Murder in Montego Bay

by Paula Lennon

  “Take him back to de hospital for me, please,” said Preddy. “I have an errand to run.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Thursday, 30 July, 11:50 a.m.

  The receptionist delivered a dazzling smile when she heard the buzzer and spotted Preddy waving at her. She pressed the button which allowed the heavy glass door to be pushed open and stood up straightening her floral jacket. Preddy strode through the entrance of the private laboratory and was immediately hit by a strong smell of perfume.

  “Hello, Detective Preddy, how you doing?”

  She was a cute black girl with short straightened hair brushed down firmly on her scalp, not a strand out of place.

  “Not as good as you, Mish.”

  “You come to buy me lunch?” she asked.

  “I did plan to ask Valerie if she want something to eat, but you can come too.”

  “She woulda box me down if me ever go put myself on your lunch date,” she chuckled. “Make me call her for you.”

  “Do you think I could creep up on her, surprise her?”

  “Okay, no problem.” Her bright red fingernail pressed the intercom. “Can somebody open door 2 please, a delivery coming through. Gwaan down, Detective.”

  Preddy walked down the long wide corridor of the large single-storey building, passing individual research facilities separated by glass partitions throughout. A white coated technician acknowledged the detective and held the door open as he entered. Valerie was in her cubicle and he watched her silently for a moment, noting her intense concentration as she bent over double examining something, glasses perched on the end of her nose, relaxed hair pulled away from her face and held with a rubber band. A photograph of her husband sat on her table and he wondered why it was still there. No pictures of his ex-wife were on display at his office whether he expected visitors or not. He tapped gently on the window and she remained oblivious at first, so he tapped again, more forcefully this time and she looked up in surprise. She carefully set aside the object of interest before opening the door.

  “Hope I’m not disturbing you?” said Preddy.

  “Of course not.” She greeted him with a big kiss. “Stop talk foolishness. You know you can never disturb me.”

  “You can find time to eat lunch today?”

  “Mmm, not really, you know. Me short two people who gone on holiday and nuff work leave to do,” she replied. “What’s in de envelope?”

  “I did want you to look at something, but if you busy it can wait till later.”

  “No, man, is alright. What is it?”

  Preddy drew a photograph out of the envelope and placed it in Valerie’s hands. She fixed her glasses firmly on her nose.

  “What dat look like to you?” asked Preddy.

  “I don’t know... bruised skin. You’ll have to do better dan dat.”

  “It’s de left side of Lester’s face. At least I think it’s him. De photo was sent to me by someone wid a note saying de bruise was not caused by a fist.”

  “Ah, poor Mr Chin Ellis,” Valerie nodded. “I should have known, now dat de case has become your mistress.”

  “Never,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and squeezing her. “No way.”

  “Careful, you know. Dem soon start talk say you come here for woman and not to work.”

  She moved away from him and held the photograph under a desk lamp. “Why you don’t ask de doctor what him think it is?”

  “I don’t even know who de doctor is and I can’t go digging around or de lawyers will take issue wid me,” he explained. “I can’t take dat photo to de government forensics lab.”

  Valerie moved the photo under a magnifying glass. “You know it look more like de mark of an object fi true. A fist not going to do dat.”

  A rap on the door diverted her attention momentarily.

  “Sorry, Valerie. A man from de beef farm down a Cascade want to know if de sample ready yet?”

  “Tell him me soon come.” She looked at Preddy regretfully. “Leave it wid me and I’ll get it back to you later.”

  “As you wish, madam.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it, bowing as he left the room.

  *

  Preddy was seated in his office at Pelican Walk that evening when his cell phone vibrated beside him.

  “You decent?” Valerie asked.

  “I’m at de station so my body is decent, my mind maybe not so much right now.”

  “Get your mind back on your work, Mr Detective,” she laughed. “A business me deh pon.”

  Preddy sat forward in his chair. “What you have for me?”

  “Dem must did use de bedsheet tie up something and lick him in him face,” Valerie said. “It look to me like some tiny fibres on him face, but dem don’t really look like facial hair.”

  “I’ll have a look around de cell again, but I never noticed anything dem could use,” said Preddy. “Unless one of de officers did take out de object long time.”

  “You believe dem woulda do dat?”

  “Well, detainees not suppose to carry anything inna dem cell,” he replied. “Officer can make mistake and don’t search de man dem properly, and now a try cover up.”

  “Den Lester don’t know what dem take lick him?”

  “Him say dem punch him and him feel pain and him don’t remember a thing, until him wake up inna him bed.”

  “So Lester is a liar?”

  “Lester is a something, but I haven’t worked out what yet.”

  “Well, I guess you can only look around and ask,” she said. “Make sure you get dinner today, you know?”

  “Yes, man. Me soon gone home. You finish off your work?”

  “Not all of it. But den dere is always tomorrow and tomorrow...”

  “I know de rest!” he laughed. “Lock up de photo good for me till me see you.”

