“Go on, Archie.” Burgess gave his sergeant the floor again.
“Well, as you all know, the house had been ransacked and Mr. Bambase beaten about the head and burned with cigarettes. It’s likely he was being asked to provide information about something. Possibly something hidden in the house…”
“Or maybe they wanted to know where the owner was,” interjected Pamela.
“Yes, that’s also a possibility but definitely the house had been turned over as if they were looking for something.”
“Or… and this is just a thought, it could have been made to look as if they were searching for something.” De Souza’s mind was beginning to explore hypotheses.
“Excellent point.” Burgess was all business. “Archie, could you ask Forensics if it’s possible to tell if the place had been properly turned over or just staged?”
Archie nodded and Pamela made the notes on the board. He continued, “Mr. Bambase’s throat was slashed. I am not sure with what. There was no knife left behind. I think that Dr. Brangman might be able to give us an indication. Oh and I asked the photographer to take pictures of the crowd. Have these come in yet?”
“Not yet,” said Pamela. “He’s got a few more to send to me.”
“Well, there were a couple of big businessmen in the crowd. I imagine they’re in the neighborhood. One I did recognize was Robert Flood, the senior partner at Flood & Hayward Law Firm. The other I’ve seen but I can’t recall his name.”
“Okay,” interjected Burgess. “Good work. Let’s wait until we get the photographs and we can organize the door-to-door.”
“Fine by me.” De Souza nodded.
“Anything else, Archie?” Burgess liked to keep the momentum going during a meeting such as this.
“Well, there’re the basement and guest house findings. Do you want to take them?”
“Yes, I’ll report on them in a minute. Pamela, do you have anything to report yet?”
“Not much. The house belongs to a Russian. His name is Vladimir Alexeev. No record, according to Interpol. I scanned a photograph of him over to them. I’m waiting to hear back from the police in Moscow. He’s quite a tycoon. If you google him, there’s lots of information on him. He’s extremely wealthy, owns several buildings and a casino in Moscow and owns his own private jet. Everything I have so far, I’ve put on the whiteboards.”
“What’s that notation about the motorcycle club?” queried Archie, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, De Souza and I thought you might be able to ask someone in your club if they know anybody with a black motorcycle painted with flames.”
“I’m riding with them this Sunday. I’ll be sure and ask. Who knows, we may get lucky.”
“This is good. I think we’re making progress.” Burgess was pleased with the way his team was brainstorming.
The clerk, Mrs. Ming, put her head around the door.
“Sir, the superintendent would like to speak to you. He’s on line three.”
Archie couldn’t resist quipping, “I guess he’ll want to be brought up to speed ‘ay-sap’!” The others all laughed. Burgess’s dislike of the superintendent was shared by them all. He was an officious, pompous balding gentleman who liked everything to be done ‘as soon as possible’ or ‘ay-sap’, as he liked to pronounce it. He always had one eye on a case and the other on his career. Burgess was not interested in police politics but the superintendent was a master at them. Burgess’s superior, the detective chief inspector, was recovering from a battle with cancer and had yet to return to the island. Since his illness, Burgess had stepped into his shoes and reported directly to the superintendent. He found he had a renewed respect for the chief inspector since dealing with the super. It was all he could do to mask his dislike for him.
“I’ll take that in my office, Mrs. Ming. Thank you. Let’s meet tomorrow at the same time and continue this conversation.” Smiling ruefully at his team, he excused himself.
CHAPTER 7
Nana was enchanted. His nose was wet and cold and his sleek black body’s only blemish was a startling patch of white over one eye. It was love at first sight.
“I’ll take him.”
The lady at the SPCA shelter was delighted. “I know he’ll make a great companion and a terrific watchdog for you. We’ll all miss him.”
The dog, evidently realizing he had found a new best friend, wagged his tail and jumped up on Nana in delight. She turned in mock alarm to the volunteer.
“How much bigger will he get? I don’t want him knocking me over!”
