the bored singlewomen overnighting from the cruise ships.

“What’s a minkee?” the radio operator asked.

“You know, a minkee,” Mr. Appleby said, as hewiped the sweat from his brow. “The kind that climbs trees.”

Just then Sea Cat appeared with a tray full oftropical drinks, including the specialty of the house, rumpunch with lots of grenadine, a cherry and a little umbrella stuck into a slice of orange peel.

“There it is right there,” Mr. Appleby said, much tohis own delight. “There’s the little minkee.”

Perched on Sea Cat’s shoulder was a baby greenmonkey with dark brown, almost black eyes and a long tailwith a crook in the end that formed a curl.

“Come here, mon petit minkee,” Mr. Appleby said.He reached into the center of the table and pulled a peanut,still in its shell, from a bowl and held it out in the palm ofhis hand, fingers bowed downward.

The monkey alighted from Sea Cat’s shoulder andin an instant, retrieved, shelled and ate the nut. Jack, the“minkee,” knew he was not allowed to fraternize with the guests unless invited, or beg for food in any case. But when treats were offered, he never risked waiting for a second invitation.

Sea Cat, who wore a white smock with vertical waist high pockets in which his hands often sought refuge,passed out drinks, shared pleasantries and flattered theladies, whenever he got a chance. For a lady charmer Sea Cat wasn’t what you’d call dashing. He was stocky with amild complexion problem but he had a winning smile and away about him that helped him slide in and out of easyconversation with anyone. Meanwhile Jack scurried up anddown the pillars which led to the roof and then leapt fromthe latticework around one pillar to another with the easeand grace of a trapeze artist. He may not have beenallowed to beg from the tourists but he was allowed toentertain them and snatch the rewards tossed his way with joyful abandon.

Mrs. Appleby, in a tiny, affectionate voice, said,“Here, little minkee, here’s some fruit for you my little ittybitty friend.” She collected the fruit from inside her drink and stuck it into the soft tissue of a peeled banana whichshe had removed and unwrapped from a napkin inside her purse. Jack instantly devoured this delightful cocktail while holding fast to the side of one of the pillars with hisfeet.

“Cute little minkee, eh?” Mr. Appleby said.

And so it went day after day, night after night, when the hotel guests gathered around the large, round woodentable. As guests came and went new occupants regularlyfilled its empty seats. According to Sea Cat, the “allarounder,” the strand of nightly conversation at the tablehad started “nearly twenty-five years ago” and remainedunbroken with only the bearers of the torch changingidentity. The lamp of continuity had never gone out, noteven during the earthquakes and threatened tidal wavesfrom Kick ‘Em Jenny, a volcano off the coast of nearbyGrenada.

* * *

Then one day, along with her breakfast, Sea Catbrought her a telegram from her lawyer, Izzy Kawamoto.Her brother’s house was going into foreclosure proceedingsand it became clear that if she didn’t resolve her problemssoon and resume making his mortgage payments for him, itwas likely that it wouldn’t be long before he and his familywould be out on the street. Mimo had been undernourished as a child and, while strong of body and industrious, lackedthe mental acuity of a normal adult. Consequently he had adifficult time securing and holding employment. His wife had her hands full with their children. Mimo was Lili’s only living sibling and she felt great affection and sympathy for him and his condition. She loved his wife, Ruth, and their children as though they were her own.

Lili decided there was no more time for mourning.It was a luxury she couldn’t afford. It was time to slip intotown—a move that didn’t go unnoticed by Sea Cat and her fellow guests. She didn’t cruise there in a Mini Moke, like the tourists. Instead she walked the hundred or so paces upthe little lane to the street, pointed her finger down at theasphalt and thereby called the bus to a halt.

Most of the people on the bus were of Africandescent. As a brown person, which is how she viewedherself, she stood out but not such that she felt noticedimmediately or the focus of attention. At one stop aScandinavian woman with fair skin, faint blue eyes andlong blond hair got on the bus and hardly anyone could quit staring. A little girl sitting behind the woman stroked herhair with her fingertips as the bus drove on a few feet to thenext corner, came to a sharp halt and everyone swayedback and forth as the driver jockeyed the bus into position. The road, which rimmed the southern tip of the island, wasnot much wider than an alley in south Chicago.

