by Paula Lennon
Preddy believed that she thought she was telling the truth, yet he knew Lester had not been punched. Her son would no doubt be able to answer the question, but there would be no opportunity to interrogate him without incurring the wrath of the police high command. As a matter of protocol, the moment the lawyers were placed on the case and all evidence was turned over to them he should not carry out any further investigations unless specifically asked to do so.
This was a matter which the lawyers might eventually be forced to address, but when? It was far more likely that the JCF would opt to settle the case without any in-depth investigation and the government would pay out millions in damages. Getting involved in this aspect of the case would endanger his already precariously balanced career, but Preddy was convinced that there was more to it than meets the eye when it came to Lester Chin Ellis and he was determined to find out what.
“I believe you, ma’am, I do,” Preddy said. “Your son needs to talk to me.”
The woman clutched her loose chest and smiled. “T’ank you, sah! Me going tell him fi call you.”
“No,” said Preddy quickly. “It better if you take me to him. You know where he is right now?”
“Him supposed to deh home,” she replied thoughtfully. “Me leave him dere ’bout him a fry pancake. Pancake you know? All dem thing pon supermarket shelf what we use to see and just walk past! A must only weevil a dem customer.”
“Are you able to leave wid me?”
She hesitated. “Bwoy, me have me things me a try sell off...”
“Well, you said nobody would listen to you and I am listening to you. I can’t promise you dat I will have a next time to listen,” Preddy gambled, and breathed a sigh of relief when the woman started to cover her goods with flattened cardboard boxes.
“Mikey, watch me things dem fi me, me soon come!”
Preddy drove the woman to her home in the Mount Salem district, less than two miles from the market. She pointed at a lane and he turned off the main road. The one room houses along the lane had rusty roofs secured with huge stones. Some houses showed signs of being extended, surrounded as they were with thin steel bars running vertically from the foundations. Clothes lay drying from the branches of trees or spread out on bushes. Her tiny house was set on an open lot with a small unkempt garden and abandoned garden implements lying around exposed to the elements. An old bicycle leaned against the side of the building with an airless football tucked under it. She walked the detective to the rear of the premises and pushed the unlocked back door.
“Jerry, you in dere?”
“Yes, me deh yah. You come back soon eeh?”
“Somebody want to talk to you,” she said, entering the kitchen with Preddy behind.
Her son was seated on a frayed two-seater sofa bed with a bottle of beer in one hand and a plate of food in the other. He swung around from the TV in shock and his pancakes tumbled to the floor. The detective recognised him immediately from mugshots taken at the station.
“A wha’ dis?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the bulge on Preddy’s right side.
“A police. You need to talk to him.”
“A wha’ you go do, mama! You mad or wha’?” he screeched. “You a go make dem kill me!”
“Nobody is going to do you anything if you tell de truth,” said Preddy calmly. He looked at the man’s mother. “Can you leave us alone for a few minutes please?”
The woman looked concerned. “You nah do him nutten?”
“No, man. Me and him going talk. Dat is all,” Preddy assured her.
The woman reluctantly retreated and the detective closed the back door behind her.
“Hello, Jerry,” said Preddy. He retrieved the pancakes from the cracked tiles and replaced them in the plate. “It’s a bit early for dat, but gwaan drink you beer, man.”
“Hello, Officer.” Jerry gulped a mouthful of the beer although he no longer tasted it. Something told him to do exactly what this man said.
“My instincts tell me dat you are not a bad guy. Maybe a bit misguided, but not a bad guy.”
“No, me no bad at all, Officer.”
Preddy removed some shopping bags from a tired chair and sat. “I believe your original statement. Remember when you said dat de policeman pull you from de bicycle and cause you to hurt your hand?”
“Yes, me ’member.”
“Well, I believe you. I really do, but now I have a problem,” said Preddy sitting forward in the chair and pointing around the cramped room. “My problem is all of dis.”
“All of wha’?” Jerry was squeezing the glass bottle without even realising it.
“Sneakers, sports bag, watch, de nice flat screen TV you watching and de food you eating. Sorry about dat by de way,” Preddy said pointing at the now dusty pancakes. “You no have no job and de little things your mother selling at de market didn’t buy all dis.”
“What she tell you?”
“Don’t worry yourself about what she tell me. What do you have to tell me?”
Jerry looked glumly at his plate. The beer bottle was now empty so he could not even buy time by taking a swig.
“You ever hear about perjury?” asked Preddy. “Perjury is what you are going to commit in a few weeks and it is going to land you in jail.”
“Me just come out a jail, and me never in dere fi nutten!” said Jerry earnestly. “Officer dem let me out and want me to go a court and me never did attack anybody!”
“You didn’t box Chin Ellis? You sure you didn’t hit him wid something?”
“Me never touch de man!”
“So tell me what happened?”
Jerry fell silent again, and Preddy waited.
“Jerry, you alright in dere?” His mother’s distant voice sounded concerned.
“Yes, Mama. Me alright!”
“Well?” pressed Preddy.
