Death Knocks Twice

by Robert Thorogood

  Dwayne soon discovered that the family hadn’t been lying when they said that the plantation was steadily losing money. The registered accounts for the business showed that the plantation was making losses of between twenty and thirty thousand dollars a year, and had been for a number of years. Dwayne could also see that there were sporadic injections of cash every year or so.

  But what caught Dwayne’s eye was the list of salaries that he was able to uncover. Lucy and Tom were both on an income of a thousand dollars a month. Although this didn’t seem like very much money, Dwayne was soon able to see from their bank statements that they didn’t contribute to the upkeep of the house in any way, and didn’t pay any bills either, so it was pretty much cash that they could put straight into their pockets. And although Matthew wasn’t on the payroll – which was understandable since he’d only left school two months before – Dwayne could see that both Hugh and Sylvie paid themselves a salary of forty thousand dollars a year.

  In the context of a business that lost tens of thousands of dollars a year, this eighty thousand dollars-a-year combined salary seemed highly irregular to say the least.

  And the issue didn’t get any clearer when Dwayne checked over Hugh and Sylvie’s bank statements. Hugh seemed to live within his means – and even had a savings account with quite a few thousand dollars in it – but Sylvie was a heavy spender, and had a number of credit cards on the go with near-to-maximum levels of debt on them. What was more, she sometimes took cash out on one card to pay off the minimum payment on another, a practice that showed that Sylvie was not a woman who was in control of her finances.

  When Dwayne had reported his findings back to his boss, Richard had been fascinated. Not so much about the fact that Sylvie was a spender when her husband Hugh wasn’t, but because it was now clear that Hugh never baled her out. That suggested that she either kept her financial affairs a secret from her husband, or that Hugh didn’t approve of how Sylvie spent her money and refused to help her when she got into trouble. Either way, it was a pretty clear indication – in Richard’s mind at least – that Hugh and Sylvie’s relationship wasn’t quite as functional as they’d maybe liked to make out.

  As for Richard, now that he knew the identity of the victim, he was kept busy trying to piece together Freddie Beaumont’s life in the UK. In particular, Richard wanted to work out where Freddie had been living before he came out to the Caribbean. Unfortunately, Hugh said that the family didn’t have a current address for Freddie as they’d lost touch with him in about 2003. And when Richard tried to contact Freddie’s last known address, he discovered that he wasn’t known there. However, Richard felt that the name ‘Freddie Beaumont’ was just unusual enough to give him a fighting chance of pinning down his whereabouts. Especially if Freddie had been living in the London area.

  Richard soon discovered that the name ‘F Beaumont’ appeared fifty-three times in the London phonebook, but there were only three instances of the name in South East London, which was the area of London where Freddie had last been known to be living.

  When Richard phoned the second ‘F Beaumont’, a young man picked up the phone. He said that although he wasn’t Freddie, he was the warden for the almshouses that were run by St. Alfege church in Greenwich, where Freddie Beaumont lived. When Richard described Freddie’s physical appearance, the warden confirmed that the description not only fitted the Freddie Beaumont who lived in the almshouse, but he also knew that Freddie had relatives who lived on Saint-Marie. What was more, Freddie hadn’t been seen for over three weeks.

  It was the positive identification that Richard had been hoping for, but he could also tell that there was something the warden wasn’t quite telling him. It was as though the man was reluctant to talk to the Police. After a bit of pushing from Richard, the warden admitted that Freddie wasn’t much liked in the almshouse. He was moody, introverted, and prone to sudden bursts of violent temper. In fact, Freddie was on a written warning from the warden. One more complaint and he was out.

  Richard thanked the man for his time and next contacted the local Police station in Greenwich. Once he’d explained that he was heading up a murder case, he was told that a couple of officers would go to the almshouse and search Freddie’s room for clues that might explain what he was doing back on Saint-Marie.

