Never to Dead to Talk (Detective Inspector Burgess Series)

by Middleton, Deborah

  Burgess, meanwhile, was consulting his notebook in preparation for another team meeting in the murder room. Pamela had received the police photographs of the newest crime scene and Skinner had forwarded a picture of the tattoo over to the morgue. It would be some time before they would hear back from Jacintha with her autopsy findings. She was going to have a busy afternoon.

  CHAPTER 25

  Archie and Pamela waited anxiously as Mrs. Flood read the search warrant.

  “I will have to call my lawyer.” Her voice was tight, almost arrogant.

  Archie used his most conciliatory tone. “That is your prerogative but, in the meantime, we have a search to conduct.”

  With that, Pamela instructed several constables to fan out and begin going through the premises. There were several bedrooms and bathrooms, a pool house and a two-car garage to search. It was going to be a long day. She decided to examine the master bedroom and bathroom herself and left a female constable to keep an eye on Mrs. Flood. Once in the master suite, she stood still taking stock, trying to see if there was anything that looked odd. What a gorgeous room! The typical Bermuda tray ceiling had cedar beams crossing it and there was a fireplace on one of the walls with a carved cedar mantelpiece. On the walls hung gilt-framed portraits of the Flood’s children and ancestors. Under her feet, Pamela felt the luxury of the carpet. It was a wedgewood blue and thick enough that your footsteps left a trail on it. Pamela felt a twinge of envy. What would she give to sleep in a bed like that one? Her eyes coursed admiringly over the pineapples and exotic flowers carved on the four posts. It had an English, yet tropical look, that she found enchanting. Something about the room, however, niggled at her brain but would not imprint itself on her consciousness. What was wrong? Then it struck her. Everything in the room was feminine. The perfume bottles, silver-backed hairbrushes and earrings left on the dressing table. There was no sign of Mr. Flood ever having lived in this room. Have you disposed of his things already… or did you have separate bedrooms? She looked in the bathroom. Mrs. Flood’s silk robe and negligee were hanging on the back of the door. Again, cosmetics, curlers, everything belonged to Mrs. Flood. No sign of her husband. Similarly, the medications in the bathroom cabinet were all for her – only no sign of any insulin. Pamela found that odd. Surely she would need to have enough to keep her going for at least a month at a time? She would have to find out about how many injections were prescribed at a time. Where was Mr. Flood sleeping? She crossed the corridor and peered inside one of the guest bedrooms. Bingo! This was where he had slept. She would ask the constables to have a good look here.

  Going back into the master bedroom, she donned latex gloves and began going through the highly polished antique Queen Anne chest of drawers. Not that Pamela recognized specifically what it was, just that it was a beautiful – and evidently very expensive – piece of furniture. This was tedious work and part of the job she did not enjoy but it was necessary if they were going to find anything to link Mr. Flood’s demise to his wife.

  Meanwhile, Archie was going through Mr. Flood’s office. He, like Pamela, had been enthralled by the room’s charm. It was masculine, yet elegant, and shrieked money. Archie knew he could never aspire to this kind of wealth on a sergeant’s salary. It did not bother him, however. As long as he had a roof over his head, his beloved vintage Triumph motorcycle and an intriguing case to solve, he was as close to nirvana as he could be. Oh and let’s not forget to throw a cute girlfriend into the equation.

  He had finished with the desk and filing cabinets and began to box up the files to take back to the station. Now he looked behind the paintings on the wall. There was a beautiful seascape by Bermuda artist Jonah Jones. He paused to admire the brush strokes, the layering of paint and choice of colours. He marvelled at the talent to produce something so evocative of the island. He then carefully lifted it off its hook and was delighted at what was underneath: a safe built into the wall. He walked back into the living room to find Mrs. Flood sitting, flipping through a magazine in stony silence. He glanced at the attractive female constable who merely raised her eyebrows. The atmosphere was glacial.

