by T J Walter
Rose looked worried. ‘But we’re not armed, sir.’
‘No, this is out of our jurisdiction; we have to rely on the local police. But don’t you worry, there’s no need for you to come with us when we make the arrest.’
A determined look appeared on her face. ‘I’ve come all this way, sir, I wouldn’t miss that for the world.’
Middlemiss smiled. ‘That’s my girl, Jacqui, don’t let them frighten you.’
Brookes gave him an angry look. ‘This is not a game, Fred; we’re not here to prove how brave we are.’ Then to Rose he added, ‘OK, Jacqui, if you’re so determined, you can come with us, but be very careful and stay by my side.’
A few moments later, a shadow fell across the table. Looking up, Brookes saw a man of medium height and build. He was in his forties, and had neatly cut dark hair and a deep tan. He was casually dressed in an open-neck white shirt and fawn chinos. Even so, he gave the appearance of smartness.
He spoke. ‘Good evening, Superintendent, my name is Clark; I understand you are expecting me?’
Brookes rose and held out his hand. ‘Yes, Mr Clark, please join us.’
Clark pulled up a chair to the table and sat. Glancing briefly at Middlemiss and Rose, he said to Brookes, ‘Can I speak freely?’
‘Yes, these are my two sergeants.’
Clark gave them a smile, then his eyes returned to Brookes. ‘I have some news for you. Yesterday the SS Bella Marie docked briefly in Haiti to discharge cargo. The customs official who boarded her checked the manifest. According to it, the ship carried no other cargo but had one passenger; a man travelling under the name of Wilson – your man, I believe.’
Brookes nodded.
‘That is the good news. The bad news is that the customs official who gave us the information, at a price of course, told us that he had already been approached by others to whom he gave the same information. The ship left the port without incident, presumably with its passenger still on board. I would suggest this means that the gang know that your fugitive is heading this way.’
‘Yes, Inspector Holmes says that there is a white man and three Jamaicans already here on Grand Cayman asking questions.’
Clark nodded. ‘Things are moving quickly, Superintendent. My contact in Jamaica tells me that your fugitive’s father had been killed, no doubt by Silver’s men seeking information. We must assume they got it. Normally, visiting criminals are discreet when they come here; these however are quite insistent and are spending lots of money asking questions.’
Brookes frowned. ‘But it doesn’t matter what they ask; no-one but the police and us know that Fleming may come here.’
‘You misunderstand me, Superintendent; they were not asking about Fleming, they were asking about you. The only thing missing about your arrival was a fanfare of trumpets. It is already common knowledge that a team of London detectives are here. It wouldn’t take a genius to work out why.’
Brookes looked angry. But he didn’t respond; it was pointless telling this man whose fault that was.
Instead he said, ‘What do you suggest?’
‘I suggest that you arrest Fleming the moment he steps ashore. He will not be safe walking about on the island.’
‘I already have that in hand. Once we know where he is coming ashore, we will set up our welcome committee. Holmes is providing us with an armed escort.’
‘Good; my latest information is the good ship Bella Marie should make landfall sometime in the early hours of the morning. However, the banks here don’t open until nine am I suspect he will remain on board until the last moment, then make a dash for it.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘And what, may I ask, will you do with the man whilst you arrange for his extradition?’
‘A police cell here in Georgetown.’
Clark pulled a face. ‘Clearly you are not familiar with this part of the world, Superintendent. The Cayman Islands are peaceful. Visitors are welcome but only as tourists. Residence permits are hard to come by. As a result, we can keep the riff-raff out; the small population are law-abiding and the police force not experienced in dealing with violent, determined criminals such as this Jamaican gang. They are certainly not equipped to withstand a siege. Once you have your man in custody, you must inform me and I will find you some help. Here is my card; you may contact me by telephone at any time. Good luck, Superintendent, and tread carefully.’
He got up and left without waiting for a reply.
