The piercing eyes looked back at him. “Maybe we should have a press conference. Keep the people informed and onside.”
“With all due respect, sir, we need to have concrete information for a press conference. At this time, we have really nothing to report.”
“Very well, point taken.” The superintendent sniffed. “If we get anything newsworthy, then we’ll need to call one ay-sap.”
“Yes, sir. You can be sure you will be the first to know if we have a break in the case.”
“Good. That will be all… and Burgess, don’t leave a stone unturned. We don’t want to miss anything that could wrap this up ay-sap.”
“Yes, sir.” Burgess beat a hasty retreat, anxious to get back to the real world of policing – ay-sap.
CHAPTER 10
Back at the station, Pamela was under the desk in an empty office, plugging in the seized computer equipment. She was beside herself with excitement as cables and plugs began to find their homes. The new technician seemed like a cool character. She had immediately taken to him and they were chattering to each other as together they made sense of the spaghetti of wires and cables strewn all over the desk and floor.
“We’ll need some more extension cords,” shouted Pamela back to the technician.
“No problem, I can get loads. We’ll also need some surge protectors.” The technician eyed the old-fashioned wiring that went with the building.
Just at that moment, Archie came into the department. “Where is everyone?”
“We’re in the computer analysis room,” shouted Pamela.
“What room?” He made his way towards them. “Hi, I’m Detective Sergeant Archie Carmichael.” He held out his hand to the athletic-looking man in his early thirties, sporting a pair of glasses in the latest style. He looked more like a male model than a computer technician. Archie tried to suppress an unexpected twinge of jealousy at the thought of his working alongside Pamela. The technician grasped his outstretched hand in a strong grip and gave him a warm smile.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Sean Skinner. I’ve been seconded from Bermuda Comtech to help out… I used to be PC Skinner a while back.”
“No kidding? What made you leave? Don’t answer that! Could it be the money?”
Pamela joined in their laughter.
“Well,” continued Archie, glancing around at the makeshift computer analysis room, “you should have seen the forensic crime lab they have in Miami. I had the opportunity to visit it on my last case. Like a scene from a Hollywood set… all high-tech, glass and chrome… just like here!” They looked around at the small, sparsely furnished office, its leaky air conditioner, creaky floorboards and poor lighting. All they could do was laugh.
Pamela could not resist remarking, “You guys just love gadgets. When Archie got back from Miami, all we heard about was that darn forensic crime lab and all its state-of-the-art equipment.”
Skinner was unfazed by the office accommodation. “Hell, I don’t care where I work, as long as the air conditioning works.”
Archie smiled. “I’m liking you already.”
“Oh it gets better.” Pamela couldn’t resist teasing their latest recruit. “He’s not talking about air conditioning for himself. He’s talking about air conditioning for his beloved computers.”
“Oh, so you are a computer geek! You just don’t look like one. Where are the pens in the plastic pocket protector?”
“I’m undercover,” quipped Skinner, poker-faced. Both Pamela and Archie roared.
“Well, Sean, let me know when you have something.” Still chuckling, Archie made his way back to his own desk outside. He was looking forward to seeing what was on those DVDs and whether they had captured the murders on camera. In the meantime, he had some notes to write and wanted a chance to bounce ideas off Burgess. He dialled his number on the cell phone.
“Hey man, where are you?”
“I’m on my way back from a meeting with the superintendent.”
“I imagine then that you’ll be here ay-sap.” Archie’s opinion of the superintendent was even less charitable than that of Burgess. “How about we meet up for a sandwich at Albuoy’s Point in fifteen minutes? I’ll pick up a couple from the deli. You get a bench.”
“You’re on.”
Archie and Burgess often took their sandwiches to Albuoy’s Point where they could relax and watch the ferries as they plied their way across the harbour. Sometimes they could watch sailing regattas and there was always a lot of boating activity going on from both the yacht and the dinghy clubs nearby. Burgess liked to sit and let his mind wander. Quite often, he and Archie would explore possible scenarios of crimes as they ate. When they allowed their thoughts to roam, they could sometimes come up with a different angle they had not considered before. It had become almost a ritual with them during the Square Snapper case.
Archie made sure he had his cell phone and notebook with him and then made his way over to Albuoy’s Point. He enjoyed walking in Hamilton in the spring. With the sun out and the humidity low, it was a glorious day to be outside. He greeted various people along the way. It was hard not to see at least several people you knew when you were in town. He paused to look in a couple of the jewelry store windows and at Cooper’s. He liked their new building. It had recently been finished and had become one of the main department stores on Front Street, now that Trimingham’s and Smith’s were no longer there. He missed those two old shops. They had character and charm and their unique facades had been a part of the cityscape for so many years. Already in the six years that Archie had lived in Bermuda, he could see a huge change in the city of Hamilton; more office buildings and cafes to cater to the burgeoning international business sector. He knew that there were many who made three times his salary, yet he would not change his job for the world. He loved to solve a crime and this latest one, coming so soon on the heels of the last one, made his blood flow just a little faster. He relished the thrill of the chase. In that regard, he, Burgess, De Souza and Pamela were all cut from the same cloth. It was why they worked so well together. They preferred to be in the thick of it all and crack the mystery, rather than sit behind a desk all day. He looked forward to his lunch with Burgess. Who knew what might come out of it.