  “Mrs. Flood, we have found a wall safe in your husband’s study. Would you have the combination for that?”

  “No, why should I? It belonged to my husband. He never confided those things in me.”

  “Oh, that’s a pity because we are going to have to get an expert to unlock it for us and sometimes that can get messy.”

  “Well, in that case, that’s what you’ll have to do.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and went back to her pretence of reading the magazine. Archie turned abruptly and left the room. The female constable stared out the window at the men going through the garage and prepared to spend an uncomfortable day with the lady of the house.

  Back in the study, Archie called Mrs. Ming back at the station and arranged for a locksmith to come open the safe. He knew they would have to drill the safe open. What a pity Mrs. Flood did not have the combination. He continued his search behind the paintings, gloriously ignorant as to how significant his discovery would be in their case against the ice queen in the living room.

  CHAPTER 26

  Sunday had arrived at last. Jacintha and Burgess were in the living room munching on toast and drinking coffee, feet up on the coffee table, newspapers around their feet. Digby sat between them on the sofa. He had come to visit when Nana left for church.

  Jacintha looked up from her reading. “You know, it’s a great day for us to get out there and train for the May 24th race. Why don’t we try and do an extra-long run today?”

  “Sounds like a great idea. We can take Digby with us. It’s not too hot and I can take along some water for him. Maybe we can stop off at Spittal Pond on the way back and do a cool-down walk through there. It’s made a great recovery after Hurricane Fabian and the birds are all back and nesting again. It’s beginning to look like the nature reserve it once was.”

  “I like the sound of that. Let me jump in the shower and get myself into my running gear.” Jacintha knew he found it strange that she would shower before going for a run where in five minutes she would be sweating but she loved her wake-up shower and would not go without it.

  “Okay. I’ll clear up here while you do that.”

  Digby perked up as they began to move around. He sensed they were going out and his eyes tracked Burgess’ss every movement to see if he would get invited or would be forced to stay at home. He loved to go running with them. Hopefully today would be one of those lucky days.

  For her part, Nana had arrived at church and was busy greeting her friends and acquaintances, of which there were many. She loved these gatherings and the fellowship of her church friends. Inevitably, some inquired after her grandson and how he was managing with the new case. Nana was always careful not to reveal anything confidential and kept her ear to the ground for any comments that could be beneficial to her grandson. She had already been acutely embarrassed by the mistaken testimony of Mrs. Ingham regarding the injuries to the Filipino housekeeper and did not want to pass on another “howler” like that. She loved to know what was transpiring in her community but would have hated to be considered a gossip. Good, accurate information was perfectly fine but rumor, innuendo and speculation had no place in her life. She did, however, pass on the information about the search for the black motorcycle with flames painted on the fuel tank. She knew it would be in the Bermuda Gazette the next morning anyway and that her grandson would not mind if she tapped into her sources at church to see if they knew of anyone with a motorcycle like that. She also quietly relished the fact that she could give them that information before the press. She was, nevertheless, stunned to hear that one of her friend’s nephews was hanging out with a young man who had a bike of that description. Perhaps there were many bikes like that but the news still filled her with foreboding. She knew she had no choice but to tell her grandson.

  Archie’s Sunday began with polishing the chrome on an equally flashy motorcy
cle - his vintage Triumph – with the help of his landlord’s ten-year-old son. Archie rented the guest cottage of a charming estate off Harbour Road. The boy idolized him and even more so since the Square Snapper case, where he had appeared on television and in various news articles. The fact he lifted weights, fought crime and rode on ‘cool wheels’ with the Easy Rider’s Club, had elevated him even further to superhero status. The young boy had assured his parents he wanted to be a detective, just like Archie, when he grew up.