  Richard was still waiting to hear back from the Greenwich Police when he decided to make his daily phone call to the Head of Security at Saint-Marie airport. And, just as had happened on every day since they’d first identified the victim’s name, the Head of Security explained that although he now knew that he had only to look for the name ‘Freddie Beaumont’ in the Immigration records, he and Janice still hadn’t quite found the time to go through the ledgers.

  It was while Richard was chuntering to himself about the impossibility of trying to run a murder case on a tiny island, that Fidel chose to return to the station from another day of trying to identify the owners of Piaggio 50s from the official records.

  ‘What do you mean you still haven’t found it?’ Richard said, almost before Fidel had finished his verbal report.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’m trying my best.’

  ‘But you’ve been working on this one lead for days. Why haven’t you found our van driver?’

  Not for the first time, Fidel explained that he had to visit each Piaggio 50 owner in person. And of the thirty-seven owners he’d so far paid calls on, eight had sold their vans on to other people without filling in the relevant paperwork. And when he’d pinned down exactly who these eight people were – and then visited them – he’d discovered that three of them had already sold their vans on to other people, again without filling in any of the correct paperwork.

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ Richard said. ‘If these vans aren’t legally registered then how can they have insurance?’

  Fidel explained that, as far as he could tell, none of these drivers had any kind of insurance, and Richard’s apoplexy went through the roof.

  ‘Then why don’t you arrest them all for driving illegal vehicles?’

  Fidel felt that he was too junior to explain to his boss how the island worked, so Dwayne stepped in on Fidel’s behalf.

  ‘Because,’ Dwayne said carefully, ‘if we arrested everyone who had dodgy vehicle papers on the island, we’d never be doing anything else.’

  ‘Yes, but if they’re breaking the law, they’re breaking the law, Dwayne. It’s our job to bring them to justice. I mean, I don’t want this to come as a surprise to any of you, but we are the Police. Or maybe we aren’t.’ Richard looked from Dwayne to Fidel, and then back again. ‘Nope. We’re the Police. So if we aren’t upholding the laws, then who is?’

  ‘Chief,’ Dwayne said, ‘you have got to calm down.’

  ‘Calm down? Why am I the one in the wrong?’

  ‘Because there’s breaking the law and then there’s breaking the law.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s breaking the law,’ Dwayne said, knowingly. ‘And then there’s breaking the law.’

  ‘Yes. But they’re both breaking the law.’

  ‘Who’s breaking the law?’ an urbane voice asked, and everyone looked over to see Commissioner Selwyn Patterson standing in the doorway with a deadly smile on his face.

  For a brief moment, Richard considered snitching on his team, but then he had a sudden insight that the Commissioner – who pretty much knew everything about everything – would no doubt be perfectly aware that not all the vehicles on the island were licensed.

  ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ Richard said through gritted teeth. ‘Just a little training exercise. How can we help you?’

  ‘Well,’ Selwyn said, ‘I just wanted to know how the case was going?’

  ‘The case?’ Richard said, trying to work out what to say. ‘Well, we’ve identified the victim as being Hugh Beaumont’s brother, Freddie. And the killer could well be someone in his immediate family.’

  Selwyn looked at Richard, nonplussed.

&nbs
p; ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The Beaumont case.’

  ‘But I was referring to our bootleg rum pedlar.’

  It was Richard’s turn to be nonplussed. ‘You are, sir?’

  ‘Of course. If a family up in the hills choose to take pot shots at each other, that doesn’t affect our standing in the tourist community. But I now hear that our counterfeit rum seller has moved on from the Fort Royal hotel and is selling his fourth-rate product on the roadside by the La Toubana hotel. And if I can find that out, I’d have hoped that my island’s premier investigative team might have done the same.’

  Richard was stunned by the implied criticism.

  ‘Yes, sir, but we’ve been quite busy trying to run a murder case.’

  ‘And I’m a busy man, too, Inspector,’ Selwyn said. ‘But I make sure I meet all my commitments.’

