by Paula Lennon
Preddy was sceptical of Darnay and his garage. The idea that this criminal could ever have a legitimate business was not credible. Darnay was not stupid enough to take the car there and even if he did, it would have been expertly dismantled into a million pieces by now. The detective knew that there were many places off the beaten track where a car could be successfully hidden and there were also many precipices over which it could have been pushed, never to be seen again, so thick and deep was the bush. It could even be at the other end of the island by now, parked up in some remote village where unsuspecting residents walked past it every day. Maybe someone had already painted it and changed the licence plates. But then there were the bullet holes. If the Red Hills witness was as good a shot as he thought he was, there would be bullet holes and those were not that easy to disguise.
*
Preddy stood in front of the whiteboard in the evidence room. With his black marker he began to write the names of the persons of interest as Rabino and Spence looked on intently. Marcus Darnay, Zadie Merton, Kirk Grantham. He hesitated briefly, and decided against writing down the names of any of the officers at Pelican Walk. The team already knew who they were. There would be too much bad blood if any of the officers discovered that they were under investigation and it would be more prudent to file that information in his mind where no feathers could be ruffled and no cliques formed.
“Is Harris not back yet?” asked Preddy, glancing at his watch.
“No, he went to look at Lester’s SUV. It’s parked up at the lab, sir,” Rabino replied.
“Dat white man, you see.” Spence kissed her teeth. “Look from when him gone.”
“Don’t be so mean, he might find evidence,” said Rabino with a grin. “He must be good for something or he wouldn’t be here.”
“So you say.” Spence sounded unconvinced. “Foreigner can come here and do as dem please.”
Preddy did not take the bait and concentrated on the whiteboard instead. The Glaswegian should have returned by now and Preddy could not imagine what his colleague was still inspecting at this hour.
“Darnay. We need to find his car. Get a clean sweep of dat garage,” Preddy said, tapping the suspect’s name. “Can we ensure all parishes know we are on de lookout for dat car?”
He waved a photograph at the team. “Zadie Merton, Carter’s girlfriend. A very elusive lady who is not interested in our investigations. Not returning calls to her cell phone. Keep trying her.”
“Get dis, sir: Grantham does have a Subaru, too, but a metallic bronze Forrester with a different registration,” said Spence. “Starts wid a four.”
“Interesting, Terence Chin Ellis was somewhat suspicious of him,” said Preddy.
Rabino tapped her pencil on her notepad. “You can speak to two people who saw the same car drive past them in broad daylight. One will say it was red, the other will swear it was blue. Numbers are always a bit off.”
Preddy moved the marker down to Kirk Grantham’s name and drew a circle around it. He took out his cell phone and pressed away for a few seconds, studying the large screen.
“Hmm. De weather forecast for the next few days is looking fine,” he smiled broadly. “Who would like to accompany me for a day at de races on Wednesday?”
“Caymanas Park?” asked Spence, her eyes brightening.
Preddy smiled. “No, not horses, Spence. Nice try.”
“Right up my street, sir,” said Rabino. “I love all that Formula One stuff.”
“Well, it’s not quite Formula One,” said Preddy.
“She just loves de fine young men and de rippling muscles. De cars don’t mean nothing to her,” Spence teased. “You’ll be able to let dat weave down, and flutter dose lashes, girl! Let it all hang out!”
Rabino laughed and threw a scrunched up sheet of paper at her. “You talk too much! I love watching racing cars.”
“Well, I guess dat’s settled den,” said Preddy.
CHAPTER 7
Wednesday 22 July, 11:30 a.m.
There was no better place to interview members of the Race Drivers Club than at their primary race course, and for this Preddy and Rabino travelled to an open meet at Dover Race Track just north of Brown’s Town in the parish of St Ann. The detectives were indistinguishable from anyone else travelling to Dover. Preddy was comfortably dressed in grey chinos and a short-sleeved bush jacket. Rabino wore blue jeans with a loose T-shirt and had tucked her hair away under a broad-brimmed straw hat.