Jerry’s shoulders slumped as he spoke. “Me wake up and see him like dat.”
Preddy placed both hands to his temples and sighed. “Everybody wake up see him like dat. You wake up see him like dat and de two other inmates wake up and see him like dat. Everybody come see him like dat.”
“Well, me wake same time him come in and him face stay so. De policeman who throw him in dere must know why him stay so.”
Preddy sat up, startled. “He was put into de cell like dat?”
Jerry nodded. “Him never even inna my cell when dem bring him in. Me never did a sleep dat deh time, and me see when dem put him into one cell opposite me by himself. Me go lie down back and drop asleep must be for a good two hour. When me wake a de Chiney bwoy me see.”
“Looking like dat, face bruised?”
“A it me a tell you! De door open and me turn roun’ see him and me wonder how him look so,” said Jerry. “Me just turn over back and start sleep again.”
“Who give you money to say is you do him so?”
“De police bredda say me must collect it from one guy wha’ sell cane juice down a bay. Me go down dere and him give me.”
Preddy tried to remain composed, but his words came out in an urgent torrent: “What de policeman name?”
“Me no know him name.” Jerry knitted his brow. “Him sorta tall, well maybe medium, and sorta slim to stocky.”
“Well, which one? Tall or medium? Slim or stocky?”
“Umm. Dem police guy look alike to me.”
Preddy fought to keep his frustration at bay. “De cane juice guy give you de money in an envelope or bag or something?”
“Yes, inna one big envelope.”
“You still have it?”
“Yes, but no money no inna it now,” said Jerry. “Me can take it give you.”
“Dat’s okay, just show me where it is.” Preddy stood up and followed the slight man to the kitchen. The detective slid on latex gloves and picked up the crinkled white envelope sitting on the shelf. He placed it into a transparent evidence bag and into his trouser pocket.
“You have been very helpful, Jerry.”
�
��Me no wah go back a jail,” he mumbled miserably.
Preddy studied his forlorn features. The young man had barely reached the age of majority and was already trapped in a vicious cycle. “You sign any statement give lawyer?”
“No, me no sign nutten, Officer.”
“Well, don’t.”
“Suppose dem gimme paper and tell me fi sign?”
“Your case is many weeks away and de lawyers are not dat efficient,” said Preddy confidently.
“What going happen to me?” asked Jerry, with a slight shiver.
“I can’t promise you what will happen. So far you haven’t signed anything, and you haven’t put hand on Bible and sworn to anything,” Preddy answered, as he moved towards the door. “De taking of de money... well we’ll have to see.”
“Officer?”
“Yes, young man?”
“What you name?”
With two strides Preddy was beside the nervous man and put his hand on his shoulder. “My name is Detective Preddy,” he said, squeezing Jerry’s shoulder lightly. “Dis is an unofficial visit, understand me?”
Jerry’s eyes widened at the name of the Norwood murder cop. “Yes, sah. Me understand!”
“Good.” Preddy patted him on the back. “Now, I suggest you give de pancakes to de birds den get down to de market and help your mama.”
CHAPTER 24
Tuesday, 11 August, 11:45 a.m.
A recent refurbishment had converted the Montego Bay civic centre into a stunning museum and gallery. The once neglected building now stood as a proud addition to the downtown city landscape. Visitors came from near and far to admire the museum’s artefacts, most of which were provided by the government and some were donated by wealthy, generous benefactors keen on establishing a major arts facility in the parish. Historical items of great significance to the island as well as modern paintings and sculptures occupied both floors of the two-storey structure. Tastefully arranged canvas posters hung from the walls outside informing the public of temporary exhibitions being held inside.
“A what time now?” whispered Preddy.
“Him should be here in ’bout fifteen minutes, sir,” replied Spence quietly, glancing at her watch.
“Him need to make haste. It cold in here.”
“I hope him turn up. Him never sound too happy at all.”
Preddy rubbed his hands together then crossed his arms to rub his shoulders. Even though he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt he could still feel the ice cold breath of the air conditioning unit numbing his shoulders.
Meeting in this area of the art gallery had certainly not been his idea. The exhibits apparently needed to be kept cool to protect their delicate fabric and prevent deterioration and decay. He wondered what effect the cold air had on the staff members who spent a good portion of the day indoors. Having been here before he knew that it was sensible to wear a sweater, but this meeting had been arranged at the last minute and it had completely escaped his mind to bring woolly protection.
He noticed that Spence did not appear to be feeling the cold, which was surprising for someone like her who complained about the low temperature when queuing up in businesses that liked to blast their long-suffering customers with freezing cold air. On this occasion her attention was diverted by the extensive display of paintings and sculptures that occupied the dome-shaped interior. Plenty of sunlight came through the large fully-sealed windows, but the heat of the sun lost out against the strength of the cold gusts. She examined the sculptures of the national heroes which were proudly displayed alongside the work of modern painters. The main exhibition focused on religion and spirituality although Preddy did not feel particularly religious or spiritual at that moment. In fact it was all he could do not to swear out loud.
“See him here, sir. Him early.”
