by C B Wilson
“That’s it?”
“The police have stopped their search. It was an accident. Nadia’s missing, presumed drowned.”
Nikki looked at the ground for a while. Then quickly she shut the door in Jerry’s face.
He said, “I want to help you. We want to have a memorial service for Nadia.”
The sound of the door lock was loud from inside the room.
“Open the door.”
“I’m calling reception.”
Jerry screamed silently, “Open the fucking door!” His face contorted with the effort of not making a sound.
He pulled one of the orchids out of the bunch and started ripping at it. The flower was so big the petals were almost the size of his face.
A cleaning lady was pushing her car along the corridor. She saw Jerry dismembering the flowers. He turned his head towards her and she could see he was screaming silently. That was too crazy for her. She backed away, turned and ran as fast as she could.
42
Holmes took Shelly to the International Jerk Centre where Cecil King had got himself murdered. The restaurant was a one-storey building in a compound surrounded by a chain-link fence with enough parking for a dozen cars, next to an abandoned coconut cart and a few old clunkers up on bricks without tyres.
Before they ate, he walked Shelly through the geography of Cecil’s murder, even though Shelly kept saying she wasn’t interested and wanted to get inside for the air-conditioning.
“This is where Cecil was shot. Over there is where Omar filmed from, although I don’t think we’ll ever find his video. We’ll have to rely on the testimony of his friend who watched it. This is where the car was parked and this was where they shot him. There was blood here but it got cleaned up pretty quickly.”
Shelly stopped him. “I need something to eat. Breakfast was on the plane, so…”
When they got to the window to pay, Holmes asked through the metal grille if he could speak to Aleesha. He told Shelly, “She’s the witness who worked here. She said she saw the murder and then retracted her statement. Obviously the police got to her.”
When the manager finally came to their table, he said that Aleesha had got a visa and gone to Canada. He made it sound like it happened overnight, which didn’t seem to have made him a happy man, or maybe he was miserable to begin with.
“That’s too neat,” said Holmes, but Shelly didn’t want to talk about the missing witness.
She pushed her salad round the polystyrene box and said, “We’ve got bigger problems.”
Holmes chewed on the jerk pork and listened, keeping his eye out for police cars pulling into the parking spaces in front of the restaurant.
“The video isn’t conclusive proof,” Shelly said, having watched it in the taxi, “but it tends to support the view that you didn’t shoot anybody.”
“The only people I would ever shoot are from Human Resources.”
“This isn’t funny,” Shelly said.
“It’s black humour. A coping mechanism. The psychiatrist said it was a good thing.”
Shelly said, “Head office is still going to hang you out to dry on this one.”
“Suspension maybe, but in the end they’ll have to agree that I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Lying came easily to Shelly. She sounded like she was reading from a report. “You weren’t focused on the case. You took unauthorised leave to be with your girlfriend in Montego Bay at a critical moment, and you left the investigation to an inexperienced external contractor with fatal consequences.”
“Unauthorised leave?”
They had worked together for two years. Holmes had always known that Shelly was a political creature. He had seen her take credit, avoid blame and get herself a corner office, but he hadn’t made an issue about it because it had never directly affected him. He had never expected that she would turn on him, and he felt stupid for having such a big blind spot.
He was too shocked to be angry. He said, “I told you Floyd couldn’t handle it. But you ordered me to go to Montego Bay even though I didn’t want to go.”
Shelly said, “I have no recollection of ordering you to do anything. If I had, there would have been an email about it – right?”
“Nice,” said Oliver. “You shift the blame onto me and you come out just fine.”
“This isn’t about blame. This is about getting what we both want.”
“Say it out loud. The deal is, if I lie to save you, you will protect my career.”
Shelly ducked the punch. Instead of answering, she took a blue American passport out of her bag. “It’s better than that. We fly out of here right now and we let the Jamaicans figure out what happened back at the villa.”
“You mean take the easy way out.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. If we work together, I make sure you keep your job, you’ll get a nice posting to London, or Geneva and a salary bump.”
Holmes picked up the passport. “What about Cecil King? Omar Hall? Floyd? Are we just going to let the JCF sweep them under the carpet?”
Shelly said, “Come on, Oliver, you can’t clean up the whole world on your own. You’ve done a great job over the last few years, but this is your third strike…if you want that in British, you’ve been bowled.”
Holmes flipped the passport open. It looked convincing. “How did you get this?”
“I’ve got friends in all the right places. You’re listed as working at the US Embassy. If we go now, you’ll be home for cocktails, that is, if you actually have a home.”
Holmes slid the passport back across the table. “No thanks.”
“What are you going to do? Take on the Jamaican police all on your own?”
“I’ll find a way,” said Holmes.
“Oh come on. All you have to do is compromise a little. You say you took your eye off the ball, you get a slap on the wrist, and this all goes away.”
“Compromise? You want me to lie for you.”
“Oh shut up. This is no time for principles.”
