by Vicki Delany
I turned to Josephine. “Who hit him?”
“His father,” she said. To her, it was no big deal. “He was weeping over the death of his mother. It is time he became a man. Men do not weep.”
He was eight years old. In Canada, I would have reported it. Here? I didn’t know.
In the other room, Jeanne-Marie started to cry. Josephine hurried out. I followed. The boy had grabbed his sister’s doll. He was swinging it by the hair over his head. His laughter was harsh, taunting. The girl jumped up and down, missing it by a couple of feet. She begged him to let the doll go.
“Give that to her now!” I shouted.
He dropped the doll. The girl fell on it, weeping. She gathered it to her skinny chest. “Don’t cry,” she whispered. “Mommy’s here. The bad man won’t hurt you.”
The boy stared at me. He was just a kid, but the black eye and the split lip made him look mean. “Stupid girl,” he said. He dropped to the couch and picked up the remote.
“You must leave now,” Josephine said.
Voices from the garage. Footsteps on the stairs. Gail Warkness marched down the long verandah. “What are you doing here, sergeant?” she snapped.
I gave her the story about the key. She didn’t seem to believe me.
“I think you’d better leave,” she said.
“I assume Nicholas called you.”
“Mr. Hammond was in a meeting and unable to get away.”
“Is it part of your job to check on casual visitors? Must keep you busy.”
“Not so casual. Seems to me a death took place here recently.” She didn’t remove her sunglasses. I couldn’t read her eyes.
“That it did,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here. I want to talk to you anyway. Privately.”
We left. Nicholas gave me a hard stare. “You are not to come back,” he said. He shifted the Escort 12ga in a warning. Or a threat.
“On my way over,” Warkness said when we were standing in the street, “I called Agent LeBlanc. He tells me your assistance is no longer needed on this case.”
“Just helping out,” I said. I walked to my car. I held the door open for her. “Come into my office.”
She climbed into the passenger seat. I switched on the engine. Cranked up the air-conditioning.
“Look, Gail,” I said. Keeping it friendly. “They’ve arrested the gardener. He may or may not have killed Marie Hammond. But I don’t think LeBlanc’s the type to go to a lot of trouble trying to prove anyone’s innocence.”
“My office will be following the case.”
“Yeah. Good. But I also think Hammond’s wanting a quick resolution. A charge. A trial. Over and done with.”
She lowered her sunglasses. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the man’s more concerned about getting out of Haiti than mourning his dead wife. I’m saying his family life is darn creepy. I’m saying I’d be interested to know why the housekeeper left so quickly.”
“She quit. Vodou is strong here—you know that. She told Hammond she feared Mrs. Hammond’s spirit would linger.”
“So Hammond says. I don’t know how you do things in the States, Gail. But I was taught that the spouse is usually the prime suspect. And that we don’t take our prime suspect’s word for what went down.”
“Butt out, Robertson.”
“Hey,” I said. “I’m just asking questions. Like a good cop does. Have you seen the kid today? Hammond belted him in the face. Hard enough to break the skin.”
“This isn’t the States, Robertson. It’s not even Canada. People can discipline their kids the way they want here.”
“But Hammond’s an American. You keep telling me that. He wants to take the kids back to the States. He’ll learn a thing or two about parenting there.”
Her eyes slid away from me.
“He is moving back to the States, isn’t he? That’s what I’ve been told.”
“None of your business, Robertson. Once again, I’m telling you to butt out.”
“You don’t tell me to do anything, Warkness. I don’t see that you have any authority here.”
“And you certainly don’t. Leave these people alone. If I find you here again… if I find you bothering Mr. Hammond or his children again, I will put in a formal complaint. I can have you kicked out of Haiti.”
“What the fuck?”
She opened the door and jumped to the ground. She put her sunglasses back into place. “And don’t think I won’t.”
Dumbfounded, I watched her cross the street with strong, purposeful strides.
Nicholas had been watching the whole thing. Warkness spoke to him. She jabbed her finger at me. Then she got into her cheerful yellow Ford Escape and drove away.
If I’d been alone, I would have pounded the dashboard. But Nicholas was still watching me. I gave him a cheerful wave before doing a U-turn and driving off.
I only went as far as the next street. My heart was pounding. I pulled to the side of the road.
Did Warkness know something about what went down when Marie died? Was she warning me off because she didn’t want me to know what she knew? Or was she just being difficult? Throwing her weight around? Because she could?
She seemed awfully interested in the fate of Steve Hammond. And not the least interested in the truth of what had happened to Marie Hammond. Sure, it was an embassy’s job to help its country’s citizens if they ran into trouble. But not to the point of trying to derail a police investigation. I’d found out there was no serious bidding going on for the rebuilding of the palace. What then, I had to ask, was Hammond doing here? And what business was it of Warkness’s?
Three women came down the street. They were laughing and joking. They caught sight of me watching, and their eyes turned wary. Their worn and faded but clean clothes said they were probably maids in nearby houses. I rolled down the window.
“Hi. Can I talk to you ladies for a minute?” I gave them my friendliest smile.
They approached my car but stopped a cautious couple of feet away. Their eyes were hooded and suspicious. So much for my smile.