But the neighborhoods were kept up much better.The chattel houses along the bus route were various shadesof pastel. They were like little gingerbread houses, all neatly lined up, freshly painted and brimming with cleanliness. They were not much bigger than a concessionstand at a ballpark, and, like a concession stand, one wallwould flip down to form a ledge upon which business—the sale of fish, a warm meal served, imported fine linenembroidery, or perhaps even a bookie operation might beconducted. None of the houses were numbered. The fire department knew them only by their names, which reflected something about their occupants, their businessor—in many instances—the setting.

Lili’s business, however, was not along the busroute but in the center of town. Once the bus stopped, it letout its remaining passengers at Cheapside, across from theold Saint Mary’s Church. Uncertain of what to expect from the people around her she walked swiftly through theburgeoning morning shopping trade. Then she turned up one of the many narrow lanes which spurred away fromBroad Street in the downtown area. She walked up a sidestreet and into a white building that resembled a medievalfortress, complete with a tunnel entry and a sentry. A Bajan police officer, smartly dressed in a gray shirt, navytrousers with red stripes down his pant legs and circling therim of his hat, stood guard—as dignified and with as much pomp as if he were standing in front of BuckinghamPalace.

“Good morning, Mum,” he said to her as sheapproached.

“Aloha,” she said without thinking. “I mean goodmorning. Good morning to you, sir.” The crackling in hervoice belied her tension.

“Your business, Mum?”

“Well, I’m not sure what you’d call it. It has to do with a crime that I think—have reason to believe that is— was committed here a long time ago.”

“See the duty officer,” he said. “Up the stairs to theleft.”

The Central Police Station was tidier than it was mighty. The duty officer was busy gathering the details ofa car theft from the only Asian man Lili had seen sinceshe’d arrived in Barbados. She found this humorous since virtually all the cars that she’d seen had been made in Asia.

Behind her stood an old wooden sign, sitting on thefloor, which outlined the mission of the “Royal BarbadosPolice Force.” Lili read the block red letters: “Cap. 167: 1.To preserve and advance the principals of democracy . . . and so on down to number 10. To maintain the higheststandards of integrity.” The floor of the building waswooden and there wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere to be seen. All sorts of people, most of them black, werescurrying every which way and interrupted the dispatchofficer with their needs and requests. The Asian man pulled out a small red passport and handed it to the officeras he signed a statement summarizing his version of thetheft.

Lili took this opportunity to slip out into the courtyard because she had noticed that almost everyoneahead of her was being turned away or told to come backlater. She never thought she’d actually have to sneak into apolice battalion. Around the perimeter of the atrium intowhich the tunnel from the outside led, there were risers ofwooden stairs which she assumed led to offices on the higher floors. She selected one of them at random and boldly climbed the stairs.

At the top there was a room marked “InternationalDrivers’ Licenses.” Lili could see through the Venetianblinds that even at this early hour there was a long line ofpeople, most of them white, leading to two or threeclerks—all of them black, who were busy typing while the people stood in the queue, talked to one another or read the morning paper. Not there, she thought.

There was another room across the hall with goldblock letters on the door that said “Austin C. Williams,Inspector.” Why not? She thought, and twisted thepolished brass knob on the rickety door to enter. It stuck, as she opened it and when it finally broke free it made aloud noise.

“Who let you in here?” a deep, gruff voice frombehind a desk said. “No one gets in to see me without anappointment.”

Lili couldn’t see the person who was speaking toher. Her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness of thedimly lit room. “I let myself in. I need help.”

“We could all use a little help.” The brash voice reverberated. “But, you’ll have to make an appointmentand come back to see me . . . later, say in a week or two. How about you call me on Friday morning at around ten

a.m. and we’ll set something up?”

Gradually, as her eyes adjusted to the light, theman’s face developed like an image on film. His teeth became prominent and one of them had a gold border with the letter “L” on it. As his image became clearer she madeout the periodic blinking of his eyes. His uniform was adorned with silver buttons down the front and silver numbers on the collar. Now she could associate the voice—the strong, sturdy, reverberating voice—with the frame of an African Bajan man, the police inspector.