  Archie was looking forward to meeting up with the other riders for a late codfish and potatoes breakfast in Somerset. He loved the camaraderie. The talk of spark plugs, engines and bikes in general, was a tonic to him after a stressful week. He loved this time of year as you could enjoy the bike without the sun beating down on your skin and your head sweating in your helmet. He tied a bandanna around his head, placed the helmet on top and revved up the engine. His junior mechanic gave the thumbs-up sign and Archie winked in approval. He waved to him as he roared down the hill towards Harbour Road and the rendezvous with his friends. He was hungry and was tempted to speed but knew he had to be especially careful, given he was a member of the force.

  He had it in mind to ask his friends if any of them knew of a black motorcycle with flames painted on the gas tank. If anybody knew how to find the owner of that bike, he felt it would be his fellow riders. It was worth a try and he intended to put out a few feelers.

  Archie had no idea that Burgess had unwittingly launched a two-prong offensive: Nana on the one hand and Archie on the other.

  He rode along Harbour Road enjoying the breeze and marvelling at the sparkling waves. Several sailboats were out on the water, their white sails smiling brightly against the blue of the sea. In the distance, the horizon was a crisp line. In a couple of months the summer humidity would blur it but, for now, the air was crystal clear, affording far-reaching views of Dockyard on the western tip of the island. He could see the whole city of Hamilton stretched on the other side of the harbour, with its colorful buildings and the Cathedral tower rising highest of them all. What a glorious day. He felt glad to be alive and inhaled the scents of the flowers as he rode on. The only thing that would make the day perfect would be a gorgeous girl on the back of his bike. Should he ask that good-looking police constable he had met over at Mrs. Flood’s house? He wondered if she would enjoy this as much as he did. Perhaps if he ran into her again, he would ask her out. Archie did not have a reputation as a lady’s man for nothing.

  CHAPTER 27

  Alexeev was in a panic. Who had broken into his ex-wife’s apartment? Where were his kids and had the burglars taken his ex-wife’s laptop? If they had, then they would be able to trace him. He had e-mailed her, asking to use the villa, so they could be lying in wait for him. They could be in one of those cars now that he spotted in the rearview mirror, as he made his way along the MA-20 back towards the airport. He jumped as his cell phone rang. With one hand on the wheel and the other on the phone, he flipped it open and waited.

  “Vladimir, are you there?”

  “Sasha, where the hell are you?”

  “We’re on our way to use your yacht. I took the kids out of school and we’re at Moscow Airport at the moment. Where is your jet?”

  Alexeev pulled over to the side of the road. He was so relieved he exhaled loudly. “Sasha, listen to me very carefully, do you have your laptop with you?”

  “Of course’ why would I leave it behind?”

  “Okay. Did you know someone has been in the villa? They have smashed the stove top, taken out the safe, and there appears to be a blood stain on the sheets.”

  “Vladimir, are you nuts? Iosif broke the stove top the other evening when he was skylarking with Andrei. As for the save, I had to have it removed because I lost the key. There’s no blood on the sheets, probably just some coffee! I have called the property management people and they will clean up everything in time for our return.”

  “Jesus Christ, I always knew you were a lousy housekeeper but this is ridiculous! You even locked the cat in, you idiot!”

  “Now you insult me!” Her voice rose to that strident level he so hated. “It reminds me of every reason why I left you.”

  He did not like the way the conversation was heading and decided to adopt a more conciliatory stance.

  “You have the name of my pilot. Just give him a call and he will organize your trip to the Black Sea. Also, call the yacht captain and let him know you’re coming so he can have the yacht ready for you. Stay as long as you like.”

  “We’ll probably stay no longer than three weeks. I really should not take the boys out of school that long. The school is not very happy with me.”

  “Well, keep in touch. I’m on my way back to the villa and will stay there.”

  Alexeev hung up and looked for the next exit so that he could turn around and return to the villa. He felt like the weight of the world had been removed from his shoulders. It would take a large vodka tonic, in fact several, sitting on the terrace to get his heartbeat back to normal. At least the cat would be glad to see him.

