The Corpse with the Crystal Skull

by Cathy Ace

  He was right. But, there again, the pace hadn’t really let up since Amelia had stumbled into the dining room and told us that Freddie was dead.

  “Okay,” I began, and gave detailed accounts of my conversations with Amelia on the way to the lawyer’s office, what had happened there, and rounded off with what I’d managed to learn when Cooperman and I were alone.

  Bud indulged me. “And how do you interpret this information?” he asked. I could hear him smiling.

  “Freddie, Cooperman, and Wilson Thomas are somehow linked. I wouldn’t be surprised if Wilson Thomas had some sort of connection with the Captain’s Lookout estate, too. And Cooperman certainly has some sort of client-attorney relationship with Thomas. As for Freddie’s debts? That’s one heck of a lot of money to have borrowed. He clearly hasn’t spent that amount dolling up his property, or anything like that. I think Cooperman would have known about any investments Freddie had made, because they’d be a part of the man’s overall assets. What on earth can Freddie have done with it all? I have no bright ideas about that. That’s me – what about you? What have you been able to achieve this morning? Were you talking to Tarone about something to do with our inquiries, or did he just happen to be doing an odd job or two at the bungalow when I phoned?”

  “He was here trimming back a few shrubs when you first called, then he came back again, after rushing over to his bungalow for a while to get in touch with the hospital. Which means that now, for once, I think I can match your discoveries, and raise you. I found out this morning that the late Wilson Thomas was Tarone’s grandfather.”

  I was genuinely surprised. “Really? I suppose I didn’t connect the two men because Thomas is such a common surname on Jamaica, almost as common as it is in Wales, in fact,” I began, then added, “so Wilson Thomas and Amelia were married? But her legal name is LaBadie. Cooperman used LaBadie, not Thomas, when referring to Amelia.”

  “No, they never married, but Wilson was the father of Tarone’s mother alright. Tarone told me Wilson had worked on the estate since Freddie bought it, back in 1962. Only sixteen when he started, it seems. When Tarone’s mother was born about ten years later, Freddie allowed Wilson to bring his baby daughter – named Grace Thomas, by the way – and her mother, Amelia, to live with him here. Amelia was just seventeen at the time.”

  “Got it. And what happened to Tarone’s mother?”

  “Sadly, drugs,” said Bud. “She was a beautiful girl, Cait. Tarone showed me some old photographs of her. Went to the local school, did well at athletics, worked with her parents for Freddie, mainly as a waitress at his parties and so forth. But, as the years passed, it seems she began to adopt some pretty wild habits. Too much partying, too much everything, by the sounds of it. She drifted. Wouldn’t tell anyone who Tarone’s father was. She died of a drug overdose when Tarone was about five years old, so his memories of her are hazy.”

  “Such a shame,” I observed. “Has Amelia raised him since then? When did Wilson leave? And why? Any ideas?”

  “Amelia told Tarone – and he’s had it confirmed by the parents of school friends of his – that Wilson became persona non grata at the estate about six months after Tarone was born. Now, if you add to that the fact Tarone is most definitely of mixed race, and that no one has ever told him who his father was…”

  “We have a situation where we are both wondering if Freddie Burkinshaw fathered Tarone by Wilson’s daughter Grace, and if maybe that was the reason Wilson found himself thrown off the estate, while Amelia and Tarone were allowed to stay.”

  “I love the way your mind works, Wife.”

  “Thank you.” I accepted the compliment graciously. “And Cooperman?” I added. “If he did undertake legal work for Wilson Thomas, could that have tangentially allowed him to discover that Freddie was Tarone’s father?” I paused and added, “Cooperman spoke strangely about his assumptions regarding Freddie’s wishes for Tarone. Did I mention that?”

  “You did not.”

  “Sorry. Cooperman said ‘him’ not ‘them’ when it came to whom he thought Freddie would have wanted to support. I took it that Cooperman inferred Freddie would most certainly have wanted to provide specifically for Tarone. Which would make sense if Freddie knew he was the boy’s father.”

