by P. A. Brown
He scrambled back inside their suite and scooped up the phone. Imani. What was her number? He’d written it down someplace, hadn’t he?
It only occurred to him when he was in the middle of dialing, that Imani had just lost her father, and David, her half-brother, was somehow being linked to that death by the local police.
Before he could hang up and rethink his plan the phone was picked up. A female voice breaking with grief said, “Hello?”
“Imani? Don’t hang up, it’s Chris.”
“C-Chris? What? How—?”
Chris rushed in, before he could chicken out and keep silent, or she could hang up. “I’m so sorry about your dad. It’s horrible…” His voice almost cracked. “But the police have taken David away. I think they believe he had something to do with this.” His words were rushed now, as though he had to spill them before she could stop him. “But he couldn’t have. David is too good to do such a terrible thing. He never would have done anything to hurt your dad—his dad. Never in a million years.
You gotta believe me.”
“How could you call here like this,” Imani’s voice took on a hard edge Chris had never heard before. “You destroyed my BeRMudA heAt 125
family. How dare you—”
“No! God, no it wasn’t—we didn’t. David wouldn’t hurt anyone. Joel was his father.”
“The father who wasn’t there for him,” Imani was shouting now. “The father who left him with his nasty mother. Oh, I can see how it went. David resented Dad for leaving him. Then he met him and realized this man had a whole life that had never involved David. He hated it—”
“Oh God, Imani. You can’t believe that. Please—” Chris was grasping at straws now. If Imani wouldn’t help what the hell could Chris do to help David. “Listen, David did meet Joel last night.
He told me when he got back from seeing him. Joel… Joel was already making plans to work things out. He wasn’t giving up on his family. He told David he’d never told your mother about him and how ashamed that made him. He was a good man, Imani, and David would never have hurt him. He wanted David and me to join you for a barbecue, some big cricket match between St.
George’s and Somerset. He said it was like the American Super Bowl. He even admitted he asked David here to talk to Jay. That Jay was in some kind of trouble…”
“D-Dad said that?”
“Yes, he did.” Chris was desperate now. “There wasn’t any animosity between them. Yes, David was confused and maybe even a little scared and hurt, but he could never hate anyone, certainly not his own father. He doesn’t even hate his mother, though I think he should.”
Imani gulped, swallowing a rush of tears. “Dad was at his wit’s end about Jay. He couldn’t get through to him, and it ate him up.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know what he hoped David could do, but I know he wanted to try something. He was so impressed when he found out his first born was a police officer—”
Suddenly the phone was snatched from her, despite her weak protests.
A male voice, thick with scorn, came on the line. “What are 126 P.A. Brown
you doing calling here, faggot? You have the balls to disturb us after what you did to my father?”
It had to be Jay. Chris knew the man wasn’t going to listen to reason, but he had to try, for David’s sake.
“Neither of us did anything to your father. David was happy to find out he was still alive. The last thing he would have done is hurt him—”
“Don’t call here again. Or you’ll be sorry,” Jay screamed.
Chris could almost hear the spittle hitting the phone. He recoiled from the onslaught.
“Jay, please—”
The phone slammed in his ear. He sagged into the easy chair beside the bed. For a moment he sat like that, his head in his hands, fighting the urge to cry. He had to help David. Nothing else mattered.
With nerves jittering he got up and paced through the bedroom, then back out onto the veranda. He gripped the railing with white-knuckled ferocity and stared blindly toward the harbor where lights were starting to come up as the sun dipped west.
Behind him the phone rang. He raced inside and snatched it up.
It was Imani.
“I’m sorry, I can’t talk long. They’re all on a rampage, swearing up and down that David must have done it. But I’m not so sure… The police arrested David?”
“I don’t know, they didn’t say he was under arrest, but they took him away. I’m scared, Imani. What are they going to do to him?”
Imani’s voice was still hoarse; she’d clearly been crying. “I can’t believe it.”
Chris wasn’t sure she meant she didn’t want to believe her father was dead or that David was involved. He wasn’t about to ask her.
“Thank you,” he whispered, feeling something in his chest BeRMudA heAt 127
loosen. “I still don’t know what’s going on, but I desperately need a lawyer to talk to and prepare for the… worst. Do you know anyone?”
Imani was silent for several heartbeats. Chris began to wonder if she had changed her mind. Or Jay was back. Then she said, “I don’t, but I know who I can ask. Let me get back to you.”
“Oh thank you, Imani. I am so sorry about your dad, and we’ll do our best to help out any way we can.”
“It’s better if you don’t call my place again. I’ll call you later today, or early tomorrow, if I find anything. And please, let me know what’s happening with David. I was just getting used to having another big brother…” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to lose him and my father.”
Chris listened to her cry, wishing he could say something to comfort her, knowing there were no words in the world that would offer her solace at this point.
“I’ll be here,” he whispered. “Please call”
He hung up on the dial tone, feeling more bereft than ever.
