Tropic Descent by Nate Van Coops

Author:Nate Van Coops [Coops, Nate Van]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-06-04T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

DEPARTURE REQUEST

THE MOOD WAS SOMBER in Mali Solomon’s home. Constable Edwin Swain stood alone in the living area, staring at the couch while the rest of us lingered in the foyer. Swain’s phone was to his ear and he listened intently to whomever was on the other side. His uniformed figure cut a stark contrast to the previously glamorous night.

I didn’t envy Swain’s job. Tiny island or not, the role of lone constable of a remote place relied heavily on the fact that crime on small islands was rare. A woman in plainclothes that I didn’t know had helped take statements. She was apparently the go-to deputy for days when Swain was off the island or needed a break, a known fact for the other local guests. But I got the impression this island mostly policed itself.

Whitney Gilton typed rapidly on her phone next to me, fingers flying over the device’s keyboard. She’d shot a bunch of videos too. Taken some photos. She’d have been a terrible journalist if she hadn’t. Based solely on the location of the death, this story could be international news when it broke. No doubt a slew of other journalists would arrive on scene, sniffing for fresh soundbites. But for now it was hers. Add in the angle from Fabienne’s accusations, and Whitney was sitting on an immense story. Despite all that, she didn’t look especially happy about it. She was doing the job, chronicling the event, but not necessarily the story she’d come for.

“I need to get this emailed to my editor and start conducting a few interviews,” she said to me. “This is going to get crazy.”

Many of the guests had left— frightened, shocked, or horrified. Those who had remained were a different mix. They likely shared the shock, but there was an element of macabre curiosity too.

Death could do that.

Primal instincts insist we pay attention when our fellow humans die. Danger is sensed. Hierarchies shift. When the security of the tribe is threatened, behavior changes. Survival depends on it. A few of the younger guests had made their own recordings. Probably already irreverently posting to social media. But others stood still, watching, waiting to see what the elders did. Another primal instinct passed down from history’s survivors. Learn from those who have seen death before.

“I heard an argument,” a woman beside me whispered. “Downstairs. I would swear it sounded like Dr. Marcus. Did you hear it?”

I shook my head.

“The constable should know, in any case,” she reassured herself, adjusting her grip on her purse and waiting dutifully for her turn to be interviewed.

Conversations around the room remained hushed.

Then I was bumped.

Security guard. Lobster traps. He stood behind me and spoke low. “We need to talk. Outside.” His young muscled buddy from the pool was behind him.

A small island polices itself.

There were no fewer than six security guards in the room now. Four were conspicuously clustered near me.

Whitney had moved off, working the fringes of the room. At the moment, she was whispering to a female guest near the hall to the kitchen.

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