“Yes?” the oldest one said.
“Do you know Paulette? She worked at the Hammond house. The pink one around the corner.”
The women nodded.
“That’s great!” I said. “I need to talk to her. I went to the house. But they say she quit.”
More nods.
“Do you know why?”
They glanced at each other. “Mrs. Hammond died. Paulette left. We have not seen her.”
“Do you know where I can find her?” I remembered that I was in uniform. “Nothing to do with the police,” I said quickly. “I owe her some money.”
They looked doubtful. I gave them another big, friendly smile.
“Paulette goes to Son of God Church in Jalousie. They might be able to help you.”
The older woman walked away. The others followed. No one looked back.
I used my phone to locate the Son of God.
Now was as good a time as any to pay them a visit.
Google Maps led me to a small church in a very poor neighborhood. Boys kicked a battered soccer ball around the dusty yard. They were about the same age as François. I figured he’d be better off here, poor but playing ball with his friends, than being beaten up by his rich stepdad.
They stopped their game when I stepped out of my car.
“Hi,” I said. “Is the priest around?”
They scattered. I thought they were running away. But they were soon back and told me the priest would talk to me. They escorted me inside the church.
The priest was standing at the altar. He turned when I and my entourage came in. He was an old guy. His back was bent, and he walked with a cane. But his eyes were sharp and penetrating.
“Thanks, kids,” I said to the boys. “You can go back to your game now.”
No one moved. The priest shouted something in Creole and they fled.
“I’m trying to find a woman who comes to your church,�
�� I said. “She’s not in any trouble. I just need to talk to her.”
I only had her first name and a rough description of her. It was enough. The priest knew who I was talking about. He wouldn’t give me her address or take me to her house. I had no authority to order him to do so. I didn’t want to alarm the woman in any event. He agreed to get in touch with her. I was to return that afternoon. She would be here. Or not.
Outside, I kicked the ball around for a few minutes with the kids. Then I headed into town to grab lunch.
When I got back a few hours later, the boys were gone, but Paulette was in the church.
She was sitting quietly in a pew at the back when I came in. No one else was there, not even the priest. Paulette’s hands were folded neatly in her lap. Her head was down. Her lips moved in prayer.
She was a Catholic. Didn’t mean she didn’t practice Vodou also. The two religions were so closely entwined here, they were sometimes one.
I slipped into the pew beside her. “Thank you for coming.”
She didn’t look at me. “I do not want trouble.”
“No.”
“But I am sorry for Mrs. Hammond. I will help you if I can.”
“Why did you quit?”
She snorted. “I did not quit. He, Mr. Hammond, told me to leave. He said he did not need me.”
“Why?”
Suddenly, tears filled her eyes. “It is not good for the children. Their mother died. I looked after them. I cared for them. And then I was gone also.”
“Did Hammond pay you what he owed in your wages?”
She wiped her eyes. “Yes. And much more. I think it is what they call in the American movies a payoff.”
“Why would you need to be paid off ?”
She looked at the front of the church. It was a small building, a poor congregation. Christ hung on the crucifix above the altar. Paint was peeling from His face, making Him look like a leper.
“So I would not talk to you,” Paulette said at last. “To the police.”
“I don’t believe her death was an accident. I believe someone murdered her. Do you know who might have killed Mrs. Hammond?” I asked.
“I do not know. But I am not surprised at what you say. She was not happy with him. She was Haitian. Her husband doesn’t like Haiti. He doesn’t like Haitians. He thinks we are all dirty and stupid.”
“Why did she stay married to him?”
“She was poor and Haitian. But she was young and beautiful. He is American and very rich.” Paulette shrugged. “We all know women such as her. What choice do they have? She had no husband, no family. But two children to provide for.”
“What do you think happened? When she died?”
Paulette turned and faced me. I read the fear in her eyes. “Mr. Hammond gave me money to go away. He told me never to speak of my time in his home.”
“I’m not working with the judicial branch,” I said. “I won’t tell anyone I spoke to you.”
“Why should I believe you? Why do you care?”
I sighed. Good question. “Because what happened to her was not right.”
“Mrs. Hammond was very unhappy. We did not talk. We were not friends. But it was easy for me to tell. I’ve worked in other big houses. Whether foreign or Haitian, the wives have parties by the swimming pool. They have many friends. Their children have many friends. Mrs. Hammond had no one. She did not go out. When she went shopping, Mr. Hammond would have Nicholas drive her.”
“Nicholas drives for them? No one told me that. That’s not part of the home security.”
“Nicholas works for the security company. But he also does jobs for Mr. Hammond. He spent much time with Mrs. Hammond.”
Nicholas had told me he had nothing to do with her. “What are you saying?”
“I am only telling you what I saw.”
“Do you know Alphonse well?” I asked.
“The gardener? No.”
“What’d you think of him?”
She shrugged. “He was slow. Lazy. He did not do a good job.”
“Did he pay a lot of attention to Mrs. Hammond?”
Paulette laughed without humor. “What a strange question. Of course not. He tidied the garden. He cleaned the pool.”
