by Cathy Ace
Smoking Hot Sitrep
With the place to ourselves, the four of us felt a lot less tense than we’d been for some time, and we agreed we’d take the chance to sort out exactly what we knew before deciding what needed to be done next. It was a good feeling – we didn’t have to whisper, and we didn’t have to watch the clock. Even if John turned the vehicle around almost as soon as they arrived in Kingston, we knew we had at least four Lottie-free hours ahead of us, so we were happy to spend twenty minutes or so comparing notes.
Sheila allowed Jack to help her hobble to the lounge chairs that had “attacked” her the night before, and we all put our feet up, enjoying the sea breeze while hiding in the shade of the portico. I lit a cigarette, and we all sipped from chilled bottles of beer – in Sheila’s case it was ginger beer, because she was still stuffing painkillers down her throat.
My first question was to Shelia. “Is the ankle really not too bad, or were you making that up? You’re limping quite heavily.”
“Why would I make that up?” was her surprised reply.
I shook my head. “Honestly, I think I’m losing it – I can’t be sure what’s real and what’s fiction any longer. It’s all I can do to keep up with who knows what. I mean I do know, it’s just so tiring to have to keep it all straight. I don’t think I’m cut out for all this cloak and dagger stuff. It’s annoying, especially given that I, for one, am not ‘allowed’ to know everything our husbands do.”
Bud and Jack shared a smile. “See?” said Bud. “Every opportunity she sees, she takes it.”
“Don’t ever give up,” said Sheila. “Keep nagging at him, Cait. Half the stuff they don’t tell us? When Jack finally folds like a cheap tent and confesses all…well, we both realize he could have told me upfront and it wouldn’t have made the slightest difference. I mean, who are we going to tell?”
“Exactly my point. Thank you, Sheila,” I replied.
Jack and Bud shook their heads and rolled their eyes in unison.
“Sitrep, please Bud,” said Jack.
“I like hearing situation reports,” said Sheila happily.
We all gave Bud our full attention. “Working theory is that the deaths of Freddie Burkinshaw and Wilson Thomas are linked. This based upon the fact both knew of the items we’re searching for, and knew where they were secreted at some point, even if the items have now been moved. Freddie claimed to have no knowledge of where they are now. We believed him. Wilson’s cryptic message at his moment of death mentioned the name of Freddie’s lawyer – and possibly Wilson’s lawyer too. Another potential link. Also, both shot.”
“Two dead men, and a lawyer,” I said. “First question: do we think Cooperman’s life is in danger because he knows something the dead men also knew? Or, do we think he’s ‘safe’ because he’s somehow involved in their deaths? My honest opinion – he didn’t look like a killer. Though his air of geniality did dissolve in an instant, so he could be better at hiding his true self than I am at detecting it.”
“No Cait, not that again,” said Bud. “You were studying him, right? You were on full alert. He wouldn’t have been able to prevent you from reading him.”
When I’d recounted my morning to Bud, I hadn’t mentioned how genuine I’d believed Cooperman’s initial bonhomie to be; I thought I’d keep that to myself, having been disabused of the illusion prior to my abrupt departure from his office.
“If his wasn’t the hand that acted, he could have hired a person, or persons, unknown to act on his behalf,” said Jack. “He’s a lawyer; might know some folks who’d happily do his dirty work for him, if it were needed.”
“If you’re not sure about exactly how he’s involved, shouldn’t you be warning him – just in case he really is in danger?” Sheila sounded worried.
Jack sucked the tip of his thumb. “It’s a judgement call, alright, but we can’t risk tipping him off, in case if he’s on the wrong side of this. If he’s an innocent player, he’ll likely put two and two together for himself.”
I asked, “Has Wilson Thomas’s name been made public yet?”
Bud nodded. “That’s why Tarone and I ended up talking about his grandfather – his name was included in a report on the local radio station this morning, not long after you told Tarone about his grandmother’s fall. The boy was in a poor way when I saw him again, and we got talking because of it.”