He wandered into the kitchen and stared into the fridge for an age, knowing he wouldn’t be able to eat, but knowing he had to. Finally he took out the bottle of wine he had bought the day before, when all he and David had to look forward to was a fun-in-the-sun vacation. Now all that had crumbled to bitter dust and Chris was at a loss as to what he could do to help. He drifted back to the veranda, carrying the bottle, a glass and the portable phone.
Almost immediately he went back inside to grab his laptop.
Daylight began to fade. The monotonous song of the local tree frogs intensified as the sun slipped behind a bank of clouds.
The cruise ship lit up, a beacon in the dark. Chris thought of the passengers, tourists without a worry in the world, pleasure seekers whose greatest concern was what shirt to wear for a night on the town.
He waited, half an ear cocked for the phone beside him on the glass table, wondering if he should call anyone back home.
But what could they do except offer sympathy, and Chris didn’t 128 P.A. Brown
think he could stand any of that. Des was a great friend, but he’d be as helpless as Chris. He’d be outraged, and he might feel obligated to fly down and offer a shoulder to cry on, but really, what could he do? Ditto for Becky. Martinez would just bluster and curse over the stupidity of it all, but in the end he could do nothing. Chris was totally on his own this time.
He bent over his laptop and did some random Google searches. He found the report of Joel’s death, but no details that would help him in his search. He didn’t even know the name of the cop who had taken David away. The police had no other leads, or they weren’t interested in looking anywhere else.
Until he could learn more, he was at a dead end. With a curse, he shut the laptop and picked up his wine.
He knew he was feeling sorry for himself. Not good. They’d been through worse in their seven years together. David’s outing had nearly derailed not only their budding relationship, but his position with the LAPD. It had cost Chris a steady job with decent benefits. Okay, he had hated the job, but it had been a damn good paycheck. Then the mess with Jairo that
even now his mind shied away from.
But that too had passed. Just as this would. He had to believe that.
It was after ten. He knew he should get some sleep, but the thought of going to bed alone made the idea impossible. He kept starting at every sound, wanting the phone to ring. When it finally did he nearly jumped out of his skin.
He snatched up the hand set and turned it on.
It was David.
Chris sagged into the lounge chair, every bone turning to jelly.
“David! Where are you? What’s happening?”
“I still don’t know.” Chris could hear the weariness in David’s normally strong voice. He heard what could only be the rasp of unshaven cheeks as David rubbed his face. “They haven’t formally charged me, but I think it’s only a matter of time…”
“What do they think you did?”
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David sighed and didn’t speak for several heartbeats. Finally he said, “They seem to think I murdered Joel.”
“That’s insane.”
“Unfortunately the circumstantial evidence supports their belief.”
“Oh, God,” Chris moaned. “This can’t be happening.”
“Listen to me, Chris. I need you to find a lawyer. Ask around, someone must know a good one.”
“I already asked Imani. She says she may know someone who can help.”
“How is she taking it?”
“Rough.” He didn’t tell David that Imani had thought he was involved somehow. David didn’t need that tidbit of information.
David’s voice dropped. “What about Joel’s sons?”
Chris mulled over his answer. Did David really need to know?
“They blame you,” he blurted. “I’m sorry, hon.”
“I kind of expected it. I’m just grateful Imani believes us. But I have to get out of here. I don’t think the local cops are going to work very hard proving I wasn’t involved. It’s easier to lay it all on me. I’m not local. I’m American and I’m gay. None of which are good qualities right now,” David added.
“So what can we do?”
“Look into who might have had it in for Joel. Someone must have, to do that to him.”
“Are you really going to investigate this?”
“If I can get out of here, I will.”
Chris wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. But the more he thought about it, the more he knew David was right. Who else would look out for him? Chris heard a muffled voice. David came back on.
“I have to go,” he said. “Do what you can about getting me a lawyer. With any luck I can get out of here soon. I’ll let you know if there’s a hearing.”
130 P.A. Brown
Before Chris could respond David hung up.
Chris scrambled out of his chair and pulled his laptop onto the table. He logged in and began Googling. He plugged in Joel’s name again. This time he knew enough to narrow the Cameron family down. He found one site that someone in the family must have put up. A family bio. He read the piece completely. In an odd twist, it looked like Daryl’s side of the family was cousins through marriage and blood on Joel’s side. They had worked alongside the Camerons, fishing their own fleet of deep-water boats.
In sixty-eight Joel had enrolled at Columbia in New York City. The rest, as they would say, was history.
A new search on the two sons produced next to nothing.
He’d have to get more creative there. He switched over to his Linux partition and his more powerful tools to probe government portals. With practiced skill he began delving into the murky depths of the Internet, finally finding and dipping into the Bermuda government Intranet. He poked around judiciously, not wanting to alert any nosy sysadmins to his back door activity.
It yielded results. Jay, it turned out, was often on the police radar, mostly petty stuff, like shoplifting, public drunk and disorderly, but once for a more serious drug charge. His younger brother, Baker, looked clean. At least Chris couldn’t find any records for him. Neither did Imani, to his immense relief. He even checked out Cedarbridge, the high school both Baker and Jay had gone to. He found a web portal, which didn’t contain anything. He did find an alumni site. He dug into it and found all three of Joel’s children had graduated.
