Bluewater Stalker: The Sixth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 6) Read online

  Bluewater Stalker

  By C.L.R. Dougherty

  Click here to subscribe to my email list for notice of new releases and special sales or giveaways. I'll email a link to you for a free download of my short story, The Lost Tourist Franchise, when you sign up. I promise not to use the list for anything else; I dislike spam as much as you do.

  Copyright © 2014 Charles L.R. Dougherty

  All Rights Reserved

  Windward and Leeward Islands

  Union Island to Grenada - detailed

  St. Vincent to Union Island - detailed

  Guadeloupe to Martinique - detailed

  Les Saintes - detailed

  Chapter 1

  "Humans, like other species, have a hard-wired predisposition not to kill each other. Oh, there are exceptions. Society comes up with reasons why people killing people is for the greater good. And then there are the odd, damaged individuals who deviate from the norm."

  Dani exchanged a quick glance with Liz as she reached for her wine glass. They were just finishing a 'welcome aboard' dinner for their new charter guests. Bill Fitzgerald and his wife, Jane, had arrived in Grenada earlier that day, and Vengeance was tied up in a luxury marina, awaiting the couple's decisions as to itinerary. Bill, a professor of cultural anthropology at a small, private university in the States, had begun to ramble in his response to Liz's question about his academic interests. His short answer, "Serial killers," had prompted Liz to draw him out. Warming to his subject, he had continued his lecture as his wife sat, nodding her agreement. It was obvious she had heard all this before, but she gave no indications of boredom. Quite to the contrary, she followed his lead, interjecting an occasional clarification.

  "What about self-defense?" Liz asked, before he moved to another point.

  He leaned back and looked at her, surprised and pleased by her interest. "That's instinctive in all species; it's not the same as the impetus to kill in cold blood. Even so, not every individual will react to a violent threat with violence. That's a matter of conditioning and moral values."

  "Yes, exactly," Jane added. "Some people just submit when confronted with a violent threat."

  "What about in war?" Liz asked. "Soldiers aren't 'hard-wired' not to kill, are they?"

  "Aha! Interesting that you should bring that up," Fitzgerald said. "Early on, my interest was piqued by just that question. The answer just blew me away. There's been a lot of research on that topic by the military. It turns out that up through World War II, only a fraction of the soldiers in combat would actually shoot with the intention of hitting and killing or maiming their opponents. I mean 15 percent or thereabouts. Most of them were faking it."

  Liz refilled his wine glass as he paused. "Unbelievable!" she said. "How can that be?"

  He took a sip and cleared his throat. "It's certainly counterintuitive. I had the same reaction when I first heard that statistic, but it's well documented. One of the landmark works is the book, Men Against Fire, by S.L.A. Marshall. He was the Chief Historian of the European Theater of Operations in World War II. That's where the 15 percent number comes from. Of course, nobody believed it then, either, but it stimulated a lot of research that supports his thesis."

  "Wow," Liz said, shaking her head.

  Bill took another sip of his wine and continued his lecture. "As people began to study Marshall's findings, they learned this wasn't a new phenomenon. It stretched back to the time when it first became possible to kill without personal contact. Battles fought hand-to-hand may have been different, because of the immediacy of the 'kill or be killed' element, but with guns, and probably even with bows and arrows, that statistic held true. There are some fascinating studies on that point, even going back into the 1800s. Seems the traditional training focused on teaching soldiers to shoot, which they did with gay abandon. Teaching them to shoot to kill was a whole different thing, and it didn't have much to do with marksmanship. It involved overcoming that inborn prohibition all animals have against killing one of their own kind."

  "I guess that's well documented, too," Liz said.

  "Oh, yeah. Actually, 15 percent is a surprisingly high number, considering that outside the battlefield, only a few percent — like less than five percent — of people are inherently capable of killing. Studies suggest about four percent of men and one percent of women take to killing naturally. The military took a lesson from the research. By the time of the Vietnam conflict, they managed to raise the percentage of soldiers who would shoot to kill in combat to better than 90 percent."

  "That's as astonishing as the other statistic," Liz said.

  "Isn't it?" Jane added.

  "How'd the military do that?" Dani asked.

  "They relied heavily on conditioning to engender a shooting response in certain situations. After some trial and error in Vietnam, when they went too far, they built in some constraints to help keep the response confined to appropriate situations. Now they spend some training time on the notion that the morality of killing another person depends on staying within those constraints."

  Dani nodded, taking another sip of wine as they all pondered what Bill had said.

  Liz broke the silence. "I have a different question, Bill."

  "Sure. What's on your mind?"

  "What about all the school shootings in the States, then? And the other cases of random mass shootings?"

  "Did he pay you to ask that question?"

  "Why do you ask, Jane?" Liz asked.

  "Because that's the very focus of my research. She figures I put you up to it."

  "I don't figure any such thing, Bill. Maybe we should change the subject to something more fitting for after-dinner conversation, though."

  "Oh, I'd like to hear a little more," Liz said, looking at Jane, "and then I'll serve dessert and you can tell us about your own research. Okay?"

  Jane nodded, and Bill took another sip of wine.