“One thing I learned after eleven years in the field: if we start lying, then we’re finished. We’re as bad as the people we’re trying to catch. But we don’t need to lie. Ever. Why do we need to lie? And you have to trust the person who’s backing you up.”
“That’s like, ten things,” Shelly said.
“OK. Let me make it simple for you,” Holmes said. “First you bend the rules, then you break the rules and then all of a sudden the rules aren’t there anymore. And I thought we were supposed to be the good guys.”
“Jesus. I swear my eight-year-old niece has a more nuanced view of the world than you do.”
“Nuance. Compromise. You’re full of it, aren’t you.”
Shelly said, “Maybe that’s why everybody hates you. Have you ever thought about that? Because you’re such a smug, self-righteous asshole.”
“I wish I had a good exit line,” said Holmes getting up from the table. “But all I can say is – you know what the right thing to do is. Everybody knows. So why don’t you do it?”
“Fine, you wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“Let me guess, here come the threats.”
Shelly said, “This is your last chance. I make a better friend than an enemy.”
Holmes said, “You’ve already crossed that line.”
Shelly said, “Wait.” She picked up her phone, sent a text message.
“Wait for what?”
“It’s important.”
Holmes said, “This might not be the best time to ask, but you couldn’t lend me a few hundred dollars – could you?”
“You aren’t going to need it.”
Holmes saw a police car pull into the compound. Shelly said, “You are officially relieved of your duties as an employee of Justice Unlimited, with immediate effect.”
“Send me an email about it,” Holmes said and headed for the side exit, through the door marked “Employees Only”.
Out the back of the restaurant was th
e usual jumble of waste containers, staff on a cigarette break and crates of bottled drinks.
Holmes headed for the alleyway, fast. A narrow passage between two walls with wire coiled on top. His brain was too slow. He saw a shape blur into his peripheral vision. Holmes hit the wall on his way down and realised the shape was a policeman. He saw the ground coming towards him and felt the plastic cuffs on him before he tasted dirt.
43
The receptionist was slow to answer. Nikki told her to call the police, get her a security guard round to the room. The lady didn’t seem too keen to help.
Nikki put the phone down, went back to her packing, planning to get the hell out of the hotel as quickly as she could.
She screamed.
Jerry was sitting on the bed next to her suitcase, poking a finger through her clothes. The patio door was open; he must have come in through the terrace.
“Get out!”
Jerry said, “Nice clothes you have.”
“Get out of my room. Now. The police are on their way. Get out!”
Jerry held out his phone. “You want the police? Scroll through my contacts. You want a Superintendent? A Senior Superintendent? Or you want to skip straight to a judge?”
Nikki edged away from him. “Get out,” she said, only this time she was a little less strident.
“You know who owns this hotel?” He pointed at his chest. “So don’t go thinking they’re going to help you.”
Nikki was moving slowly, sliding slowly along the wall, wanting to get her body as close as possible to the patio door.
Jerry said, “And your investigator friend. Well he’s not much use is he? I believe the Jamaican police want him for murder. And Charlotte and Ellie won’t be coming to help.”
“Where are they?”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. This is all on you.”
Nikki had edged along the wall until she was closer to the French window than Jerry. She darted for it. He was big and slow and lumbered when he got up from the bed. She almost made it.
She slipped through the gap of the open door and onto the terrace but Jerry grabbed her shoulder.
She wriggled away from him. Her arm slipped out of his grasp. He kept a tight hold of her hand. She couldn’t break free. She pushed at the door, sliding it on its runners to trap his hand.
The door was nearly closed. Nikki was pushing as hard as she could to hurt his wrist and force him to let go of her.
Their faces were inches apart on either side of the glass. Looking at him was even worse. He was too strong. Slowly, he began to pull the door open with one hand. His other hand fixed round her wrist, and he began dragging her slowly back into the room.
44
The policeman hauled Holmes upright, pushing him out of the alleyway. On the street, the doors of a grey Toyota opened and Holmes was slung onto the back seat face first, arms behind him. A door slammed, hitting the soles of his shoes. The car accelerated away. Hard.
Each time the car went round a corner or braked, Holmes was thrown around on the back seat. He couldn’t sit up or roll, so he couldn’t get a good look at the driver. It seemed like the driver was on his own. Holmes didn’t know if that was good or bad.
Eventually the car slowed. Holmes could hear seagulls, taste salt. The car stopped. Holmes looked at the driver. He was wearing a uniform. He introduced himself as Detective Simmons. Holmes didn’t say anything.
Simmons said, “If I was going to shoot you, I’d have gone into the hills.”
“How did you find me?”
“Your boss was very helpful.”
Holmes swore. He wriggled himself so he could sit up in the back seat. “Seeing as how we’re going to be all civilised, how about you uncuff me?”
Simmons wasn’t about to do that. “I’m not going to shoot you. But I know some people who would love to.”
45
She couldn’t hold him off. He was pulling the door open, madness in his eyes.