  Richard knew that the Commissioner’s commitments mostly consisted of attending drinks parties. However, as much as Richard would have liked to point this fact out to his boss, he didn’t want to be sacked just yet. Not while there were illegal Piaggio van drivers out there on the island who needed apprehending.

  ‘Then I’ll assign my best officer to the case. We’ll get your man.’

  Selwyn’s smile broadened.

  ‘Good.’

  He then turned and ambled off, leaving a somewhat flummoxed Police team behind.

  ‘Just for the record,’ Dwayne said before Richard could issue any orders, ‘I don’t think that I’m your best officer. I mean, don’t me wrong, Chief. I’m a good officer, but I’m not your best. So if you need to send someone to follow this up, I don’t think it should be me.’

  ‘I’d agree with you there,’ Richard said, ‘but I can’t spare Camille from the Beaumont case. And I’m not releasing Fidel from finding his three-wheeled van. Not while I have strength in my body. So, unfortunately for both of us, that leaves you to work the bootleg rum case.’

  Dwayne’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘And just for clarity’s sake, I think that our bootleg rum seller is breaking one of the laws we should be arresting people for.’

  Dwayne sighed as he picked up his Police cap.

  ‘Okay, Chief. I’ll see what I can do.’

  Once Dwayne had left, Richard turfed Fidel back out onto the streets to continue looking for the unidentified three-wheeled van, which left Richard and Camille to work the Beaumont case. However, within the hour, Dwayne returned to the Police station. He was holding a cardboard box in his hands.

  ‘What are you doing back here so soon?’ Richard asked. ‘Wasn’t the bootlegger at the hotel?’

  ‘He was there alright, Chief.’

  ‘And he was selling illegal bottles of rum?’

  ‘He was. Look. I managed to get some of his stock.’ As Dwayne said this, he pulled a bottle of counterfeit rum from the cardboard box.

  ‘But I don’t understand. If he was there, and he was selling bootleg rum, then why haven’t you arrested him?’

  ‘Well, Chief, it wasn’t that simple.’

  ‘It wasn’t? What do you mean?’

  ‘Okay, so I got down to the Toubana hotel, and I spoke to the doorman and he said that the bootleg guy was on the other side of the hotel. You know, at their second entrance road. The one that comes in from the hills. Anyway, I decided I had to approach with caution.’

  ‘Of course. That goes without saying.’

  ‘So I got back onto the Police bike and drove around to the other side of the hotel. But don’t worry, I made sure I parked up and dismounted so I could approach our bootleg rum seller on foot. Clandestinely. You know.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And you should have seen me! I mean, I’m not dressed for undercover work’ – here, Dwayne indicated his sky blue Police shirt and jet black trousers – ‘but there was a line of palm trees along the road, and I reckoned I could use them as cover to get as close as I could to the guy before I made the arrest. Because I could definitely see a man by the entrance to the hotel with a blue rucksack at his feet. And he had a load of rum bottles laid out on the dust by the roadside.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Our rum seller? He’s Caucasian, but I reckon he’s been out in the Caribbean a long time. He’s got that dark tan. And he was wearing old shorts, a vest and flip flops. Oh, and he had blond dreadlocks that went half way down his back as well. You know the type.’

  Richard did. The island was covered in hippy backpackers who were so keen to express their individuality that they all wore exactly the same clothes, the same leather bracelets, and they all seemed to wear the same red bandanas over their hair. These were generally the people, Richard knew, who’d left their homes to travel the world to ‘find themselves’ – a concept that Richard found laughable. After all, they didn’t need to go to the other side of the world to ‘find themselves’. All they had to do was stay at home and look in a mirror, and they’d be able to see that they dressed like idiots, looked like idiots, and this was, in fact, because they were idiots.

  ‘So what happened?’ Camille asked.

  ‘Well, all was going well,’ Dwayne said. ‘I got to within three palm trees of our rum seller. I’d silently got my handcuffs off my belt, and I was ready to close and make my arrest. But just as I took my first step out from behind the palm tree, a soft-topped sports car came out of the hotel. It didn’t stop to buy any rum from our guy, but it slowed to a stop when it saw me.’