  “It’s a working theory,” said Bud.

  I was just about half an hour away from the estate when I realized something. “In what capacity had you encountered Wilson Thomas before last night, Bud? Why was he wrapped up in the ‘thing’ you’re concerned with?”

  “I knew him through a connection I cannot explain. We’d met a few times, and I haven’t changed so much over the years that he wouldn’t have recognized me. We’d been in a situation where he’d been able to trust me with his life. I can’t say more than that. I hadn’t let him down on that occasion; I wish I could say the same about last night.”

  I slowed the Suburban to accommodate the heavier local traffic. “Okay, I suppose you can’t tell me everything, but can you tell me this? Did you know before today that Wilson Thomas had once lived at the Captain’s Lookout estate?”

  “I can tell you that, Wife, and the answer is no; by the time I met Wilson he certainly wasn’t living on the estate. I knew him as someone who was a bit of a fixer on the island.”

  “Lottie said Freddie was a man who acquired things for people. Might Wilson have been one of the contacts on the island who made it possible for Freddie to do that, do you think?”

  “I believe he could have been, and suspect that to have been the case. You see, Wilson could have given Freddie access to people it would have otherwise been difficult for him to meet – and even if Freddie had managed to connect with them, they might not have trusted him. Wilson’s family went back hundreds of years on the island, whereas Freddie was a rich, white incomer. They could have made a good team, if they trusted each other.”

  “Or had enough dirt on each other for trust not to feature in their business relationship,” I observed. “But if Wilson was unhappy about Freddie impregnating his daughter, isn’t it more likely that he could have held that over Freddie, and thereby remained on the estate, rather than Freddie having the ability to kick him out?”

  “That’s an interesting question, Cait, and one we should talk through. We need to stitch all these pieces together.”

  “Bud, are you thinking that the person who killed Wilson might be the same person who killed Freddie? And do we even know if Freddie was murdered, yet? Any news about his autopsy?”

  “Ah, well, Wife, I have to admit I might have buried the lead,” said Bud.

  I turned off the main road and took my time descending the slip road that led to the estate’s gated entry, which was just as well because a gleaming red Range Rover came screaming along the track from the direction of Caro Mio, throwing up stones and dust in its wake. If I’d been a few yards further along the track it would have hit me. I slammed on the brakes and swore at the driver; I could see quite clearly that it was Niall Jackson. He didn’t acknowledge the presence of either me or the vehicle I was driving; he just sped off.

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes, Bud,” I said, as I waited for the dust to settle. “I’ll give the Suburban’s keys to Tarone, so he can get himself to Kingston to see Amelia whenever he wants. But tell me before I go, did the autopsy reveal if Freddie was murdered, or if he killed himself?”

  “Freddie was shot, that’s for sure. Right through the heart. But that’s not what’s really interesting. What’s really interesting is that he’d also been poisoned.”

  A Lightning Luncheon

  I was ready for a big hug by the time I got back to the bungalow, and Bud was only too happy to provide one. I was also ready for lunch, and possibly a drink, but I knew they’d have to wait until Bud had told me everything about Freddie’s autopsy; I find that eating while discussing the results of a post-mortem exam doesn’t work well for me.

  It turned out I didn’t have to wait long for fo
od; as I was scrolling through the autopsy documents on Bud’s phone, Lottie knocked at our bungalow door and announced that she’d prepared a meal for all six of us. We said we’d be along soon, and I carried on reading.

  “Thought you’d be finished with that by now,” observed Bud wryly as he looked over my shoulder.

  “I read it once, but wanted to go back to the bit about the poison. It says here that they found partially digested ackee in his stomach. It was overripe, poisonous.”

  “Correct.”

  “But how can that be? Freddie’s lived here for decades. Even I know that overripe ackee will make a person ill, and can prove lethal. Why on earth would he have eaten it?” I gave it a moment’s thought. “The report says it was thoroughly masticated, so he chose to eat it, rather than it being forced down his throat in chunks. Why would he do that?”

  Bud stood and stretched, gazing toward the ocean. “Maybe it was disguised, somehow?”