Finally she could see him well. He had coarselyhewed, high cheekbones, thick bushy black eyebrows,tightly furrowed, a large billowing chest and arms thatseemed to bulge at the sleeves in spite of the thickness ofhis jacket. He had a strong, sturdy, muscular appearance.

Except for the color of his skin—dark brown hisportrait reminded her of a Hawaiian warrior. The man stood up and it was a joy to her to be in the presence of a man who was taller than she was. She was embarrassed it had taken her so long to adjust to the light and see him clearly and had not immediately noticed how handsome he was. Instead she focused on the black hair on his hands,how it seemed to form little wisps of curl. The curls reminded her of her son Christian.

The man had on trousers with vertical stripes, justlike the sentry, only his pants were black in contrast to hiswhite coat and shiny silver buttons. She forced herself not to fixate on his appearance, not to drool over his appearance, because she was here on important business.Yet, the sweet smell of lime cologne tickled her nose anddrew her closer, as did his expression, which she foundinviting in spite of his gruffness. An air of self-assuredness resonated in his voice.

It was rich, deep and harmonic. The walls of the police station seemed to resonate along with it. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of this interruption to the start of aman’s day?” He bellowed.

“My name is Lili Kaleo.”

He paused, as though it was necessary for him totranslate her words into his dialect. “And where are youfrom, Miss Kaleo? You don’t sound like it’s from anywhere around here.”

“I’m from Hawaii.”

“Hawaii.” The man scratched his chin and took a step to the side of his desk, leaned against it and folded his arms. “Hawaii? I’ve heard of Hawaii, but I’ve neveractually met anyone from there.” He took a step forwardand held out his hand to shake hers. “Austin ClydeWilliams. Inspector Williams. Are you a Hawaiian?”

“About as much as anyone these days,” she answered. She trembled at the feel of his hand. His gripwas firm, yet not crushing.

“Just where is Hawaii?”

“Why it’s in the Pacific … the Pacific Ocean. It’s on the way to Australia.”

“Pacific? You don’t say. Well, this is the Caribbean, Miss Kaleo. Are you sure you’re in the rightprecinct?”

“I’ve been accused of a crime. Well, I was found innocent, but I’ve got to clear my name, find out wheremoney was laundered. I need to know how to trace it through your banks, but I’m confused and need help.”

The man grimaced, then laughed and shook hishead.

Lili, who had done her best to hold herself together,lost her composure and the next moment the African Bajanpolice inspector was holding her in his large, burly arms.“I need help,” she continued. “I’m here by myself. Myvisa’s running out. I’m almost broke and I need help.People are depending on me. Can you help me?”

She wasn’t one to break down but her losses and grieving had extracted a heavy toll. Tears spilled down herdistraught face.

The inspector held her back far enough to look intoher eyes. “So this is all about money laundering?” heasked, as he reached one hand into his desk drawer for some tissues without letting go of her with the other. “You must be thinking of St. Vincent or Antigua, Miss Kaleo.We don’t permit money laundering here in Barbados. Shirt laundering and pants laundering, maybe—but not moneylaundering.”

Lili laughed. The inspector’s unexpected humorbroke her somber mood. Then just as suddenly she realizedhe was touching her. She stepped back and retreated to theother side of his desk.

“Sit down,” he said, as he put the Kleenex back intohis drawer and closed it. He straightened his uniform,pressed the wrinkles with his large, basket like hands, wentbehind his desk and sat down. “I’m working at Government House today. Got to keep myself lookingsharp.” He motioned for her to sit, then folded his hands together and put them on the desk.

Lili sat down in the highly polished wooden armchair in front of his desk, pushed the hair out of hereyes and dabbed at her tears. “Please excuse me,” she said. “I’ve been through a lot lately.” There was also something about this man that had thrown her off balancebut she had no time to pause and define it.

He stared at her while she tried to get herselftogether. His large billowing chest drew in and out, as hebreathed in rhythm through his broad nostrils. As she calmed down she became aware of his breathing. The strength and predictability of it made her feel secure—a feeling she had felt in the presence of only a handful ofmen over her thirty-plus years on the planet. She cherished this feeling because it contrasted so sharply with her life’sexperiences.

After Lili had regained her composure, he said,“Look, you walk in here off the street. You don’t know me from Colonel Sanders. You accuse our banks of moneylaundering. You fall apart. You start crying. . . . You wrinkle my uniform. By the way, I just got it pressed . . .” He reached down and straightened it again.

