The Corpse with the Crystal Skull

by Cathy Ace

  I manage that by using a process called wakeful dreaming, where I allow my mind to wander as it chooses along the pathways of my memories, and put things I’ve seen, heard, tasted, smelled, and felt into a new perspective – where the relationships between them are not being commandeered by my conscious self.

  To be able to do it properly I prefer to be calm, quiet, and alone, if possible. The bathroom allowed me to be all three, so I held onto the armrests of the little chair – which was really meant to have robes and towels tossed onto it, rather than a person of my girth sitting in it for any length of time – and allowed my mind to swirl.

  Unsurprisingly, the first thing I see is the crystal skull; and it’s laughing at me, its suddenly articulated jaw showing me how hilarious it thinks I am. It hangs in the air against a backdrop of fluttering hummingbirds, their iridescent plumage flashing blues, greens, oranges, and reds at me as I look though the crystal itself. The birds have been our constant companions since our arrival, but not in the extraordinary numbers in which they now appear. They disintegrate and become a flock of hovering black witch moths, all with the faces of Freddie Burkinshaw, all screaming at me. As I watch, the moths become smaller, and smaller, until they are invisible, but still noisy – they have started to sound like tree frogs, and give off flashes like fireflies. Then the darkness bursts into light, and I am surrounded by gold falling from the sky, like heavy rain. It hurts when it hits me, and I bleed all over, then I realize I am sweating. Bud appears through the rain and offers me platters and platters of cakes; the platters are gold, the cakes keep coming, and he keeps saying, “Look Cait – fifty cakes, fifty candles…blow hard, blow hard.” I turn away, but I can smell the candles after they’ve been extinguished. The smell follows me as I scale a wall that’s appeared in front of me. It’s Freddie’s tower, and I hop over the rail into his lookout room, which is stuffed with artifacts and maps and gold coins. Sheila’s sister welcomes me inside; I don’t know her face, but I know who she is, and she smiles as she invites me to sit on a throne made of burgundy velvet.

  I decline, because I have to see what is making the noise I can hear outside the tower. Is it a giant dragonfly, or a million hummingbirds? No, it’s Freddie moving across the surface of the sea on one of those water jet packs, the columns of water shooting from his feet, then, below him, Wilson Thomas appears, rising from the waves like Venus, holding an infant in his hands and crying, wailing. Freddie shoots at him with a massive gun with a silencer attached – the noise is deafening. I clap my hands against my ears, but the noise rings inside my head, like church bells, which morph into Freddie’s voice singing “God Save The Queen”.

  I look over the parapet to the beach below, which comes rushing up to meet me, but I can’t get over the railing to escape before the top of the tower disappears into the sand, which starts to rain on my head as the gold had done. I know I mustn’t get buried…a Jacob’s ladder falls from the sky, and I cling to it. The sand that had been threatening to overwhelm me dissolves beneath my feet and I fly high in the sky looking down at the Captain’s Lookout estate. I can see Bud, Sheila and Jack, and Lottie and John as tiny figures lying on beds beside the pool, and I see Nina and Niall doing the same beside her pool, the water of which is in turmoil, rent by violent waves. The ringing in my ears is replaced by the snapping of a camera’s shutter, which changes to the sound of picks hitting rock, and shovels hitting sand. I see Lottie, still tiny beneath me, and she shoots at me with a bow and arrow. I am hit, and I fall; from far, far below I feel many hands reach to save me, and I allow myself to be safe within their grasp. They set me down on a crystalline beach where an amethyst palm tree shades me from an emerald sun, and I hear the flutter of wings again, but now the birds are made of white paper, their wings are sheets and their bodies scrolls. They all have blue feet.

