by Fred Galvin
Some excerpts:
So there we were out in the Atlantic, the weather was deteriorating quickly, and now we had a dead body on our hands that not even Justin Case had planned for…
As you read this I am on the Sea Nymph heading south with my beloved brother. Yes, I’ve “blown town” as our mob friends would put it. I’ve decided to go home with him and sign on as his unpaid crew in his charter business. I know over the years I’ve been pretty closed off about my personal life. Hell, I’m not sure you even know where “home” is beyond somewhere in the Caribbean.
But you’re a detective, right? Well, maybe not officially anymore since you’re “just a consultant” now. Anyway, I know you’d be able to find me in a heartbeat if you put your mind to it.
It pains me to say this, but please don’t put your mind to it. I hope very much that you can see to it to let me go. The reason it pains me so much is obvious. I will miss you until I die. We’ve been very close, both professionally and personally, and life ahead without our easy banter and comfortable camaraderie just will not be the same. Of course, you will do what you have to do and I will respect that.
Well, that’s it. I sincerely wish you nothing but the best. God knows you deserve it. You are a good man who made my professional life full and satisfying. The world is a better place with you in it.
I truly hope our paths cross someday after all this has died down.
Love,
Ronnie
Initially I had decided to respect Ronnie’s request to not find her. Yes, we’d had a very satisfying relationship, both professional and personal. We were a great homicide detective team and very close friends. But I had to let her go.
I discovered that working at the Seventh without her was just not the same. Billy Smart had asked me to mentor a third-year detective and it just didn’t work out. I kept expecting things of him that only Ronnie could deliver. That just wasn’t fair to either of us. So I resigned my consultant position and concentrated on my PI work.
It went well for a while. I made a living and was managing to only work cases that I wanted to work, not that I had to work. I stayed busy and tried mightily to be happy. Life was good but it was lonely. I missed my late wife Jen achingly. There was an empty space in my heart and in my bed. Filling either one would be difficult. Sometimes I would wake up and could almost feel Jen there next to me.
So, Ronnie was gone to where ever “home” was for her. It had been a while and the Finacci case was gone to die as a cold case. While Ronnie was missed at the Seventh, everyone seemed to accept her stated reason for leaving, at least on the surface, that she had “compelling” personal business to take care of. When asked, I reinforced this perception and let it be known that I did not expect her to ever return. I was no longer part of the Seventh family so, life went on, sans Ronika Deveaux.
Then, while surfing the web aimlessly, I was on the New York Yankees website, a picture of a former Yankees player standing next to a giant marlin he had caught off Jamaica caught my attention. Somewhere in the back and dusty reaches of my mind I connected Jamaica with something Ronnie had let slip once, something about her brother “going home to Jamaica.” I had totally forgotten that and this picture brought it back. I wasn’t even sure I had remembered it right. Ronnie had always been careful to keep her personal details very foggy. I never knew why, maybe she just liked messing with me, maybe she was merely protecting herself. I would poke and prod and she would parry, gently but effectively. So I never really pushed, and I never really found out anything of value.
But the image of the Yankees player with his marlin in Jamaica gave me sudden incentive for one more try. I knew her brother had a boat charter service and I remembered her slip once mentioning Jamaica. So through a few google stabs using key words like “charter” and “Jamaica” and “Deveaux”, I hit on DEVEAUX CHARTER SERVICES, the proprietor of which was one Roje Deveaux. A picture showed his boat with its name and home port clearly visible:
SEA NYMPH
Montego Bay, Jamaica
That triggered me to double-check her letter and, sure enough, that was the name of her brother’s boat. So, one of life’s great mysteries was solved. Ronnie was Jamaican! At that moment, something inside me knew that I was going to visit Montego Bay, Jamaica. I smiled. I was sure I was doing the right thing.
Even though I was a New Yorker through-and-through and it was fair to say that I knew nothing about sea excursions and the Caribbean islands, I clicked the link to book a five day charter on the Sea Nymph. Hell, to me “Jamaica” was a subway station in Queens where in-bound travelers on the Long Island Railroad changed trains to go to Brooklyn.
