The Bone Readers

by Jacob Ross

  He shook the sheets of paper in my face. ‘You think I didn’t see this coming? I far ahead of y’all. News break six o’clock this morning; you know who make that happen? Me!’ He strode over to the women, his eyes on me while he spoke. ‘Do me a favour, Lisa, call the minister, tell him I on the way.’

  He paused at my desk, his voice low and thick with malice. ‘I take this personally, Digson and I going get personal too. You watch!’

  Malan stepped out of the office, the folder under his arm. His Mitsubishi roared out of the yard in a spray of fine gravel.

  I sat back feeling choked. Pet came over and rested a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Digger, what goin on? I worried and confuse.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said, and began sorting through my papers. ‘Which minister Malan gone off to see, Lisa?’

  Lisa did not answer.

  I turned to her, ‘You not telling me?’

  Lisa shrugged.

  ‘The MJ,’ Pet said. ‘The Minister of Justice. That’s where Malan gone.’ She was looking at Lisa hard. Her lips had barely moved.

  ‘Justice Minister,’ Lisa echoed. ‘Digger, I…’

  ‘Too late,’ I said. ‘If y’all don’t realise what’s happening, lemme make it clear. Malan going above the Commissioner’s head. He going try to override him. That look to me like suicide.’

  ‘Digger…’

  ‘Can’t talk now, Lisa. I got a report to write.’

  I sat with the pen in my hand staring at the blank sheets of paper in front of me. For the first time in my career I had to think about how to begin a report. I would need to come up with a language that a legal mind could not twist to their advantage. I decided to offer no analysis, but just a brief chronology of the events in Sadie Bay. I started a couple of times but finally gave up. I turned to the envelope I’d ignored all morning. It was postmarked Trinidad. I ripped it open.

  Three A4 sheets of paper: the first two pages were a summative commentary by Ramlogan, the Chief Tech at the lab in Trinidad. The last sheet was a grid layout of numbers attached to an acetate printout with columns and rows that looked like barcodes. The acetate was an extra. Ramlogan wanted to impress me and I was impressed. The Forensic Science Centre routinely did pathology and toxicology work for us, sometimes firearms analysis, but never DNA. This was our first and I felt a quickening inside me.

  I scanned the headings:

  DATA TABLE OF DNA MARKERS, COMBINED MATERNITY INDEX, PROBABILITY OF MATERNITY.

  I halted over the conclusion. Reread it.

  Based on the genetic testing, results obtained by PCR analysis of STR loci, the alleged parent is excluded as the biological mother of the child. The probability of maternity is 0%.

  Prior probability = 0.50. COMBINED MATERNITY INDEX: 0

  I went to the cooler, filled a glass and drank, strolled over to the photocopier and made duplicates. I returned to my desk and stuffed them in my bag. Found myself muttering at the ceiling, ‘Nothing don’t make no fuckin sense no more.’

  ‘Y’awright, Digger?’ Pet again.

  ‘Headache still there; that’s all,’ I said.

  The phone rang; Lisa picked up. Her tone told me it was Malan. Lisa asked Pet to transfer the call to Malan’s office. Lisa did not look at me. I watched her leaning against the desk, her pencil making circles on the paper, the movement broken occasionally by a busy scribble on the pad.

  When Lisa came out, her eyes were wide and bright. She bent down as if she was adjusting the straps of her shoe, but I noted the movement of her lips. I saw Pet’s face go dazed and wondering.

  Lisa took her lunch bag and offered me a sapodilla. I shook my head. She dropped the fruit on my desk. Pet kept her head down, typing.

  My chest felt scooped out, the hollowness extended to my head. Malan returned late morning. I still felt frayed by his earlier insults.

  ‘Staff meeting,’ he announced. He dragged a chair to the middle of the space and sat down.

  ‘Take notes,’ he said to Lisa.

  Malan reached into his folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. It was in his handwriting. He took in all three of us.

  ‘Like y’all already know, this morning the Commissioner called me on my cell phone instructing me to make Miss Kathleen Stanislaus a bona fide member of staff. He told me I got two hours to do the paperwork.’

  ‘I kin handle that,’ Lisa offered quickly.

