Never to Dead to Talk (Detective Inspector Burgess Series)

by Middleton, Deborah

  He swivelled around to appraise the foyer. Something was wrong but he could not put his finger on it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he bent his head - eyes closed - and allowed his mind to roam free. Then he looked around again. Is that oriental carpet crooked? He went over for a closer inspection. Stooping down, he noticed that one corner of the rug curled upwards like the edges of a stale sandwich. Grasping it, he pulled it back, uncovering about four feet of bare floor. What he saw made his blood run cold. There, slotted into the highly polished mahogany wood were three portholes. He knew exactly what they were: small windows to a basement where, over a century before, slaves would have been chained. It was only then that he realized just how old this part of the house must be.

  “Can one of you give me a hand here?” he called over to the forensics team. “I think I may have found something... Oh, it’s okay, here comes my sergeant.” He beckoned to his colleague. “Archie, take a look at this.”

  Archie had swung into the room, notebook in hand, his preliminary survey of the grounds complete. He let out a whistle between his teeth when he saw the portholes. “I don’t like the look of this at all.”

  “It looks to me, Arch, like this basement is still being used. Look at the edge of this carpet. It’s obviously rolled back on a regular basis. Help me pull it back all the way. There must be a way in.”

  They both heaved on the heavy rug, rolling it to one side near one of the kinnaries and exposing a neat trapdoor with brass hinges.

  “Archie, has the photographer gone yet? I think we need to call him back.”

  Their actions had attracted the attention of some of the forensics team and a group had formed around the entryway.

  “I have a camera. I can take some photos,” volunteered one of them.

  “Thanks. What’s your name?”

  “Jefferson Cordeiro, sir.”

  Burgess moved to one side as the short, swarthy technician produced his camera and began to take close-ups.

  “See any booby traps?”

  “No sir, it looks clean to me but you never know what’s on the underside.”

  “Why does that not reassure me?” Archie’s Bajan tones drew some chuckles, dispersing some of the tension. He flashed his trademark smile to the group. “Do we draw straws for who gets to go down there?”

  “It’s okay, Archie. Rank has its privileges… and its downside. I’ll go in.” Burgess gingerly grasped the ring inset into the trapdoor and sensed - more than heard - the other men’s collective intake of breath as he gave it a pull. Nothing! It swung up with relative ease. Allowing the technician to take more photos, he then placed himself on the top rung of a wooden ladder. “There’s a light switch down here.” Turning on the light, he climbed to the bottom and took his first look, apprehensive as to what might assail his eyes.

  “What can you see, Buddy? Can I come down?” He saw Archie’s dark face silhouetted in the opening of the trapdoor, noting the anxiety in his voice.

  “Wait, I’m coming up. I want Jefferson to photograph all of this first,” shouted Burgess. He quickly scaled the ladder.

  Three anxious faces were waiting for him around the mouth of the trapdoor. He smiled reassuringly at them.

  “It’s okay but I’m beginning to think that there’s a lot more to this case than meets the eye. That room is full of electronic equipment and camera monitors. We need to get a computer technician down there. It looks like every single room has a camera in it… especially the bedrooms.”

  Jefferson began to climb down the ladder, camera swinging around his neck. While he was down there, Burgess took Archie aside.

  “Arch, can you call Pamela back at headquarters and get her to set up a murder room? We need her to do some research on the owners and track them down. I think there is some seriously ugly business going on here. I’m thinking along the lines of porn films, prostitution, pedophilia, extortion… I just don’t know yet quite what. Also, this was no ordinary break-in. They were clearly looking for something. I’m just hoping that we may have caught them on film.”

  “Well, that makes sense because I didn’t get a chance to tell you but the guest house has four bunk beds in there and women’s clothing in the closets. Let’s just say, the clothing isn’t something you’d want to see your sister wearing.”

  “You stay here then, with Jefferson. I’ll get over there and take a closer look.”

  “I always knew you were a little kinky!” Archie punched Burgess playfully on the arm, trying to keep things light. Burgess made his way back out of the house towards the guest cottage. At this stage, his mind was whirling as it processed all the new information. He hoped he could come up with some answers – and fast.

  CHAPTER 4

  In the Serious Crimes Unit, things had gone into overdrive. Detective Constable Pamela Zuill had converted the conference room into a ‘murder room’. She had already printed some of the crime scene photographs sent over from the police photographer and begun attaching them to several whiteboards. She had organized them into three panels: one for the murdered Filipino couple, one for the basement findings and another for any new developments. Once she had the autopsy reports from the pathologist, she would add any relevant details to board no. 1. On Burgess’s instructions, she had arranged for a computer expert to go over the basement to analyse evidence there and would add those details to board no. 2. In her experience, however, it was often the miscellaneous details on board no. 3 that could crack a case. In a state of high excitement, the young woman almost skipped back to her computer, anxious to begin her investigation of the Filipinos and to trace the whereabouts of the owner of the house. She had learned that the house belonged to Vladimir Alexeev, a wealthy Russian film director and casino owner with other residences in Moscow and London. As yet, she had been unable to locate him and knew that, in light of the findings in the basement, Burgess would want her to first contact Interpol or the Moscow police and Scotland Yard before advising the gentleman of the recent events at his Bermuda home. She knew that Moscow was seven hours ahead of Bermuda and fervently hoped she could find someone who spoke English.

