by Paula Lennon
The suspect’s feet began to feel cold. He looked down and realised that he was up to his ankles in water. Although he could not see ahead of him he could hear the water rushing and he shuffled as quickly as he could towards the sound. A tiny waterfall not more than three feet tall was nearby and he quickly crept behind it, feeling the ice cold water pour down his neck, and envelop his back and legs. He felt a twinge in his spine and realised he could not crouch like this for too long, and so he slid into the murky depths of the water, dragging a long stick of dried bamboo with him.
The fugitive stayed beneath the water, eyes closed against the tiny organisms that bounced against his face. He gulped in air through the bamboo while trying to keep his body as still as possible. This spring was too small to hold crocodiles or the like, but who knew what else was keeping him company under there. He had no idea how much time had passed. What felt like hours must have been minutes. The barking of the rabid dogs which had previously seemed so close now appeared to be fading away and he wondered if this was just wishful thinking on his part or the effect of the water in his ears.
The voices, both male and female, which had called out so aggressively were now muffled. If his body had not been so cold it would have appreciated the feeling of relief that passed through it, but as it was, his bones just felt stiff and painful. He forced his eyes open and through the haze of the water could clearly make out the shining moon.
Everywhere around him had fallen silent, except for the waterfall whose gentle trickle stood out in the stillness. He breathed a prayer of thanks to the God whose voice he tried to avoid hearing six days a week. He would give it a couple more minutes, just to be safe.
CHAPTER 34
Friday, 15 August, 11:58 p.m.
Harris eased himself on top of a steep rock, breathing effortlessly. Rock climbing was one of his favourite hobbies and a trip to the Blue Mountains was on his list of things to do before his Caribbean posting was over. Having mastered Ben Nevis more than once, Jamaican mountains would be a breeze, although a beautiful, botanically rich one. He walked slowly over to where a large shape lay moving in a small hollow formed by a mass of great stones. As he approached the shape, it appeared to press itself closer to the ground as if hoping to be absorbed into it.
“Lester!” he shouted and nearly fell over backwards as the wild hog that had been warily observing the intrusion jumped to its feet grunting and fled from the unwelcome trespassers. The Scotsman was grateful that the animal’s blunt ivory tusks had not managed to graze him. Spence grinned in the darkness as she held out a hand and helped steady him on his feet, before continuing the arduous trek.
A few strides later Spence stopped abruptly and whispered something to Preddy who came to a halt by her side. Rabino noticed and clicked her fingers to get Harris’ attention. He returned to join them and the four stood silently for some time.
Spence took aim and threw a rock towards a waterhole which sent a piece of bamboo flying across the water. Almost immediately a head breached the surface spluttering for air.
“You know say you never hear ’bout Jamaicans a dead from hypothermia?” quipped Spence.
“Not on the island anyway. For the ones abroad it’s a different thing,” said Rabino.
“Dat’s because most Jamaicans are not stupid.” Preddy shone his unyielding flashlight in the direction of the fugitive. “We do not swim fully-clothed in mountain springs at midnight where de temperatures reach minus figures.”
“And we don’t walk for miles in soaking wet clothes,” added Spence, “in a strong breeze.”
“We certainly don’t do that,” Rabino agreed.
“This is one odd Jamaican, I guess,” Harris concluded.
The suspect dragged himself to the end of the spring and hauled his aching body out of the water. He lay sprawled on his face in the weeds, arms outspread above his head, with legs straight. Rabino knelt on his back and dragged both arms down behind his waist.
“And don’t try anything.” Preddy stretched his handcuffs to Rabino who quickly attached them and dragged the man to his feet.
“Lester Chin Ellis, you are under arrest for...”
Preddy shone his torch in the man’s face, seeing for the first time the haunted features that bore no resemblance to the prime suspect. He was brown-skinned, but that was about it. His eyes were very round and very wide.
“A whe’ de rass!” Preddy exclaimed. “Who you?”