  Malan glared at her. Lisa clamped her lips and lowered her eyes. Pet’s face had gone cold and wary, her eyes never leaving Malan’s face.

  ‘Commissioner also informed me by email to put out a statement informing the public that, yesterday, officers were called to the scene of a disturbance at Sadie Bay.’ Malan flapped the printed email in front of him, then began to read it. ‘When officers arrived they perceived a threat in the person of Bello Hunt, Deacon of The Children of the Unicorn Spiritual Baptist Church. Deacon Bello was in the process of… of, erm, strangling a member of his congregation. Officers prevailed on him to stop, whereupon Deacon Bello turned on them. Officers had no option but to defend themselves, resulting unfortunately in the death of the Deacon. The public must also be informed that Police are now making inquiries into serious allegations of assault and sexual exploitation against Deacon Bello himself.’

  Malan slid the paper into the folder.

  ‘Problem is, people, I know nothing about these allegations. Nobody report them to me, nobody call me to discuss them.’

  ‘I will do that now.’ I looked at him directly. ‘And I want it noted that this is the first opportunity I have to talk to you about it.’

  ‘You spoke to Chilman before me.’

  ‘Yes. Yesterday evening, I paid him a call for reasons I have no problem explaining to you. Today, Monday, is my first official day of work since the incident. I’m more than happy to report.’

  Malan looked at me a long time.

  He shrugged, then turned to Pet and Lisa. ‘You ladies want to take early lunch-break?’

  ‘But you ask me to take notes,’ Lisa protested.

  ‘Nuh,’ Pet said bluntly. ‘I want to know what go on. Besides, we got we lunch here.’

  ‘Take y’all lunch with y’all then.’

  Lisa flounced out, followed by Pet, who made a show of her resentment. Malan smiled briefly at the wall behind me and settled back.

  ‘Shoot,’ he said.

  ‘Hm!’ I said.

  He narrowed his eyes at me.

  ‘Miss Stanislaus checked out of the hospital as soon as we left her. I went to the church to find her. She has good reason to believe that Bello was taking advantage of the girl-children in the church – some as young as fourteen. She figured that one of those girls, Alice, who is alleged to have gone off to Trinidad, like Nathan, is not in Trinidad. She’s convinced that Bello did something to her.’

  Malan made a gesture as if to push aside my words.

  ‘Digger, you and I know it couldn’t happen the way she tell us. You and I couldn’t do what she say she done: shoot a pusson with she back half-turn to them when she running to save she life. She think she is Clint Eastwood? Or she taking people for coo-noo-moo-noo?’

  ‘Miss Stanislaus never claimed she shot Bello while running away from him. Remember every time you asked her about the exact moment that she shot Bello, she wouldn’t answer you? You the one who concluded that. I believe Miss Stanislaus shot Bello when he was already dead. Miss Stanislaus felt obliged to protect those women, for whatever reason.’

  ‘Then why she lie to me?’

  ‘She didn’t lie to you; she just didn’t tell you the truth.’

  ‘She shoot a man…’

  ‘Who was about to kill her,’ I cut in.

  ‘How you know that?’

  ‘She got the marks on her body to prove it.’

  ‘Was a set up, Digger. That make she…’

  ‘Malan, what you got against Miss Stanislaus?’

  ‘I doing my job.’

  ‘You sure?’
>
  ‘Why you defending her, Digson.’

  ‘She was doing a job we gave her.’

  ‘I didn’t. Commissioner instructed me. But she not on staff. I saw to that.’

  ‘How you going to explain the fact that a woman shot a man with a gun owned by San Andrews CID? She didn’t thief the gun; you gave it to her.’

  Malan showed me all his teeth. ‘Is like you and Chilman work it out, not so? Don’t fool yourself.’

  He tapped the folder. ‘The press release that’s going out today is the one I got in here. It might make you happy to know, it make no mention of your girlfriend. S’far as people concern, she don’t exist.’

  I was tempted to tell Malan that I’d found out Miss Stanislaus was Chilman’s daughter. I almost said it, then changed my mind.

  I dropped my eyes on the folder in his hand. ‘No mention of the allegations against Bello, then?’