“In that case, Cooperman might not have known about Wilson’s death when I was talking to him,” I said. “He certainly didn’t appear to be a man in fear for his life, but maybe that’s changed by now. Do you think we could come up with some way of getting John to see Cooperman when he’s in Kingston? If John could get just a few minutes with the man, he might be able to give us some impression of Cooperman’s state of mind now that the news about Wilson’s death is out.”
“I could give John a ring and ask him to wangle it, somehow,” offered Bud. We all agreed that would be useful, so Bud made the call, with Jack also stepping away to listen in.
I took the chance to ask Sheila if there was anything I could do to help her.
“No thanks, I’m fine. Just feeling a bit useless, that’s all,” she replied with a tired smile. “My own stupidity means my body’s out of commission, and these painkillers are making me foggy.” She leaned toward me as best she could, given her position. “I’m still trying to get over Jack being so close to someone being murdered last night, if I’m honest. I thought all that sort of thing was behind us. I know you and Bud have been married for a little time now, but it’s a real grind watching them go off to work every day, not knowing if they’ll walk back through the door in one piece.”
I knew she was right; the families of people who work in law enforcement really do bear a huge burden of worry. “But you were a Mountie yourself, for a while, Sheila. You know how good the training is, how they’re prepared and able to take care of themselves.” I didn’t mention that I was still grappling with the concept of Sheila having been a cop.
Sheila smiled. “True, but those were different times, Cait. Not that I was in uniform back in the Gold Rush era, or anything, but these days? It feels like a whole new world. There’ve always been bad people out there, evil ones, too, but nowadays they seem to be more ready to act than to hide.”
Sheila had touched a chord for me. “Do you really believe evil exists, Sheila?”
She thought for a moment. “As a religious concept – you know, the devil, and all that sort of thing – no. But people who do evil things certainly exist. I’ve met some of them, as have you, and our husbands. What’s the point of arguing the semantics when the reality is that some people do the most dreadful things?”
I pondered that topic, but didn’t say any more, because Bud and Jack rejoined us.
“John will do what he can,” said Bud. “What’s next for us?”
“The tower,” I said. “I want to see inside the room where Freddie was found.”
“But we can’t get in there,” said Sheila.
“If the cops managed to somehow open the door, they’re unlikely to have re-locked it, so we should be able to get in. And they’ve made it clear they don’t think of it as a crime scene,” I replied.
“Hang on a minute, Cait,” said Bud. “That autopsy report might mean they change their minds. I got it fast – we’re probably a little ahead of them, because they possibly don’t think of this as a case that needs urgent attention yet, but they could come back here at any time and shut the tower down. The poison found in Freddie’s system might not have killed him, but it was there, which could cast doubt on their initial interpretation of the scene. And it’s highly unusual for a suicide to be found shot in the heart. Of course, they’d have seen the wounds when they initially examined Freddie’s body at the scene, but, maybe – when taken with the discovery of the ackee – they might now feel the need to reassess their initial decision.”
“All the more reason to not waste any more time,” I said, �
��because you’re right, Bud; I hadn’t thought of that. Come on, let’s save the rest of our discussion for another time – we might be down to the wire in terms of getting into Freddie’s lookout room.”
I was out of my seat in a second.
“I know you’ve got a photographic memory, Cait,” said Sheila, “but would you do me a favor and film it all for me? I hate the idea of missing out, but I just don’t think my ankle’s up to it. I don’t want to slow you all down. If the cops show up here, I’ll stall them – though it’s unlikely they’d even bother to come to this part of the property, it’ll be the tower they’re interested in. Go on now, go!”
Bud and I crunched along the winding pathway, kicking up the seashells. We’d already reached the ground-floor entrance to the building before it dawned on us both that, while the tower room might be accessible, the police had probably locked the main, outer, door. They had.
“The key cupboard in the main house?” I said to Bud, hoping he’d volunteer to return. We were both a bit puffed, and sweaty.
