She was through with crying. Nanjo was obviously not going to talk. Once again she had to put her trust in God. He knew where she was and she was sure that He would reveal her whereabouts to somebody. It was hard for her to hold on to faith as the days went by though. She had begun to reason that maybe it was God's will that she should die here. But what a slow painful death it was going to be, she thought morbidly.
It had rained for two days straight last week. The lightning had been terrible and she wished that it had struck the container and cracked it open, or hit the container and hit her, rendering her lifeless. That seemed like a better way to go than slowly starving to death.
Her thoughts were turning darker and more morbid as the days ticked by. She went to the little window at the front and called for help religiously every day, but today she was not up to it. She felt weak and just felt like sleeping away. She was doing nothing and yet she felt so tired.
This morning she remembered the song that she used to sing in the mornings in primary school. "New every morning is the love, our waking and uprising prove, through sleep and darkness safely brought, restored to life and power and thought."
The first verse kept playing in her head, and for that, she felt so grateful. Throughout her ordeal, God was near. She wondered if she should stop hoping to escape this trailer and just accept that this was it—the way she was going to die.
She thought about Adrian, and wished she had something to write with, to tell him she was sorry, that she loved him, and had never really stopped. She wanted to apologize to him for being the misguided young girl with a chip on her shoulder, and she wanted to say goodbye. If she could live her life over again, she would definitely do a few things differently. First, she would laugh at Doctor Bancroft when he told her she was not worthy of Adrian. Then, she would marry Adrian when he asked. They would do things the right way. Have a chaste courtship and then a torrid honeymoon. Then she would have her career and support her man with his career, and eventually they would have children. They would name their daughter Avia.
A girl could dream, especially when she had nothing else to do. Creating an alternate universe was all she did in her head these days. She thought of Avia. She wished she had been more present in her life, but she honestly had not wanted to contaminate her with the kind of lifestyle she had lived. If she could do over the mother thing again, she'd be the best mother a girl could ask for. She would make sure her daughter grew up fearing God and knowing her self worth.
She thought of Nanjo. In her alternate universe, they would never meet. He would just be an item on the news. She would only have seen his face on television or heard about his reputation. She truly wished that he got the justice he deserved. She also wished that his conscience would be pricked and he would reveal to the authorities where she was located, but maybe that was not how God wanted it. She sunk down deeper into the cot and closed her eyes. They felt so weighted down and pained.
*****
There was something that was bothering Jamal Cooper about the Catherine Taylor disappearance. Every night, since they captured Nanjo, he had this sensation that he should push to find her. Her disappearance was integral to the case. The sensation was so strong at times that he found himself coming to the narcotics building at odd times listening to the hours of footage they had gathered.
It was late evening and he was pacing in the media room. Three guys, including his partner, Javaine, were putting together the tapes from their surveillance on Nanjo Jones and Juan Feliz, isolating the parts where either or both of them mentioned drugs and guns.
The prosecution wanted an airtight case, mainly because Mark Mathison had them running scared. Mathison was a lawyer who played dirty. In the last seven years, he had successfully defended several high profile criminals. With Mathison in charge, witnesses went missing and integral evidence was misplaced.
The prosecution wanted Nanjo, and without concrete evidence, he would be back on the streets causing mayhem. He could get a slap on the wrist because he had not been found at the scene of the crime. None of his cronies were talking. They had already tried to give his closest associates, Banga and Natty a plea deal but they weren't biting.
Juan Feliz was extradited to the US to answer to charges there, but even the US did not have anything concrete on Nanjo.
They needed to find out where he kept his stash of drugs and guns. They had practically gutted the club. They had even searched underground for evidence but found nothing. Nada. Zero. The only thing they had were tapes and discussions. This was not real evidence, any good lawyer could rip it to pieces.
"Play that one again." Jamal said as they listened to an audio of Feliz and Nanjo discussing their 'goods'.
"Don't worry about where I keep my goods," Nanjo said lazily into the still media air, sounding as if he were right beside them. The audio was crystal clear. "It's safe, hidden away from prying eyes and nosy police."
Feliz grunted. "If you are that sure about your location, maybe I should be keeping my stuff there too."
Nanjo chuckled. "It would be a little drive from here, and you would have to have links in the force who will turn a blind eye to the movements."
The audio got fuzzier as they moved away from the listening device.
Jamal started pacing again and ruminating aloud. "It has to be near Kingston. It has to be in a place where it is not far to drive to, but not too busy to attract attention."
Javaine looked up from his monitor. "If it's not in Kingston, it can be St. Thomas to the east or St. Catherine to the west. Is there any place in St. Thomas that is relatively close that would be a good hiding place?"
Jamal shook his head. "I don't know, but I am calling Assistant Superintendent Hilton in that region and I am going to ask him to have a look for me."
Javaine nodded. "Good. I hope he finds something there because when you think of St. Catherine… that's a huge parish."
Jamal nodded. "That's true, and the police in that parish has been really vigilant these past few weeks but only on the main thoroughfare."
