by Paula Lennon
The JCF cadet band provided the musical entertainment. Preddy watched with pride as they put their considerable talents on display, although he had to disappear occasionally to take or make the odd phone call. Rabino and her boyfriend Clive were somewhere by the fountain, she said, although he had not yet picked them out of the crowd.
The detective was greeted warmly by the cheerful mayor bedecked in his ceremonial robe and chain, and he made time to mingle with other recognised heads of business including the minister for tourism who came over to congratulate Preddy for his work cleaning up the city.
Preddy planned to leave his youngsters to their own devices once they had dutifully sat through the civic function. A Speakers’ Corner was organised in the grounds of the cultural centre, where amateur orators could read poetry and short stories to the appreciative crowds, but he had a feeling that his offspring would not attend. The youngsters were respectful, but their real interests lay elsewhere, and Roman had already expressed delight that a group of technicians were setting up a huge stage and had hoisted an enormous boom box onto it, even though the concert would not start until late afternoon.
Inevitably, they would soon be on the hunt for burgers and French fries, while Preddy just wanted soul food, preferably served with a large helping of red pepper sauce. He had taken them to the local Chinchillerz once when they were very small and they had enjoyed the old-time chocolate tea flavoured ice cream, which was surprisingly good. Back then Chinchillerz lost out as being the place to be, due to the absence of cheap plastic toys that other fast food establishments were so fond of handing out. Having long grown out of such things, they were quite keen on Chinchillerz desserts and knowing his daughter’s sweet tooth they were sure to end up inside a branch of the eponymous chain before nightfall.
They would then gravitate towards the loud, DJ-style music with the not-so-subtle lyrics that he often pretended not to hear. Being a father was not easy work, and being a disciplinarian when your children did not live with you permanently was a unique challenge, not least because the teenagers could pack their bags and head back to their mother if they disagreed with you. He was thankful that, so far, he had been spared the tantrums, nasty rows and door slamming.
It was nearly 2 p.m. when Preddy finally received the long-awaited call with news of movement at Chinchillerz headquarters. He discreetly alerted each member of the team. The children each got a hug and more cash than was perhaps required, while he made them promise to stay together and return home by 9 p.m. at latest. That would probably get them home by 10 p.m., as they were one hundred percent Jamaican after all.
Driving towards the rendezvous position with Rabino, he prayed that the operation would be successful. It still rattled him that Harris had gone behind his back and spoken to the superintendent, requesting more officers for the Chin Ellis case. The superintendent seemed to believe that the requirement for extra bodies was to free the detectives who were being bogged down by telephone calls and time-wasting interviews. The issue of drugs and a stake-out had clearly not been mentioned, yet Preddy was still annoyed that the Scotsman had overstepped the mark. As the announcement of more hands was made in front of the entire team, Preddy had no choice but to bite his tongue and thank the superintendent.
In the end it all worked out reasonably well as Preddy had put the three temporary officers on twenty-four-hour surveillance duty of the Chinchillerz premises last night, with instructions to phone him if anyone was seen entering or leaving the storage area. They initially reported that a sign was attached to the main gate stating that it was closed for the public holiday, although the security guard was there and a handful of workers had arrived. The door to the storeroom was now open and a small van had been spotted reversing inside.
Top Road was monitored by Highway Patrol and there was no way that anyone could get past without the officers being alerted. Preddy had worked with these men before and knew he could trust them to act as a backup team. There was no need to tell them about the real point of the mission and so he did not. He hoped the van did not take that particular route. Any mistakes on a chase along that steep thoroughfare could result in a treacherous drop for vehicles which broke through the safety barriers and went over the precipice. If the suspects took the low lying Bottom Road the officers would have a much better chance of stopping them safely, and if they made it to the end of the Hip Strip they would come to a dead end after passing a small public beach and a university halls of residence. After that, ten feet high walls topped with barbed wire surrounding Sangster International airport would ensure that neither man nor vehicle would pass through.