  ‘I didn know about it till now. Besides, where’s the evidence? In the meantime…’ Malan opened his folder, took out an envelope and handed it to me. ‘You on Restricted Duties, effective from today, and pending…’

  I felt my mouth go dry. ‘Pending?’ I could barely hear my voice.

  ‘Pending whatever going to happen. Is what the minister want and I couldn’t make him change his mind. Dunno if you know, but Deacon Bello was his spiritual adviser – that’s what them woman fuck with when they got rid of him. Digson, rumour makin ole maas out there and that don’t feel good. Is my job to do something about it.’

  I got up. I felt tired and hard-done-by, but not angry. ‘A politician in post five years,’ I said. ‘Commissioner always there. What happm when Justice Minister get voted out of office? Who you going to turn to?’

  ‘Easy, Digger; I’ll keep the next one sweet.’ Malan pushed out a hand. ‘I obliged to ask you to hand over your piece.’

  A feeling of breathlessness came over me. I unstrapped the Remington and gave it to him. I cleared my throat. ‘Another thing, Malan, Miss Stanislaus got good reason to believe that Bello killed Nathan, not Simday.’

  ‘Case close, Digger.’

  ‘Not if we have reasonable grounds to believe otherwise.’

  ‘Like I say, case close. We got the fella who done it.’

  ‘Definitely not. Case just got shot down.’ I pointed at the envelope. ‘DNA lab report from Trinidad. It says zero percent chance the body we uncovered in Easterhall belong to Nathan. In other words we didn’t find Nathan; we found somebody else.’

  Malan swept the envelope from my desk, shook out the pages, shuffled through them. I watched his mouth go loose, his nostrils flare.

  ‘Where it say that?’

  ‘Work it out yourself.’ I said. ‘I gone.’

  27

  In the car, I tore open the envelope Malan handed me.

  Complainant: DC Malan

  Allegation: Breach of the Standards of Professional Behaviour, Regulation 5, Police (Conduct) Regulations 2009.

  Misdemeanours:

  • Insubordination – wilful flaunting of the orders of a superior in the course of duty.

  • Breach of confidentiality – jeopardising the successful outcome of a criminal investigation by divulging information to parties not related to the department.

  The letter ended with notification of a pending departmental inquiry, first Monday of the following month – at which the Minister of Justice would be present along with ‘concerned parties’.

  I was requested to sign the attached form, acknowledging receipt of the letter and to return it within three days.

  I tossed it in my glove compartment.

  Chilman called me several times. I refused to pick up, although my jitterbugging phone served only to heighten my anxiety.

  Later in the evening, he left a voice message. Digson, check the news.

  An hour later, another call came in. I let it go to voicemail.

  Digger, Pet here. Put on your radio for the nine o’clock news. And oh – Malan release Simday, the fella they say kill Nathan. Call me after.

  I knew Pet had a soft spot for me. In the office, she made me aware of it in quiet, secretive ways, but I pretended not to notice.

  At nine I took my little radio, sat at my kitchen worktop and switched it on. Bello’s death was the feature story:

  The death had been reported of Bello Hunt, Deacon of the San Andrews Chapter of the Children of the Unicorn Spiritual Baptist church. Deacon Bello was a well-known Spiritual Baptist leader throughout Camaho. San Andrews CID has released a statement saying that yesterday, Sunday, two officers were called to the scene of a minor disturbance in Sadie Bay which resulted in the death of the Deacon. Minister of Justice, Peter Void, has expressed deep concern over the tragedy and promised a full and detailed investigation. In the meantime, the station has been informed that an officer, whose name was not divulged, has been placed on restricted duties, pending further investigation.

  I switched off the radio.

  I saw what was laid out ahead of me as plainly as if Malan and the MJ had sat me down and told me to my face.

  Malan had Chilman where he wanted him and I had no doubt that the Commissioner would step back and bide his time. They’d made Miss Stanislaus disappear because her involvement was too awkward to explain. That left me.

  Pet phoned; ‘You hear it?’ Her voice was pitched higher than I’d ever heard it.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘What you going to do about it, Digger?’

  ‘They didn’t say my name,’ I said.