The club had a large and active membership of mainly young, highly competitive males, although there were a few fearless female drivers too. They raced motorcars at over 100 miles an hour for medals, trophies and the considerable prestige that went with being crowned champion driver of the year. Preddy’s eyes moved around the track, noting the families and friends of the drivers milling around near the starting line, wearing T-shirts emblazoned with the subject of their support. Among them were proud, excited fathers eager to watch their offspring demonstrate brawn and exuberance, and anxious mothers, watching with their eyes half-closed most of the time, trying to keep their stomachs from leaping to their chests.
Competing engineers gathered around their team’s car, working feverishly on last-minute tinkering to keep the turbo-charged machines on the track. Preddy watched the enthusiasts gather and was pleased to see that the large crowd comprised a good deal of black Jamaicans as well as the light-skinned people he had expected to find. Out of many, one people and all that.
Some fans stood, others sat on rocks and grass way up on the banking, high-wire fencing preventing them from getting too close to the track below. A variety of coloured umbrellas were dotted throughout the crowds, providing the grateful holders with somewhere to hide from the unrelenting sun. Preddy decided there and then that he would have to bring Roman and Annalee to this remarkable place before the summer was over. The teenagers relied on electronic entertainment way too much.
There was no chance for the detectives to interview Kirk Grantham before the race started, although they had identified him having a pep talk with his team. Kirk had long spotted the detectives, having been advised by his entourage that the police were there asking about him. He had no doubt about what they wanted. The fact that Carter Chin Ellis was gone definitely made the season better for him as far as his chance to claim the championship was concerned. It was inevitable that the detectives would come. He pulled down his helmet and climbed into his car.
The competitors lined up, engines revving and emitting a strong odour of motor oil mixed with petrol. The tricked-out car that Kirk competed in looked nothing like the suspect vehicle and although Rabino had scoured the parking area, she found no trace of the suspect car. The parking attendant informed her that although Kirk did have a Subaru, he had arrived at the race track in a burnt orange jeep driven by his father.
The detectives watched as the flag went up and the race was on. Seven men, one woman, ten laps and lots of gas. The baying crowd waved their arms and blew vuvuzelas loudly. Preddy had planned to try and mingle with the crowd and ask questions, but he had not bargained with the noise generated by the masses as their idols sped around the track. Instead, he tucked his notebook into his pocket and enjoyed the action with everyone else. One glance at Rabino told him that she was enjoying it too, as she stood on tiptoe and tried to keep the lead car in sight. A car managed to run off the track and into a tyre wall, with the driver emerging furious, but unscathed.
Grantham came in first, as expected, leading the other competitors by a good few seconds. The victor punched the air in delight while his team members hugged each other and cheered loudly. He waved triumphantly at a man who was leaping and giving him the thumbs up. The detectives waited until his enthusiastic supporters had offered their congratulations and begun to filter away before they approached him.
“Kirk Grantham?”
The driver whipped off his helmet and turned to face the police officers. He certainly looked younger than twenty-four and was much smal
ler and darker than Preddy had imagined, with an appearance more befitting a jockey.
“Yes, that’s me.”
Kirk took a white towel from his father, who was his aged reflection, and wiped the perspiration from his face. In exchange, the man took the helmet from him and tucked it under his arm. Preddy held up his badge.
“I’m Detective Preddy and dis is my colleague, Detective Rabino. We were hoping we could ask you a few questions.”
Kirk Grantham turned and started striding towards his sponsor’s tent, beckoning the officers to follow him. “Sure. It’s about Chin Ellis, right?”
“You were expecting us?” asked Preddy.
“Well, I knew that somebody was going to call my name at some stage. Me and Carter were always at war... racing war, Officer,” he added quickly. “I had nothing personal against the man.”
“Do you own a Subaru Forrester, Mr Grantham?”
“Call me Kirk,” he replied pleasantly. “Yes, I do. It’s parked at home in Falmouth. Why?”
“Where were you last Saturday night, Kirk?” asked Rabino.
“In Port Antonio with my family,” he said. “We stayed at a guest house and came back to Mo Bay late on Sunday... isn’t that right, Dad?”
