Murder in Montego Bay

by Paula Lennon

  The superintendent leaned back in his chair with his hands spread over his protruding stomach. “Let’s keep quiet about the drugs for now. I am not so sure that it is in our interests to try and bring any drug charges against him. We cannot afford to have the general public and the business community turn against us at this stage.”

  No, we certainly cannot have dat, Superintendent, thought Preddy. No more hobnobbing with influential, high-living, society types. No more black tie balls and gala dinners, and certainly no invites to parties, christenings and weddings. We must get the upper echelon back on board by releasing the coke-snorting, spoilt, rich kid with a smack on the wrist and condolences on his bereavement. The superintendent was a good man at heart, but he was also a shameless social climber.

  “Commissioner Davis wants this dealt with, and dealt with quickly. One assault and one murder in the same family on the same day!” The superintendent groaned and stuck his nails into the table. “You and I both know that the commissioner has you firmly on his radar since the Norwood catastrophe. If you don’t think you can handle this case, Preddy, tell me now.”

  Preddy tried to blink away the images that immediately clouded his mind. He wished that people would stop mentioning Norwood. Three men had been killed that night in Norwood district. Not innocent men by any accounts, as all were involved in some way in the attempted murder of a police officer who had since been left in a persistent vegetative state. Preddy was in charge of the officers who went to the tenement yard to arrest the men in connection with the outrageous attack on the officer. It was the worst tactical decision of his career as he had spectacularly underestimated the pent-up rage of his fellow officers who had witnessed their injured colleague’s speedy deterioration. Nobody wanted to be the invalid and everybody wanted to avenge him. The mission had ended badly. It was not the sole blemish on Preddy’s illustrious crime fighting career, but it was a monumental one and the only one that had attracted international, albeit temporary, attention, and one that Commissioner Davis would never forget.

  “Something in your eye, Detective?”

  “Touch of hay fever, sir.”

  “Should I be worried that you clearly have to think about whether you can handle it?”

  Preddy coughed. “No, sir. We have a good lead on de murder. We are trying to trace de suspect vehicle, a silver Subaru Outback. I have a strong team of detectives on de case and I’ll be working very closely wid dem.”

  “Which detectives are working on it?”

  “Kathryn Rabino, Javinia Spence and Sean Harris, our Scotsman.”

  “Ah.”

  The superintendent hauled his ample frame out of the chair and waddled towards the louvre windows. Preddy studied the man’s broad shoulders, taking in the rolls of skin on the nape of his neck. The last time he had seen his superior in the flesh was only two weeks ago, yet the man seemed to have put on even more weight in that short time. That was what vacations in foodie cities like New Orleans did for you. The Super had a liking for beers and fried foods, and a great dislike for any form of exercise. The man would drive to the end of the road to collect a newspaper rather than complete the simple fifteen-minute round trip on legs. Yes, Super would have been in his element in the jazz city, sitting back, listening to music and savouring unhealthy delights, thought Preddy. Today he looked just one fried plantain away from a heart attack. For all his quirks, though, Brownlow was a thorough law enforcement officer and Preddy had no doubt about his wish to clean up the parish of St James.

  “It’s a start, I suppose,” the superintendent said eventually. “We really have to move on this.”

  “You will get my preliminary report on what happened to Lester Chin Ellis within twenty-four hours, sir.”

  The superintendent’s huge body did not move, but his head snapped round, making his neck look even more rolled. “Make it twelve. I’ll need a response for the family’s press conference tonight.”

  “Press conference, sir?”

  “Press conference, Preddy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Preddy took the lack of further movement from the superintendent as an indication that he should leave. He closed the door quietly and walked down the hallway, pausing momentarily to collect his thoughts. Through the glass windows, he stared at the seamless blend of cloudless sky and turquoise sea. In the distance a few sailboats were visible calmly traversing the horizon. Closer still flowed a large volume of highway traffic, racing both ways, barely acknowledging the speed limits. A perfectly manicured green lawn ran the entire length of the highway’s median strip and was decorated with evenly placed miniature palm trees. It should have been a calming sight for most drivers; as usual, though, impatient racers were sounding their horns a nanosecond after the traffic lights changed from red to green. Luckily, Pelican Walk had a long driveway, which helped mute the vehicles’ noise. The cars were followed by busloads of tourists blissfully unaware of the degree of ugliness that had taken place a few miles from the beauty of their gated enclosures.

  Somewhere out there, a murderer had brought all eyes to Preddy’s cherished city and now his own colleagues had unhelpfully turned the spotlight on themselves. He prayed that their only lead would turn out to be a solid one. The next forty-eight hours would be crucial and he had no doubt that the commissioner, who had shown him no love in the past, would be paying close attention to his progress.

  CHAPTER 4

  Sunday, 19 July, 7:00 p.m.

  As expected, the Chin Ellis murder was the lead story on the national 7 o’clock news.