  Amelia appears from beneath the palm trees and tries to shoo the birds away. She throws ackee at them, the fruits bursting open as they hit, their seeds scattering, and the birds disappear into puffs of gray cloud. Tarone tries to take the ackee from his grandmother, but she sits on him. He screams like a baby, but she doesn’t hear when I tell her to let him get up, instead, she bounces on him, and I start to bounce too. I am jumping from the sand to the stars, then descending again. Each time I rise, and fall, I have a clear line of vision into first Freddie’s lookout room, then Wilson’s shack…bounce, bounce, bounce…bang, bang, bang. They are both dead. Blood mists my eyes and I am…

  I opened my eyes and released my grip on the chair’s arms. My palms bore the indentation of the basket weave, but I didn’t mind. There were still a few things I had to do, but I knew how two men had died, and who’d made it happen, and why they’d done it. I even thought I might have a line on where Bud might find the papers he needed. But the next steps wouldn’t be easy.

  Delivering the Denouement

  The “formal” request to attend a meeting at Caro Mio came via a call from Inspector Charles to Amelia’s home. Tarone found us seemingly relaxing at the big house and gave us the message. He was a bit flustered that he and his grandmother had also been asked to attend.

  “I know you have an early start in the morning, but it probably won’t take too long,” said Bud as reassuringly as possible. “We’ll all go together. I’ll drive, if you like, the road out there is pretty bad, and it’s dark.”

  “I be fine, Mr. Bud. No problem, man.”

  I wondered how Lottie was taking the news about our little get-together – my money was on “not well”. Bud had managed to get Inspector Charles to agree to get everyone together at Caro Mio under cover of a police briefing of some note, and one for which we all had to congregate. Lottie was to be brought forcibly if she declined to join us, and the inspector was going to act the same way regarding Niall, and Nina – should she not want to host the gathering.

  I recognized how lucky I was that none of that was my problem to solve, and felt a surge of warmth when I realized how utterly reliable Bud is in every aspect of our lives. As we all walked to the Suburban, I hugged him. He looked surprised, and hugged me back.

  “You’re going to be great,” he said.

  “So are you,” I replied.

  Tarone collected Amelia as we passed their house; we all insisted she took the front seat beside her grandson, and none of us moaned about being squished in the back. If anything, at least being tightly packed meant we didn’t jiggle about as much as usual as Tarone navigated the track to Nina’s house.

  He made such a good job of the journey that I asked him, “How did you manage that, Tarone? We’ve been shaken to bits coming along this road before.”

  “You got to know the land, Mrs. Cait. I run along this way when I don’t go to the track. I got to keep movin’, me. Sure, it change here every time it rain, but not in big ways. The land is always where the land is – until it ain’t, of course.” He chuckled to himself.

  Upon our arrival at Caro Mio, Arnold looked far from pleased to receive us. His facial expression was set to “grim but polite” as he led us into the main salon, where Lottie stood scowling in a corner and Niall was seated on a brocade chair, tapping his foot impatiently. Nina was once again ensconced on a sofa, but this time she sat with her back very upright, and her get-up was a matching set of gauzy garments and jewels that were all sapphire-hued, rather than emerald.

  Inspector Charles stood in the corner opposite Lottie, and there was an officer positioned at the front entrance and one at the back – both out of earshot, I noticed.

  Nina, via Arnold, provided the least possible amount of hospitality, by ensuring a glass of water was offered to each of us. No one accepted. The greetings were muted, to say the least.

  “Thank you all for coming,” opened the inspector as he walked to the centre of the room.

  “Thank you for not giving us any choice in the matter,” said Lottie sulkily.

  “You are all welcome to my hospitality, though I do not care to be told who I mu
st invite to my home,” said Nina imperiously. “Nor do I care to have the police running about all over the place searching my home and my guest houses – however many official papers you wave underneath my nose.”

  “Your hospitality is noted,” said the inspector, sounding grim, “as is your compliance with our legally approved right to search your premises. You all know we have been investigating the murders of Mr. Freddie Burkinshaw and Mr. Wilson Thomas. Now I can tell you that our investigations are close to a conclusion.”

  “This could have been done over the telephone,” said Nina, “there is no need for all of this.” She waved her hand around airily.

  “But there is,” continued Inspector Charles. “New information has come to light that means I now know that the person who killed Mr. Burkinshaw is in this room.”

