Angler looked in his mirror. The big Jeep had aggressively made the turn leaving him in no doubt the driver was chasing him. He couldn’t believe his luck; he’d stolen a car that a friend must have recognized and was now playing hero. But the driver looked… blond? Was he being pursued by a pissed-off girlfriend?
With his cell phone clutched in his left hand, he worked the wheel with his right as he flew down the narrow streets. A mixture of older and newer homes lined the first road before he made a sharp left by a small park and basketball court. Two dogs barked loudly as they joined the chase, and he heard the driver of the Jeep honking their horn to scare off the mutts. Following the route he’d planned out, Angler turned right between large homes, then another left where it was back to older dwellings with cars in the front yards in various states of disrepair.
Despite the lack of power in the worn-out Toyota, Angler was managing to stay a hundred yards ahead of the Jeep. For now. The relentless ninety-degree turns helped as the lifted Jeep looked in peril of rolling over each time, but if he came across a long, straight stretch, he knew he’d be overrun. On top of that, he couldn’t go to the airport with a crazy woman on his tail.
Angler glanced at the map and saw the road he was now on, Anthony Drive, curved and twisted for a while before reaching a junction where he’d be turning right. At a roundabout, no doubt, as the island seemed to use too many of the damn things in place of traffic signals. Between driving on the left, and figuring out where he was supposed to be and which way to go around the roundabout, he knew he’d screw something up.
Anthony Drive made a hard left with a church on the outside of the street, and a small road going left shortly after the turn. Angler swung the little Toyota down the side road and watched his mirror as he accelerated away.
* * *
“Where the heck did he go?” AJ shouted as Nora braked for the roundabout.
“Here,” Nora said, taking the opportunity to unclip her handheld radio from her belt and give it to AJ. “Call in the registration number.”
“Oh, blimey,” AJ groaned, taking the radio. “What do I say?”
Nora made a lap around the tiny roundabout which was little more than a circle of slightly raised paving stones. “Open the mic and hold it over here.”
AJ did as instructed.
“Central, this is PC277. In pursuit of suspect from the seaplane. He’s driving a silver Toyota…” Nora looked at AJ and shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know!” AJ whispered back.
“Yaris,” Deek shouted from the back. “It’s a Toyota Yaris.”
“Yaris, Central,” Nora repeated. “It’s a shitty-looking silver Toyota Yaris. Over.”
“Language, PC277,” the voice came back sternly.
“Sorry Central. Please put out a BOLO on the silver Yaris. Last seen near Anthony and Smith. Over.”
“Copy. Over.”
Nora took Smith Road east toward the airport slowing her pace and looking around the businesses and office building parking lots.
“I had one in college,” Deek said absentmindedly.
AJ turned and grinned at him. “I can see that.”
“So, what’s goin’ on?” Jazzy asked in her thick island accent, looking at Deek as the others were in the front. “Who da man we chasin’?”
“Did you hear about the seaplane that crashed earlier today?” Deek asked, watching for the Toyota as they kept moving.
“Yeah!” Jazzy replied excitedly. “Everybody talkin’ ’bout it. Dey say da pilot missin’. Dat him?”
Deek nodded. “Nora thinks so, and he tried to outrun us, so it appears she’s right.”
“Tried, nuttin’, mister. Look like he outrun us just fine,” Jazzy said with a smirk. “In a Toyota Yaris,” she added and shook the back of Nora’s seat.
“Ikke vær så oppstinasa,” Nora said sternly without turning around. “Help look, or I’ll kick you out and you can hitchhike home from here.”
Deek was taken aback until he saw the big grin on both Jazzy and AJ’s faces as they shared a glance. Jazzy giggled as Nora slowed and found a break in traffic to turn around and head back the way they’d come. The local girl then joined the others in scanning the traffic for the silver Toyota.
AJ had been right, Deek figured; Nora played the Ice Queen with everybody, including the ones she clearly loved.
* * *
Angler slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and walked away from the piece of crap he wished he’d never stolen. Nestled amongst a bunch of other cars in the strip mall, he hoped he’d be in the wind before anyone discovered the Yaris. But now he was back to needing wheels again.
He noticed many of the businesses were medical clinics and supply firms, and when he walked to Smith Road, he saw a sign to the hospital. Staying in the shadow of a building on the corner, he carefully looked both ways down the road. Not seeing any police vehicles, he was about to head left down the sidewalk when he spotted the old faded blue Jeep approaching the little roundabout. The driver was not only blond, but as she turned left, heading in the direction they’d chased him from, he could now see she was wearing a police uniform. Who the others in the vehicle were, he had no idea.