Preddy looked down the hallway and witnessed the approach of the well-dressed chief financial officer of Chinchillerz, Arroun Fisalam. The man glanced anxiously at the gallery attendant nearby and nodded politely before strolling past him and greeting the detectives.
“Shall we go this way?” he asked in a strong Indian accent, and indicated to the detectives to follow him.
They walked down a stone staircase which Preddy assumed had been part of the original 19th century court house which had once occupied the site. Fisalam used a large iron key to unlock the door to the small basement room and turned on the light. Warm air rushed out of the windowless chamber which held a few old benches and chairs, but was otherwise empty.
“You have your own room in dis place?” asked Preddy.
“No, no, my friend is the curator. I had to get special permission to use this room.” His movements were apprehensive, as if he feared being thrown to the floor at any moment.
“Well at least it’s warmer dan up dere,” said Spence.
“So, you did notice,” murmured Preddy.
Fisalam closed the door. “Sorry, I have business at the bank across the road. I just didn’t want to be seen going into the police station, and at least this place is relatively safe from prying eyes.”
“Thank you for coming to see us.” Preddy sat down gingerly on a rickety-looking bench while Spence pulled out a chair. Fisalam was around fifty, although his face was deeply lined, like a sorrel petal dried out by heat. “I saw you watching us walking around at Chinchillerz and you were at de window when we left. I got de feeling dat maybe you had something to say?”
The finance man stood with his back pressed against the wooden door and looked from one detective to the other. He was glad that both were here, as he had heard disturbing things about the male officer. Fisalam removed his glasses and wiped his face with a flannel. “Not really, Detective.” He ran a moist hand through his thin hair. “Don’t you think I would have called you if I had something to tell you? Carter’s murder is a terrible thing and that family means a lot to me.”
“Why don’t you tell us what de family means to you,” said Spence, giving him a wide smile. “Dey seem really nice, Ida and Terence, quiet and humble people. Me like dem. And it looks like Lester really loves dem and looks after dem. Come take a seat and talk, man.” She patted the chair next to her.
Fisalam’s eyes brightened and he hesitantly moved over to claim his seat. Spence shook his hand, clutching it for longer than was necessary and beamed at him. “I just love dat floor where you work, Arroun. It light and cool and spacious. You don’t know how lucky you are to have such a comfortable place to work in. It nice, man!”
Fisalam smiled and his taut shoulders seemed to relax. “I can’t complain. They look after everybody quite well, management and staff alike. Ida and Terence are strong business people, man. They don’t let anything get in the way of the smooth running of the business.”
“Bwoy, I would love to work somewhere where management united, you know,” said Spence with a sigh. “Up at Pelican Walk is pure argument wid de boss man dem. You couldn’t go tell dem dat you need water cooler and free drinks machine and all TV and pool table!”
“I certainly wouldn’t dare,” said Preddy.
“Well, the kids are the ones responsible for all that I guess. I say kids, I mean Carter and Lester.”
“What were dey like together, Carter and Lester?” asked Spence.
Fisalam shrugged. “Like any two brothers, really. They worked in harmony, they argued, they were back to making peace again.” His eyes shifted to study the stone floor.
“What did dey argue ’bout?” asked Spence.
He rubbed his hands on the knees of his khaki trousers and said nothing.
“I know you love de family, Arroun,” said Spence quietly. “Anything you can tell us dat might help to solve dis case will be greatly appreciated. Loyalty is a good thing, but it shouldn’t get in de way of moral duty. Tell us what you know. Your name will never be mentioned.”
His nervous eyes flicked over the detectives. “I didn’t want to come here because I don’t know anything. Really, I don’t.”
�
��You would be surprised at what people think dey don’t know,” pushed Spence.
The finance man took a deep breath. “At the time it bothered me, left me with a bad feeling, you know, then afterwards I thought no more about it.”
“Go on,” said Preddy.
“Lester was pretty mad one day, because he got the idea that his parents were planning to put Carter in charge of the financial operations.”
“Dey told him dat?” asked Preddy, raising his eyebrows.
“He sort of deduced it. He had been suspicious for some time and asked me why Carter was always shadowing me. I just said ‘because he asked to.’ I didn’t want to get involved, you see.” He paused, recalling the incident. “Then one day after Carter finished shadowing me he went into Miss Ida’s office, which is next to the drinks fountain. Lester went towards the drinks machine, but he didn’t get any drinks. He was leaning up against the wall listening. A few minutes later Lester went running into his mother’s office cursing and carrying on.”
“Did he hear what Carter said?” asked Preddy.
“No idea.”
“Well, what did Lester say?” asked Spence.
“It was hard to hear anything because Ida closed the door. I remember Terence went into the room shortly after. All I could see was Lester shouting and pointing. Carter had his palms up, you know, like he was telling him to calm down. He patted Lester on the back and Lester pushed him off and came back out furious. I mean his face was purple, like the blood vessels were about to burst.”
“When did dis happen?” asked Spence.
Fisalam tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes briefly. “About two months ago.”