“Hey, need these?” asked Jack as he approached, waggling a bunch of keys. “Sheila suggested I checked the key cupboard before I left, in case the cops had locked the main building.”
Bud and I chuckled. “Thank goodness she’s got a practical mind,” I said. “And she was wrong, those pills aren’t making her foggy at all.”
“She’s a woman with a great deal of common sense,” agreed Jack. “Don’t know how I’d have managed if she hadn’t made it through. We were so lucky.”
As Bud tried various keys in the lock, I asked Jack, “What do you mean she ‘made it through’? Made it through what?”
In spite of his tan and sweaty brow, I could tell Jack was blushing. “Losing the baby. You know, it came up in conversation?” I nodded. “Sure, we lost the baby, but Sheila nearly didn’t make it herself. Worst time of my life; I spent days at her bedside in the hospital. She didn’t seem to want to fight. Her sister dead, the baby gone. It was all too much for her. Of course, if her sister hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have had to come here to Jamaica to sort out repatriating the body, so she wouldn’t have been on that flight back home when they experienced some terrible turbulence over Cuba – she never forgave herself for not having kept her seatbelt on…she took a very bad hit and the baby was traumatized. Hence her – us – losing him. We’d have had totally different lives, and at least one son, if Sheila’s sister hadn’t died.”
“There you go,” said Bud, as he flung the door wide.
Before I stepped inside I had to check something with Jack. “You’re saying that Sheila’s pregnancy was compromised because she came to Jamaica, and she came here because her sister was killed in a scooter accident?” Jack nodded. He walked in ahead of me.
I paused on the threshold, wondering if Sheila had any idea who’d been responsible for her sister’s death, and if that might have any bearing on the situation we were facing – then I dismissed the idea as being too fanciful, and focussed on getting as much as I could out of what might be my only chance to inspect an extremely puzzling, and no doubt fascinating, crime scene.
Lookout Room Luxe
“Let’s start at the top, in the room we never saw properly, and work our way down,” I suggested as I entered the dim, and thankfully cool, interior. It turned out I was talking to thin air; I could hear Bud and Jack slapping their way up the stone staircase ahead of me.
“Lock the door behind you, Cait,” shouted Bud. “I left the key in it. If anyone shows up, that’ll slow them down. By the way, take a look at the outer lock covering – see if you agree with me that someone might have made a clumsy attempt to open it with something other than the correct key.”
“Already done,” I replied, trying to sound as though I’d thought of that. I checked the plate surrounding the keyhole. Bud was right; scratch marks suggested it had either been picked open, or someone had made a bad job of trying lots of keys of the wrong sort to open it. I wondered who might have done that, and why. I locked the heavy door and also left the key in place, turned halfway round – thereby preventing anyone with another key from entering. You can learn a lot from reading children’s mysteries.
I climbed the steps, silently counting them as I did so – for no particular reason other than that my constant internal monologue demanded it; the voice in my head rarely shuts up, and it speaks in fully formed sentences. The only time it stops is when I’m speed reading; it’s so keen to be heard there’s no chance I’ll ever reach the Zen state of having a “quiet mind”. It’s why I snap at Bud sometimes; he doesn’t understand he’s interrupted a full-blown conversation going on in my head, poor thing. We’ve agreed I’ll work on that.
“Did you hear me?” called Bud.
I stopped in Freddie’s bedroom. “Pardon?”
“I said we’re waiting for you, Cait,” shouted Bud slowly.
I rounded the final sweep of the staircase. “Here I am,” I said as brightly as being slightly out of breath would allow. “Oh dear, that’s a mess!” I was taken aback by the sorry state of the once-grand door to the tower room. “When the police said they’d brought someone in to open the door I’d envisaged something less destructive than this.”
A massive portion of the door had been sawn away, leaving a gaping square hole where the lock had once been.
“I thought they’d have unscrewed it, for sure,” said Jack. “This is a bit much. I guess they’ll have to replace the entire door, which is a shame. It looks real old.”
