Square Snapper (Detective Inspector Burgess)

by Middleton, Deborah

  “Well?” Archie was getting impatient.

  “It’s like a palace. They’re interviewing his Filipino butler and have gone through the entire place. It’s got a shooting range, huge gym, cross country ski trails in the grounds… incredible stuff. They also found his weapons room which had all sorts of sniper rifles and other hand guns. They’re really excited as they think they can clear up a few unsolved murders now that they have the guns. Turns out this guy trained as a sniper during the Bosnian war. He had a whole wall of photographs. Only thing is, he’d altered his appearance with some cosmetic surgery but they’re pretty certain they can cross-reference the fingerprints. They’re really hyped about this.”

  “Not nearly as jazzed about it as you are, though,” laughed Burgess. “That’s great news. Now let’s keep it between us for now. Don’t tell anyone else. I’ll tell the superintendent.”

  “Can’t I tell the others?”

  “No, not right now, Pamela. Promise me, please.”

  Puzzled, Pamela nodded.

  “Okay, I’d better make that call to the superintendent. Thanks, Pamela. You don’t know how much I appreciate some good news.”

  He turned to go back into his office and shut the door as he sat down to make the call. At least he had some good news to mitigate what he had to tell him about the leaks from his department.

  Chapter 60

  Beads of sweat kept accumulating on Archie’s forehead. He was hot in his dress uniform. Gonzalez’s funeral had been a formal affair carried out in the heat of a brilliant Miami summer’s day, palm trees swaying in the lightest of breezes, the smell of the flowers on the casket pungent in the humid air. As Gonzalez had been killed in the line of duty, the boys in blue had come out in droves including the department’s brass as well as representatives from the Mayor’s office. This was no private family funeral. This was a Dade County Police Department “full-honour for a fallen hero” funeral. He had watched as his comrades gave him the full treatment – a motorcycle escort, honour guard and bugler playing taps at the graveside. There were a few civilians in black and other sombre colours punctuating the sea of blue but it was exactly as he had seen it in the movies: mother and sister seated with sunglasses, lips set tight in grief, lesser family members behind and then rows of police officers in dress blue, buttons and buckles winking in the sun. He had found it all very moving. Listening to the formal eulogies in the church and then talking now with his colleagues afterwards, he realized that, even allowing for the instant sainthood normally bestowed upon the departed, Gonzalez must have been a pretty exceptional cop. Certainly, he had been well liked and respected. He was glad to be able to get to know Hofstein who was struggling with issues of his own over the killing of his partner. His reaction to it all reminded Archie a little of Burgess after the killing of the assassin. Was this what post traumatic stress was like? At least he had been able to fill in Hofstein on the recent turn of events in Bermuda. He had been fascinated by it all, horrified by the attack on Burgess, yet pleased at the progress on the case. Archie was glad he had come and planned to stay another day to talk more with Hofstein and report back to Burgess and the superintendent.

  His belly full of police talk, beer and sandwiches, he said his goodbyes to the Gonzalez family and made his way to a waiting taxi. It was time to get out of uniform and cool off back at the hotel. Tomorrow would be another day and Hofstein wanted to introduce him to some whiz kid called Jacobs whom, it appeared, everyone was counting on to give them a break in the case. He had instantly felt sorry for Jacobs. That was the kind of pressure you did not need – a bit like how a kicker must feel just before scoring the point that would take his team to the Superbowl.

  Back at the hotel he changed into a pair of khaki shorts and golf shirt and made his way down to the beach bar. Usually, this would be a time when he would be checking out the girls in their bikinis. It was almost a surprise to him to find that, instead, his thoughts had turned to Pamela and he wished he could share the moment with her. What was happening to him?