  CHAPTER 28

  Archie was enjoying a plate of codfish, potatoes, bananas and avocados. It was his favorite Sunday breakfast. His fellow diners, members of the Easy Riders Motorcycle Club, were laughing and joking with him, seated outside under an umbrella at a picnic table at the Country Squire Inn.

  “Archie, for a Bajan, you’re more Bermudian than a Bermudian,” laughed a brown-skinned, middle-aged man sporting a red bandanna and a large paunch. He looked more like a pirate than a biker and a gold tooth only served to accentuate the impression. “Look at me. Um eatin’ scrambled eggs on toast.”

  “You know me, Van. I’ve adopted this island as my own. I love the food, the beaches, the people…”

  “The shorts,” came a cry from the far end of the picnic table.

  Yeah, the shorts too!”

  His companions were joshing him about his penchant for wearing Bermuda shorts, knee-length socks and blazer as his uniform when on the job. Archie owned yellow shorts, pink ones, as well as a rust-red pair, which he always wore with his navy-blue blazer. He considered himself, in his words, a ‘GQ kind of a guy’ and loved his executive look. His colleagues and fellow riders liked to give him a hard time about it.

  “Changing the subject…”

  “Oh, you can’t take the heat about your threads?” Van was not quite ready to drop the topic.

  “No, it’s not that.” Archie laughed. “I need your help on a case we’re working on.”

  Suddenly, there was a subtle change in the atmosphere. Archie commanded the entire table’s attention. They all knew which case he was referring to. This was the first time Archie had ever discussed an open case with them. They had always been respectful of his need for confidentiality and never quizzed him on an ongoing investigation, something that Archie had always appreciated.

  “We’re looking for a black bike, lots of chrome, with flames painted on the gas tank. Do any of you have any idea where we might get some information on that?”

  A lady who was famous for being a biker granny and who rode a six-gear, candy-blue, 1982 Yamaha RD80LC with 18-inch front and rear wheels, shouted down to him from the other end of the picnic table. “There’s a body shop on Elliot Street that does great work. The guy who owns it is a Jamaican. I’ve seen some of his designs and I’m pretty sure he does flames and so forth.”

  “That’s great, Janelle. I’ll check into it.”

  “In fact,” added Van, “you might want to check the yellow pages for different body shops. Seems to me that’s where you might get lucky.”

  “Yeah. I’ll do that, bro’.” It made such sense that Archie couldn’t believe he had not thought of that before. “Hey, Janelle, gonna paint some flames on that baby?” Archie nodded towards the parking lot.

  “No, man. I’m all the hot stuff that bike’s ever gonna need.”

  “Amen to that,” agreed her husband, nodding and smili
ng.

  In the meantime, Burgess’s other super sleuth, alias Nana, had some information of her own. It would appear the nephew of a certain lady at church had a friend whose bike was black and painted with flames. She could not wait to get home and tell Leon.

  CHAPTER 29

  Burgess had finished his obligatory Monday morning session with the police psychiatrist who had expressed his view that the detective looked much improved. It was true that he had managed to start eating again and had put on weight but, frankly, he had begun to find the sessions unhelpful and talking about the attempt on his life just made him relive it. Dr. French kept steepling his hands, giving earnest advice about serotonin levels – even drawing diagrams of brain patterns - and prescribing antidepressants. Burgess, however, was loath to take them as he worried they would suppress his libido and the last thing he wanted was to be a failure in the bedroom with a gorgeous, sexy girlfriend like Jacintha. It would be more than he could bear, especially after her tears the other morning. He had been careful to make himself exercise regularly, as the doctor had recommended, and also had limited himself to no more than two Elephant beers per night. The doctor had told him that those suffering from post traumatic stress often took to drink to ease their angst, however, alcohol was a depressant and he was to watch his intake. Burgess hoped he could control his moods with exercise and diet, even though the doctor had explained there was a chemical imbalance in his brain that the antidepressants would redress. He had omitted to tell the doctor that he was not taking the pills. He had been too embarrassed to explain why.