There was complete silence for a moment, finally broken by Middlemiss, ‘Kin ‘ell, boss; who was that, James Bond?’
Brookes smiled. ‘Well it certainly wasn’t Miss Moneypenny. Resident spook no doubt. But I’m glad he came to say hello.’
*
Chapter 17 – Landfall
‘But the principle failing occurred in the sailing,
And the Bellman, perplexed and distressed,
Said he had hoped at least, when the wind blew due East,
That the ship did not travel due West.’
The Hunting of the Snark, Lewis Carroll
The evening passed slowly, the three detectives unable to relax and enjoy the pleasures of the magnificent resort they found themselves in. Holmes joined them at midnight with the news that the white man and his Jamaican friends were sitting in a bar in Georgetown, drinking. They didn’t seem concerned about anything, which made Brookes worried about what they may have planned.
The call eventually came at 3am.
It was Aitcheson. ‘News, John; the Bella Marie has passed the lighthouse on the south-east tip of the island and is steaming parallel with the south coast. It has slowed to a crawl, probably waiting for dawn to make its final approach. I’m told that it’s a dangerous coast.’
‘It is; there are several wrecks on the reefs all around the island.’
‘Have you got your reception committee ready?’
‘Yes; we’ll move off now we have an idea of where he’s likely to come ashore.
‘Call me when you are in position. The Americans are being most co-operative; they tell me they will be able to tell if someone leaves the ship with their thermal imaging equipment. We should be able to give you ten minutes’ notice of Fleming’s final approach.’
Putting the phone down, Brookes nodded to his companions and they made their way out to the car park and the waiting Land Rovers. Holmes got in beside the driver of the first vehicle; the three Brits squeezed into the back. The eight armed constables followed in the other two vehicles.
They followed the thin strip of tarmac that ran south along Seven Mile Beach, past a row of luxury hotels. It was a clear moonlit night and there was hardly a need to use the vehicles’ headlights. Waves broke gently on the white sands. Brookes found the scene almost surreal when he thought of their mission.
Further on, the road turned east away from the sea, cutting across South West Point. They passed the airport, quiet now as there were few arrivals after dusk on this small island. Half a mile further on, they joined the road that ran all along the south coast and headed east towards Prospect Point.
A short time later, the radio on the dashboard crackled; a voice said, ‘This is unit three, sir. We have a car following us with no lights showing.’
Holmes replied, ‘Go back and stop it, find out who it is. Be very careful, the occupants may be armed.’
Brookes turned in his seat to watch what was happening behind. He saw the third Land Rover performing a three point turn on the narrow road. In the distance, he could just see the shape of a car, which appeared to have stopped. Then the car reversed onto a side track and accelerated away back towards Georgetown.
The radio crackled again; ‘He’s turned round, sir; we’re giving chase.’
Brookes opened his mouth to speak. But Holmes beat him to it.
`Do not give chase; I repeat do not give chase. Rejoin the convoy and keep your eye on the rear view mirror. Report any other vehicles following. Acknowledge please.’
A
reluctant voice replied, ‘Yes, sir, rejoining convoy.’
Brookes caught Holmes’ eye in the rear view mirror. He smiled. ‘Well done, Chester; never split your force and concentrate on your objective.’
‘Yes, sir; my men are just a little over-enthusiastic.’
The remainder of the journey passed without further incident. The land rose as they passed Prospect Point and followed the cliff-tops along the coast. Five miles further on, Holmes said,
‘We’re there, sir; Half Moon Bay is just over the next rise.’
They soon topped a small hill and began to descend. Ahead was a long, gently curving beach. Towards its centre was a cluster of buildings, opposite a long wooden jetty reaching out across the beach and into the sea. Beside the jetty were a half-dozen small craft hauled up on the sand.
Holmes said, ‘It’s just a fishing village, although we get quite a few scuba divers here after the abalone.’
‘Is there somewhere we can park the vehicles out of sight?’