Behind him, the light darkened. A man crossed the room towards Jerry and held up a metal box about the size of a mobile phone next to Jerry’s neck. The charge crackled and fizzed, and Jerry yelled and collapsed to the ground. The man bent down and shocked him again. Jerry’s body convulsed into jerking spasms.
Her arm free, Nikki skipped off the terrace, over the balustrade, into the garden and straight into the bulk of the man who’d been waiting for her.
The kind of guy you’d cross a dark street to avoid.
He didn’t say anything. He pointed back at the terrace. Nikki tried to dodge past him. He grabbed her round the shoulders. She went limp, and he leaned forward to grab her. He was off balance. Nikki kicked straight and hard into his groin, a classic Wing Chun move; no back swing just fast and hard.
The man grunted and stumbled but he didn’t let go of her. He stood up straight and turned her around. He pushed her in the direction of the terrace. Beaten, Nikki climbed back into her room. The man followed her.
Jerry was lying on the ground. The man with the stun gun was searching his pockets. The big guy took the metal box and pressed it into Jerry’s neck again and held it there. Jerry convulsed again, his body arcing into horrific shapes.
Everybody waited until the charge ran out. Jerry’s body slumped on the floor. The big guy kicked him in the ribs. Jerry didn’t move.
The big man picked the unconscious Jerry up by the shoulders and dragged him across the wooden floor out of the room, scrunching up a rug and dragging it along with him until it snagged on the doorframe.
Nikki collapsed into a chair, the shock panting through her.
“My name is Lev,” said the man who had saved her. He was dark-skinned and her first thought was Israeli but Nikki couldn’t place the accent. “I apologise for Mr Northey. He is sick but he won’t be bothering you again.”
“Go away all of you.”
Lev nodded his understanding. “This has been very unpleasant for you, I can understand. So here’s what you’re going to do…”
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
“You are going to finish packing. Get on a plane. Go home. Keep your mouth shut.”
His tone was so composed, so in control, Nikki was mesmerised.
“What you will not do is mention this to anyone. Your friend died in an unfortunate accident. This is confirmed by the Jamaican authorities. If you talk about this to anyone, I will know.”
Nikki had no trouble at all believing the man.
“You are a prostitute…”
Nikki didn’t think it was the time to have the discussion with him about the finer points of being an escort so she said nothing.
“…If you make a story out of this, if you talk about it, it would be very easy for one of my men to be one of your clients and then…”
The man stood up and calmly walked to the door. “…there will be no second chances.”
“What happened to Charlotte and Ellie?”
Lev thought about it. It seemed like a good idea to tell her. He said, “One of them went to meet a client in Miami. It turned out that he was a wanted terrorist. Homeland Security arrested her and her friend at the hotel. Charlotte and Ellie – I do not know which one is which. I think they will be released in a few weeks when the Americans realise they have no reason to hold them.”
“But,” he said raising a finger, “they will also be told not to talk to anyone about this. And they will not talk because they also realise that being a prostitute is such a vulnerable profession.”
Quietly, the man left the room and closed the door. The broken chain swung a few times and then stopped.
46
The unmarked police car was parked in the shade of a warehouse at the container terminal. Cranes lounged idly with no humans in sight, just waves of heat bouncing off every surface. Simmons pulled Holmes out of the car and leaned him on the bonnet.
Holmes looked down at his shirt. It was torn and dirty. “Any chance you’ve got a spare shirt? They never tell you this,
but the superhero stuff is hell on clothing.”
Simmons ignored him. He had the video camera, scuffed by the fall in the alleyway. “Is this going to show me who shot those people at your house?”
“It wasn’t me.”
“I know that.”
“You can see the gunman when he kills Floyd, but it’s not a clear view.”
Holmes told Simmons to fast forward the video to the place where Floyd was executed. Simmons cupped one hand over the screen to make it easier to see. He watched it twice and said, “Do you know who the gunman is?”
Holmes told him that he had no idea.
“Does it show any other murders?”
Holmes shook his head. “But it was the same guy I saw who shot Omar Hall outside the house, and he was the only other person there that night, so…”
Simmons put the video camera in his car. “That looks good for you.”
Holmes was relieved until Simmons said, “But the bad news is, your investigation cost the life of a good police officer.”
“The third guy?”
Simmons said, “Police Constable Beckford. Left a wife and three kids.”
Holmes had never heard of him but he said he was sorry.
“That won’t help his widow.”
Holmes said, “Don’t try and make this about me.”
Simmons lost his cool. He grabbed Holmes by the shirt front and slammed him into the car. His face was inches from Holmes’. “We had an undercover operation. Another twenty-four hours we’d have had Morris and the rest of them.”
That hit Holmes worse than any physical assault. “You were on to them?”
Simmons pushed Holmes away from him, disgusted by his loss of control. “But there you were, the white man, coming to help his poor black colleagues. Only, you messed up.”
Holmes wasn’t going to let him get away with that. “Two hundred civilians shot to death every year by the Jamaican police and no officer ever convicted and you think you don’t need help?”