The older man walked over to his son’s side and nodded. “It’s true. All of us spent the evening at a restaurant on the marina and then back to the guest house, had a few drinks and off to bed.”
“You drove your own car?” asked Rabino.
“Yes, most of the way. Dad took over the wheel from Oracabessa until we reached. What is it about the car?”
“Do you have any idea who might want Carter dead?” asked Preddy, pointedly ignoring the question.
“No, Officer. We were never friends, but he was a good rival to have, you know?” Kirk explained. “He helped me push myself. I’m not glad he’s gone at all. The other drivers are good, but they’re just not in the same league as Carter.”
There was nothing in Kirk’s voice or body language that betrayed any emotion towards Carter, and Preddy wondered at the young man’s composure. He studied Kirk as the racer smiled and waved at an adoring female fan who blew kisses at him. Power being the ultimate aphrodisiac, Preddy could hardly blame Kirk for making the most of it.
“What did you think about Lester?” asked Preddy.
“Lester?” The smile swiftly disappeared from Kirk’s face. “He can’t drive to save his life. I was glad when he gave up competing last year, although he still comes down here to annoy us all the time. Telling people how to drive, like he knows anything about cars.”
Preddy tried to keep his eyes on Kirk’s face, but the young man made a show of using a towel to cover it and rubbing vigorously. “You sound like you don’t like him, or is dat putting it too mildly?”
“Nobody likes him. Well, except Carter, Miss Ida and Terence. Terence is a nice man though. I feel sorry for him.” Kirk threw the towel towards his father who caught it deftly.
Rabino took out a photograph and held it out. “You know this man?”
Kirk turned his head to look at it. “No. Who is he?”
“His name is Marcus Darnay,” she replied.
“Marcus Darnay,” Kirk repeated slowly. “No, don’t know him.”
The elder Grantham took the photo from Rabino. “He looks like somebody I’ve seen before.”
“You can remember where?” asked Preddy.
“No, I’m not so sure.” He stared off into the air. “You know what? This guy did come here once, came to look on Carter’s car.”
“Eeh-eeh? I never saw him,” said Kirk.
“Yes, man. This is him. Is he dead?”
“No, Marcus Darnay is very much alive,” said Preddy. “When last you see him?”
“It’s only one time I saw him and that was a good few months ago now,” said Mr Grantham. “Something was wrong with Carter’s engine and that man came to look on it, but the team engineer sent him packing.”
“Why did he send him away?” asked Rabino. “Darnay is a mechanic, you know?”
The man shrugged. “Not everybody can fix these types of car. A special engine is inside and if you don’t know what you’re doing, you will make it worse. If you’re not on a team, you’re not supposed to touch the cars.”
Rabino retrieved the photograph and slid it into her pocket. “You know if Darnay and Carter had an argument over the car or anything?”
Grantham senior shook his head. “I never even saw them talking to each other.” He looked closely at Rabino. “Look here, your father is the politician Andre Rabino?”
“Not a politician, he’s an attaché, but yes, that’s my father.”
“That’s why you sound so speaky-spokey. You sound just like him!”
“I like to think so,” Rabino smiled at him. “Thank you very much.”
The detectives gave the Granthams their business cards, thanked them for their assistance and left them to enjoy well-earned celebratory drinks. The cheers echoed in their ears as they made their way back to their vehicle.
“What are you thinking?” asked Rabino.
“I didn’t warm to Kirk Grantham, but I don’t think he’s our man. He’s not de right build, has a good alibi and he’s believable,” said Preddy as they walked. “De thing is, he clearly has no love for Lester and we can’t get past de point dat de gunman may not have known dat his victim was not Lester.”
“So Kirk got someone to do it?” Rabino mused. “He’s not sympathetic, but he grabs me as being just a tiny little guy using a powerful machine to big up his ego, and nothing’s wrong with that. He didn’t come over as a cold-hearted conspirator to a murder though, even if Lester annoyed the hell out of him.”
“I agree,” said Preddy. “On de other hand what we do know is dat Marcus Darnay is a liar.”