  ‘But is you they mean. Any ole jackass will know is you. All they have to do is find out which officer got restricted. And that not hard to do. Digger, why they blamin you?’ Pet’s voice had become plaintive.

  ‘Because is easier, Pet. Because is not a criminal case any more; is politics.’

  ‘What you going do about it, cuz, far as I see, is fire in their arse they want!’

  I said nothing. I heard her breathing at the other end of the line, waiting for something better than my silence.

  ‘You there?’ I said after a while. I realised she’d rung off.

  Lonnie called. She’d heard the news. ‘Digger, you tie up in that?’

  ‘They trying to tie me up in it.’

  ‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘I coming right now.’

  In the gathering dusk, I sat on my step watching Lonnie walk up my half-finished drive.

  I felt again a fizzy mix of possessiveness and desire that I’d never before had for another woman. Lonnie lowered herself beside me.

  I thought of the times she came to see me at the office when I was on night duty. Lonnie would stretch out on the aluminium beach chair she’d brought in and unfolded beside my desk. She would ask me to tell her about deciphering the language of the dead, to explain my trick of reading bones – which all sounded so much like obeah.

  All this talk of death did something to her. At whatever hour in the morning we got home, she wanted sex. Maybe the talk confirmed for her that there was nothing quite like being alive, and the only way to be sure of it was to feel as intensely as our bodies allowed.

  Whenever one of my cases broke, Lonnie came to my house, dropped her bag on the floor, rearranged my furniture and kitchen to suit herself and told me she was staying for a while, understanding, perhaps, that I too needed this – to lose myself in her.

  Tonight, Lonnie looked distracted. She kept pulling at the hem of her dress, staring at her red strappy shoes.

  ‘I going be alright, Lonnie.’

  I wasn’t sure she heard me.

  I leaned forward and looked into her face. ‘Something wrong?’

  She’d rested her elbows on the top step, crossed her legs and pressed her back against it.

  ‘Lonnie, what’s going down with you right now?’

  ‘Digger, I not awright. Right now I not.’ She jerked at the hem of her dress. ‘I got to tidy up inside myself before… before…’ She switched her eyes at me. ‘Why you didn tell me about the bank gir
l.’

  ‘Bank girl? Which bank girl? Oh – you mean Dessie?’

  ‘That’s her name? You didn tell me.’

  ‘No, I didn’t tell you. It cross my mind a coupla times, but you right, I didn’t tell you. You want me tell you now? I’ll tell you everything you want to know. What you want to know? If I know a ‘bank girl’ name, Dessie? Yes! If she is my woman? No! If I ever lay down anywhere with her? No! If I intend to do so? No – especially since I meet you. When last I speak to her? Certainly not since I start seeing you. Why? Because I didn’t want to give you reason to ask the kinda question you asking now. If I intend to talk to her some time in the future? Definitely! Because I know her, and I like her, and something going on in Dessie life that she not talking to nobody about and it bothering me. Bottom-line, you got nothing to worry about.’

  I felt breathless after that – breathless and confused.

  She stood up quickly and smoothed her dress. ‘I know what you going ask me next, Digger and I not going to answer you.’

  ‘Where you get that ole talk from?’

  She did not answer me.

  The rain drove us inside.

  ‘You hungry? I can cook something.’

  She shook her head. ‘I got a headache, I want to sleep.’

  She went inside the bedroom. For a long time, I sat in the kitchen and listened to the water drumming on the roof.

  Come daylight, the world outside was dripping. I steamed sweet potatoes, pum-pum yams and eddoes. I made a bowl of soused saltfish and two cups of hot cocoa. Like me, Lonnie preferred solid food on mornings.

  While she picked at the food, I told her about the dead preacher, which she already knew about from the news; my restricted duties, and the trouble I saw ahead. I had two weeks to set things straight, by which time there was going to be a meeting of the men who ran my life at work to decide what to do with me.

  ‘Why you, Digger?’

  I shrugged, ‘Is kinda complicated.’

  She pushed aside her plate, began casting her eyes around the house. I’d been replacing the old board walls with concrete, following the basic design of a dream I carried in my head, of a small clean place full of light and air.