  I glanced across at Amelia and saw her entire body become rigid. On our way up the steps to the portico I’d managed to whisper to her that she should keep quiet unless she was asked a direct question, and to then answer it truthfully. I hoped she’d do exactly what I’d asked, because I knew how she acted was going to be important.

  The looks of suspicion flashing around the room were just what I’d hoped the inspector’s words would generate; I was watching, and judging, and knew immediately that my assessment of the situation had been right. I didn’t want the inspector to drag things out longer than needed, so I cleared my throat – our agreed sign that I was ready to take over.

  The inspector said, “Professor Cait Morgan would like to say something. Professor Morgan, the floor is yours.”

  Nina and Niall looked confused, as did Amelia and Tarone. None of them had any idea what I did for a living; why would they?

  I stood and made my way to a spot where I could see everyone’s face, and where no one had to make a special effort to be able to look at me. As it happened, this meant I was standing next to the grand piano – a photograph taken at that moment might have suggested a genteel soirée, but the event was going to be anything but a jolly evening filled with music…unless a suspect or two decided to sing.

  “Thank you, Inspector Charles,” I began, “I appreciate the opportunity to speak, and promise I won’t keep you all too long. We’re here because two men are dead, and now we know who did this dreadful thing, and why. Being a professor of criminal psychology, my interest tends to lie in answering the question, ‘Who would want to kill Freddie and – or – Wilson, and why?’ We’ll come to the how shortly, but let’s start with that initial question. The answer is, surprisingly, almost anyone here.”

  I took a moment to watch the faces in the room; there were looks of feigned disinterest, rapt attention, and – yes – a slight nervousness. Good.

  I continued, “It didn’t take me long to discover that Freddie Burkinshaw was a man it was more than possible to hate. He was vain, greedy – rapacious, even – and had probably managed to make himself unpopular with many individuals over the years. Did he have enemies? Most certainly. Some of whom he’d never even met – and that takes some doing.” I allowed my words to sink in, then – with regret – I pushed ahead. “Let’s start with Sheila.”

  Sheila gasped, and her eyes widened; I saw the pain and horror in them, but I had to press on. “Some personal tragedies resulting from actions by Freddie many years ago might have meant Sheila White was someone who wanted to see him out of the way, and Jack – you love your wife so much – you have to admit that if she’d been up to it, so would you.”

  Jack puffed out his cheeks, and we both knew I spoke the truth. “He had a lot to answer for, had we but known it,” he said slowly.

  “But I believe Sheila did know it, Jack, and before you arrived in Jamaica, too. The police mentioned Freddie’s name to her when her sister died, but it took until her arrival here for her to put two and two together, she said. But you’re bright, Sheila, and we all know you’d have made that connection immediately upon Jack telling you the name of the man who owned the estate you were coming to visit, which I’m sure he did. So, when you acted out your shock at ‘discovering’ it was Freddie’s Rolls Royce that had tragically taken your sister’s life, and changed yours forever, it was just that – an act. And I wondered why you’d do that. Then I realized it was because you wanted to throw me off what you believed was a trail I was following to discovering Freddie’s killer…leading to Jack.”

  Sheila’s face reddened, and she looked at her fingernails.

  “Sheila – you thought I killed Freddie? And Wilson?” Jack stared at the side of his wife’s reddening face, then at me.

  I felt my multipurpose eyebrow arch. “Jack, without going into any details, over the past couple of days I have seen you act in ways that mean you’d never have survived very long in your chosen profession, and I have to believe it’s all been put on for my sake. You and Bud are friends, you were his mentor. That wouldn’t be the case if you were a buffoon; Bud doesn’t tolerate idiocy, or incompetence. So, I had to ask myself why you were doing it. And I had the answer to that one, too. You were doing it to try to distract me from what you believed was my line of inquiry into Sheila. You were both defending each other.”

  Sheila’s head turned, and she looked at her husband with wide eyes. They exchanged smiles of relief, and grasped each others’ hands.

  “How sweet,” said Lottie. “Excuse me a moment, I might have to throw up.”