“Misser Chin gardener, Officer! Do no shoot me!”
“Fuck,” said Harris and placed his hands on his hips.
Preddy walked up close to the shaking man. “Where Lester gone?”
“Me no know! Him say him not staying inna Jamaica!”
“Oh, hell,” mumbled Rabino.
“Shit!” said Spence.
Preddy closed his eyes briefly and it suddenly hit him. Aviation glasses. The pair of aviation glasses in Lester’s room were missing second time around. “Him going to de aerodrome!” he said, turning abruptly to start the descent. “Him have another car?”
“Me see him get inna one, yes, but me couldn’t tell you what type. It too dark,” the gardener said.
“Walk up!” said Spence, prodding the shivering man in the back with her hardware. He shuffled off quickly in the direction of the others, still handcuffed and risked a glance over his shoulder.
“Ma’am, me can get one dry shirt or something when we reach a road? Me hear wha’ you say ’bout hypothermia and me no want get it!”
“Move you claat!”
CHAPTER 35
Saturday 15, August, 12:50 a.m.
Lester abandoned the newly-stolen car and waited in the bushes surrounding the aerodrome. It had not taken him long to drive the highway from Bluefields to Negril as the traffic had thinned out considerably. The car’s owner was probably asleep and it would be a long time before it was reported stolen. He had bought time, although how much he did not know. He needed to get into the aerodrome and away from the island. There was only one certitude: his destination would not be a Jamaican prison. Spending a few hours in jail was bad enough and he was not planning on a do-over.
He lay flat on his stomach, eyes closed, chest palpitating. His mind ran on Carter as it did one hundred times a day, delivering the same sharp pang of pain. Carter would be the first to chastise him for running from the police and then he would come up with something inventive to thwart their efforts. Dear Carter, both annoying and helpful, cautious and risk-inclined.
Lester loved his brother and he hated him too. Everything was about Carter nowadays. All of his life Lester had been told to look after his little brother, even when his little brother was blatantly wrong or determined to do something downright foolhardy. As they grew older he had watched as his parents, particularly Miss Ida, tended to rely more on Carter when it came to business advice. To add insult to injury they were secretly grooming Carter to take over as chief financial officer which would have been unacceptable in anyone else’s book. That hallowed position belonged to the eldest son, not the youngest. His birthright was not something to be discussed and debated.
Having accosted them, he had been told that he “needed more time to learn to respect money.” Learn to respect money? Lester sneered. He respected the hell out of money and was in touch with it on a regular basis, using as much of it as he could to buy toys and weed for himself, as well as presents for girls. Girls like Zadie. What was the point of being filthy rich and not spending the money enjoying yourself?
With Carter at the helm, access to that easy money would dry up totally unless he really worked for it. There would be no unlimited expense account and no possibility of dipping into the petty cash once his little brother was in charge. It was bad enough that the stupid little coolie man was tightening the purse strings. Everything he bought would soon have to go through Carter and the cheeky little shit would take great pleasure in denying his requests.
Surely Miss Ida must have suspected that Carter had a drug habit
and was not addicted to just any drugs, but hard drugs? Yet there she was, planning to put the reins into the hands of a junkie.
If Carter hadn’t been so frazzled, he would have noticed Lester’s closeness to that gorgeous girlfriend of his. Instead he had seemed quite happy to watch his sibling make friends with his high-maintenance woman. Lester knew from the moment he set eyes on Zadie that he could take her. He enjoyed the chase thoroughly and surprised himself by actually falling for her. It did not stop him from playing the field, but she was such a nice, sweet girl, or at least she had been. He touched his sore left shoulder gingerly nursing the purple bruise. If Zadie could aim a gun as well as she could gyrate it would have been curtains for him. Never in a million years would he have thought that the lovely, leggy beauty would try to kill someone. Especially him. He and Zadie were obviously more alike than she knew.