“I know. I’m sorry. I won’t bother—” She got upand no sooner had she done so than he motioned for her to sit back down.

His phone rang and he took a call. “Yes, yes. I’ll be right there. I have someone with me now but I’ll be right there.”

He hung up the phone and turned to her. He spokein a lower voice than he had been using. “How do youknow I’m not on the take?”

Lili blushed.

He leaned forward as he spoke. “That’s right. Evenif we did allow money laundering here in Barbados, whichwe don’t, how do you know I’m not on the take?”

Suddenly Lili realized how foolish she had been.Why didn’t I think of that? He could be on the take. “I don’t—”

The inspector stretched his arms. “Look, if I were on the take or involved in money laundering, there wouldbe, as of this moment, no chance whatsoever that youwould ever find out the first bit of information about whatever it is you’re looking for. You couldn’t have done a better job of making an announcement if you’d shot acannon ball over the swing bridge and into the middle ofThe Constitution River.”

Lili shuddered at his commanding voice. She stood up to leave and responded in a resolute, somber tone,“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come here. Can you tellme where I can find the Grand Barbadian Bank?”

“And what? You’re going to go marching in thereand tell them you want to know if any of them have beenlaundering money?”

The tears came back. Out popped the Kleenex.

She sat back down. “I feel like a fool. So much has happened to me lately I can’t think clearly. I don’t know where to start.”

The inspector stood up, placed his hands on the topof the desk, leaned on them, peered into her eyes and said, “Look, I’d like to help you. But, you have to understand.I’m the youngest police inspector this island has ever seen.My father, Clyde Williams, was a legendary traffic cop andmy brother has already made deputy superintendent—still on the sunny side of forty-five. But if I don’t take my young ass from behind this desk and get over to Government House and take care of my duties, I’m alsogoing to be the youngest police inspector ever to getsacked.”

Lili felt dejected. The conversation had begun toseem so promising.

“I’ll tell you what, Miss Kaleo. Where are youstaying?”

She looked at him quizzically.

“You can trust me,” he said. “I’m not on the take.”

She fought her bedraggled feeling and smiled. “I’m staying at The Tower Hotel. It’s over in St. Michael.”

“I know where The Tower is, Miss Kaleo. Tonightaround ten go down to the Paradise Hotel and get a tablenext to the dance floor. Perhaps we can talk more freelythere. You never know,” he said, as he gazed around the room. “The walls may have ears.”

On the way out of the station she looked around.On a clerk’s desk near the reception area was a policebrochure. It depicted a number of bills of various denominations on a clothesline, being showered by a garden hose and was entitled, “What is MoneyLaundering?” She picked it up and thumbed through it asshe left. It spoke only of problems in Barbados and saidnothing about St. Vincent or Antigua.

* * *

That night just before sunset, Lili, who had begunjoining her fellow guests a few nights before, left her seatempty at the big round table at The Tower. Instead, she took one at The Paradise, underneath a covered porchbetween the dance floor and the beach. Looking towardthe bandstand Lili could see the stars through the openwooden slats which formed the roof. What am I doinghere? Can I trust him? And what about that “no moneylaundering here” business? Yet a warm tropical breezecaressed her skin and left her with sensations of magic and serenity.

Ten o’clock came and went and no one even looked in her direction. In between sets she could hear the clear waves against the shore, lapping ever so gently,shimmering in the moonlight. They soothed her. She watched the men—honeymooners or crooners, she wasn’t sure which—clutching and pawing their companions,whenever the beat slowed from reggae to Calypso. Men,

who needs them? They’re so juvenile, so one dimensional,so predictable.

Shortly after the band announced its last set and about the time she was ready to get up from the table andwalk back up the dark, narrow lane to her hotel, the policeinspector came to her table and sat down. This can’t be the same man I met this morning. This man is dashing!

His physique, defined more closely by street clothes and moonlight, disclosed a trim, athletic appearance. He had approached from the beach in a sleek and agile fashion.He was casually dressed with his shirttail out and his collar open. Two gold chains contrasted with his dark, shinyskin—but he wore no medallion as was the popular fashion. She had not taken in the full effect of the man’s appearancewhen she was in his arms—only the support of his frameand the comfort of his gentle strength.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “I had some familybusiness to take care of.”