“He’s fully grown. The vet says he’s no longer a pup and probably a mix of border collie and labrador. An interesting mix, don’t you think? He was found wandering around and nobody has claimed him. He’s had all his shots but you’ll need to give him some training, as well as a lot of love. He’ll also need to be exercised. Will you be able to do that?”
“Oh, no problem there. My grandson and his girlfriend live in my downstairs apartment. They like to run in the mornings, so I think they will be able to take care of that… and I can take him for any short walks. I have a great garden too. I think he’ll love it where I am.”
Nana felt a thrill of excitement as she loaded the animal into her small Daihatsu Mira. Looking more like a toaster than a car, it was perfect for the small roads of Bermuda and easy for her to park. The dog sat panting in the backseat as if he knew this was the beginning of a whole new life for him. He did not seem fazed at all to be going somewhere new. The fact that Nana had given him a few treats had also helped to win him over. Nana carefully drove back to her house at Cherry Hill, pleased to have found what she felt would be the perfect watchdog. She had said nothing to Burgess but after the shooting at her home nine months before, she had no longer felt safe. At that time, a large German shepherd from the K9 department had been staying with her and had, effectively, saved Burgess’s life. Although it had taken some time to admit it even to herself, she had felt vulnerable ever since. This new furry companion would be just the job to keep her company and guard the property. She couldn’t wait to get him home.
Back at the house, Burgess and Jacintha were sitting on their terrace when they heard Nana’s car come down the driveway. He was enjoying an Elephant beer and mulling over the events of the day with Jacintha while she savored a glass of Merlot. Theirs was not the usual casual conversation over a drink after work.
Jacintha was discussing the initial findings of her autopsy of the Filipino housekeeper. Her clinical way of explaining things helped Burgess to see less of the gore and more of the scientific side of her job.
“His face had been savagely beaten but when I managed to clean it up, I noticed something. There was a strange pattern cut into the flesh from the blows. I’ve seen this before and it usually means the perp was wearing some sort of ring. In this case, it has left cross-shaped indentations in the flesh. Your man is a right hander, wearing a ring on his index finger.”
“Index finger?” Burgess’s interest was piqued. He wrote that fact in his notebook. “This could be significant. Thanks.”
Jacintha looked up with a start. “Was that a bark I heard upstairs?”
Burgess turned to her with a smile and raised his eyebrows. “What’s my grandmother up to now?”
As he made this remark, Nana leaned out of her picture window and called down to them.
“Leon, Jacintha. Could I join you for a moment?”
“Sure, Nana. Come on down.” Burgess was surprised that Nana would invite herself. She was always so careful not to disturb them. It must be something important.
Just at that moment, along flew a bundle of energy in the form of the new four-legged addition to the family. Nana followed in her usual regal fashion and Jacintha came out of the kitchen carrying a ginger beer for her.
“Hi, Nana,” she greeted, handing Nana the ginger beer with plenty of ice. “Want some rum in that?”
Nana giggled. “Not right now, thanks… but maybe I’ll take to drinking Dark ‘n S
tormies if I’ve made a poor judgment call on this dog.”
“And who’s this little fella?” Burgess was already stroking and playing with the animal which obligingly rolled over on his back for a tummy rub.
“Well, Leon, I’d been thinking how much I enjoyed having that lovely police dog, Officer Max, with me, so I decided to get myself a dog of my own.”
Neither Jacintha nor Burgess was fooled for one moment. They both realized the underlying reason for the dog and tacitly nodded their approval of Nana’s decision, looking over her head at each other as they did. Nana, for her part, was relieved that they had no objection and delicately braced herself for the conversation to come regarding the dog’s morning exercise. At that moment, however, Burgess looked at his watch and suggested they turn on the news to hear what the press had made of the day’s grim discovery. The three of them trooped into the living room to settle in front of the television. From under a huge cedar tree along the driveway, Johnny McCabe was having a field day reporting the two murders - sparing no gruesome detail. The house, ambulance and police vehicles featured clearly in the background.
“There’s your car,” exclaimed Nana, pointing at Jacintha’s white Subaru.