Rabino nodded. “We can link Darnay to Carter now. What did Carter do to make Darnay mad enough to kill him?”
“It’s not enough. Darnay is no fool and he’ll probably say he didn’t even know whose car he was looking at,” said Preddy, as he removed his car keys from his pocket. “We need more. Wonder if I can get Lester to talk to me?”
Rabino looked sceptical. “He looked well-vexed on TV, sir, what with that big bruise on his face. You really believe he will talk to you?”
“Well, I’ll just have to be as humble as possible and see.”
Rabino stopped walking and stood hands on hips looking at her superior. “Humble? Really?”
Preddy grinned. “Get into de car, Detective Speaky-Spokey. And don’t make me write you up.”
Kirk Grantham watched the detectives as their backs disappeared in the distance and wondered how on earth his car had come to be of interest to them. He downed his orange juice, heavily laced with the sponsor’s champagne, and wiped his mouth. Maybe it just looked like a criminal’s car, although to him it was a suburban family vehicle. He certainly had not seen many like it on the island, not of that shade anyway. Maybe he had better take it back to Port Antonio if it was suddenly going to become hot to the police. The last thing he wanted was police trailing him anywhere and shooting him in a case of mistaken identity. Preddy, he recalled, was known to have a trigger finger and he did not want to be on the other end of the detective’s next shooting spree.
CHAPTER 8
Wednesday 22 July, 4:00 p.m.
When Preddy first met Lester Chin Ellis he was relieved to see that the bruising on his face had reduced considerably. The press would, of course, keep recycling the original photograph as they only cared about showing injuries, the more shocking the better, and had little interest in the return of his unblemished features.
Three occupants sat in the interview room. Lester across from the two male detectives, dressed in black jeans with white polo shirt opened down to his chest revealing a thin gold chain. There was a large designer watch on his left wrist and gold rings on two fingers. His black silky hair lay curled against his scalp. He sat upright with arms resting evenly on
the table and leaned forward slightly as if preparing to chair a board meeting with his subordinates.
“Mr Chin Ellis, I am Detective Raythan Preddy and dis is my colleague Detective Sean Harris. First of all, I would again wish to offer our sincere condolences on de death of your brother.”
Lester stared at Preddy in silence, barely moving his head.
“On behalf of de entire Pelican Walk community I wish to apologise for de treatment you received here,” Preddy continued. “It is our policy to care for de welfare of any persons in our custody and we really regret something went wrong dis time.”
“Your lawyer can tell my lawyer what went wrong. You’ll soon get the bill too.” He opened his mouth widely and pointed at a barely chipped tooth. “This alone is going to cost you ninety thousand.”
“Sorry to hear about dat. I am sure de lawyers will do deir thing and I truly regret it has come to dis.”
“If it’s not the police doing the beating, it’s the criminals beating up innocent people,” complained Lester. “Looks like nobody is safe in this place again. Look at what I got, when all I wanted was a glass of water.”
Preddy had already taken a dislike to the pretentious young man. Just hearing him pronounce it “warder” as opposed to “wata” irritated him.
Harris tapped his pen on the table. “Mr Chin Ellis, we were hoping ye might be able tae assist us with our enquiries. Do ye know if Carter had any enemies?”
Lester fixed his eyes firmly on the speaker taking in the vivid red hair and green eyes, then returned his gaze to Preddy. “So, they had to send a white man from foreign to watch you because you can’t run things?”
Preddy felt the jab right under his ribcage and it hurt, not least because he wondered the same thing himself. This order to accommodate a foreigner was the first of its kind. Prior to this he could pick and choose who to welcome. Young cadets were sometimes assigned to train with him or his team, usually only for a few weeks during the course of the year. When the superintendent had first raised the matter of seconding Harris to Pelican Walk, Preddy had suggested that the Criminal Investigations team based south of the city might be more to the Scotman’s liking. The suggestion was batted aside by a strangely stubborn superintendent who insisted that Harris had a lot to contribute to Pelican Walk and would work there until such time as the Commissioner decided otherwise.