Later that evening, Johnny McCabe was keeping the commentary fairly low-key, as scenes of Burgess and Skinner loading up the van with computer equipment panned across television screens in several thousand Bermuda homes. Burgess sat with Jacintha, the familiar butterflies in his stomach right up until the piece ended. He was never able to relax until he was sure they had reported it correctly. What the press said could help or hinder a case and he was relieved that the piece had been even-handed and, frankly, not particularly interesting.
“I don’t see anything to raise any temperatures on tomorrow’s People’s Corner,” commented Jacintha as she delicately reached for some cashew nuts to go with her glass of Merlot. She sat at the opposite end of the sofa from Burgess, her bare feet resting on his lap.
“I agree. Thank goodness. Although, I think it’s only a brief respite because I’m sure that once we start looking closely at the DVDs and video, we’re going to find some things we’re probably not going to like.”
Burgess might not have made that simple comment, had he known just how bad those things would prove to be.
CHAPTER 11
Mrs. Flood tried to keep her voice steady. “I’m telling you, he’s not breathing. Please send an ambulance as fast as you can.” The 911 operator’s voice was reassuring as she took her address.
“Ma’am, an ambulance is on its way. Just stay calm and look out for it.”
“I’ll be down at the bottom of the drive.” Even to her, her voice sounded stiff, unfriendly even.
Unfazed, the operator remained cordial. “Thank you. They’re on their way.” She then hung up and immediately dialled the police.
Mrs. Flood looked across at her husband’s body slumped forward, head resting sideways on the leather-framed b
lotter of his favorite antique desk. Underneath his left hand was a note; on it, two words: ‘Sorry, darling’. It looked as if he had just fallen asleep there. The green banker’s light shone on the bald spot on his head, accentuating the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. She reached over and closed his eyelids. Best they find him like that, she thought. He looks more peaceful that way. Should she clear away the empty crystal tumbler with the whisky and the bottle of Percodan pills? Probably best to leave it just as it is. She felt numb. After 30 years together, not one tear had she shed. She felt almost a sense of relief. Still in her nightgown, she went into her bedroom to find her best robe. Yes, the one with the lace trim. That would remind her of her station in life. Even if she was receiving strangers in her pajamas, she would look like a diva and, although spring was in the air, it was still a little damp in the early mornings. In any case, she needed to be half-decent to receive the emergency medical technicians. In the distance, she thought she caught the sound of a siren. Rushing to the front door, she hit the button to open the gates. They began to swing inwards on well-oiled hinges. Slowly she made her way to the bottom of the drive, ready to guide the ambulance to the front door. She glanced at her watch: 3.30 am. Mentally bracing herself, she straightened her posture, looking almost regal. God knew, it was going to be one hell of a day.
By 4.00 am, not only were the police at her door but also Johnny McCabe and his ZBF van. It would be all over the morning news that distinguished lawyer, Robert Flood, one of the named partners of the respected law firm Flood & Hayward, was dead, having seemingly taken his own life.
CHAPTER 12
News of the apparent suicide of Robert Flood hit the front page of the Bermuda Gazette and was all over the morning radio. The island was abuzz with gossip and local lawyers in a state of shock. He had been a well-known member of the business community, sitting on various prestigious government committees and advising the minister of finance and Premier on international business matters. The obituary in the paper was long and flamboyant, listing his many accomplishments and service to the judicial system. The business community was at a loss as to how to accept his suicide. He had been such a ‘larger than life’ character at meetings and dinner parties. Nobody would have believed he was so unhappy as to take his own life.
In the morgue at King Edward VII’s Memorial Hospital, Jacintha prepared to autopsy his body. She had on her rubber apron and gloves. Her assistant was standing close by, tape recorder at the ready. Beginning her monologue regarding the state of the body, its age and outward appearance, she examined the extremities and a frown creased her forehead as she looked at a bruise that had blossomed on the right arm. After taking several close-up photographs from different angles, she proceeded to examine it through a magnifying glass. Then she began to make the Y-incision and the autopsy began in earnest. The autopsy took some time as she and the assistant removed organs and weighed them, examined stomach contents and put samples in glass jars for further analysis. Jacintha’s alarm bells had begun to ring when she had looked at the right arm of the deceased. The appearance of a bruise and evidence of an apparent needle mark, perhaps indicated a poorly administered injection. People who were right-handed injected themselves into their left arm. First of all, she wanted to find out whether he was right- or left-handed. Then she wanted a full toxicology report. It looked as if he had laced his whisky with the Percodan but she was too much of a professional to assume anything. Her instinct told her something fishy was going on here. Was this a suicide or murder? At this point, she was not prepared to place her hand on the fire.