An amusing thought occurred to me, something about a Jamaican bobsled team once racing in the Olympics. Bobsled, snow, and Jamaica were most likely three words that were never said together in one sentence unless it was, “There ain’t no snow for a bobsled team to practice in Jamaica.”
I smiled as I filled in the name; “Justin Case.” The site claimed that Mr. Case would be met personally by a Deveaux Charter Services representative at Sangster International Airport in Montego Bay, Jamaica, in one week. Somehow I knew that representative would be the proprietor’s sister, Ronika Deveaux.
~~~
The direct flight from JFK in New York to Sangster Airport in Montego Bay was just under four hours. It was a rainy and foggy 62 degrees when we took off at 7:30 a.m. on Caribbean Airlines Flight 10. After negotiating the congested air traffic around metropolitan New York, the pilot added power, climbed, and banked to change his heading to due south. In less than five minutes we broke through the cloud deck up into spectacular sunshine.
I wouldn’t categorize myself as a seasoned traveler by any measure but I’ve flown enough to feel exhilarated every time my plane made that magical transition. The receding clouds below looked white as the sun shone on their tops and slate gray and dank below while the sky above was the purest shade of deep azure blue. A full moon was clearly visible about 20 degrees above the horizon. My window seat was five rows ahead of the starboard wing. For the uninitiated, that’s aviation-speak for the right side (kinda want to treat me with more respect now, eh?). About a mile away, and slightly below, a flash caught my eye. It was the sun’s reflection off the fuselage (more aviation-speak) of a jumbo 747, probably also out of JFK, which had just broken through the cloud deck. He was on the same heading as us and was climbing at a more pronounced rate. After a minute or so he was above us and banked away toward the southwest. I tried to imagine where he might be going and concluded somewhere near the southeastern coast, maybe Atlanta or Houston.
I was sitting in the coach section which was only about three-quarters full. I reclined my seatback slightly, looking over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t crowding the person behind me. The seat was empty but I didn’t need to go back any more. The seat next to me was also vacant and the aisle seat was occupied by a young woman who had a on pair of those headphones that totally drown out all ambient sound. Her head was nodding rhythmically to whatever music she was enjoying. She glanced my way and smiled pleasantly. I reciprocated but made no attempt to engage her in conversation, for which I’m sure she was grateful. Those headphones were saying, I’ll smile at you but I’m not interested in chatting with someone my father’s age. You’re probably not an old man pervert but I’m not taking any chances. I’ll keep grooving to my music, thank you.
No problem. What could I say anyway? Hi, I’m Dan, a retired homicide detective and I’m going to Montego Bay to visit with my former partner who is a gambling addict and was just involved in the self-defense killing of her mob-connected bookie and the disposing of his body over the side of her brother’s boat off the shore of Long Island where it washed up at my feet on the beach several days later.
Gasp for air.
And, by the way, I have a charter excursion booked on that very same boat starting tomorrow morning. Any questions?
I imagined her wide-eyed expression then noddi
ng and smiling nervously while climbing back under her headphones, cranking up the volume, and searching for a flight attendant to request a change of seats. I mischievously thought if she looked my way again, I’d grin, raise my eyebrows, and nod my head as if saying, That’s right. I’m a total psycho and I used to carry a badge. You should have known me back then.
I smiled to myself. Sometimes I crack myself up.
We touched down at precisely 10:10 a.m. Earlier, the flight attendant announcing our arrival time reminded us that even though Jamaica is in the Eastern Time Zone, it is one hour earlier since it has not observed daylight saving time since 1983. I thought about that for a minute. My understanding was that the rationale for DST was to provide more after-work hours of sunshine. Maybe that wasn’t necessary in Montego Bay because there already was so much sunshine? Or because no one worked there? And those who did, didn’t care?
