Unofficial and Deniable. John Davis Gordon

the United States of America; the British hung on to their share of the islands until the Wind of Change swept Africa, whereupon she granted independence to all her colonies. But, unlike the newly independent African states, the Caribbean islanders spoke no African language, the only culture they knew was that of their colonial masters and they clung to that. Joshua Humphrey, Commissioner of Police, great grandson of slaves, was proud of his British heritage. He had something very important in common with Lieutenant-Commander Albert Smith of the US Coast Guard: both were proud to be black descendants of slaves, determined to show they could do their jobs as well as any white man, and both deeply resented South Africans because of their former politics. And now here sat a South African, a former senior officer in the South African army, with a story of his American wife’s mysterious disappearance.

      ‘Where exactly did this take place, Major?’ Smith asked, his pen poised.

      Harker took a note from his pocket with trembly fingers. He handed it across the desk. ‘Those are the coordinates I got from my satellite-navigator when I woke up and found Josephine missing.’

      Smith consulted a chart on the desk. He carefully marked in the coordinates with a parallel ruler.

      ‘But,’ he said, ‘that means she disappeared south east of Florida, in American waters.’

      ‘I thought they were international waters.’

      Smith smiled. ‘Come on, Major, you’re a military man who can read maps, you know enough law to know where’s “high seas” and where’s territorial waters.’ He paused for a response, then continued: ‘But no matter what you thought, why didn’t you sail back to Florida, back to Miami or Key West to report to the police? They were less than two hundred miles away, and the winds would have been in your favour. Why did you go a thousand miles or more, against the wind, into the Atlantic, all the way to the Virgin Islands to report?’

      Harker wiped a hand down his gaunt face. ‘I just didn’t think of it. I was distraught. Exhausted … We were heading for the Virgin Islands when this accident happened and I just carried on.’

      Smith sat back. ‘So seven days later you arrived here. What time was that?’

      ‘About eight o’clock in the morning.’

      ‘And this was your first stop in the Virgins?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Well,’ Smith said with satisfaction, ‘it was recorded by our Coast Guard station that you stopped in the American Virgins for several hours the night before last.’

      ‘Oh,’ Harker said, ‘that. But I only anchored, I didn’t go ashore.’

      ‘But you “stopped”,’ Humphrey insisted. ‘Why did you not go ashore, to the police, to report Josephine’s disappearance?’

      Harker closed his eyes. ‘Because,’ he said tensely, ‘I needed to sleep.’

      ‘So why didn’t you go ashore to report after you slept?’

      ‘Because it was still dark. I thought it better to wait until daylight when senior police officers would be at work, not juniors on night duty.’

      Humphrey smirked. Smith said: ‘Not because you thought the US Virgins police might be more efficient and therefore more dangerous to you? Seeing Josephine was American and she disappeared in American waters off an American boat.’

      Harker’s nerves were ragged. ‘No. And I’ve told you I thought she’d been lost in international waters.’

      Both officials smirked. ‘But you reached Tortola at about eight o’clock that morning,’ Smith said. ‘Yet you didn’t report to this police station at all – they came to your boat, the next day. Only then did you report anything.’ Smith looked at him. ‘How come, Major?’

      ‘Because I was exhausted after my ordeal – seven days at sea alone. I needed to sleep some more.’

      ‘But,’ Smith said, ‘Mr Humphrey says you had been drinking when he went out to your boat.’

      ‘When I woke up I had a few drinks. To pull myself together before reporting.’

      ‘But what did you do yesterday, when you arrived?’

      Harker closed his eyes. ‘I sent a fax to Josephine’s father from the American Express office, informing him of her death.’

      ‘Why didn’t you telephone?’

      ‘Because,’ Harker said tensely, ‘of the emotion. I wanted him to be informed before I telephoned and we all burst into tears.’

      ‘I see …’ Smith nodded. ‘Not because you didn’t want to answer awkward questions? And then you returned to your boat to rest?’

      Harker hesitated an instant. ‘Yes.’

      Smith smiled. ‘Not so, Major. You made another phone call. American Express gave us the number. Who to?’

      Harker closed his eyes again, sick in his guts. ‘I forgot. To Josephine’s insurance company.’

      Humphrey’s face creased in theatrical wonder: ‘But how can you forget? And why, Major? What was the hurry? Why was that more important than reporting her death to me, the police?’

      ‘I was in the American Express offices, I had the facilities available, I simply took the opportunity to do the responsible thing.’

      Humphrey snorted. ‘An’ what did you ask the insurance company?’

      ‘I simply reported Josephine’s death.’

      ‘You didn’t ask how to collect the insurance?’

      Harker hesitated. ‘No. I mean I simply asked what formalities were required of me generally.’

      ‘Formalities? For what?’

      Harker sighed.

      ‘Formalities to wind up her estate. Affidavits, death certificates, police reports and so on?’ Smith suggested.

      Harker hesitated, then sighed. ‘Yes.’

      ‘In other words,’ Humphrey said, ‘how to satisfy the insurance company that they had to pay up.’

      ‘And how much insurance did you have on Josephine, Major?’ Smith asked.

      ‘None,’ Harker said shakily. ‘She insured her own life. She paid the premiums.’

      ‘And who was the beneficiary?’

      ‘Her estate.’

      ‘And who was the beneficiary of her estate under her will?’

      Harker took a deep breath. ‘As far as I know, some of her relations, and her father. And me. Mostly me, but I don’t know the amounts.’

      ‘You don’t know?’

      ‘A will is a private matter, isn’t it?’ Harker rasped angrily.

      Silence. Then: ‘And you? Who is the beneficiary under your will?’

      ‘Josephine. She gets everything.’

      ‘Did she know?’

      Harker closed his eyes. ‘Yes. When we got married and decided to do this trip around the world we both made new wills in each other’s favour.’

      ‘And where is her will?’

      ‘With her attorney, in New York. As is mine.’

      ‘And did you advise her attorney of her death when you were at American Express?’

      Harker sighed. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Why didn’t you tell us earlier?’

      ‘I forgot that detail.’

      ‘Oh, you forgot. Like you forgot to mention that you advised her insurance