Preddy shrugged off his formal jacket to reveal a white t-shirt. He and Rabino sat in their unmarked car watching both roads carefully through binoculars. The strains of bass-heavy music floated from the square as the technicians tested their equipment, while the impatient partygoers remained blissfully oblivious to the police operation. The main section of mile-long beach was still a heavily populated area even though plenty of locals were amassed in the city centre. Any form of physical confrontation here could be disastrous and Preddy hoped the Chinchillerz van would stop when accosted without the need for weapons to be drawn.
Harris and Spence sat in their undercover vehicle further along Bottom Road, parked at the intersection with Top Road. Harris was dressed just like any other tourist in yellow short-sleeved shirt, patterned knee-length shorts and brown pumps, topped off with a straw hat. Spence was his polar opposite in smart blue skirt suit and strappy heels. The detectives each used their binoculars to spy the roads and crowded beach. The atmosphere was pulsating with the noisy colourful crowds shouting, cheering and blowing high-pitched whistles. A sole drummer beat out a catchy tattoo while the group of sun-worshippers around him bobbed their heads in unison and danced around.
Harris could not help tapping his feet. Anyone who did not get caught up in the magic of the beat must be a pretty unreachable person. He took in the media vans and sponsors tents before sweeping in the direction of the food kiosks where hungry queues were waiting to buy hot dogs, pizzas and jerked pork or chicken. The strong mixed smells of cooking oils and seasoned meats lay heavy in the air notwithstanding the salty sea breeze. He could see official cameramen with their huge lenses trained on a cordoned-off section of beach where workmen were laying a synthetic grass catwalk for an upcoming bikini fashion show. A live stream beach party was also scheduled to take place on the Hip Strip that evening, and Harris calculated that any scene there would have a sizeable audience.
The Hip Strip was all about naked consumerism. Boutiques, jewellers and even a Harley Davidson store, nestled in between hotels and restaurants and gift shops. Craft shops selling huge wooden carvings that no tourists in their right mind would buy. Most were sold to the drunk or the high or those reluctant to disappoint desperate craftsmen. Harris fell into the latter category and was already wondering what he would do with his giant lignum vitae Rastaman head. Still, the lads at the station back home would no doubt love it.
Only one delivery vehicle had left Chinchillerz headquarters and was now making its way onto the main coastal road. Police officers with eyes on the premises advised the detectives to look out for a black transit van with lightly tinted windows containing a bareheaded male driver and his passenger who was wearing a red baseball cap. The hairs on the back of Preddy’s neck stood up when he spotted the subject vehicle in the distance and he quickly radioed the information to Harris. As the target vehicle sped past him and towards the Hip Strip, Preddy put his foot on the gas and took off behind it with his strobe lights flashing. Rabino drew her service weapon and sat with it poised in her lap.
The van driver gave no indication that he intended to stop and his vehicle narrowly managed to avoid a crash with at least one unsuspecting motorist as it raced along. The driver of a tour bus waiting to turn into the Walter Fletcher Beach car park sounded his horn in panic as the transit passed inches from his bumper and he cursed furiously at the disappearing van.
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Harris could see the van approaching and pulled out ahead of it, tyres screeching from the sudden exertion. Both he and Spence leaned out of their respective windows waving their arms and indicating to the driver to stop. Harris gently eased down on the brakes, but the van driver swerved into the oncoming traffic and overtook him. The detective immediately increased his speed until his vehicle was back in front of the van, which was then forced by a large oncoming truck to fall in behind the leading car.
Preddy was almost on the transit’s bumper when Rabino noticed the passenger bend down and appear to retrieve something from under his seat. She quickly leaned out and shot twice at the nearest rear tyre. The van suddenly turned off the road completely, surprising the detectives as it ploughed through the wire fence that separated the road from the beach. In doing so it knocked down the thin concrete posts and carried off a trail of wire which had become entangled in the undercarriage. It was a miracle he had not taken out one of the many wooden JPS poles that lined the route providing electricity, which would have put an end to the blaring music. The panicked driver sped along the beach narrowly avoiding the palm trees, interspersed with candy vendors, coconut sellers and sunbathers who all scattered in fear.