Once the Jeep had disappeared from view, he moved quickly along the sidewalk toward the hospital. Angler couldn’t believe that on a job of this scale, he was reduced to jacking cars like a street thug. He also knew each petty crime carried as much or more risk of being busted as the big jobs. Although the penalty for stealing a car couldn’t compare to what lay ahead if he was caught in Fort Myers.
In the back of the hospital parking lot, at the end of a row of vehicles, which varied from shiny Mercedes to sub-compacts even smaller than the Yaris, he found a white four-door sedan. Angler nonchalantly peeked in the window and saw with relief that it was left-hand drive. It was a newer model, which would be harder to break into and start, but had the benefit of looking like every other rental car roaming the island.
Five minutes later, after a fair amount of cursing under his breath and tangled wires behind the dash, Angler left the hospital parking lot, and drove down Smith Road toward the airport. The first junction was the little roundabout which instantly threw him into confusion. He was now in a left-hand drive car, driving on the left-hand side, with the sidewalk just outside his door. Instead of the driving world being mirrored, he was now on the wrong side of the car for driving on the wrong side of the road.
Whatever tropical island he landed on after this shit show is over, he told himself, it’ll be one that damn well drives on the right. Like America. Fortunately, another car was in the roundabout which verified the correct direction of travel, and Angler breathed a sigh of relief once he was safely on the other side and could see the high fence surrounding the airport ahead.
* * *
Deek checked his wristwatch and swore once again. According to his cell phone, it was 5:30 p.m. He then checked the flight app on his phone one more time.
“I still don’t see any private flights arriving here this evening,” he said.
Nora had retraced their steps all the way back to the school, where she’d found the scooter and called it in over the radio. If there’d been any doubt that it was the missing pilot she’d spotted, they could now be certain. She drove slowly once more through the back streets where they’d chased the Yaris, knowing he’d be long gone, but unsure where to.
“Someone will surely spot the Toyota soon,” AJ said. “If enough coppers are looking, right?”
“He’s not in the Yaris anymore,” Nora said flatly. “He will have switched.”
“Already did once. Bound to do it again,” Jazzy added.
“So if there’s no private flights coming to get him, and he can’t waltz through the commercial terminal without being stopped, how’s he leaving the island?” AJ asked.
“Maybe he’ll disguise himself,” Jazzy offered, “and use a different name.”
“I think we should consider that option,” Deek agreed. “I’m telling you these people have the kind of resources and money to buy quality fake passports.”
“Whittaker will have the commercial airport covered,” Nora responded. “He just crashed a plane, and we’ve had the guy on the run, so I doubt he’s had time to piece a workable disguise together. Your app only shows flights en route, right, or does it have anyone who has filed a flight plan?”
“Just en route, sort of,” Deek said, leaning forward between the front seats again. “But I have a good friend who can access flights en route and even filed flight plans if we know where from.”
“Probably South Florida or the Keys, yeah?” AJ suggested. “A fancy jet could be here in a few hours or less. We’d have a two-hour warning if your app picked them up.”
“The airport closes at 9:00 p.m.,” Nora pointed out. “No one is landing after that without an emergency, which would attract a lot of attention.”
“What about another seaplane?” AJ asked.
“It’ll still show up on Pete’s software,” Deek replied. “It’s how I tracked him here.”
“Unless they turn the transponder off,” Nora said, now heading east on Smith Road.
“True,” Deek admitted, thinking how the Otter had suddenly popped up on tracking halfway to Grand Cayman. “But seaplanes aren’t easy to come by,” he added.
“We know a bloke in Key West with three vintage seaplanes,” AJ said. “But I doubt this bloke stole one of Buck Reilly’s planes. Buck’s a bad-arse, huh, Nora?”
The Norwegian nodded from the front seat.
“Buck has a crush on Nora,” AJ said, turning to Deek with a grin.
“Buck Reilly has a crush on all women,” Nora scoffed. “But especially Charity Styles.”
AJ laughed and Deek wondered how the conversation had derailed into talking about people he’d never heard of. “This was a de Havilland Canada DHC-3 Otter,” he said, trying to get back on track.
“Buck’s are all named after birds, not mammals,” AJ replied. “Gooses and the like.”
“I’m pretty sure Wayne Daniels stole the one he crashed from a guy in mainland Florida,” Deek explained.