  In Dallas the Reverend was seething with frustration. He had spent a fraught hour with members of his Public Relations agency who had cautioned him to tone down the rhetoric. “Don’t use words like ‘erase the scourge of drug addicts’, rather use ‘erase the scourge of drug addiction’…” ‘Hate the sin, not the sinner,’ they had admonished. The words rattled around in his head like pills in a bottle… as if he needed to be preached to by a bunch of stuffed shirts. Who was paying their salaries anyway? “You’re attracting the wrong kind of attention,” they had warned. Well who cares? The truth hurts. The real truth was that his ego could not take their criticism. Their words had worked him into a lather and he had stormed out of the meeting like a spoiled child.

  All in all, he was not having a good day. He had sent communication after communication to Cujo but with no response. What was going on? He had never left it so long before getting back to him. All he wanted to know was when the next shipments were coming in and whether they could “doctor” a small percentage of them. He had sent the messages in code as he had done a million times before. What was keeping the man from responding?

  Time was marching on and he had to prepare another sermon for his TV show. He knew better than to re-hash an earlier one. Letters from his listeners had taught him that they were not impressed by that. He tried to make each sermon fresh and full of gravitas. The message was basically the same: if you followed the Lord, heaven. If you did not: hellfire and damnation. It was a formula that resonated with his followers and never failed to bring in the cheques. Usually he could make up a sermon on the back of an envelope but, somehow, his preoccupation and the recent words of caution from his PR agency were stymieing his creativity. Where was Cujo and why was he not in touch with him? He felt like he was losing control of the drug dealer. That would never do. Anxious, he debated whether to call his cell phone. He had rarely done that in the past but, then again, the drug dealer had always been attentive to the Reverend. The anxiety was getting to him. Reluctantly, he picked up his private phone and began to dial.

  Back in the precinct, the duty sergeant froze as the cell phone in the plastic bag in the evidence lock-up began to ring. He immediately ran inside to answer it. He knew the drill and tried to make his voice relaxed and friendly as he answered with a simple “Hello.”

  “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting to hear about the shipments.” The voice on the other end was angry.

  The duty sergeant felt his heart lurch. He knew that everything hung on what he said next. Either he could convince the caller that all was well or he would sense something was wrong and they could lose him. He took a deep breath and prayed he could pull this off.

  “We’ve run into some problems. I’ll get back to you in a bit.”

  “Okay, you know where to reach me.”

  The sergeant hung up with shaking hands. He looked in the evidence book and noted that Lee Hofstein was the detective who had logged it in. He dialled his number.

  “Hofstein,” the tired voice replied.

  “Detective, it’s Velazquez from Evidence. I’ve just answered the cell phone you had left with us overnight. I think I may have a number for you.”

  In spite of his depressed state, Hofstein’s spirits began to lift. “I’ll be right there… and thanks!”

  The detective literally ran down to the Evidence Room. He had logged in the contents of Cujo’s pockets after the shooting and had missed sending the phone to the Forensic Computer Lab for processing due to the wounding of Gonzalez. This was a huge break. He almost hugged Velazquez when he saw him.

  “I guess whoever was on the other end expected a Hispanic voice, otherwise I don’t think I could have pulled it off.”

  “It just goes to show, that when you think all is lost, God looks out for you!” Hofstein was becoming more of a believer with every passing day on this case.

  “The number that came up is out of Dallas. Here it is.”

&
nbsp; “Dallas?”

  “Are you surprised?”

  Hofstein nodded. “I thought it might be long distance like, say, Colombia.”

  “No such luck. It’s definitely the Dallas area code. I looked it up in the phone book.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call the phone company and find out who it belongs to.”

  “I’ve already done that. It’s normally unlisted but they told me it belongs to someone at ‘Shining Light Ministries’.”

  “What? What the heck is that?”

  “Oh, Detective, it appears you lead a sheltered life. Shining Light Ministries belongs to the famous Reverend William Wylie… you know, the television evangelist? He’s one of those fire and brimstone preachers… Has people eating out of his hand. He’s become quite the celebrity.”

  “Are you kidding? Yeah, I have heard of him. Are you sure?”