Chris delved deeper into the criminal angle. Jay really had quite a record. No wonder Joel had been concerned. Concerned enough to engage a total stranger to help him? Even if David was the man’s son, he was still a stranger, an unknown entity.
Chris studied what his probing had uncovered. A felony bust on someplace called Court Street that resulted in an eighteen-month stay at the Westgate prison facility. Joel must have been real impressed with that. In the short time he had known him, BeRMudA heAt 131
Chris could see that Joel was a man on the straight and narrow.
A second narcotics bust had come not long after Jay was released from prison. This one was tossed on a technicality, no jail time.
It hadn’t taught him anything. In fact it looked like David’s younger half-brother was currently waiting for yet another sentencing on more drug charges. He was out on a bond, pending a court date. This time he’d not only been caught with a nice stash of meth, but he had also assaulted the officer who apprehended him. Even Chris, who knew nothing about the Bermuda legal system, had the feeling Jay might have run out of luck. He might be facing hard time on this beef, whatever constituted hard time in Bermuda.
Wednesday 1:15am Hamilton Police Station, Parliament Street, Hamilton, Bermuda
After his phone call to Chris, MacClellan led David back to the interrogation room. They put a cup of tepid coffee on the table in front of him, and for the first time produced a tape recorder.
David glanced at the recorder, then across at MacClellan.
After recording the time, date and interview site, along with his name and full rank, MacClellan said, “Please state your full name and current address for the record.”
They went through it all again. Exhaustion rode David hard; it was a struggle to maintain his composure. The coffee, bad as it was, didn’t help. He knew that’s exactly what they wanted. Make him sweat and hope for a slip up. The interview took nearly two hours. David was blinking away sleep before it ended, and he could feel MacClellan’s energy increasing, its focus sharp and riveted on him, like a cadaver dog pawing through garbage for a corpse. He knew David was losing it, and it only made him press harder, hoping to widen the crack until the whole dam burst.
There was a knock at the door; MacClellan answered and returned to the table with a sheaf of papers. He skimmed through them, his lips pursed, not making eye contact with David.
132 P.A. Brown
Finally he put the papers aside. Constable Lindstrom returned and David watched in dismay as he removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
“Please stand, Detective Laine,” MacClellan said. “You are under arrest for the murder of Joel Astwood Cameron. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so. Anything you do say will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence.”
“Do you wish to say anything?” MacClellan asked.
David stood up. “Where are you taking me?”
“Westgate,” MacClellan said. “Where you’ll be held pending trial.”
“What’s your proof? I demand to see a lawyer—”
Lindstrom snicked the cuffs around David’s wrists, the metal cold against his bare skin.
“You’ll get your chance,” MacClellan said.
David resisted the instinctive desire to jerk away ashe fought to keep his voice steady. A rush of adrenaline swamped his exhaustion, leaving him lightheaded, but more alert. He would pay for that alertness later.
He tried again. “What about bail?”
“No bail,” MacClellan said. “Once you secure a lawyer you can proceed with a bond, if the courts let you.” His tone said he very much doubted that would happen.
“And when can I do that?”
They were je
rking his chain. They’d run him around in circles until he gave something away they could use against him. Or maybe in his exhaustion he had already said something they took as guilt. Now they’d make him sweat in jail. It was an old cop trick. He’d played it too many times to count.
It was only midday when they exited the police station.
Lindstrom put David into the back of a squad car and slid into the front seat. MacClellan had gone back inside. The lights of BeRMudA heAt 133
the station stared balefully down into the vehicle, only vanishing when Lindstrom turned onto Front Street and headed east, following the harbor around to Middle Road. From there they headed west, passing the road that would have taken him back to Aunt Nea’s and Chris, then turning onto Middle Road, past the Gibbs Hill lighthouse and its beacon of light sweeping the ocean, finally crossing tiny Somerset Bridge.
David recognized where they were—very near the Dockyard where the four of them had eaten a carefree lunch just the previous day. They turned off just before the Dockyard.
The prison was a modern, low slung structure beside an ancient building that looked like a medieval fortress.
“Casemates,” Lindstrom said. “The old prison. Be thankful you’re not going there.”
David caught a glimpse of ocean before they turned into the prison yard. In alarm, David saw a TV camera and several reporters who instantly surrounded the squad car, pressing against the still moving vehicle. It was eerily reminiscent of the horrible time when he and Chris had been hounded by reporters eager for blood during his outing and near death at the hands of the Carpet Killer. He wondered who had alerted the media. No doubt the murder of a local man by an American tourist was rich fodder for the local rags. Flash bulbs flared, and he instinctively ducked his head away from the light. Lindstrom guided him out of the vehicle and David kept his face averted as they passed the gauntlet of reporters who hurled questions at Lindstrom and himself.
“What is he being charged with, Constable?”
“Did you kill your father, David?”
They already knew his name. What else had they uncovered?