  I handed him his phone. “Don’t be ridiculous. We all ate together that night, and in any case, wouldn’t it taste awful?”

  Bud slid his phone into the pocket of the palm-frond-emblazoned shorts I’d picked out for him especially for this trip, which I thought made him look quite youthful – for his age. “Does overripe ackee taste different than ripe ackee?”

  To be fair, he made a good point.

  Bud continued, “I know no more details than you’ve read for yourself. I could ask some supplementary questions about the stomach contents, but isn’t the key point that some time after Freddie left us that evening he must have chosen to ingest the ackee, whatever its specific form?”

  “Agreed,” I conceded. “And where, when, and how he did that might help us work out who had the chance to give it to him.”

  “It’s on the table!” called Lottie across the pool from the dining room.

  I sighed. “I suppose we’d better go. She’s made an effort. But listen – how much of all this is she not supposed to know?”

  “Nothing about the autopsy, nothing about Tarone’s parentage, nothing about Freddie’s will, or debts,” replied Bud with a forced smile.

  “So almost nothing at all about anything?”

  “Correct.”

  “That’ll be fun, then.”

  We entered the dining room together. I was genuinely pleased to see Sheila seated at the table; it looked as though her ankle hadn’t swollen to elephantine proportions.

  “I won’t be running a marathon any time soon,” she said when I asked her how she was doing, “but for sure it’ll be fine by the time we go home. I’ll just keep it strapped up, and elevated when I can.”

  “No gadding about for you tonight, young lady,” I quipped.

  “None of us are likely to be doing that, are we? Not with people dropping like flies around us. First it was Freddie, then that poor man on the beach, and now Amelia. It’s really quite concerning,” said Lottie.

  She’d prepared a huge salad to accompany a platter-full of grilled prawns on skewers; we handed the food around the table, helping ourselves with spoons and fingers. The prawns smelled wonderful, and my tummy rumbled before I could get the first one into my mouth. It was delicious – perfectly moist, flavorful, and with just the right amount of charring.

  As I ripped off the tail with my fingers and chewed, my quiet “mmmm…” became part of a chorus.

  We laughed, and all complimented Lottie on her skills in the kitchen.

  “Thanks,” she said, almost blushing. “Daddy said I’d never need to cook for myself, but I wanted to know how to, so I took a course at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. It made such a difference.”

  I imagined how wonderful it would be to be able to take the time to learn about food preparation from some real professionals. A couple of days making bread, a week or so working through recipes of various types. And getting to eat it all. Bliss.

  “Was it fun?” asked Sheila.

  “Hard work, really,” said Lottie, “but worth it.”

  “Did you make any preserves?” Sheila seemed genuinely interested.

  “Not many,” admitted Lottie, “though we tackled the basic techniques. They’re very much focused on using seasonal foods. They have a wonderful fruit and vegetable garden on their roof. It’s amazing. Bees, too. I enjoyed it very much.”

  “It sounds like you crammed in a lot,” I said, envisioning a hectic weekend. “How long were you there?”

  “Nine months.”

  “Nine months?” I was shocked. “And you had to live in Paris that whole time?”

  Lottie smiled. “I loved it. I prefer it to almost anywhere else in the world. Mummy loved it too. Which is why she kept her apartment there. I lived there for a year. It was fun.”

  John said, “Lottie’s an excellent cook. To dine at her home is quite something; she’s about the only hostess who actually prepares the food herself. No caterers for Lottie Fortescue, right?”

  “Right,” replied Lottie, beaming.

  I crunched my salad and savored my prawns with two key thoughts in mind – Lottie Fortescue had the culinary training to disguise a dish of deadly ackee, and she obviously knew about the dangers of the fruit, her father having been convinced that both she and her mother had been poisoned with it.

  The conversation revolved around Amelia’s collapse, and the great pity that she’d not been able to pass any information to me about the content of Freddie’s will; I’d spun a tale of having to wait in reception while she had her meeting – an account Amelia wasn’t available to contradict. I was also pressed about my near-miss at the entrance to the estate, and how it had shaken me up.