“Austin, could you finish up, please?” Her assistant was only too pleased to proceed to sew up the body.
She made her way to her glass cubicle of an office and picked up the phone. Her speed dial immediately put her through to Burgess.
“Hi, honey, it’s me.” She deliberately kept her voice low so as not to be overheard.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Well, not so good, really.”
“What do you mean? Are you all right?” His voice sounded anxious.
“Yeah, I’m fine but your Mr. Flood is not doing so well.”
“Well, isn’t he…” he paused for emphasis, “dead?”
Jacintha allowed herself a chuckle. “Yeah, all of my patients are. It’s only that this one may have been helped along.” She allowed the silence between them to gather force.
“Are you serious?” Burgess was stunned.
“Oh, yes. In fact, I’ve a hunch his suicide might have been faked. I noticed some bruising and a needle mark on his right arm. Could you find out for me whether he was right- or left-handed? If he’s right-handed, then I’m pretty sure somebody injected him with something. Normally, that would be difficult to detect because of the whisky and painkillers but the bruise and needle wound put me on to the possibility of some other drug getting into his body. The toxicology report should tell us and I’ll ask for that to be expedited.”
“Great work, Jacintha.”
“Thanks. We can discuss this over barbecued lamb tonight. I managed to pick some up at the Supermart.”
“I can think of no other topic I would enjoy more over dinner.” Burgess was laughing. By now, he and Jacintha were used to indulging in a little black humor. After all, it was not everyone who spent their lives dealing with the gruesome aftermath of crime.
Burgess hung up and sat at his desk, deep in thought. Hadn’t someone at the meeting said that Robert Flood had been a spectator outside the house where the Filipino couple had been killed? Could this be somehow connected? His mind was alive with the possibilities. He pulled out his notebook and made a note to follow this lead. He then went back into the murder room to look at the whiteboards. There it was: a photograph of the crowd. Robert Flood was among the onlookers. What was going on here? His internal radar was sending out all sorts of alarms.
He needed to find out who had been on the scene at Flood’s house and get some of the photographs. He pressed the intercom on his phone.
“Pamela, could you do me a favor, please?”
“Sure.”
“Could you get the photographs of Flood sent over to me; also any preliminary reports?”
Pamela was perplexed. “Sure. But isn’t that just a suicide?”
“Jacintha wants us to take a closer look.”
“Okay, I’ll be able to get them for you in just a few moments.”
Ten minutes later, Burgess was looking at the photographs of Flood’s dead body. He noted the suicide note. He switched to a close-up photograph. The paper looked slightly rough at the edges, as if torn from a pad and the paper had a blueish hue. It looked quite ordinary yet something was not quite right about it. Why just a couple of words: ‘Sorry, darling’ and not a proper note? Lawyers had a reputation for being verbose. Why so cryptic now? What motive did he have, anyway, to kill himself? Surely, a man in his position would have written a suicide letter on clean, expensive paper. He would want to go out with a little style, even if it were suicide. He made a note in his book to check and see what stationery was in Flood’s home office. He also made a note to find out whether he was left- or right-handed. Certainly, the note was under his left hand. Where was the pen? The note was definitely in his handwriting. On his desk was an elaborate pen set with an ink well and leather-trimmed blotting pad. Why was the blotting pad so clean? Surely, a mirror image of his final words should have been on the blotter? Burgess was like a dog on the scent. The familiar prickling on the back of his neck was telling him he was on to something. Jacintha was right. Something here was not as it should be.
He swung out of his office, putting on his jacket as he went. He passed by Pamela’s desk and stopped in front of her.
“I need to do an interview with the grieving widow of Mr. Flood. Could you accompany me?”
“Absolutely. Let me just close out this document and I’ll be right with you.” Pamela closed down her computer, intrigued. Just what the hell had got Buddy
so excited?
As Pamela and Burgess left, Skinner was just about ready to start his analysis of the surveillance film. He had set up various monitors and had managed to put film into chronological order. He also had date-sequenced the many DVDs that had been sequestered and cross-referenced them with the different venues around the house. Where to start? He decided to see if they had managed to catch the murders on film. As he ran the film, his heart sank. There was absolutely nothing. Effectively, the cameras had not been in use, either on that evening or any evening for several weeks. Probably they only filmed when there were people staying at the house. Okay, then. Let’s try the DVDs.
He decided to run the oldest DVD first, starting with the swimming pool and cross-referencing with bedrooms on that same date. It was dated August of the year before. What he saw immediately made him sit up a little straighter.
CHAPTER 13
Never to Dead to Talk (Detective Inspector Burgess Series) Page 4