He had seen the police cars racing in the direction of Bluefields Bay while he headed towards Negril aerodrome earlier and he was certain that the officers would now be navigating Buddles Mountain. The gardener better be worth his pay.
The tiny remote airstrip was quite dark, but he could see a light in the watchman’s small hut and he wondered whether the man was inside or if it was derelict and the lights were always left on all night. Either way it would not be that easy to get into the grounds. The aircraft hangar itself was not that sturdy, having been damaged in the last tropical storm and he could see the nose of at least one plane from where he stood. The shelter could only hold two planes, one of which was the four-seater family plane that he was determined to board.
The gardener’s clothes felt loose on him and billowed around his waist so he paused briefly to secure another notch of the belt. Looking up at the sturdy mesh wire fence above him he saw trails of barbed wire at the top. He moved slowly alongside the fence, pressing it every few seconds, trying to find the weakest link.
On and on he crept, pushing at the fence and pulling at its roots while keeping an eye out for the watchman. Eventually, he found a spot at the bottom of the fence where the ground felt soft and he began to pull, but it did not give way. Breathing heavily with sweat pouring down his face, Lester knelt beside it and put both hands to work. The task was not easy and he stopped to rest several times before exerting another spurt of energy. Finally he managed to prise the wire far enough upwards and crawled underneath like a snake, snagging his thin shirt as he did so.
“Hey, you! Stop, man!”
Lester jumped up and spun around to see a burly security guard making his way towards him, a baton in one hand, radio in the other. In a flash the fugitive pulled out his gun and pointed it at the guard’s chest. The man spotted the glint of gleaming metal and stood still.
“Listen, boss, me no want no trouble, you hear. No money no deh pon de premises.”
Lester stared back coldly, ignoring the pleading look in the man’s eyes and pulled the trigger. The guard’s face registered shock and disbelief as he crumpled to the ground writhing in agony. Lester sprinted past him without a backward glance and darted toward the hangar.
*
Harris pressed his phone to his ear. “Man down at the aerodrome. Bullet tae the chest.”
“Rass. Where de hell are de Sav people?”
Preddy stepped on the gas pedal and eventually caught up and raced past two local police cars, followed by Rabino and Spence. As they covered the journey mile by mile, shortening the distance between themselves and the aerodrome, Preddy thought about Lester’s latest inane move. If the guard died, he would go down for double murder and even if the man survived it was one more charge to add to the sheet and make life that much tougher for him. Lester had been given plenty of opportunity to surrender and had chosen the coward’s way out. It was time to bring an end to this once and for all, and if it took a gun battle so be it. At least this time Preddy was sure that his opponent was fully-armed and ready for action.
*
Lester cursed under his breath as he saw a chain attached to the landing gear with one end of it firmly anchored in the ground by a solid metal peg. He crouched and pulled at the thick metal, sweating profusely, every sinew standing upright in his arms. He felt it move a bit and so he stopped and rested for a few seconds before giving it another tug. The peg would not be moved and Lester finally let go, breathing heavily, temples throbbing.
He picked up a large rock and bashed at the peg from the side, hoping that it would lean over so he could prise it free. It moved slightly but remained firmly anchored. In frustration he fumbled around in the dark until he found a large toolbox and, using a hammer, he smashed away at the peg until it gave way. He clambered up into his plane and was dismayed to realise that the keys must have fallen out of his pocket. There were no spare keys anywhere in the plane so he jumped out and ran over to the unlocked key holder cabinet where he took up a handful of keys searching in vain for the right duplicate. In the distance came the wailing of police sirens and what sounded like a much nearer police helicopter which he hadn’t reckoned on.
The police cars screeched to a halt outside the aerodrome. The injured guard stumbled to the gate and unlocked it swinging it open and allowing them to stream through. Preddy heard the distinct whirring of rotor blades, yet there was no police helicopter in use in western Jamaica, unless Harris had managed to pull off a major miracle.