  “Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Preddy locked his door behind him and wandered downstairs to the cell that had remained empty and sealed since the altercation. He carefully removed the seal and used a key to open the heavy steel door. He surveyed the stark surroundings. The air within felt damp and the odour that clung to the discoloured walls was a mix of sweat, stale urine and flowery disinfectant.

  All four inmates were brought into the cell during the course of Saturday night into Sunday morning. The desk officer, Wilson, should have witnessed the search of all of the men as it was his job to log their personal possessions. The duty officer, Nembhard, should have noticed any strange objects in the cell. Timmins and Franklin said they only carried out the arrest and never entered the cell, but they couldn’t all be telling the truth. Wilson said he ran the fire drill to “keep people on their toes,” but what if there was another reason?

  Preddy tugged at the worn grey sheeting on the beds, straightening them out to see if anything was concealed and came up empty handed. Two bunk beds and a stained plastic bucket, nothing else. The iron bars on the windows were secure. He resealed the door and made his way back to his office.

  “Detective Preddy,” he said, after snatching his ringing phone from his desk.

  “Detective, Ida Chin Ellis here.”

  Preddy had not spoken to the doyenne since his visit to Chinchillerz headquarters. “Yes, Miss Ida. I hope you are bearing up okay?”

  “That girl, Carter’s girlfriend, Zadie. Terence and I were talking about her. We haven’t heard anything from her, not a word, but we remembered that she and Carter were quarrelling in his office.” Her voice sounded strong and forthright, with an edge he had not noticed before.

  “What were dey quarrelling about?”

  “I don’t really know. Carter said it wasn’t anything, but she did slam his door so hard it sounded like a thunder clap,” she replied. “We just decided to stay out of it since it’s ‘man and woman story.’”

  “When was de argument?” Preddy began to scribble on his notepad.

  “A few weeks ago now. That was the last time we saw her,
” Ida said. “I cannot believe that we don’t even hear a word from that girl yet. She’s black and ungrateful you see!”

  Preddy raised an eyebrow. Black people cursing black people black was not a new phenomenon. Zadie was no darker than Ida. He wondered if Carter’s death had brought out the worst in her or if she had acquired her superiority after marrying Terence. “Thank you for de information. We have been trying to speak to Miss Merton for a while now, but we cannot force her to come forward.”

  “How is the investigation going otherwise? You have any suspects?”

  “We have some leads, but dere is nothing I can tell you at dis minute.”

  “What about that man you asked me about, the one at the funeral?”

  “We are pursuing a few strong lines of inquiry at de moment,” he assured her. “De case is top priority for us and we will do everything we can to bring de murderer to justice.”

  “I hope so. My son’s death can’t just go like it’s nothing.”

  *

  Ida hung up the phone wondering whether the police were really giving Carter’s murder the attention it deserved or if they were treating him like any old naigger. They had barely acted to prevent Lester from being attacked, so why should she have confidence that they would put much effort into the murder case? That concern had led her to appoint her own private detective. The man was a shifty little creature whom she disliked on sight, but came recommended by her lawyer and there was a need for independent eyes on the case. Terence knew nothing about the new hiring because when she first suggested it he chastised her and told her to let the police do their jobs. She forgave Terence because he was a man and men thought differently. He did not know what it was like to feel a child’s heart beating inside of you and then lose him.

  Carter had always been by her side in the workplace. He was interested in learning the intricacies of the business, asking her questions about how the ingredients got from the farm to the factory and the logistics of deliveries. Lester, her loving, hardworking son, enjoyed sampling the foods and was very good at coming up with inventive flavours to develop, as well as new ways to market them. But he was more interested in the perks available within the business than how the business ran.

  Yes, they were different, but they were both her beloved boys. Now that she had lost one and the other had suffered injury, her stomach was always twisted in knots and she found it almost impossible to eat. Every morning she awoke to the same tortured feelings. She wondered if there really was a possibility that Zadie had harmed her son in any way. If she did she would see to it that the girl suffered, and suffered badly.

  *

  Zadie sat in her apartment staring at a picture of herself and Carter which was partially torn in two. It had been taken at Port Royal, the earthquake-ridden town on the south-east coast that centuries ago had been classed as the wickedest place on earth. The couple had spent the day on a walking tour of the picturesque area admiring the historical buildings, the well-preserved fort, crumbling naval hospital, and many monuments of defence, before exploring the museums. That particular snapshot was taken after they emerged from the Royal Artillery Store, more popularly known as the Giddy House for its dizzying effect on the brain. There they had laughed and cuddled, trying to stare straight ahead while navigating the sloping floors permanently set at a sharp gradient by the 1907 earthquake.

  An eager local guide had shown them around the maritime community regaling them with scary tales of pirates, treasure, debauchery and murder. Without closing her eyes she could easily envision the British navy with their cannons and gunpowder at the ready to keep at bay any would-be invaders.

  The photograph had reached this forlorn state two weeks ago after Carter had declared their relationship over. He unceremoniously broke up with her when he discovered that she had not been honest with him about her past. They had met in a gentlemens’ club and he knew she was an exotic dancer and an extremely good one too. The first time he bought her a drink she was practically naked with only a G-string and strategically placed tassels to protect her modesty.