“It probably dates to the 1680s, like the tower,” I said, feeling sad. “Such a shame. Judging by the size of the planks they used for the door it was a large tree. Oak. Maybe a hundred and fifty years old, or so. This wood was growing, and was a living thing, possibly back in the early 1500s, through the reign of Henry VIII and most certainly when Elizabeth I was on the throne – the only queen with Welsh blood in her.”
Jack said, “But there’s at least a Prince of Wales, right? Isn’t he Welsh, like you?”
“Cait, rabbit hole,” warned Bud, “we need to get on.”
I knew Bud was right, so I answered Jack as quickly as I could. “No, the Prince of Wales isn’t Welsh, though I understand he does a lot in Wales, and for Wales and the Welsh. Henry VII was Welsh; came from a Welsh family, going back generations. Elizabeth was his granddaughter. These cells of wood I’m touching were created out of the air, the light, and the nutrients in the soil possibly when Henry VII ruled. I love touching old wood; it brings history to life. I think it’s amazing. But Bud’s right, we must get on. So, let’s have a look at this crime scene, then.”
My delivery had been rapid and staccato. Poor Jack looked as though I’d been juggling baby otters in front of him; bemused and somewhat confused, if entranced.
“Before we begin,” said Bud, rolling his eyes at me as he held us both in place, “let’s set some ground rules. No gloves needed because we have every right to be here. But bear in mind the fact we already believe this to be a crime scene, and the cops will likely want to treat it as such very soon – so, no disturbing it, just noting, photographing, and videoing. If anyone sees something they think is important, shout and hold. We’ll each take a look, and discuss if necessary. Touch as little as possible, and watch your step, be mindful of potential evidence on the floor – which is where Freddie was found. Any questions?” We both shook our heads.
The damaged door creaked open; Bud pushed it with his elbow until it lay as flat as it could against the curved wall behind it. The doorway was wide enough to allow the three of us to stand next to each other and take in the scene before we entered.
“I’ll film it all, Cait, you don’t have to do it,” offered Jack. “I know Sheila will be keen to see what we see, and it’ll be easier to show her if it’s on my phone.” Bud and I both thanked him, and Jack started to record.
“For our eyes only, okay?” Bud warned Jack. Jack nodded.
Bud was his old “comm
and and control” self alright, and I had to admit it was great to see him back in action the way he’d been when he’d hired me as a sometime-consultant on his homicide investigation team, back in Vancouver. He was good then, and he was good now. I felt comfortable working with him this way.
“I can smell…vomit,” I said, covering my nose to try to stop myself gagging.
“Ackee poisoning is also known as Jamaican vomiting sickness,” said Bud. “Freddie had eaten the overripe fruit, so it’s not a surprise he’d have thrown up. I’ll locate it – it might help us establish a timeline of his movements before he died. Indeed, why don’t we divide the responsibilities? Cait, you do your overall thing up here – see what’s what, tell us what light it can throw upon Freddie as a person. Jack, you get comprehensive video of the ground floor, the sitting room level, and the bedroom level. I’ll focus on this floor alongside Cait, then the walkway outside – close quarters examination, video recordings.”
We agreed, and I was grateful I wasn’t the one expected to hunt down a pile of sick then work out what it meant. I tried to focus on my surroundings but decided to keep a hand over my nose in any case.
Bud added, “Wide angles of everything, Jack, please, then close-ups. When you’re done with the other floors, could you come back here? Thanks.”
I’d never seen him and Jack work together this way before, and I was interested in the dynamic; Jack had entered law enforcement earlier than Bud and had become his sort of unofficial mentor in his early years. Then, Bud had been promoted above Jack and had gone on to assume a high-level role in a special task force designed to prevent international drug and gang crime. Jack had only reached the rank of sergeant by the time he’d retired. It was clear to me that Bud and Jack had settled into their old rank roles; I wondered if, maybe, they were their current “secret” rank roles too, because all I knew was that they weren’t saying anything to me on that topic.