  “Niall Jackson is as mad as his father,” observed Lottie. John patted her hand, which led me to believe he’d forgiven her for having been economical with the truth when it came to her connection with the island. “I dare say he’d been over at Nina Mazzo’s place trying to decide a strategy to get their hands on Freddie’s strip of land.”

  I suspected Lottie was right, and said as much.

  “Any news on when we can have a poke about up in Freddie’s tower room?” asked Lottie.

  I was annoyed; having realized that I could get in there because of the necessarily unlocked door, I’d planned to have a private hunt about in the place that afternoon.

  “None yet,” answered Bud swiftly. “I dare say the police won’t bother to tell us about it, on the basis we’d have no real reason to want to invade Freddie’s private space.”

  “But I thought we were investigating his death,” bleated Lottie. “And I really would like to see if the crystal skull is up there. It isn’t anywhere in this place, and I can imagine he liked to keep it close by. It was very precious to him.”

  We were interrupted by a knock at the open door. It was Tarone. He looked flustered.

  “Come in, Tarone,” said Bud, rising. “Is there anything we can do for you? What news of your grandmother?”

  Tarone took a few steps into the dining room. He looked younger than his eighteen years. “I just got a call. She not good. They doing tests. Think she have a bleed on her brain. I got to go to the hospital…but…I don’t have many friends on this side of the island anymore, they mainly in Kingston, and I don’t think I can drive myself. I too upset. Can someone…would anybody…?” His angst and his unasked question hung above the salad bowl.

  “I know John was hoping to get to Kingston while he’s in Jamaica, and he’s a fine driver. You could take Lottie with you, couldn’t you, John?” said Bud, staring hard at his colleague.

  John smiled. It was a smile that held a bucketful of understanding. “But of course, Tarone. Lottie and I would be only too happy to drive you to Kingston. Do you need to take a bag or something for Amelia? And what about yourself – do you plan to stay there overnight?”

  Tarone looked horrified. “I ain’t thought of things for Granny. Be good to stay there, yeah man, but where? I got no money, so how can I?”

  Lott
ie stood, and placed her napkin on the table. “I tell you what, why don’t I come with you to your bungalow so we can gather together a few bits and pieces for Amelia, and I’ll make some calls while we’re on the road. I’m sure I can find you a decent place to stay, and it’ll be my treat, no questions asked. It’s the least we can do, under the circumstances.”

  Tarone looked shocked. “You do this for me?”

  Lottie nodded and beamed. “I was once a girl with nothing much to her name because Daddy would never let me have anything I wanted, ever, after Mummy died. He was so terribly mean to me. I think that might have been because Mummy left everything to me, not him, but that wasn’t my fault, was it? Anyway, I had to wait until I got all of Mummy’s money for myself before I could do what I wanted, but there was a point when someone was kind to me when I needed it. I like to pay things forward. This is my chance. Now, come along, let’s make a move. The sooner we leave, the sooner you can be at your grandmother’s side.”

  Tarone nodded and rushed out. Lottie followed him and said to John in passing, “Could you grab my purple tote, the big one? It’s got supplies in it I might need. And bring a couple of things for yourself in case we need to overnight in Kingston. Sorry to rush, folks, but we can do something good for someone who needs it. See you when we see you.” And she was gone.

  Jack nodded slowly. “Quite a woman.”

  “She is indeed,” replied John. Turning to Bud as he rose he whispered, “I can see you need me to keep her out of your hair. Keep me up to date? And nothing risky without me, understood?”

  Bud nodded, looking surprisingly grim. “Thanks, John. Glad you understand. Won’t do anything you wouldn’t do.”

  John rolled his eyes, and left.

  Lunch had concluded, it seemed, and with Sheila’s ankle the way it was, it was a merry band of three that cleared everything away, as rapidly as possible, because we all knew that an uninterrupted afternoon of investigating lay ahead of us. We had the entire estate to ourselves, and we could say whatever we liked, because Lottie wasn’t in earshot. Bliss.