  She had been online to Interpol and learnt that the film director had no previous criminal record. Scotland Yard was scheduled to call her back shortly, once they had ascertained whether or not he was currently in the United Kingdom. She looked up as Detective Sergeant De Souza walked in.

  “Hi there, how was it?” She was desperate to hear firsthand what was going on.

  “Pretty brutal. Definitely not something you want to see before breakfast.”

  “Who found them?”

  “The poor cleaning lady; I had the pleasure of interviewing her. The ambulance guy had given her enough tranquillizers to fell a horse but she was still pretty worked up. Seems the Filipino couple, Maria and Fernando Bambase, was very reserved. She didn’t know them very well. In fact, she said they hadn’t been working there long. Anyway, I didn’t get much out of her; she was crying most of the time. I had to give her both my handkerchiefs.”

  “Both? You carry two?”

  “Oh yeah; a tip from Burgess: always carry a spare handkerchief when interviewing a witness, especially a female one! He says he’s lost more that way but they come in useful. Some women even return them cleaned and pressed – but apparently never the good-looking ladies!”

  “Well, well. There are no flies on our boss!” Pamela chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that one. I know he never leaves home without his notebook.” She went back to sorting some of the photographs into files, a big smile on her face.

  “Oh, that reminds me.” He pulled out his own black notebook. “I spoke to an officer who was interviewing some people who had gathered at the scene. One was a neighbor. Let me see… Yes, a Mary Davenport. She was walking her dog on Tuesday evening around ten o’clock and noticed a couple of large motorbikes parked in the road near the entrance to the driveway of the house. She recalls that one was black with a lot of chrome and had yellow flames painted on i
t.”

  “Great. I’ll put that on board no. 3 as a miscellaneous detail. I’m not sure how we’re going to be able to trace it, though.” Pamela reached for the magic marker and made her way into the murder room. De Souza followed.

  “Maybe Archie might be able to enquire at his motorcycle club. You know, the people who have the vintage bikes?”

  “That’s a great idea. I’ll be sure and ask him.” Pamela’s voice sounded a little strained.

  De Souza decided to venture the question, “Are you and Archie still seeing each other?” His voice trailed off.

  “No, it was good while it lasted but we are definitely not suited. I like him a lot but you know Archie… he’s just not ready to settle down.”

  De Souza, whose family originally hailed from the Azores, had been happily married to his childhood sweetheart for several years and did not know what to say. He cleared his throat in embarrassment.

  Pamela sensed his unease. “It’s okay. We’re still friends. In fact, I’ve started seeing someone new. It’s actually better not dating someone on the force. This one’s an accountant for one of the reinsurance companies.” She was referring to one of the many reinsurance companies headquartered on the island. Bermuda, tiny though it was, ranked only behind New York and London as an insurance center. International business was one of the main drivers of the island’s economy and had brought enormous prosperity. For many Bermudians, a job with an international company represented the pinnacle of success, enabling them to enjoy a privileged lifestyle.

  “Wow, seems like you’ve gone from one extreme to another - from a poor lady killer to a rich Steady Eddy!”

  “You can say that again. It’s actually quite nice.”

  To De Souza’s ears, trained as they were from years interviewing criminals, she did not sound convincing. He had to hand it to her, if she had broken up with the charismatic Bajan sergeant, she had not brought her problems to the office. In his view, that had been professional of both of them.

  He looked around the former conference room, noting the whiteboards with their notations and photographs. “I can see you have everything under control. I think I’ll go and get myself a coffee. Want anything?”

  “No, thanks, I’ve already got one.” She turned and made her way back to her computer, where she began inputting information furiously into a document with a huge grid on it. She never failed to impress De Souza.

  As De Souza made his way into the small kitchen, his cell phone rang. He called back to Pamela.

  “Buddy and Archie are coming back in. Pow wow in the murder room when they get here.”

  “Okay, I’m not going anywhere and maybe I’ll have some more information by the time they get here.” Pamela felt the familiar frisson of excitement at the prospect of another challenging case. This was why she had joined the police and she loved being in the thick of it all. Now, if she could just get in touch with the Moscow police. Going through the official channels always slowed things down.