He walked over to a detailed road map that they had on the wall in the media room. It highlighted the police areas and the divisions that were responsible for them. Jamal paced in front of the chart for a good twenty-minutes. There was that little voice in his head that was urging him on. He stared at the map for another ten minutes and then sat down in the middle of the office. He swung in the chair with his eyes closed.
"What is he doing?" one of the tech guys asked Javaine.
"Maybe praying," Javaine chuckled. "This case needs divine intervention or Nanjo Jones will be walking free and that girl's body may never be found. He'd get away with drug trafficking, gun trafficking, human trafficking, kidnapping, and murder. We can't even get him on his business operation. All of his licenses are up to date and he pays his taxes for his legitimate businesses."
Jamal's eyes snapped open and he glanced over at Javaine. "Where is Leon 'Natty' Carter from, that hoodlum who does Nanjo's dirty work?"
Javaine shrugged. "Let me see." He signed on to the Criminal Investigation Network and pulled up his file. "Leon 'Natty' Carter was born in the parish of St. Catherine, in Old Harbor, in a district called Sweet Rose."
Jamal got up and looked at the map. "How near is that to the main road?"
Javaine and the tech guys got up, all of them crowding around the map.
"It's not even on the map." One of the tech guys hissed his teeth. "If the district is not on the map then it is very small or extremely rural."
Jamal was shaking his head. "The Old Harbor police would know. I am going to call Superintendent Loxley."
He grabbed the phone and dialed the number for the station.
Superintendent Loxley left a meeting to speak to him.
"Supe," Jamal said. "Do you know of a district called Sweet Rose? It is in your area."
"Yes. Yes," The superintendent said to Jamal. "It is a small community near the Devon area. A few families are settled
up there, mainly farmers though."
"Any Carter's live up there or own land there?" Jamal asked.
"Er... Carter... Name sounds familiar. Is this urgent?" the Supe asked.
"Yes," Jamal said eagerly. "Call me back as soon as possible and let me know anything you have on the Carters in that area."
When Jamal hung up the phone, he looked over at Javaine. "In the meantime any clues in Nanjo Jones' background?"
"No." Javaine shook his head. "Nanjo Jones was shifted between children's homes. He was an abandoned baby that was raised by the State… no familial links or ties and we have gone through that angle already."
"What about his other crony, Banga?" Jamal asked anxiously.
Javaine shook his head again. "Banga is no stranger to jails, as you know. He grew up rough on the streets of Kingston."
Jamal sighed, "I might be wasting my time with this new angle."
Javaine shrugged. "I think you are on to something. At least this angle is better than no angle at all."
Twenty minutes later when the phone rang, Jamal jumped to answer it. It was Superintendent Loxley. "Yes, Detective," the Supe said jovially, "the name Carter was familiar because we have a retired colleague who used to live in Sweet Rose. He had two acres of land up there, where he farms on the side. He died from a stroke I think. This was long before my time here. He had a son named Leon Carter. "
"How is the road up there? Jamal asked excitedly. "We are thinking of taking a visit today."
The Supe sounded uncertain. "I don't really know, but we can send a jeep with you."
Javaine and the other guys looked at him expectantly. They all felt a sense of excitement.
Chapter Twenty
The land was situated in rough terrain, almost an hour's drive from the nearest paved road. Jamal had a retinue of twelve SWAT team members from Kingston with him plus six from the Old Harbor Division.
He was nervous. He wanted to find Cathy alive, but he knew the chances of that were slim right now. He also wanted to find a stash of evidence, so that they could put away Nanjo and his friend Natty for a long, long time.
The Carter's land was in a valley like space, surrounded by a thicket of trees. One or two banana trees were struggling to peep through the dense foliage.
"Nobody has been here in a long time," Javaine said, disappointedly, as they stopped across from the land that was pointed out to them by a community member as the Carter's land.
"Have you seen anybody come up here at all?" Jamal asked the farmer who had been eager to be their tour guide.
The man shook his head. "I wouldn't know, still. I farm on the other side of the hill. There was a time when most of this place was active farmland but most of the older heads them dead and gone and young people are not into farming." The man shook his head. "Only one and two old people still trying around this area, and they are so far a part you really can't tell what is happening around here."
Jamal got out of the van, disappointed.
"Are you going in?" One of the Old Harbor police asked Jamal.
Jamal looked at Javaine. "Might as well, we have come this far. Let us see what is in the thicket. Wish I had a machete instead of a gun though."
"Not to worry," the farmer piped up. "I have my machete."
He walked toward the south of the land and started swatting at the bushes casually. The policemen traipsed behind him in single file until they entered what looked like a clear space.
In the middle of the clearing was a makeshift house that looked like a converted shipping container. Jamal's pulse leaped in excitement. He could feel the blood literally rushing to his head. He had the other officers fanned out as they approached the container with guns drawn. When they reached the front they found it locked.
"This is a new lock," Javaine said excitedly.
"I have a crowbar in the van." One of the officers said. That should hack it off in no time.