  Nina’s response to Lottie’s exclamation was to shudder, and rearrange her shoulders to turn away from the young Englishwoman.

  “And what about you, Lottie?” I said. “Your connections to this island, to Freddie – your mother’s ex-lover – and to Niall…they all put you in my sights. You had an excellent reason to want Freddie dead; I believe that in your eyes he was responsible for your mother’s suicide because he dumped her so terribly coldly, and for your own depression too, though I suspect Niall’s treatment of you had a more to do with that.”

  “Well, if you’re so clever, why would I want that old Wilson Thomas chap dead too?” Lottie sounded petulant.

  “He might have seen you kill Freddie,” I replied calmly, “indeed, Wilson might have seen anyone here kill Freddie. Don’t forget, he lived on the beach not far from the tower – he could easily have been a witness to Freddie’s murder.”

  “You think that’s why Wilson was killed?” asked Bud. He leaned forward in his seat.

  “I’ll cover it all, I promise,” I replied, trying to tell him with my eyes to be patient.

  “He could have killed Freddie,” said Nina, pointing at Bud. “He’s your husband, but he looks like he could kill. Or is that not something you think is possible.” She dug her nails into her dress as she spoke.

  I made sure I smiled when I answered. “I happen to know that my husband is, indeed, capable of killing, though only in self defense, or in the defense of his country, but that’s not what happened here. This is a tale of greed, not glory. I haven’t discounted Bud as a suspect because he couldn’t have done it – he could – but he had no reason to do it. Nor did John.” John’s head snapped up. “I’m assuming Freddie was not the man with whom your late first wife Emily had a fling, during your honeymoon, John?”

  “Freddie and Emily?” John sounded puzzled. “No. It was some idiot from Slough who was here on a golfing jolly with some mates. Why would you think it was Freddie?”

  I shrugged it off, and said, “Thanks for that.” Then I turned to face Amelia and her grandson.

  “Of course, Amelia might have had a reason to kill Freddie; Tarone, too. After all, they both believed that they would inherit a valuable estate when Freddie died. With that in mind, I have a question for you, Tarone.”

  All eyes turned toward the young man, who looked terrified. “Yes?”

  “Has your grandmother told you yet that Freddie Burkinshaw died with many unpaid loans? That his lawyer had no choice but to offer the Captain’s Lookout estate for sale? And that she was made aware it was unlikely there woul
d be any money left over after Freddie’s debts had been repaid to allow you and her any real compensation for your years of service?”

  Tarone’s mouth hung open. He said nothing, but shook his head, staring at his grandmother.

  “Well, you know now. You need to understand that your grandmother is quite well, really – other than a bump on the head. Amelia collapsed in the lawyer’s office immediately after receiving the news I’ve just told you, which is hardly surprising, given that Freddie had told her on many occasions that she and you would inherit the estate to do with as you pleased.”

  Tarone nodded dumbly. He was still taking in the news.

  I returned my attention to the group in general. “Until she met Freddie’s lawyer, Mr. Cooperman, Amelia was unaware of this, and Tarone didn’t know until I just told him, now. So, as you see, folks, they both believed they stood to gain mightily if Freddie was killed, but I happen to have proof that neither of them killed him – because I believe I have proof of who did.”

  I’d spotted Constable Cassandra Lewis entering the door from the pool area outside the house. She caught Inspector Charles’s eye and nodded at him, smiling. He in turn looked toward me and gave me a none-too-subtle thumbs-up. I was relieved.

  Nina shifted in her seat as she frowned at this little pantomime; Niall’s foot-tapping paused for a beat or two, then continued at an increased pace.

  “But this is all wrong…what you say about these people inheriting the estate one day as it is now…this is wrong. Freddie was going to develop his estate,” said Nina. “I know this.” She certainly sounded as though she was stating a fact.

  It was the turn of Amelia and Tarone to look shocked, and puzzled. “Him never going to change nothing there,” said Amelia with equal certainty, then she shut her mouth tight, and looked at me, her eyes wide. “Sorry, Mrs. Cait. I don’t speak no more.”