  “... TVJ News understands that the dead man has been identified as Carter Chin Ellis, son of Terence and Ida Chin Ellis and heir to the Chinchillerz group of companies. Eyewitnesses say he was gunned down in a hail of bullets at around 5:00 a.m. on Sunday morning by an unknown assailant. Police are urging anyone with information about the shooting to contact the police at 919, 131 or the nearest police station. We will now go over to the grounds of the Old Hospital Park in Montego Bay where the family are holding a press conference.”

  Preddy sank into his leather sofa and pressed on the remote to increase the volume. The last eleven hours had been dedicated to making enquiries about matters relating to both Chin Ellis brothers and he did not want to miss a thing. He set the DVD recorder then picked up a notepad and pen.

  Terence and Ida Chin Ellis stood behind a tall, well-built man in an expensive suit and tie, whom Preddy immediately recognised as a bumptious corporate lawyer. Neville Higgs could always be counted on to appear whenever the family was acquiring a new site or purchasing another business, never forgetting to have his firm’s logo prominently displayed in the background. Just last month, he had told reporters about the imminent purchase of a large dairy farm in the parish of Westmoreland. Crime was not really his arena, but the attorney was not one to let an opportunity for public exposure go begging.

  Beside them stood Lester, whose bruised face still looked decidedly unphotogenic, making it a massive draw to rabid photojournalists. Shots of him in this state had never been obtained before and probably never would again. Large, furry microphones of varying colours were inches from the faces of each person and adjusted to satisfactory heights. Preddy was surprised that the family felt it necessary to hold a press conference so soon. The public perception would likely be that the police and the family were on different sides, particularly as no senior representative from the force was invited or present. It was inevitable that the public would side with the family when they were looking at walking-talking evidence of police negligence.

  The detective was glad he was watching the proceedings from the comfort of his home and not in the station, or anywhere else, with the superintendent or the commissioner. Wherever the brass were, they would be glued to TV screens with their media consultants, identifying claims to rebuff and working on statements that would sound positive and reassuring to the public.

  Preddy scribbled short notes as the participants spoke. The lawyer elabor
ated on the terrible and tragic situation in which the family now found themselves, with the murder of their youngest son and the assault on the elder. He appealed to the public to contact the police with any information they had on the murder. This pleased the detective, until the lawyer said that if the public were afraid of contacting the police, they should contact his law firm, Higgs & Partners instead. Preddy’s scowl deepened as Higgs went on to criticise the police for allowing Lester to be assaulted while in their custody and invited the police commissioner to carry out a swift and unbiased investigation into the matter.

  Thankfully, the family had acceded to the police request not to offer a reward at this stage. Preddy had no doubt that any reward would have been sizeable and attracted hundreds of unwanted calls. He did not have the resources to deal with the volume of work his team would be under and they could do without the added distraction of idle callers. The family had warned that if the police investigation did not proceed satisfactorily they would revisit their position about the reward.

  Preddy was also grateful that the broadcasters had refrained from giving a description of the suspect’s vehicle. There was no reason for the murderer to be alerted that the police had a lead. It had been a hard sell, because the reporters had arrived on the scene at pretty much the same time as the officers and knew about the car.

  When invited to speak, Lester rearranged the microphones closest to him and pointed at his damaged face. “You see this? I was attacked, punched in the side of the face for no reason! I was just standing near the cell bars trying to get the attention of an officer as I wanted a glass of water. No officer responded to my calls! None of them!”

  “Did you see who hit you?” asked a reporter.

  “No, I did not see the face of my attacker. There were three other men in the cell occupying two bunk beds. All of them appeared to be asleep when the officer threw me in there, although I think I saw someone move on the top bunk of one bed. After a while, I heard the sound of feet thudding to the floor behind me, but before I could turn around I received a blow to the face, which made me dizzy, you know?”

  “And what happened after that?”

  Lester frowned. “I don’t know much about what happened after that, except I felt a further blow to my face that hurt my jaw. I must have passed out. For how long I couldn’t tell you, but when I came to, I was lying on the lower bunk with pain shooting through my head and an officer standing over me.”

  Preddy had already heard that the prime suspect among the cellmates had denied having beaten Lester. The man said he was barely awake and did not even see who had joined them in the cell. His bruised knuckles did not support his pleas of innocence, but the duty solicitor insisted that his client’s injuries were caused earlier when a police officer had dragged the suspect from his bicycle and he had fallen onto the concrete pavement. The lawyer insisted that his client’s only offence was telling the officer not to call him “bwoy” when the officer had used the derogatory term to get his attention.

  The other two inmates both denied all knowledge of any altercation. One claimed to have been too drunk to even remember the night in question. He only knew of his incarceration because his cousins who bailed him out told him about it once he had sobered up at home. The other inmate seemed to be borderline schizophrenic and spoke non-stop when questioned. Unfortunately, his answers bore no relevance to the questions asked and included a lot of references to rat poison and matches. It was clear that he would not be a credible witness and Preddy felt some discomfort about how any of these men came to be locked up in the beginning.