“That bloke can’t be happy,” AJ chuckled. “Get your aeroplane nicked, then the wanker goes and crashes it for you.”
“He’s dead,” Deek said. “We found his body, dumped from the plane in the waters off Key West.”
“I guess he’s not too worried about his plane after all then,” AJ commented, and Jazzy chuckled. “Wait a sec,” AJ continued, “are you saying Wayne Daniels killed the owner and pitched him out of his own plane?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, and have been saying all day.”
“So we not chasin’ after a car thief,” Jazzy said excitedly. “We huntin’ a murderer?”
“I’m sure of it,” Deek replied.
“Cool,” Jazzy whispered.
“Not cool!” AJ and Nora said at the same time.
Jazzy rolled her eyes and grinned at Deek. “Be cool if we catch da man.”
Deek nodded. “Yeah. That would be cool.”
* * *
Angler would have preferred for the man not to see his face, but there was no other way of handling the situation. While he waited, cars came and went through the busy gas station down the street from the airport. He was pleased to see many of them were white four-door sedans, like the one he was in. Finally, a small red SUV pulled in and instead of going to the pumps, parked off to the side, two spots over. A man got out and looked around. He was late forties, maybe early fifties, with short graying hair and a solid build.
Getting out of the stolen car, Angler looked over and caught the man’s attention, nodding for him to approach. They both got into Angler’s vehicle and shook hands.
“Are the instructions for the flight clear?” Angler asked.
“Crystal,” the man replied.
“Good. Here,” Angler replied, handing over a wad of hundred-dollar bills. “Count it.”
The man did as instructed, then tucked the cash away in his cargo shorts pocket.
“Six o’clock sharp,” Angler said firmly.
“On the nose,” the man replied, and got out.
* * *
Nora crossed over a busy intersection then made a left in front of one end of Owen Roberts International Airport’s only runway. The road followed the perimeter fence to the right, then after a straight stretch, curved left around buildings where light aircraft could be seen on the apron. Making a right on Roberts Drive brought her to the FBO entrance between a pair of large buildings. Nora pulled into the parking lot where she saw the sign for Cayman Islands Customs & Border Control, and found a spot near the office entrance.
“Wait here,” she said to the others, and hopped from the Jeep.
“I need to come with you,” Deek urged, and scrambled out of the back seat, more carefully jumping to the ground this time.
“Why?” Nora asked, looking at him with the same stern expression she seemed to have frozen on her face.
“Because I…” Deek began, then trailed off.
He found conversing with people awkward enough already, but the tall and beautiful Norwegian with her abrupt manner completely threw him.
“You mean you want to come with me,” she challenged.
“I suppose that’s more accurate, yes…” he mumbled, although inside he felt an overwhelming need to pursue every possible lead.
“Then say that,” she replied, and walked through the front door, holding it briefly for Deek to follow.
“We’re keeping an eye out,” a dark-skinned man in a Cayman Islands Customs and Border Control uniform greeted them, seeing Nora’s police outfit. “Your Detective Whittaker has everyone on high alert. Nothing suspicious as of yet.”
“Constable Sommer,” Nora said extending a hand to the man. “This is Deek Morrison. He’s been tracking the suspect from America.”
“Officer Jeffries,” the man replied, shaking their hands in turn. “Is that where he’s trying to get back to, America?”
“We believe so,” Nora replied. “Florida.”
“Okay, well like I said, we haven’t seen anything worth reporting yet, so, how can I help you?”
“Do any planes take off without a flight plan?” Nora asked.
“No,” Jeffries said with a shake of the head. “In Cayman, both IFR and VFR have to file a plan and get clearance.”
“That’s instrument flight rules…” Deek began explaining to Nora.
“I know what IFR is,” she interrupted him with her attention still on Jeffries. “Anyone requesting a plan or clearance tonight?”
“I’m not sure,” Jeffries replied. “That’s handled by air traffic control. We’re only notified if the plane is leaving the Cayman Islands.”
“So, there’s local flights that you don’t have anything to do with?” Nora verified.
“Correct. We have several locals with light aircraft who’ll fly around the island, or run over to the Sister Islands. Some have repetitive flight plans.”
“We need to know who of them is asking for clearance,” Nora said. “Where would they depart from?”
“Out here,” Jeffries replied, throwing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the apron they’d seen driving in. “We can listen in to air traffic control or I can call and ask about requests.”
“Call them,” Nora quickly responded. “How do we get outside to where the planes are?”