He leaned out of his window and squinted up at the chopper as it came in to land. The detective swore under his breath as he was just able to make out the tense pale face of Terence Chin Ellis who swung the cabin door open. The fugitive sprinted towards the swaying machine. Preddy leaped from his vehicle and started to run towards it too. The other detectives followed suit, but Lester kept well ahead of them.
Terence lowered the helicopter precariously and called to his son, encouraging him to quicken up his pace. Dust thrown up from the aircraft’s propellers went into the detectives’ eyes and they blinked desperately while trying to see ahead. Each had their guns drawn, but could not see well enough to identify a target.
Preddy moved back from the aircraft’s dust stream, took aim as best he could and fired. Some bullets grazed the chassis, yet Terence managed to set it down on the ground relatively unscathed. Preddy backed away even further and fired two more shots. The windshield cracked but did not shatter. The detectives all retreated as far back as they could out of the dust and wind pressure before firing. Bullets ricocheted from the metal and punctured the fuselage.
Lester stayed low and managed to scramble into the chopper avoiding injury and as he did so his father screamed in pain. A bullet had entered Terence’s right shoulder and he lost control of the aircraft as it started to lift. Lester clambered into position reaching across his father for the controls, trying to settle the bucking movements. The helicopter lifted a few feet off the ground and started to move along horizontally. It weaved dangerously as the landing skids barely clipped a stationary police car. One glance at the gas indicator told Lester it would not lift off again. The aircraft spun wildly, increasing the distance between itself and the stunned police officers. Preddy reloaded and fired at it again causing a rotor to splinter, yet it fought its way along for a considerable distance bypassing the runway completely before it jackknifed and came to rest in the sand, beside a clump of bushes. A huge cloud of sand particles enveloped it and hung suspended in the air, temporarily impairing the officers’ view.
The detectives sprinted back to their vehicles and sped down the runway towards the dust cloud. They surrounded the dilapidated aircraft which was making a muffled sound as if panting from exhaustion. The tank was crushed and the strong smell of the remaining gasoline permeated the night air and mixed with the salty odour from the sea. Preddy was covered in sand up to his ankles and his legs felt heavy from trying to run on the moist sinking ground.
“Lester!” he bellowed.
Rabino squinted at the bushes. “Don’t be a fool, Lester!”
“Terence! You better dan dis!” cried Spence. “Give
him up!”
“Lester Chin Ellis! Come out with yer hands up!” shouted Harris, raising his gun.
Preddy bent almost double and crept in closer with his gun cocked and ready to fire. “Don’t make dis any harder dan it needs to be. De two of you need to get out now!” He peered inside the mangled cabin. “Dem gone!”
Spence spun around and detected a movement in the foliage behind Harris. She pointed her weapon and silently motioned to the Glaswegian to get down. Harris crouched low while spinning, his eyes following the direction of her studious gaze. Preddy motioned to Rabino to hold her ground, while he approached the bushes carefully, gun held at arm’s-length.
“Lester! Terence!”
“Here, Detective,” said a weary voice. Terence Chin Ellis emerged from the dense brush land with his own gun held out and glinting in the moonlight.
“Put down de gun!” ordered Preddy.
“Drop the weapon, sir!” shouted Harris. “We dinnae want tae hurt ye.”
“I’m not dropping it. Leave my son alone!”
“You are making dis very hard, Terence,” said Preddy. “Just put down de gun and you and Lester come out wid your hands over your head.”
Terence let out a hysterical laugh. “Boy, you hurt my right arm. It can’t raise at all. And I’m not putting up my good arm.”
Rabino tried to creep past the clearly disturbed patriarch, but her foot became entangled in dry seaweed and she stumbled slightly. Terence swung around and released an untrained shot in her direction. Without hesitation Preddy opened fire again. Terence yelped in pain and fell to the floor clutching his thigh, the gun discarded at his side. Preddy ran towards him and kicked away the weapon, then crouched down to inspect the damage.
“You lucky, you will live.”
Harris moved to check that Rabino was unharmed.