  “Yep. It’s his Church’s phone. Someone in his Church is in contact with your drug guy.”

  Hofstein grabbed the duty sergeant by the shoulders and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. “Velazquez, you’re a superstar. Thanks!”

  The duty sergeant looked after him, mouth gaping. “The boy’s losing it,” he muttered. Hofstein raced back to his office.

  Chapter 61

  Archie’s cell phone rang as he sipped on his second Tequila Sunrise. It was Hofstein in a huge state of excitement.

  “Slow down, Hofstein, I can’t make you out too well over the sound of the music.”

  Hofstein briefly explained what had happened and arranged to meet Archie over at the Forensic Computer Lab. It would seem he was going to meet the whiz kid sooner than he thought. Archie felt the thrill of the chase emanating from Hofstein and his adrenaline began to pump as well.

  “Give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you there. He hung up, paid his bill and raced back into the hotel to get the doorman to flag him down a cab.”

  The Reverend was perplexed. It was not often that he had talked to Cujo and he wondered what kind of problems they were encountering in Miami… or Colombia for that matter. He realized that he actually knew very little of how the whole operation worked. He had always felt it better to remain arm’s length. Now, however, he felt isolated, cut out of the loop and it was not a feeling he enjoyed. Frustration bubbled in him as he waited for the telephone to ring. He liked to be the one calling the shots and, suddenly, he felt like he was no longer in control. His ego railed against it. He paced his office, his temper becoming increasingly foul. The pool of secretaries outside his office kept their heads down and prayed he would not call them in.

  If Gonzalez had been impressed by the glossy Forensic Computer Lab, Archie was positively overwhelmed. He could barely contain his awe.

  “Looks like a film set,” he gushed to Hofstein. “Look at all that equipment. How can you not catch a perp with all this hardware.”

  “And you haven’t seen the software or met some of the brains in this department. They make our lives so much easier. Detective work is still a hard slog, but nothing to what it used to be.” Hofstein led Archie over to where Jacobs was immersed in his computer programs. “Any luck yet?”

  “No, not yet but I’m still hopeful.” He looked across at the dark friendly face of Archie.

  “Aaron, this is Detective Sergeant Archie Carmichael from Serious Crimes in Bermuda. He’s been working on another angle of the case over there.”

  “Wow, Bermuda. Cool; always wanted to go there. I like those shorts!”

  “Thanks, I’ve heard a lot about you. It appears you’re trying to crack some kind of a code between the dealers.”

  “ ‘Trying’ being the operative word. So far, zilch. I wish I had more to go on.”

  “Well, Aaron, my boy. Today just may be your lucky day.” Hofstein handed him the plastic bag with the cell phone in it.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s the cell phone we found in Cujo’s possession. He got a call from someone from the Shining Light Ministries in Dallas. Can you find out who else he knows?”

  “Sure, I can. I’ll be happy to download all the information and get that to you. Give me an hour?”

  “Sure.”

  “C’mon, Archie. Let me show you a great Cuban restaurant that Gonzalez used to love. We can go and drink a few beers in his name. Tomorrow, I’m off to interview a certain Reverend William Wylie in Dallas, Texas.”

  They both said their goodbyes to Jacobs and went out into the darkening evening oblivious to the beauty of the pink sky as the sun set behind the palm trees.

  Chapter 62

  The Reverend had been glued to his desk all afternoon waiting for a reply from Cujo Menendez. Now he was certain something had gone badly wrong. In his zeal to remain anonymous, he now found himself with nobody else to call. At the time he had felt that it was for his own good. Now he was not so sure. Menendez only knew him as “Jefe” and, in all the time they had been in business together, had probably actually spoken to him twice. They had communicated by encrypted e-mails using the book “The House of Spirits” as the key. Menendez would then communicate to his Colombian contacts in Spanish using “La Casa de los Espiritus”. It had been a system that had worked well but now, with no e-mail or telephone contact from Menendez, he was totally isolated and had no way of knowing what had transpired. He knew there was a shipment due in from Colombia. He had bankrolled it himself yet he had no idea who would organize its pick up, once it had reached Miami. He suddenly realized that this set-up was very flawed. Was it time to pull the plug or lay low for a while? Why hadn’t Menendez contacted him? He was beside himself with frustration.