  Lately, Carter had discovered that she once worked as an escort, which he angrily denounced as prostitution. They argued bitterly over the issue. How on earth did he think she could have afforded to leave home at seventeen? Where did he think her elaborate wardrobe and make-up came from? Whatever the American models were advertising was what she was buying and it didn’t come cheap.

  He refused to accept that on most occasions there was no physical contact with clients. Some paid for her to sit in their cars and talk to them for hours. The punters would talk about their marriages whether good or bad, about their children or their lack of children, and about their jobs or friends. Others had paid for her to dress up in skimpy lingerie and parade in front of them in a hotel room. Her job was to do nothing but strut, spin and pose, and back and forth she went without any complaint.

  Yes, she had slept with a few men who paid handsomely and were nice to her, and she always ensured that they used protection. She knew better than to admit to him that one or two had knocked her around. Hiding the bruises from friends and family had not been too difficult with her dark skin, and although she was not a fan of rouge she would apply it if needed to disguise the effects of a bad night’s work.

  What did her past life matter anyway, she had asked him. It was in the past and there was no reason to allow it to affect their relationship.

  Zadie pressed the offending photo down into the overflowing garbage bin and poured herself a large glass of wine. Being Carter’s girlfriend sure had its privileges; riding in expensive cars, dining at sea on the yacht, getting into the best clubs free and being able to sample all sorts of delicious foods. Even now her freezer was full of sweet frozen Chinchillerz goods. Just thinking of their light mango cheesecake made her mouth water. She should have thrown them into the garbage too when he dumped her, but it would be a sin to dispose of food before it had passed its use-by date, however much it irritated her.

  She had purposely avoided Carter’s funeral as she was unsure whether her presence would be welcomed. Lester would not have minded, might even have been grateful for the support. If only she had met him first. Terence might have appreciated her too, but Miss Ida had a way of looking at her that made her feel unworthy. Part of her had felt the need to show respect for the dead as it would surely look cold-hearted if she didn’t, but the idea of listening to glowing eulogies held no appeal.

  The first time he slapped her came as a massive shock and that was long before he had ever heard of her double life. On that occasion it was apparently because she needed to learn to mind her own business and stop trying to advise him. As if she should not care about what he shoved up his nose. She shook her head as the memories flooded back. As much as she had loved Carter Chin Ellis sometimes it had been very hard not to despise him.

  The apartment was too silent so she turned on her radio and swayed slowly to the smooth rhythms that filtered through the air. It was time to dress up for a client she had performed a massage service on only once before. Obviously, it had pleased him. Now she needed to get the massage table ready and prepare the essential oils and towels. She was not up to providing any extras tonight and had already made that clear to him, but he seemed happy enough with the idea of a straight massage. She preferred these types of punters who did not want much. There was no red brick institution in the world that could produce graduates with comparable skills to hers.

  She sashayed her way into the kitchen and opened the washing machine to check that her other essential item was there. Nestled within the drum of an unloaded stainless steel washing machine was a fully-loaded stainless steel gun. Matching things looked so nice. She never used the machine which was purely a decorative appendage and looked satisfyingly expensive. The small pistol had been used just once. Only two people knew she had a gun and she intended to keep it that way. She closed the machine door and took another large sip of wine.

  CHAPTER 17

/>   Friday, 31 July, 1:52 p.m.

  Preddy had convinced Rabino that the cocaine matter had to stay under wraps until the Independence Day movement. If everything went according to plan, someone would be charged with possession of and dealing in cocaine before the end of the holiday period, and depending on the real intended destination they might even add the charge of attempting to export cocaine.

  Spence and Harris were told little, other than that Preddy had received a tip-off he believed to be good and they needed to watch Chinchillerz for vehicles departing on Independence Day which were likely to be carrying narcotics and had to be intercepted. The last thing he wanted was for word to get around that a sting was due to take place on the public holiday as the information was sure to reach Superintendent Brownlow.

  “Will we get extra officers tae watch the place from dawn onwards, sir?” Harris asked, while they were convened in the evidence room.

  “Er, it’s unlikely,” Preddy said, as he avoided eye contact by shuffling his papers. “We’ll have to make do.”

  “Aye, but have ye asked, sir?” Harris pressed.

  “We were not offered any more hands to deal wid de phone calls because dere aren’t any, and we certainly won’t be offered any for surveillance.”

  “Maybe if ye say that the phone calls are getting out of hand or something?”

  Rabino raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows in Harris’ direction. Spence muttered something under her breath about “hard ears” and shook her head. Preddy forced a smile to his lips that was not reflected in his eyes. “Not going to happen,” he quipped, and watched through the corner of his eye as Harris fell silent and finished off his own paperwork.

  The team had spent an exhausting morning going through the evidence and now they were getting ready to head to a beachside diner for a late lunch. There was still no sign of the suspect vehicle and the lack of this main lead was beginning to prey on Preddy’s mind. A short break to get away from the photographs, notes and reports had to be a good thing.