The detectives turned their vehicles onto the beach in pursuit, with Preddy slightly in front of Harris. White sand particles sprayed up into the air like a magnificent glitter shower. A red and white Sandals catamaran full of barely-dressed tourists sailed by. The tourists had no idea what the bedlam was about, but they waved Red Stripe bottles and whooped enthusiastically. Swimmers stood up in the water and watched the action on the shore. The queues at the food kiosks dispersed as some patrons ran closer to the beach to watch the chase, cheering loudly, many believing that it was sponsored entertainment.
The back tyre of the transit had deflated considerably and the vehicle started to slow down allowing Preddy to pull alongside the driver.
“Stop! Police!” he shouted.
The wheels of the transit eventually ground to a halt. Preddy and Rabino jumped out guns drawn. Harris and Spence pulled up immediately behind them.
“Come out with your hands on your head!” shouted Rabino.
The vehicle doors opened slowly and the men climbed out.
“What happen! Don’t shoot!” screamed the driver who was sweating profusely.
“Put up your hands now!” demanded Spence, and the driver quickly obeyed.
Harris called out to the passenger, “Over here, where we can see ye! And dinnae make any move or ye will be sorry.”
The passenger did as he was told, his eyes wide as he stared at the white man dangling a pair of handcuffs.
“Wait, you a police?” he asked.
“A police fi true!” said the driver.
CHAPTER 19
Friday, 7 August, 9:45 a.m.
When Preddy heard that Superintendent Brownlow and Commissioner Davis were ready to see him, he gulped down the last of his coffee, gathered his paperwork and made his way down the hallway. He would have preferred his special tea, but if they picked up the odour it would lead to a whole other conversation he did not fancy having. The last time he had been face to face for an interrogation with Commissioner Davis was nearly a year ago. Ten months, exactly. The worst two-hour interview of his life.
Thankfully, the failed Norwood operation had been cleared by INDECOM within weeks. Preddy was back on active duty less than two months later, but he knew that pressure had been brought on the highest rung of authority to investigate and show the public that the police did not have free rein to kill civilians. The detective himself had not attempted to shirk from responsibility for the sting gone tragically wrong, but the police hierarchy refused to release Preddy’s name or the names of any members of his team to the public.
Even a court procedure brought by a campaign justice group failed to get the names disclosed. The judge in the in camera case agreed with the national security minister that the names of the relevant police officers had to be kept secret in the interests of the island. His Honour accepted that their work was dangerous and their identities had to be protected so they could carry out undercover operations and infiltrate violent criminal groups without being detected. It was a national security decision and one that was in the public interest if the crime reduction targets were to be achieved.
The public, who were sick and tired of criminals literally getting away with murder, had overwhelmingly agreed with the court’s decision much to the relief of the still smarting Police Commissioner. Over the following days, various names had been leaked to the public, including Preddy’s, but the law enforcement authorities neither admitted nor denied the rumours.
Preddy took a deep breath and entered the interview room. His superiors barely acknowledged his greetings. He was now sat facing them in one of the very interview rooms in which he usually played interrogator. The blinds were up and the sun glinted in his eyes. The detective had no doubt that the room had been arranged this way to debilitate him, but he had rehearsed exactly how he would justify the Hip Strip chase. Valerie had assisted him with it as best she could, playing Devil’s advocate, yet it remained to be seen whether they would accept the reasoning behind his actions. His eyes went from one to the other, wondering who would attack first.
“Can you tell us why a woman took Ida Chin Ellis hostage this morning, Detective?” asked Superintendent Brownlow calmly. “On the poor lady’s first day back at work too.”
Preddy looked at the superintendent with raised eyebrows while his mind raced. “I have no idea, sir. Is de first I’m hearing about it.”