“Yeah, Johnny was blocking the driveway when I got there. I had to go over the grass to avoid him. I don’t think the owner will be very happy with the state of his lawn after all of this!”
Burgess managed a laugh. “I don’t think the owner is going to be very happy about any of this.”
“I heard they roasted the soles of that poor man’s feet in the fireplace,” whispered Nana.
Burgess turned to her in shock. “You heard what?”
“Yes, that’s what my friend down at Emergency told me.”
Jacintha and Burgess looked at each other in horror and simultaneously cried, “Mrs. Ingham!”
“That’s right,” continued Nana, unfazed. “She told the nurses that that was what she’d seen.”
Jacintha turned to Burgess. “Oh, dear Lord, I hate to think what the rumor mill will make of this! I imagine it will all come out on the People’s Corner when it airs tomorrow on the radio… Buddy, will the police need to do damage control?” Jacintha knew how hard it was to keep information from becoming distorted and then spreading all over the island. The local daily call-in radio show was always a good way to gauge grassroots opinions but when the people got the wrong information, things could get out of control.
“You mean it’s not true?” Nana did not know whether to be horrified or relieved.
“No, Nana. Mrs. Ingham got it wrong. No wonder she was such a basket case when she ran outside.” Burgess got up, turned off the television and went to the fridge for another beer. He tried to stay calm but this latest news had unsettled him. He would have to call the Police Communications Department and ensure they addressed the situation pronto. There was nothing he could do about this until tomorrow, so he might as well enjoy the rest of his evening. The young dog, perhaps sensing his disquiet, jumped on the sofa beside him and rested his head on his leg.
“Hey,” said Jacintha. “That’s my favorite spot!”
Two liquid-brown eyes looked up at her for a moment and then closed in contentment as the detective began scratching him behind the ears. Burgess looked across at his grandmother.
“So what are we going to call him?”
Nana smiled coyly. “Leon, honey, I have that covered.”
CHAPTER 8
Once again, the island was in an uproar. The Bermuda Gazette had printed the story on its front page. Mercifully, they had reported accurately and there was no mention of any burning of feet in the fireplace. The news had particularly impacted on those in the close-knit Filipino community, of which there were several hundred residing on the island. They were mourning the loss of their friends and doing all they could to contact their family back in Manila. Burgess had spoken to a charming, diminutive Filipina who was president of the Bermuda Filipino Society. She had reiterated everybody’s shock regarding the apparently senseless murders.
Nana sat down with a cup of tea and a cookie to listen to one of her favorite radio shows, the popular People’s Corner. As expected, a record number of calls jammed its phone lines. The theme was much the same from everybody: outraged Bermudians calling for action against such barbaric behavior. They slammed the politicians for not doing enough to fight crime, arguing that little had been achieved since the murders of Deon White and Rhonda Bailey nine months earlier. Some apologized to the Filipino community, expressing their sadness at what had happened. The host, adept at handling his callers, was keeping everything tightly under control and allowing for some good debates to come out regarding education, crime-fighting, employment and the need to pull together as a community in times of tragedy and economic hardship.
Nana sighed and wondered how her grandson’s day was going. She fervently hoped he could find the killers and bring them to justice. She knew that right now he was Bermuda’s hero but she was also smart enough to understand that you are only a hero for as long as you are successful. She took a sip of her tea and sat quietly thinking. Poor Leon, it’s a little like Hollywood. You’re only as good as your last film. Only for him, he was only as good as his last case – at least in the eyes of the public. She wondered if having a high profile would prove to be more of a stumbling block to her grandson, aware that she was already beginning to feel uneasy. She was startled out of her reverie by the kitchen door as it banged open. In came her new dog, prancing and wagging his tail.