I thought about posing these questions to my row mate in the aisle seat but she was still under her headphones and most likely had not heard the announcement. I figured I’d let her blissfully go through life an hour ahead for a while after we landed. As I was thinking this, I was involuntarily looking her way and smiling. She glanced up at me but didn’t smile back this time. I saw her shift uncomfortably in her seat undoubtedly planning her escape from the lunatic geezer seated one seat from her as soon as the wheels touched down. Did she glance up at the attendant call button? I could have messed with her with some wild-eyed expressions and grins but decided to let it go. What I did not need was a dreadlocked Rastafarian policeman waiting for me at the entrance to Customs.
It would go something like:
My headphoned row mate pointing a shaky finger in my direction: “There, there he is. He’s the one. He’s crazy … been leering at me the whole flight.”
Me: “What? I was only being friendly. I was going to tell you about no Daylight Saving Time in Jamaica.”
Rasta cop: “Easy mon. Step away from the lady. Just come along with me without no fuss, okay mon?”
Me: “Okay, look, I’m a former police detective with the NYPD.”
Headphoned row mate, now nodding comprehendingly: “A cop? Sure. That explains it. All NYPD cops are perverts.”
Rasta cop gesturing with his hands in the universal Let’s all calm down: “I’ll handle this, ma’am. Okay, Detective-mon. Let’s just keep walking and we’ll have a nice chat on the way to Customs. Okay mon?”
Me: “Sure, no problem.” To Ms. Headphones: “Excuse me, do you have the current local time?”
Meanwhile, Ronnie would be standing there at the other side of the Customs booths watching all this and trying to control her laughter. But none of that happened except for the part about Ronnie waiting for me. I went through the line and cleared Customs without incident. While inching forward in the queue, I did notice Ms. Headphones ahead of me. Once she glanced back over her shoulder to see if I was still there. I decided it best to be cool (that’s right, me, Mr. Cool). I thought about pointing at my wristwatch and mouthing, “What time is it?” but thought better of it and just nodded politely. She averted her eyes and didn’t look back again. I have a way with women. It can be a burden.
Since I had only a carry-on bag I went to the “Nothing to Declare” section because I had, well, nothing to declare. I travel light. Jen used to tease me when I had to travel on a case. “Geez, Dan. Only one change of underwear? What if you’re delayed and have to stay another night or two?”
“I doubt that will happen but I could always rinse out a pair in the shower.”
She would just look at me as if I had started speaking in tongues, shook her head in bewilderment, and then waved me away as if she were shooing a fly. “Just go.”
The line moved quickly and I joined the rest of the passengers of the three flights that had arrived at approximately the same time to meet whoever was there to greet them. We all had nothing to declare.
Ronnie was wearing a flowing dress in the black, yellow, and green of the Jamaican national flag. I noticed her hair was down, a bit longer in the beginnings of dreadlock braids, and realized I seldom saw her with her hair down when we were working together. She was holding one of those signs that hired car drivers use to identify themselves when meeting their clients …
DEVEAUX CHARTER
SERVICES
for
MR. JUSTIN CASE
She was smiling that electric smile of hers which widened as she saw me. She held up the sign higher and called out, “Mr. Case? Mr. Justin Case?” She said the second louder which got the attention of several others who looked around and seemed curious to see the man with the strange name. One boy looked up at his mother asking, “Just in case of what?”
I stepped forward to her, struggled to keep a straight face, and stopped in front of her, my hand extended. “I’m Justin Case. Thank you for meeting me.”
She beamed and held out her arms. “I’m afraid a handshake just won’t do it, Mr. Case.” She took a step toward me and enveloped me in a warm hug which I reciprocated gladly.
“Oh, Dan. It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you. Welcome to my country. Welcome to Montego Bay.”
“Hi Ronnie. It’s great to see you also. I’ve missed you too.”
We both took a step back still holding both hands, and just looked at each other. “When Roje said to me that someone with the name ‘Justin Case’ had booked a charter on the Sea Nymph I started laughing. He thought I was laughing at the silly name and asked if I knew this Justin Case. I said, ‘Oh yes, I know him. I know him very well.’ Tell me, how did you find me?”