‘Yes, behind the fish factory.’
‘Good. It might be an idea to get two of your men to set up a road block at the entrance to the village, just to make sure the Jamaicans don’t surprise us.’
Five minutes later, Brookes stood on the seaward end of the jetty, looking out across the waves. In the moonlight, he could see a fair way out to sea, but there was no sign of any vessel. To his left he caught the occasional glow cast by the East End lighthouse as it pulsed its warning to passing ships.
‘Are you sure he’ll come ashore here, Chester?’
Holmes gave him one of his beaming smiles. ‘There is a reef that runs the whole length of the south coast. The only gap in it is right in front of us.’ He pointed off to the left. ‘Look out there, you can see the waves breaking on the reef.’
Following his pointed finger, Brookes could just make out white water some half a mile from the shore. Looking the other way he saw the same. The gap between was no more than two hundred yards.
‘So, he has to come straight to us here.’
‘Once he’s through the reef he could turn either way. But if he doesn’t expect we’re here there’s no reason for him not to come straight ashore.’
Brookes frowned. ‘How would he get from here to Georgetown?’
‘There are taxis here during the day.’ He laughed. ‘And there’s a perfectly good bus service.’
Brookes nodded. ‘OK, now we wait. Have you briefed your men on the importance of taking this man alive?’
‘Yes, I’ve told them exactly what you told me.’
*
They had a long wait. It was 5.30am and the sky on the eastern horizon was just turning a lighter shade of blue when Brookes’ mobile phone rang.
It was Aitcheson. ‘They’ve anchored a mile off Half Moon Bay. Give Inspector Holmes a cigar, he was right ... just a minute.’
Brookes heard Aitcheson talking to someone else.
Then he returned to the phone. ‘I’m on the other line to NRO; they say the ship has just launched a dinghy. There are two men in it; they’re heading towards shore. It’s over to you now, John, good luck.’
Brookes closed his phone. ‘OK, Chester, there are two men coming in on a dinghy. Alert your men and tell them not to show themselves until Fleming is ashore.’
Now the action was imminent, Brookes’ mind was fully alert. Just one negative thought kept intruding into his mind; something from Rabbie Burns: “The best laid plans of mice and men...” He pushed the thought aside.
First they heard the sound of an outboard motor out towards the reef. Then the dinghy came into sight, heading straight towards them.
Five minutes later, it came to rest with its bow on the sand. The figure of a man jumped ashore and began walking up the beach. He was dressed in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt and carried a duffle bag. He waved to the man in the dinghy at something he said but did not look back. The note of the outboard engine rose and the dinghy backed away from the beach. Turning round, it accelerated away from the beach, towards the gap in the reef.
Brookes waited until the man was just twenty yards from him before stepping out from behind a building. He couldn’t resist speaking the words that came to his mind.
‘Mr Fleming; fancy meeting you here.’
The look on Fleming’s face would have been comical were it not for the gravity of the situation. He looked around him for somewhere to run. But Holmes’ men had stepped forward as Brookes had, and surrounded Fleming.
Stepping forward himself, Brookes took the man by one arm. ‘I am arresting you for the murder of Alison MacPherson.’ He then read him the caution in very precise terms.
Fleming seemed totally flabbergasted. His shoulders slumped and he meekly allowed himself to be led to the waiting Land Rover.
They met little traffic on the coast road and drove as quickly as was safe.
Dawn came quickly here in the tropics and the sun was peeping over the horizon as they reached the outskirts of Georgetown. It was only here that they met any other traffic, and they used their police sirens to clear a path.
Arriving at the police station, the vehicle carrying the prisoner drove straight into the station yard, situated to the side of the building. The other vehicle stopped in the street outside and the constables quickly got out and formed a cordon facing outwards, with their rifles at the ready.
A moment after the Land Rovers had come to a standstill, a sleek, white Chevrolet drove slowly past, its four occupants taking in every detail of the scene. It did not stop and disappeared north towards the harbour area, where Chester had informed Brookes the night club visited by the Jamaicans was.