  Early the next morning Hofstein was on his way to Dallas. Instinctively, he felt that he was on to something. Why would anybody in the Shining Light Ministries call a drug dealer? This was no accident. He had called his counterpart in the Dallas Police who would pick him up at the airport and together they would go over to visit the Reverend William Wylie and his employees. He was looking forward to meeting the charismatic preacher. He had caught him on television a couple of times when surfing channels and had always stopped for a few minutes to catch his “act”. Not for one moment was he taken in by the smooth talking, urbane manner of the lynx-like TV evangelist. He had interviewed too many con men not to recognize one, no matter how sophisticated he might appear on the outside. They were all greedy low-lives to him.

  Aaron Jacobs was busy back at his computer terminals desperately tweaking programs for a break in the case. Now that they had the lead to Shining Light Ministries, he renewed his efforts on the English version of the book. He doubted the communications would have come through in Spanish since the speaker on the telephone had spoken to the Evidence Officer in unaccented English. He felt reinvigorated and applied his considerable skills with new-found energy and optimism. Had the Reverend realized how much excitement he had caused in Miami, he would have been packing his bags for a quick getaway. Instead, he was blissfully unaware of the flurry of activity his mistake had unleashed.

  Archie had arrived back in Bermuda and sat in the murder room reporting back to the team on events in Miami. He could sense their excitement as he recounted the progress made and the potentially case-breaking mistake of the person in the Shining Light Ministries. All hoped that Hofstein would be able to make a significant arrest and avenge the death of his partner.

  After Archie had given his formal report, they sat around the conference table and began discussing events in Bermuda. The thing that most gratified them all was the uproar in which the drugs community found itself without Frenchie at the helm. It seemed as if his being captured had left a vacuum at the top that several others were falling over each other to fill. Inspector Dill’s informants had kept him apprised of developments and the Narcotics Department was enjoying observing the fall-out as each dealer tried to assert himself as the new leader. In their haste to fill Frenchie’s shoes they had provided a great deal of information that would ensure he would remain in prison for several years. What they
had not yet learned was how he had smuggled his weapons into the island and that was something that the police would have to follow up and break wide open in order to prevent from re-occurring. The capture of the cache of weaponry had been kept as low profile as possible. The politicians were calling for discretion after so much negative press. They had leaned on the commissioner who had, in turn, leaned on the superintendent who had then made it perfectly clear to Burgess that there were to be no more leaks from his department, either to the press or to the criminal element – a not so vague dig at him with regard to the issue of Furbert. Had not Burgess become such a hero to the Bermuda public, he was convinced the Furbert “problem” would have severely jeopardized his career. So far, the papers were still having a field day with the arrests of Frenchie and Captain and had not picked up on anything further. Burgess fervently hoped that they would remain fixated on those news items and leave him alone. It was time to get to the bottom of everything without it all being played out on the seven o’clock news or on the People’s Corner. He was weary of all the hysteria.

  “Any further news on Captain?” Archie was keen to hear more about that line of inquiry.

  “Not much. Dill’s team is frustrated as hell because he’s just clammed up.” Burgess did not look much happier himself.

  Pamela leaned forward in her chair. “Do you think it’s just a good legal tactic or that he could be covering up for someone else?”

  “Good question,” said Burgess. “Archie asked me the same thing. I’m not so sure that he is the so-called “Drug Baron” everyone talks about. He just doesn’t seem to possess the leadership qualities, or the money, according to Dill, to be heading up drug trafficking in Bermuda. Frenchie was obviously dealing with Captain but I doubt anybody high up the chain of command would be dealing first hand with the likes of Frenchie.”