“Oh, do you have a family?” she asked.

The band had just started up again and the steeldrums were raging. He spoke over the din as if he hadn’theard her. “What can I do for you?” he said. “Tell me about your problem. I think we can talk here.”

“And not in the police station?”

“I sometimes wonder about the police station,” shethought she heard him mumble.

She told him about how she had been accused of accepting a bribe. How she had weathered the trial, how terrified she had been that she might be convicted and go toprison. And that they had never caught the person orpersons who gave her, or rather her former husband, thebribe that led to the trial and a Swiss bank account that led to Barbados and brought her here.

Lili said, “I’m here to find the source of the bribe money so I can clear my reputation and take care of somelegal problems back in Hawaii. The county is suing me for more than a million dollars in punitive damages for allegedly misusing public funds. They claim the bribemoney technically belonged to them.”

The inspector looked attentive and seemed to belistening intently, above the din of the music. He ordered rum punches for each of them without first asking her.

Lili didn’t object. “I spent some of it, unwittingly,from my checking account. Unless I can find out who arranged the payment and expose them, I’m facing financial ruin, and so are my relatives who depend on me.My attorney, Izzy Kawamoto, has had to answer disbarment charges for accepting what the state called‘bribe money’ from me for his retainer. But the voters are behind me. I know it! I was once the mayor of Kaua‘i, theoldest and most wonderful of the Hawaiian Islands, and I’d like to run for governor and think I could win but I’ve got to get this cleared up first.”

The inspector appeared to listen to all she had tosay, raised his glass to his lips and finished his drink. He shook the ice against his glass, took a piece out every nowand then and champed on it while appearing to listen all the while.

“Can you help me? Can you point me in the rightdirection?” She had to yell over the sound of the steeldrums.

“Perhaps I can,” he said, as he got up from his chair,reached out his hand and escorted her to the dance floor.

She had not expected this. She thought they wouldsit and discuss the ins and outs of public trust, banking andpolitics and she would be able to mine him for informationabout a place to begin her investigation. But the inspectorhad different ideas. She thought about resisting, in factstiffened and held back, but his hand provided a counterforce, like that of a stubborn and forceful tide. It reminded her of the tide she had fought as a child in aneffort to save her mother but this was a tide of a different sea. She felt as though she were entering a harbor, a harborfree from the torrents of the outside world. She flowed into it, hesitantly at first, but its lure became more pronouncedas the evening progressed. She enjoyed the feel of theinspector’s steady hand on her waist and the strength in hisarms as he rhythmically guided her through an array ofCaribbean dance steps.

She tried on several occasions to return to the subject of how to learn more about local banking practices, about whom to trust, about where would be a good place to start. Instead of responding to her questions, he promisedto call her soon for further discussions. She found herself drawn in by his charm, his impeccable manners and politeness. The accent of his lime cologne, mixed with thesmell of fresh salt air disarmed her. And for whatever reason, with no known basis in fact, she had the feeling hislure was wholesome and forthright. She wanted desperately to trust him. She decided to swim with the tide.

The moonlight cast shadows through the beamedtrellis that overhung the circular dance floor. The incessant beat of steel drums reverberated. The rhythm and authoritywith which he guided her dance step made her feel ethereal.He was mesmerizing, bold and forceful. She liked him and found an unspoken mystery about him. What deep, dark secrets does he hold? There were few words but a magnetism that drew her close to the ebb and tide of hisbeing. When the music stopped neither of them noticed as they kept dancing, marking time to their own privaterhythm.

There was no one at the big round table when shepassed back across the front porch of The Tower on theway back to her room. During the night she could notunderstand how she had spent so much time with this manand never once been able to revisit the subject for whichshe had traveled almost seven thousand miles. Instead she had been drawn into a tide pool of magic and intrigue thatshe did not fully understand—could not distill or define. It was delicious and she wanted desperately to pour it out andtaste it. Two distant oceans linked through a tiny isthmus.Feverish bodies clutched together in the silver glow of afull Bajan moon, first on the dance floor and then in her room.

In the morning when she reached out to touch him,he was gone.