They walked around the container as they waited for the officer with crowbar. The container was painted in an ugly orange color and was rusting in places. It seemed as if the officer took forever. They were so anxious to find out what was in the container.
"Maybe we should get a search warrant," one of the SWAT members suggested, "just in case what's inside there is legit."
Jamal shook his head. "I am reasonably convinced that what is inside this container is from the proceeds of crimes. We need no warrant for that."
The police officer came back with the crowbar and hacked off the lock in a few minutes. When the lock came off, everybody hung back.
"There may be a dead girl in there," Jamal said quietly as he pushed the rusty door opened slowly. "Prepare for the worst gentlemen."
He covered his nose with a handkerchief and entered the dark interior. The first thing he heard in the dark was a noise like a radio. He drew his gun. Javaine walked beside him to cover him. They approached where they heard the noise coming from and found that it was a home of some sort. On a cot, jammed in a corner, was Catherine Taylor's still body.
Chapter Twenty One
It was all over the news as soon as the police processed their findings and decided what they would share with the public. At mid-afternoon the first national station to carry it was on the spot. The presenter was standing before a tree-lined area with an orange container in the background.
"This is the scene of the crime," the presenter started out. "The police found Catherine Taylor, the woman who was kidnapped by Nanjo Jones exactly forty-one days ago, alive. The police have also uncovered where Nanjo Jones and his accomplice, Leon 'Natty' Carter, have been storing their guns and drugs… and what a find it is! The police estimate that there is over 30 tons of compressed marijuana and one hundred carefully hidden high-powered weapons."
Adrian was on his way from a meeting where he was finalizing his anthropological studies with the Minister of Health, in Kingston, when he heard the news on the radio at the security booth in the parking lot.
He stopped in shock, and a feeling of relief so sweet washed over him. He closed his eyes and whispered, "Thank you, Jesus."
He called Natasha as soon as he heard. His hands were trembling, but he needed somebody who had insider information. He needed to see Cathy right away. He needed to hug her, to clutch her close to him, to reassure her he had not for one moment given up hope.
Natasha laughed when she heard his voice. "I have tears in my eyes right now," she said happily, "tears of joy. God really answers prayers. I just spoke to Jamal and was about to call you. He said that she is in the Andrews Hospital getting a thorough check over. When they found her, she was so still that Jamal thought that she was dead. She's asking for you."
Adrian did not really remember getting into his car or even the several stoplights that he ran through on Hope Road to get to the hospital—such an aptly named road, he thought. He just remembered standing in the lobby; unable to articulate the words he wanted to say to the receptionist who was patiently waiting for him to speak.
"My name is Adrian Bancroft." He cleared his throat. "I am here to see Cathy Taylor."
The receptionist frowned and then said politely, "Only the police and her doctor have access to her now."
Adrian started to back away while a deep sense of disappointment gripped him. He almost collided with a policeman who was dressed in full black fatigues.
"Adrian Bancroft?" the officer asked in a deep baritone.
"Yes." Adrian nodded.
"My name is Jamal Cooper. Cathy is this way. You can come with me."
They had her on an IV when he walked into the room. She was reclining in the bed. Her face looked thinner, which made her eyes look bigger, but she was there, his precious Cathy.
She stared at him with tears in her eyes. "I love you," she said in a rush. "I wanted to say it before I die, so there. Thank God I got the chance to do it. When I was in that container my one wish was that I could tell you that I love you before I die."
Adrian laughed and approac
hed the bed. "I love you too. I never stopped."
"I am giving you guys five minutes with your lovey-dovey stuff," Jamal said to Cathy gruffly. "We have legal issues to deal with."
"Thank you again, Jamal," Cathy said to him sweetly. "I will never curse the police force again, not when people like you and Natasha are still working in it."
Jamal smiled. "You are welcome again, Cathy."
When he left the room, Adrian gathered Cathy in his arms and kissed her all over her face. Cathy kissed him wherever her mouth could reach him. "I am so happy right now," she whispered. "I don't think I ever want to let you out of my sight again."
"Likewise," Adrian said. "I want to tie you to me forever."
Cathy sighed. "Adrian, I am sorry. I know I've said it before, and I know we have a lot of things to work out."
"Like what?" Adrian clutched her hand, fearing to let her go. "For the life of me I can't remember much of the past, except that I almost lost you again. That tends to give a man perspective, you know. I don't care about whatever happened in our long line of misunderstandings. What I care about now is that you are here, alive and well, and I now have another chance with you."
Cathy looked at him softly. "I am sorry for the decisions I made Adrian. I realize now, more than ever, that those poor decisions have caused me, I mean us, more harm than good."
Adrian nodded vigorously. "I am sorry too. It's because of pride that I never pressured you for the truth five and a half years ago. I was devastated that you had found somebody else, and my ego was bruised. If I had but persisted we would not be where we are now."
Cathy smiled. "I can safely say I am not the girl I used to be, and from now on all decisions go through God first. Got that?"
Private Dancer (The Bancrofts: Book 3) Page 12