  ‘It did?’ Richard asked.

  ‘It did.’

  ‘And why was that, Dwayne?’

  ‘Well, Chief, because the driver recognised me.’

  ‘And who was the driver?’

  ‘A young Danish tourist called Anne-Sofie.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But if she’s a tourist, how on earth did she know you?’

  ‘Well that’s the thing, Chief. I’d already met her earlier this week.’

  ‘So?’ Richard said, not really understanding where Dwayne was going with his story.

  ‘You know what I mean?’ Dwayne said with a slow wink. ‘I’d already “met” her earlier in the week.’

  ‘Yes, you said that, Dwayne. I’m not entirely stupid.’

  ‘I think,’ Camille said, ‘Dwayne’s suggesting he maybe met this young woman in a romantic setting, sir.’

  ‘Oh, I see!’ Richard said, understanding coming to him in a flush of red-cheeked embarrassment. ‘Right. Of course. I see.’

  ‘And, from the look on Dwayne’s face right now,’ Camille continued, her eyes narrowing, ‘I think there’s every chance that he and this young woman didn’t part amicably.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Dwayne said, his pride dented by Camille’s accusation.

  ‘So what was it this time?’ Camille asked. ‘Did you leave her the next morning without saying goodbye?’

  ‘Hey! I always say goodbye. I was brought up properly.’

  ‘Then maybe she found out she wasn’t the only person you’re currently seeing?’

  ‘And that’s way out of line. I’ve never been caught seeing more than one woman at a time.’

  ‘Then let’s see, what does that leave?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Dwayne said, trying to move the conversation on. ‘I’ve no idea why she was so cross with me.’

  ‘Then how about this? The following morning, you said goodbye, but you also said you’d ring her, and you never did.’

  Dwayne looked at Camille as though she were a magician who’d just guessed the number he was thinking of.

  ‘How did you know?’ he asked, shocked.

  ‘Hang on,’ Richard said, finally beginning to untangle Dwayne’s narrative. ‘Although I already feel I’ve heard more details about your private life than is strictly necessary, am I right in saying that this woman’s been waiting for a phone call from you ever since your… encounter with her earlier in the week?’

  ‘I was going to ring her, a
s I told her just now. I just hadn’t got round to it yet.’

  ‘But either way, when she saw you on your undercover operation, she stopped her car and wanted a word with you.’

  ‘She wanted more than a word with me, Chief. And that’s when our bootleg rum man looked over and saw me standing in the middle of the road in my Police uniform. And before I could do anything, he grabbed up what bottles he could, stuffed them into his rucksack and set off like a rocket.’

  ‘So you gave chase?’

  ‘You bet I did. And you should have seen me, Chief. I was after that guy like a hammerhead shark bearing down on its prey… Like a cheetah bringing down an impala… Like—’

  ‘Like someone who didn’t catch up?’ Camille asked.

  Dwayne frowned.

  ‘He had a head start on me.’

  ‘You let him go?’

  ‘No way. It’s just he had a head start on me. That’s all.’

  ‘Even though he was wearing flip flops?’ Richard asked. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘When you described our rum seller earlier on, you said he was wearing shorts, a vest, and flip flops.’

  ‘Oh. That’s right. He was.’

  ‘And now I think about it, you also said he picked up his rucksack before he left as well.’

  ‘You make it sound like I wasn’t trying.’

  ‘Dwayne, you let a man who was wearing flip flops and carrying a heavy rucksack full of rum outrun you.’

  Dwayne looked briefly uncomfortable, but then his face brightened as he reached into the cardboard box he’d been carrying and pulled out a couple of bottles of rum.

  ‘But I was able to pick up the bottles he left behind. And look at the label. Because I’m telling you, the Commissioner’s right. These are all fake.’

  Dwayne handed the bottle to Richard and he saw that the cheaply-printed label proclaimed that it was ‘Caribbean Calypso Rum’.