  Preddy had ascertained that Officer Wilson was on the desk and Officer Nembhard patrolling the cells at the time the brothers were brought into the station. Apart from his own team of detectives, the other officers at Pelican Walk were not under Preddy’s direct control, yet as the highest ranked officer at the station, he did offer them all assistance and guidance when necessary. All attempts to obtain information from these two officers were thwarted because Nembhard insisted that he had to attend an all-day prayer meeting and Wilson had declared himself ill. Preddy was deeply annoyed, but as neither man was assigned to any of his cases, he could not order them to return his calls. Religion and sickness were two ruses commonly used by officers who felt entitled to a day of rest, regardless of what was going on in the island. He had already phoned the superintendent to warn him of this snag and they agreed that no officers’ names or details would be released to the press and no assumptions would be made about what did or did not happen. Still, Preddy felt slight unease about what the superintendent and commissioner would actually say in public.

  When the press conference was over, Preddy watched it again on DVR. He hastily completed his initial report and emailed it to his superiors, hoping that it would be satisfactory for the time being. There were still unanswered questions, not least of which was the identity of the person who had really committed the assault on Lester Chin Ellis, although he had a feeling that the man with the bruised knuckles would eventually make a full confession.

  The detective realised he had not eaten a thing all day, which might explain why his temples were pulsating unabated. The rich smells emanating from the kitchen reminded him that the domestic helper had cooked a meal earlier on. An advert came over the airwaves as he made his way to the stove and he grinned as he scooped up his food. What are you wearing “Jake from State Farm”? He never got tired of that one. Soon he was re-seated with a plate of rice and peas, curried chicken and macaroni cheese, which he doused in hot pepper sauce.

  The next news story told of an argument between two teenage cousins over the leaving of an empty ice-tray in the freezer compartment of their home. This resulted in the death of one cousin as the other had ended up stabbing him three times with an ice pick. Although the killer had desperately hailed a taxi and taken his victim to hospital, it had been too late.

  The detective shook his head and switched to CVM, the other local news channel, where he found more on the Chin Ellis incident. A rent-a-mouth academic lawyer was confidently proclaiming that Lester should sue the government for damages as the police owed him a duty of care and had clearly failed to live up to their responsibilities. As if the Chin Ellis family needed any encouragement from a non-practising phoney when their own arrogant lawyer had no doubt got the monetary aspect covered, thought Preddy. The academic opined that badly needed investment in the island would now be at stake, because investors would be scared off if they thought the police were ineffective at crime-solving or, even worse, complicit in crimes.

  The camera then panned to a vox pop being conducted in the streets relating to the safety of police stations. The locals who were unperturbed by the microphone and eager for their few minutes of fame used the opportunity to berate the police and claim that this had happened before and would happen again. The detective gritted his teeth when one interviewee said that the lock-ups islandwide were not fit for purpose and Preddy had a feeling that the person had a more in-depth knowledge of the force than the everyday man on the street. Behind the scenes, INDECOM, the Independent Commission of Investigations charged with investigating police behaviour, would be keeping a close eye on the case and Preddy hoped that any conclusion they reached would match his own. The officers had clearly taken their eyes off the ball, but they were not bad men.

  He turned down the set and made a call to his ex-wife who lived in Runaway Bay with their teenage children, Annalee and Roman. The children were at karate class, although they were due to return home shortly. Since it was the summer holiday, he liked to have them stay with him for a few days each week when work permitted.

  “Sorry, I can’t have dem over tomorrow,” he apologised. Expressing this regret was nothing new. She used to complain that there was no point planning for family weekends away and she was right, as inevitably something would come up and he would never refuse the call of duty. “Things get heavy at work so dem going need to wait a while.”

  “Dey will
understand,” she said sympathetically. “Everybody hear de news, you know. Is long time I don’t go past Pelican Walk station and see it dere now pon TV. Dem need to fix up de place man, and put little paint pon it.”

  Preddy allowed himself a wry smile. A man had been assaulted inside. The cracked windows and the flakiness of the blue and cream paint outside were unlikely to concern the brass or the public half as much, but trust his ex-wife to focus on the small things.

  “I’ll mention it,” he lied. “Tell de kids to call me before dey go to bed.”

  “Alright, dem soon come. I hope you not going talk to dem ’bout no murder?”

  Preddy clenched the phone hard and kept his voice even. “I want dem to get a good night’s sleep, so no, I won’t be doing dat.”

  “I know dem going want to watch de 10 o’clock news to see if you on dere.”

  “Dey can watch it,” he said. “I won’t be on dere, but de commissioner should be and maybe even de security minister himself. Let dem watch.”

  *

  Commissioner Davis stood with hands placed firmly on the podium, wearing his best “trust me” face and his official khaki suit. He had made sure to apply foundation and concealer before getting in front of the TV cameras. If he was going to be lambasted by the talking heads, he would at least make sure it was not for his appearance. He surveyed the eager press correspondents with his chin held high, glasses resting on his nose. A lot of them he knew well and trusted. There were one or two he knew well enough not to trust and there were others he had never seen before. Beside the commissioner stood Superintendent Brownlow, looking equally resolute and prepared to defend the honour of his men if necessary.