  CHAPTER 5

  With a white towel wrapped around his hirsute, corpulent body, Vladimir Alexeev looked more like a zoo exhibit than a famous film director relaxing in the steam room of the luxurious spa of the Baltschug Kempinski Hotel. As the steam warmed his muscles, he allowed his mind to roam and reflected on how much he loved this hotel. It did not hurt that it was Swiss-run and catered with typical Swiss timing to his every whim. From the hotel’s position on the banks of the Moscow River, you could look across to the other side and enjoy spectacular views of Russia’s architectural wonders: the Kremlin and the famous onion domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral. That view made him proud to be Russian - and his ability to afford the delights of this upscale hotel reminded him that he was a Russian success story. He liked that.

  Alexeev was preparing to go for a swim in the freezing plunge pool when his bodyguard, a heavyset, muscular individual sporting a well-cut suit hiding admirably the bulge of his shoulder holster, knocked on the glass door of the foggy room. He looked up irritably at the intrusion. Through the mist, his irritation soon turned to amusement, as he watched his bodyguard’s impeccable appearance gently wilt from the effects of the steam.

  “Sorry, sir but there’s been an urgent call for you from the police; something about your house in Bermuda. They tried your apartment several times. I have the direct line of the lieutenant colonel here.” He proffered a piece of paper ripped from a notepad.

  Alexeev frowned. He did not like the sound of this. He stretched out his hand to receive the message, noting the high rank of the detective, no doubt in deference to his celebrity status. That, at least, pleased him. He swore quietly and, with a sigh, got up, rewrapped the towel around his waist and pushed his way out of the room.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Well, here we go again.” Burgess smiled reassuringly at his team in the murder room. His calm voice belied the excitement coursing through his veins. “Pamela, thanks for organizing the room. Let’s each of us report what we have and we can then note our findings on the boards. Archie, you got to the scene first, so do you want to start?”

  Archie reached into the breast pocket of his blazer to pull out his notebook, flipping it open with one hand in a practised gesture. “Outside the house, this is what we found: there was evidence that someone had been hiding in the bushes near the back door to the kitchen. There were snapped branches on the bushes and a partial footprint. I’m getting a scan of the plaster cast from Forensics sometime today. From that vantage point, they could spy on the people inside the house… at least they could see into the kitchen and part of the family room. The light bulb outside the kitchen door was missing and crushed glass and some droplets of blood found inside that door, as well as in the right palm of Mr. Bambase. I think our boys in Forensics will confirm that this glass was from the missing light bulb. I don’t want to make too many assumptions but it could be that the light bulb was loosened to bring the housekeeper outside. He must have removed it in order to change it and at that point, was overcome by the person or persons, waiting outside in the dark. During the struggle, he must have cut his hand.”

  “Was the glass on the kitchen floor crushed?” Burgess could not hide the excitement in his voice.

  “Yes. Why?” Archie did not see where he was going with this.

  “Well, I’m thinking that some of that glass might have been crushed by the perp and stuck in their shoe. If we get a suspect, we should check for that. It could be one more thread to link them to the crime.”

  The others in the room nodded their agreement with this and Pamela noted that fact on the whiteboard.

  Archie paused for her to finish, rechecked his notes and then continued, “In the living room, we found Mrs. Bambase, hands tied behind her, shot through the back of the head. There did not seem to be much of a struggle, although it looks like she may have been hit on the back of the head first. At this point, I’m not sure how many assailants were in the house.”

  “I might be able to help,” interrupted De Souza. “According to one of the neighbors, a Mary Davenport, two motorbikes were seen the night before at approximately ten o’clock in the evening, at the end of the driveway. That means that there were at least two and possibly as many as four perpetrators, assuming those are the bikes of the assailants.”

  “Great, that’s helpful.” Burgess waited while Pamela noted that fact for all to see. “Assuming, of course, that the bikes are those of the perpetrators.”

  “Okay,” Archie leaned back in his chair. “Assuming they are, one might have attacked the husband and the other killed the wife. We won’t know which one died first until Dr. Brangman has finished their autopsies.” Archie referred to Jacintha by her professional title as they were in the office.

  “We can clarify that when we have those findings.” Burgess nodded to Archie to continue.

  “Mr. Bambase was tied to a chair with nylon rope. I did not find any in the house so, again, I am assuming they brought it with them.”

  “T
otally premeditated,” exclaimed Pamela. “I wonder if they had staked out the house on more than one occasion.”

  “Good point,” agreed Burgess. “Perhaps we can canvass the neighborhood and see if the bikes were there at other times.”

  “I’ll do that,” offered De Souza.

  “Good. Take Pamela with you. She’s good at that.”

  Pamela was delighted. She loved to go house to house and see if she could get people to open up to her. She knew Burgess liked her to be with him when the situation might be touchy-feely. He was not as good at handling them as she was. De Souza, for his part, was skilled at interviewing criminals. She would enjoy seeing how he changed his behavior when interviewing ordinary citizens. Yes, this was great.