*
Chapter 18 – Showdown in Georgetown
‘When the captains courageous who death could not daunt,
Did march to the siege of the city of Gaunt,
They mustered their soldiers by two and by three,
And the foremost in battle was Mary Ambree.’
Mary Ambree
Brookes stood in the street, assessing the security of the police station. It stood at the end of a terrace of old colonial-style buildings. With thick walls and deeply recessed windows, it had obviously been built to withstand the heat rather than physical attack. Ironically, to its immediate left was an office of the Cayman Islands Banking Corporation; steel bars lined the windows and the entrance door looked capable of withstanding attack by anything short of a tank.
Middlemiss commented, ‘Kin ‘ell, boss, it might be safer putting him in the bank vault with his loot.’
Brookes smiled grimly. ‘There’s a thought, Fred.’
Certainly, in contrast, the police station looked vulnerable. Huge wooden entrance doors stood permanently open to admit the public. The large, wooden-framed windows had no bars and stood open to admit the slightest breeze.
Even with the entrance doors closed and bolted, a determined attacker with modern weapons would have little trouble getting in. To the right of the station was the yard, with police vehicles parked in a neat row. The yard did have wooden gates, but they were flimsy and would not resist ramming by a motor vehicle. A door in the side of the building provided access from the yard into the station charge room, where prisoners were processed. Fleming had been taken into the station through this door.
Rose said, ‘Do you really think the Jamaicans will attack the police station, sir?’
Brookes scoffed. ‘They certainly didn’t come all this way just to get a tan, Jacqui. Once Fleming’s banged up in Paddington Green, Silver and his gang have got no chance of getting at him. They’ll either have to hit him here or somewhere on the way to London.
‘OK, he’s our problem, although strictly speaking not yet our prisoner. We can’t leave the local police to take all the risks. I’ve got some phone calls to make, so I’ll leave you to take the day shift, Fred. I’ll take over this evening.
Middlemiss frowned. ‘I’d be happier with a gun in my hand, boss.’
‘Yes, I’m sure yo
u would. That’s one of the things I’ve got to sort out; exactly what our legal position is as far as carrying firearms is concerned. Remember, technically we have no jurisdiction here. Let’s go inside and get Fleming booked in first.’
He led the way through the front entrance, into the public part of the station. A long counter running its whole length divided the room into two. To the left, on the public side of the counter, a flight of stone steps led up to the floor above. There was a flap at that end of the counter giving access to the rear of the room. In the centre of the room was an old battered desk at which the station sergeant sat. Old-fashioned revolving fans hanging from the ceiling above gently stirred the warm air, providing little more than an illusion of coolness.
At the rear of the room was a blank wall with a heavy wooden door at one end, leading to the charge room. The sergeant smiled at them and pointed to the door. Going through it, they found themselves in the charge office, a windowless room with a stairway in the far corner leading down into the basement and cells. The door to the outside yard was in the wall on the right. The room had the familiar smell, a combination of alcohol, vomit, and disinfectant, common to police charge rooms everywhere.
The only furniture in the room was another battered desk with a single chair, in which Chester Holmes sat, and a wooden bench secured to the wall by brackets. Painful experience had taught police to have no loose items of furniture available that prisoners could use to attack their captors.
Fleming stood at the desk, facing the inspector. His handcuffs had been removed and he stood dejectedly, with his eyes downcast. His hands were clasped in front of him as if protecting his groin. Unshaven face, slumped shoulders, and grubby clothes made him a pathetic figure, far removed from the arrogant, smartly dressed businessman Brookes remembered from their first meeting.
He looked up as they came into the room; his face showed only fear and resignation. ‘What will happen to me?’
Brookes snapped, ‘What do you think will happen to you? You’ll be escorted back to London, where you’ll be tried for the murder of Alison MacPherson.’