“Oh, well maybe you can tell us about the cocaine poisoning that left her daughter in a coma?” asked Commissioner Davis, fixing the detective with a death stare. He was a solidly built, bald-headed man, with tiny eyes behind round glasses; the sort of person one might mistake for a pastor or Justice of the Peace, but Davis was way less forgiving.
Preddy felt as if the room was swimming around in front of him and he was glad to be sitting down, however uncomfortably. That the child was now in a coma was news to him. It had escaped his mind to enquire after her well-being and he had assumed she had recovered and gone home.
He was now learning from his superiors that her mother had turned up at Chinchillerz telling the security guard that the bunch of flowers she carried were a sympathy gift for Miss Ida. The guard had contacted the businesswoman who had come down to the gate to collect it and as soon as the gate swung open the visitor had held a knife to the frightened woman’s throat and dragged her back into the building.
As Preddy listened, the carefully planned responses to the questions he was not being asked became diluted in his memory and some evaporated all together. “It was my fault, sir. I kept it to myself while carrying out some investigations,” he said. “I thought it would help with de overall investigation into de Chin Ellis matters.”
“What matters, Detective?” asked Superintendent Brownlow. “We didn’t bring any drug charges against Lester. The only matters I know of are the assault on Lester and the murder of Carter.”
Preddy fell silent for a moment. “It was a mistake, sir. I thought I might find out if dere was a connection between a chain of events as I saw it. I will admit dat I didn’t know what de connection was.”
“So nobody knows about this cocaine business except you?” The superintendent was staring at Preddy with cold anger.
“Dat’s right, sir,” said Preddy.
“So, you were just working off your own hunch and no consultation with anyone else.” The commissioner sounded like he was stating facts rather than asking a question, but Preddy could not resist a response.
“Dere was a time when dat would have won me praise not condemnation,” he murmured. “Initiative, I think it’s called.”
The superintendent bowed his head and put a hand to his brow. The commissioner’s small eyes widened behind the glasses, and the veins in his neck stood to attention. He scorched the detective with
his look. “Tell me what your single-handed research has found out, Detective. You smashed up the Hip Strip, cleared all the beaches, frightened the tourists...”
Here we go again, thought Preddy, the high command pretending that the tourists were poor delicate souls oblivious to the fact that police in paradise had to work. He endured the commissioner’s heated onslaught while realising that his carefully prepared reasoning had never stood a chance with this man anyway.
The journalists usually had little to write about after a public holiday and Preddy had presented them with a gift for the silly season. Having missed the printing presses the previous night, the overblown reports had so far only appeared online, yet already there were plenty of comments below the articles calling for the police to pay for damaged stalls and vehicles, and to take full responsibility for any repercussions on the summer tourist season.
No vehicles or stalls had been damaged to Preddy’s knowledge, but why spoil a good story with the truth. He was pretty sure that with the noise of the afternoon’s Independence entertainment the majority of people on the Hip Strip would not even have heard the two gunshots. The tourists were hardy souls who came to Jamaica for fun and excitement, not to sit in silence on deck chairs all day reading lurid magazines. A car chase would never cause them to abandon the island and in fact might encourage the younger ones to return more often. Never mind the scaremongering about Cuba opening up for tourism, Raúl was not going to let them run wild and free in his revolutionary garden.
As he sat listening to the tirade Preddy decided against reminding his superiors of the extreme pressure he was under. There were so many things that he wanted to mention. For instance, it was not easy to maintain the morale of his team, yet he did it every day of the week, year after year. Many a time he dipped into his own pocket to pay for food and drink, and encouraged his colleagues to exchange small talk and remember an existence away from the job. The most hardened of criminals had far better hardware and resources than the officers at Pelican Walk and everyone knew it. No matter which government was in power, the politicians could always be trusted to acquire brand new vehicles and award themselves generous allowances to run them while the police remained short of both vehicles and vehicle parts.