“Seriously? I am a detective, or was, anyway, which you acknowledged in your note to me. It wasn’t too difficult. Ronnie, I know you asked me not to find you but, well, I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted to see you again and see if you’re okay.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. I know I said that but inside I hoped you’d come down. I’m so happy you did. Yes, I’m fine. I’m content here.”
I stepped back and looked around an the beautiful little terminal. Everyone seemed to be smiling and happy. “So, Jamaica, eh? I guess I should have known all along. Seeing you here now seems so natural.”
She took my arm and we started walking toward the parking lot. “Come along Mr. Case. I will drive you to your accommodations. But first we make a stop.”
Chapter 3: Katie The Picker
Ronnie offered to take my carry-on, actually it was a small duffle and not even full, remember, I travel light. I politely declined her offer but she insisted, effectively yanking it off my shoulder.
“Please, Mr. Case, allow me. Deveaux Charter is a full-service company, especially for VIP clients.”
As we walked toward the parking lot, I let that hang in the air for a moment as Ronnie waited for me to react, then we both started laughing. But I did let her carry the duffle. “That’s fine. Thank you, Ms. … I don’t believe you gave me your name, Ms. … ?”
“Oh my, you’re right. My apologies Mr. Case. I am Ronika, First Mate of the Sea Nymph, which is the vessel you have chartered. Ronika Deveaux, as in Deveaux Charter Services.”
“Ronika? What a beautiful name. In New York we’d probably shorten that to Ronnie, or something similar. May I call you Ronnie?”
“Only if I may call you Dan. Here in Jamaica my proper name is pronounced Ron-EE-ka with emphasis on the EE but Ronnie is fine between us.”
“It’s a deal. Yes, ‘Dan’ is fine, pronounced Dan with the emphasis on Dan. It’s close enough to ‘Justin’. So, you are owner and operator of Deveaux Charter Services?”
“Oh no, sir. It is my brother Roje’s business. That’s pronounced RO-hay. As I said, I am first mate and a lowly minority partner aboard the Sea Nymph when we are at sea.”
Ronnie tossed my duffle bag into the back seat of a yellow Jeep of some kind. Its top had been removed and it had a classic roll bar. I noticed the right side of the roll bar was scraped and slightly askew. Ronnie saw me giving it a look.
“Oh, that! Don’t worry, I’ve only rolled it once and it’s still quite sturdy.”
“Only rolled it once???”
“Yes, and it was on the beach so, no real damage. I promise I’ll be careful when I’m driving you around.” And with a twinkle in her eye she added, “Please buckle your seat belt.”
“I’m not going to ask how you rolled it, not sure I really want to know.”
“A topic for discussion over a tropical adult beverage. Perhaps later after you get settled in?”
“Deal. So, you and your brother are partners?”
“Partners, yes but, as I said, Roje was kind enough to make me a minority partner which means I get a small piece of every charter and his endless gratitude for crewing for him. In addition our clients are very generous with tips. All that is fine with me. He gave me a warm place to land when I decided I had to leave New York. I’m very grateful to him.”
“Good. So, you expect me to tip you generously?”
“That, sir, is strictly discretionary depending on your satisfaction with our services.”
I grinned. “I’m sure you are very professional and tip-worthy. Here’s your first tip … stay here and stay out of police business. You look like Jamaica agrees with you.”
“That’s the plan, Mr. Case. That’s the plan.”
~~~
Montego Bay’s Sangster International Airport is typical in size for airports in the Caribbean. Relatively small, it accommodates ten airlines with about thirty flights in and out daily. Most of the arrivals belch out pale-skinned tourists from America and Europe eager to turn their skin lobster red. As our plane was descending for approach to Sangster, the crew played instrumental reggae followed by Bobby Bloom’s famous song Montego Bay over the PA system. It was perfect to get us all in the right frame of mind for that sunny paradise ahead and below us. One of the lyrics was, “I lay on a lilo till I’m lobster red … .” I was soon to find out a lilo is an air mattress one lies on in a pool or the ocean in order to get, well, lobster red.