A small door opened at the front of the church. The priest stuck his head out. He saw us and withdrew.
“Have you seen Jeanne-Marie and François?” Paulette asked me.
“They’re fine,” I said. Although I knew they weren’t. “They have a new housekeeper. They’re going to the States soon.”
“I did not like them, Ray,” she said at last. “That is a horrible thing to say, but I did not like those two young children.”
“Why?”
“Jeanne-Marie is very young. But she sometimes acts as if she is older. She tried, how can I say, to manipulate people. She is not a kind child. François is learning to be mean. He was rude to his mother many times. He would hit his sister. Steal her things. Pull her hair.”
I thought of the boy. The bruises, the black eye. He was learning to be mean.
Paulette got to her feet. “I have nothing more to say. Please do not ask for me again.” She left. I sat in the hard pew. The windows were open. Swirls of dust drifted through the air.
Nicholas acted as a driver for Marie. Marie had no friends of her own.
All children, I have found, are nice. Unless someone has taught them not to be. I was pretty sure now that I knew what was going on in this family and why Marie Hammond had died.
I could go to Agent LeBlanc. I could tell him what I’d learned. I’d probably be told to mind my own business. I’d have to tell him I’d been talking to Paulette. I’d promised her I wouldn’t do that. But a cop’s promises sometimes don’t mean much. Not if it’s necessary to tell someone one thing so they’ll talk. And then turn around and do another.
I got to my feet. I left without thanking the priest.
EIGHT
I took a guess as to what time the guards had shift change. I figured I’d find Nicholas heading off home around seven.
At five to seven, I parked on the side of the road around the bend. A one-man stakeout isn’t worth much. If he went in the other direction, I’d miss him. But this was the way to the main street and the moto-taxi and tap-tap routes. It was busy, people heading home from work, coming back from shopping. The people who lived in the big houses drove past in sleek SUVS and expensive sedans. The ones who worked here walked.
I didn’t have long to wait before Nicholas came swaggering down the street. He didn’t have his shotgun. That would have been handed over to the guard taking his place. But Nicholas wore his uniform as if it made him a big man around town.
Maybe it did. A pretty young woman gave him a sideways glance as he passed. He said something I didn’t catch. She blushed and turned away. But she peeked at him from beneath her long lashes.
The sun had dipped behind the hills, but he wore wraparound sunglasses. Good ones too. That was unusual. Sunglasses are a luxury here.
I rolled down my window. “Want a ride?”
He was surprised to see me. Surprise quickly turned to mistrust. “What do you want?”
“Just offering a lift.”
“No.” He kept walking. I stayed in the car. I was in my uniform, and I was armed. But I didn’t want to get into a street brawl. I drove slowly, matching his pace.
“Why did Marie die?” I said.
Nicholas stopped walking. He pushed the cuffs of his shirt back. Checked his expensive watch. “You speak good French,” he said. “But perhaps not good enough. You know how she died. She drowned in the swimming pool.”
“I know what I’m saying. And I think you know the answer. You’re more than just a guard, aren’t you, Nicholas? You work for the family. Or rather, you work for Mr. Hammond.”
“Mr. Hammond is a good boss.”
“So I see.” I gestured to the watch. “Who pays you? Hammond or the American embassy?”
“What do I care?�
� he said. “As long as I get paid.”
He began to walk again. His pace was slow, confident. I drove along beside him.
“Were you in the house when Hammond belted his son?”
“The boy was crying like a baby. Hammond told him to stop. He wouldn’t.” Nicholas shrugged.
“Did he beat Marie often?”
Nicholas stopped walking. “He did not hit Marie.”
“That’s good to hear. Friends, were you? You and Marie?”
He laughed. “You think I was Marie’s lover? You’re crazy, man. She was married to a rich American. She had good things. Her children were well fed. They went to a good school. She was not interested in me, a security guard.” He spat onto the road.
“Did that bother you?”
“No. I am going to be a rich man one day too. Then I will have a woman like Marie. Better than Marie. She was beautiful. But she was weak. She had no passion in her. No fight.”
“No fight,” I said, more to myself than to Nicholas. “What about the girl? Jeanne-Marie?”
“I have nothing more to say to you. The Haitian police told you to go away. This is not your business. None of it is. What happens in a man’s home is not the business of others.” He broke into a run.
I didn’t try to follow.
A pit had opened in the depths of my stomach.
NINE
I drove home. I changed out of my uniform and locked my Smith & Wesson in the gun safe.
Tonight, I would be acting on my own. No pretense of it being part of the job.
I’d bought some expensive asparagus flown in from the States. I cooked it with shrimp and made a light sauce with a cup of white wine and a tablespoon of butter. I served it over pasta, with grated fresh parmesan cheese on top. I booted up my laptop and took it and the food down to the pool. I ate while checking some details on the Internet. I learned what I needed to know.
I finished my dinner and leaned back in my chair. Despite all that had been happening, I found myself thinking about the Andersons. The old couple I’d helped out the other day. The way she fussed about him. The gentle looks he gave her when he let her fuss.
Love had its up and its downs. But it wasn’t something to throw away when things got tough. I Skyped home.