  "Well," he said, "I think the military's success in suppressing the instinct not to kill and the upsurge in mass murders are related. Interestingly enough, many of the conditioning techniques the military uses are frighteningly similar to all the point-and-shoot video games kids play from their early years on up. Some of the games mimic the training so closely that kids learn marksmanship as well as learning to depersonalize their targets. And they're missing those constraints and moral precepts the military uses to keep the killer instinct in check. In a couple of school shootings, kids who had never fired a gun hit the people they were shooting at — one left multiple victims dead from single shots to the head from across the room."

  After a somber moment, Jane asked, "What's for dessert, Liz?"

  "It's a surprise, but I'll just say that all the ingredients were grown right here on the island of Grenada." Liz slipped out of her seat and collected the dinner dishes before she stepped back into Vengeance's galley to assemble the dessert course.

  "You've been quiet, Dani," Bill remarked. "Do I sense a question?"

  Dani shook her head and smiled. "No, that's okay. I shouldn't …"

  "Oh, go ahead," Jane said. "He loves it. Don't worry. You can't possibly embarrass him. Ask whatever's on your mind."

  "I just wondered if you'd been in combat, Bill."

  "No, I haven't. Just read the studies and interviewed troops."

  "So you've never killed anybody?"

  Bill laughed. "My interest is academic."

  Dani nodded. Liz set a tray of rich-looking chocolate desserts on th
e table as Dani said, "So, Jane, you said earlier that you met Bill when he was an advisor for your Ph.D. program. Are you in the same field?"

  Jane smiled. "Hardly. I'm a clinical psychologist. I'm focused on helping victims cope with the aftermath of violence — particularly battered women and abused children."

  "How about survivors of mass shootings? Ever counsel any of them?" Liz asked.

  "No, not yet, but I was thinking along those lines when I started my doctoral program. That's how I ended up with Bill as an advisor."

  There was only the sound of spoons clicking softly against china as they addressed themselves to Liz's chocolate mousse. Finished with hers, Jane broke the silence.

  "Was that really local chocolate?"

  "Absolutely. Grenada's finest, and it's organically produced. If you'd like, we can arrange a tour of the factory."

  "Maybe when we come back. I know Bill's eager to get to Dominica."

  "Coffee, anyone?" Liz asked.

  "Not for me, thanks," Bill replied. "Think I'll take advantage of Vengeance being in a marina and take a walk while we can just step ashore. Jane?"

  "Sounds good. Anywhere we should avoid?"

  "No. This is a safe place — probably safer than anywhere in the States," Liz said.

  "Great. We're real hikers, and I need to walk off that great dinner, so don't wait up for us, ladies," Bill said as he handed Jane up the companionway ladder.

  ****

  "Interesting couple," Liz remarked as she cleared the table and started in on the dishes.

  "Yes, they are." Dani picked up a dish from the drain board and dried it, stowing it in the locker behind them.

  "Did you think he'd been in combat?"

  "No, he didn't come across that way, but you can never tell. Just seemed to have an easy familiarity with the military, so I asked."

  "Well, Jane told me earlier that he did some consulting with people at the Pentagon, and with the FBI profiling group at Quantico, so he's probably heard some pretty intimate descriptions."

  "I guess. While you and Jane were up at the pool this afternoon, he was transcribing notes from a recorded interview he'd apparently done with some serial killer."

  "I thought you were servicing the engine while he worked."

  "I was, but he'd forgotten to pack his earphones. He asked to borrow some, so I turned on the Bluetooth speaker for him instead. I know how you are about your ear buds.

  "Well, they're pretty personal."

  "I know. We should remember to pick up some cheap ones, though. Not the first time our guests have asked."

  "Good idea. Help me remember, and I'll put 'em on our shopping list soon as we finish the dishes."

  As Dani stowed the last of the pans and utensils, Liz said, "Shall I make us a pot of decaf? We might as well enjoy a quiet evening in the cockpit while we can."

  "Sure," Dani said.

  A few minutes later, they were relaxing in the cool night air, gazing at the stars in the slice of the western sky that they could see through the entrance to the harbor.

  "Any idea why they want to go to Dominica first?" Liz asked.

  "When they booked the charter, Bill's email said he was doing some preliminary work on the Caribs and the Arawaks and the Tainos, and their interactions around the time the Spanish first came on the scene. I guess he's read all the historical accounts; now he wants to see where it happened. He's hoping to learn something from visiting the Carib village in Dominica, I think."

  "Hmm. Guess maybe he'll get something out of it, but I can't imagine there's much of a connection between those poor people trying to preserve their heritage and the Caribs that terrorized the islands and ate the Arawaks before the Spanish came and baptized everybody," Liz said.

  "I don't know. I just drive the boat. It's probably some scam to pay for a month-long charter with a research grant. Or maybe write it off on their taxes. Who knows?"

