British passport assured him that if he ever needed to he could relocate, and do it immediately.
The disposable cell phone in his pocket rang. Almost afraid to answer, he picked it up.
“Parker, dear,” a woman’s voice said, her tone matter-of-fact, “I’m afraid I will need more money soon.”
“But I sent an extra million dollars to your account three months ago,” he protested. As always, his anger was replaced by fear.
“That was three months ago. I’m redecorating the apartment and I will need more immediately. I’ll give you the exact amount when I get it from the decorator.”
She had been blackmailing him for two years. There was no way he could refuse her.
“I will wire you the money,” he said coldly.
“I knew you would, and I want you to know my lips are sealed. Bye, sweetheart, I miss you.”
He did not reply. Instead he broke the connection and for a long time sat at his desk looking at the Caribbean.
It was a beautiful, sun-filled day. The ocean was blue-green. Faint ripples tossed a spray of reflective color on the beach outside his villa. He loved it here. Over the years he had firmly
established his identity. On his frequent trips, when he was supposed to be sailing, he came here. He had rigorously cultivated a British accent and it was now second nature. The friends he had
carefully chosen years ago completely accepted him for what they thought he was, a rather shy man, a widower who loved sailing. He had told them he was an engineer from England. It was a smooth
transition when he came here two years ago and announced that he was retired now and would live on St. Thomas permanently.
He had also taken up golf, and was surprisingly good at it. He only went to public courses. The confines of a private club might have invited intimacy with other members. Familiarity breeds
contempt, and in my case possible suspicion, he thought. There was one man he had hooked up with on a foursome on a public course, a self-proclaimed Anglophile, who wanted to discuss with him the
many engineers he knew in the London area. He had not gone back to that course again.
She knew he was here. She thought he had access to all the money. She would bleed him forever. She liked to drink. He had seen her get blotto. Not often, but the tendency was there. It was
absolutely possible that while drunk she might inadvertently give him away.
He could not let the situation go on. As long as he still lived here, he was in danger from her. He had never thought that he would contemplate the taking of another person’s life, but
desperate times require desperate measures, he reminded himself coldly.
It was a terrible risk, but he had to go back, get the number from the music box and, to be absolutely sure he was safe, he would put his backup plan into action and move to Switzerland.
He hadn’t planned to go sailing today, but when anything troubled him, it became a necessity to be on the boat and feel himself one with the sea and the sky. After all, he had earned that
pleasure.
16
E leanor Becker had been Parker Bennett’s secretary for all thirteen years the Bennett investment firm had existed.
Then fifty years old, childless, she had been approached by Parker at the brokerage firm where they both worked. He had told her he was going to form his own company and wanted her to go with
him.
It had been an easy decision for her to make. Parker was a charismatic man, and always so courteous to her. The broker she was working for had been volatile; he was perfectly pleasant in the
morning, but when the closing bell rang at four thirty, he was a different person if his trading had been on a downward spiral.
Jekyll and Hyde, she used to think when he came charging to her desk. “Did you do this yet? Why not? Did you follow up on that one? Can’t you do
anything
right?”
She used to be tempted to ask him why he didn’t save his ill temper for his wife. But of course, that would never have happened. His
The disposable cell phone in his pocket rang. Almost afraid to answer, he picked it up.
“Parker, dear,” a woman’s voice said, her tone matter-of-fact, “I’m afraid I will need more money soon.”
“But I sent an extra million dollars to your account three months ago,” he protested. As always, his anger was replaced by fear.
“That was three months ago. I’m redecorating the apartment and I will need more immediately. I’ll give you the exact amount when I get it from the decorator.”
She had been blackmailing him for two years. There was no way he could refuse her.
“I will wire you the money,” he said coldly.
“I knew you would, and I want you to know my lips are sealed. Bye, sweetheart, I miss you.”
He did not reply. Instead he broke the connection and for a long time sat at his desk looking at the Caribbean.
It was a beautiful, sun-filled day. The ocean was blue-green. Faint ripples tossed a spray of reflective color on the beach outside his villa. He loved it here. Over the years he had firmly
established his identity. On his frequent trips, when he was supposed to be sailing, he came here. He had rigorously cultivated a British accent and it was now second nature. The friends he had
carefully chosen years ago completely accepted him for what they thought he was, a rather shy man, a widower who loved sailing. He had told them he was an engineer from England. It was a smooth
transition when he came here two years ago and announced that he was retired now and would live on St. Thomas permanently.
He had also taken up golf, and was surprisingly good at it. He only went to public courses. The confines of a private club might have invited intimacy with other members. Familiarity breeds
contempt, and in my case possible suspicion, he thought. There was one man he had hooked up with on a foursome on a public course, a self-proclaimed Anglophile, who wanted to discuss with him the
many engineers he knew in the London area. He had not gone back to that course again.
She knew he was here. She thought he had access to all the money. She would bleed him forever. She liked to drink. He had seen her get blotto. Not often, but the tendency was there. It was
absolutely possible that while drunk she might inadvertently give him away.
He could not let the situation go on. As long as he still lived here, he was in danger from her. He had never thought that he would contemplate the taking of another person’s life, but
desperate times require desperate measures, he reminded himself coldly.
It was a terrible risk, but he had to go back, get the number from the music box and, to be absolutely sure he was safe, he would put his backup plan into action and move to Switzerland.
He hadn’t planned to go sailing today, but when anything troubled him, it became a necessity to be on the boat and feel himself one with the sea and the sky. After all, he had earned that
pleasure.
16
E leanor Becker had been Parker Bennett’s secretary for all thirteen years the Bennett investment firm had existed.
Then fifty years old, childless, she had been approached by Parker at the brokerage firm where they both worked. He had told her he was going to form his own company and wanted her to go with
him.
It had been an easy decision for her to make. Parker was a charismatic man, and always so courteous to her. The broker she was working for had been volatile; he was perfectly pleasant in the
morning, but when the closing bell rang at four thirty, he was a different person if his trading had been on a downward spiral.
Jekyll and Hyde, she used to think when he came charging to her desk. “Did you do this yet? Why not? Did you follow up on that one? Can’t you do
anything
right?”
She used to be tempted to ask him why he didn’t save his ill temper for his wife. But of course, that would never have happened. His
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