“Oh, no! What have you been doing?” she cried. Her black dog was now… red. He was covered from head to toe with the iron-rich red soil of Bermuda. She quickly went outside into the garden and saw - to her horror - that the animal had dug up all her periwinkles. They lay broken and battered along her border. “So, you’re a digger, then! Maybe that’s why you were left at the SPCA! Now I know what I’m going to call you: Digby. Come here, Digby!” The dog bounded towards her. “Right, now I’m going to teach you a new word: ‘Bath’. I’m going to teach you a lesson about crime and punishment. Come here and let me hose you down.” She grabbed the dog by his collar and dragged him unsteadily to the outside hosepipe. She knew this was going to be a messy affair and wondered who would come out the worse – him or her.
Burgess was digging too but his was a search for more evidence in the basement of the Russian’s mansion. Together with Sean Skinner, a former policeman-turned-computer technician on loan to him from the private sector, he was removing the cameras, monitors, cables and listening devices from the underground room. They had hit the jackpot with a cache of DVDs, which were duly bagged and tagged, to go back to the station for analysis. It was no mean feat getting the equipment up the ladder, through the trapdoor and into a waiting van. They had managed to pull off some footage from the cameras and Burgess was itching to know if the perpetrators had been caught on film. That would make their lives so much easier. He hardly dared to hope that the murders would have been documented. In his line of work, you generally did not get that lucky. As he stepped out into the sunlight with the final bag of DVDs in his hands, he ran into the microphone and camera of Johnny McCabe.
“Hey, detective, how’re you doing?” He pronounced it the Bermudian way, drawing out the vowels so that it sounded more like ‘how ya doon’.
“Good, thanks, Johnny. I’m afraid I’m right in the middle of the investigation, so you know I can’t comment on it. Thanks for giving a good report last evening.”
“Don’t mention it. Feels like we’re back in the thick of it again.” He was referring to the last murder case. McCabe had helped the police to get witnesses to call in tips.
“Yeah, sure does. As soon as we have anything concrete, I’ll pass it to the police communications department for release to you.” Burgess liked McCabe. Sometimes he was a bit of an ambulance chaser but he always gave the police a fair shake and had a good nose for a story… and an even better network of informants. He had been known to ar
rive at a crime scene even before the police. Some officers would tease him, saying he’d committed the crime himself just to have a story. Burgess was always careful to keep him onside. He knew the power of the press and wanted to harness it rather than fight it.
“I know you will. Thanks.” McCabe got his cameraman to shoot Burgess and the computer technician loading up the van. Burgess had no idea what commentary would go along with the footage. He prayed it would be measured. At this early stage, he did not want to have to deal with an outraged public… or worse - a spooked superintendent.
CHAPTER 9
“Have you ever thought of promotion?” The superintendent looked at him closely. “Never thought of moving into the shoes of the detective chief inspector, even perhaps one day sitting in this office?”
Burgess felt uncomfortable. “I can’t say as I have, sir, especially while the DCI is battling cancer. It’s my hope he’ll be back soon.”
If the superintendent felt chagrined, he failed to show it. “Well, I’d like to be chief superintendent, maybe even commissioner, one day. I’ll make no bones about it. This case is important to both of us. Our reputations and chances for further promotion, are directly linked to our success in solving these murders.” Burgess instinctively knew the superintendent was only interested in his reputation and the thought left him cold. “I don’t need to tell you to handle this with the utmost discretion. You know I don’t like to involve Scotland Yard… Makes us look like we can’t cope. You need to wrap this one up ay-sap.” Burgess made a heroic effort to keep his jaw from clenching.
“I’ll do my best, sir.” It was always the same with the super. No real interest in the murders, just how their investigation might impact his career. He looked across at the man hunched like a predatory bird over his desk. His beak of a nose served to reinforce the impression. He used his half-moon glasses as a prop, peering over them to intimidate the person on the other side. The ploy no longer worked on Burgess. He was used to the superintendent. He knew that he was dangerous because he would save himself first, if things went wrong and hang everyone else out to dry. Burgess could not wait to get away from him but, instead, made a concerted effort to hide his feelings. Appearing outwardly calm, he continued to update his boss on the investigation thus far.
Never to Dead to Talk (Detective Inspector Burgess Series) Page 3