  ****

  Police Constable Owen Stansbury was still upset about the dressing-down he had received at inspection for his poor shoeshine. The beat he walked along the waterfront every night often took him through puddles, and by the time he finished his shift, there wasn't enough time for his shoes to even dry out before he had to report for duty again, let alone time for him to shine them. He guessed he'd have to buy another pair, but who could afford two pairs of shoes, especially these clunky uniform oxfords? To his way of thinking these old timers took this Royal stuff too seriously. Sure, it was the Royal Grenada Police Force, but Grenada was independent. He didn't get this whole thing with the Queen. He was walking along Melville Street headed north, just a few minutes from the station at Fort George, when a splash of white in the alley on his left caught his eye. He took his flashlight in hand and went to investigate.

  The young woman stretched out on the cobblestones appeared to be asleep. He registered that she was beautiful, dressed neatly in a business suit with the starched white blouse that had caught his eye. He was used to finding an occasional drunk passed out along here, or maybe a couple of raucous, drunken tourists who had lost their way, but this didn't make any sense to him. The way she was dressed, she should be behind one of the teller windows at the RBC up on the corner, or sitting behind a desk in one of the offices above the shops that lined this part of Melville Street. She looked as peaceful as if she were in her bed at home, except she was dressed for work — daytime work. She was on her back, legs straight, feet together, arms at her sides with her hands crossed over the waistband of her skirt, purse tucked under her right arm, its shoulder strap in place. Her clothes were in perfect order, as if she had smoothed them carefully as she reclined for a nap, avoiding the puddles of muddy water around her.

  "Hello," he called, in a voice just louder than normal speech, not wanting to startle her.

  When she didn't respond, he knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. It was then he noticed the trickle of blood from her right ear. He moved his hand to the artery in her throat, feeling for a pulse as he had been taught to do. There was nothing — no sign of life — although her skin felt warm to his touch.

  "Dead," he mumbled, crossing himself instinctively and searching his memory for a long-forgotten prayer. His stomach heaved and he turned away, scrambling to the nearest drainage grate to avoid contaminating the scene. Once relieved, he unhooked his radio from his belt and called in to the dispatcher. While he waited for an ambulance and backup, he walked back to the lamp-post on the corner of Melville Street, close enough to secure the scene, but far enough not to have to see the body too well.

  Chapter 2

  "Did you enjoy your stroll last night?" Dani asked the Fitzgeralds as Liz bustled in the galley. She and the Fitzgeralds were seated in the cockpit, a carafe of coffee on the fold-down table between them.

  Jane held her mug beneath her nose and inhaled, savoring the aroma of the hearty black brew. She took a sip, and then replied. "Yes. We walked along the lagoon road all the way around the Carenage. There are some beautiful old buildings along there."

  "Along the Carenage?" Dani prompted.

  "Yes," Bill agreed, setting his mug on a coaster on the tabletop. "They look like some kind of movie set for a Caribbean city from the '50s or something."

  "They do. Probably have been. St. Georges is a pretty city. It's a shame you're in such a rush to get to Dominica."

  "Can we talk about that?" Jane asked.

  "Talk about what?" Liz wanted to know as she climbed out of the companionway and set the breakfast tray on the bridge deck.

  "Our itinerary," Bill said, as Liz passed around plates of fresh fruit, each with a picture-perfect fried egg and two strips of bacon on the side.

  "Sure. Vengeance is yours for the month," Dani said, as Liz sat down and everyone started eating. "We can go anywhere you'd like, anytime you choose."

  "Right," he said. "Jane and I were talking last night; guess we're kind of getting into this island-time thing."

  "We'd like to see more of Grenada before w
e leave," Jane said. "We didn't realize until we took our walk how pretty it is. We were talking to some local folks we met on the Carenage, and they told us about all sorts of things we'd like to see here — especially some of the undeveloped areas."

  "I gather there's some good hiking in the interior of the island," Bill added.

  "Absolutely," Liz agreed. "We can hook you up with a really good guide; he can give you an overall tour of the island by van. That'll take about a day, and then he can take you back to the places where you want to focus. He's quite a hiker himself."

  "That sounds good," Jane said.

  "I'll call him after we eat," Liz said, "but he's probably booked today. There's a cruise ship heading in to the terminal; I just caught a glimpse of it passing the harbor entrance."

  "That's okay. We'd like to walk around downtown today — look at some of the shops," Jane said.

  Silence reigned as they all dug into their breakfasts. When everyone was finished, Liz refilled the coffee mugs.

  "So how far is it to Dominica?" Jane asked.

  "A little over two hundred nautical miles," Dani replied.

  "And how long will it take to sail that?" Bill asked.

  "If we actually sail it, it'll depend on the wind," Dani said, "say 24 to 36 hours. If we're having a slow trip and you're in a hurry, we can use the engine and lock in that 24-hour number."

  "Oh," Jane said. "We didn't really think about that. You'd have to sail round the clock?"

  "It's not a problem, but yes, unless you wanted to stop along the way," Liz said.

  "Are there any good spots to stop?" Bill asked.

  "Oh, yeah. A bunch, depending on what you like. There are some other big towns worth seeing, and all kinds of sparsely populated or even unpopulated islands to explore. I'll give you a guide book when you get back from your walk and you can see what appeals."

  "Great. That would be fantastic. I think we'll take a taxi from here into town, though. We pretty well saw Lagoon Road last night."