Square Snapper (Detective Inspector Burgess)

by Middleton, Deborah

  “What does the poison look like and where does it come from?”

  “Excellent question, Archie. Strychnine is produced from the plant Strychnos nux vomica primarily found in countries in South Asia, such as India, Sri Lanka and the East Indies. Oh, and Australia too would you believe it?

  It’s an odourless, white crystalline powder that can be taken by mouth, inhaled or mixed in a solution and given intravenously. It’s not often you find it in street drugs but it has been known to be mixed with LSD, heroin and cocaine. Today, it’s mostly used as a pesticide, particularly to kill rats.”

  D.I. Burgess pretended to look at his notebook as he collected his thoughts. He then made his decision. He knew that speaking in measured tones would instill a sense of calm in his team, a calm which he did not feel. “We need to talk to the Police Communications Department and issue a warning to the public about this. We cannot afford to keep this to ourselves. There’s too much at stake. Pamela, will you liaise with them?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Also, Pamela, could you get on to TCD’s database and see if you can come up with Suzuki pick-up truck owners we can interview? Archie, you take three men from narcotics and go and speak to known dealers and informants in the Western Parishes. De Souza, call St. George’s and see if they can spare you three men for the Eastern Parishes. The rest of you can cover central parishes. Jan, let us know if you hear anything, anything at all, as to the identity of Miss Mayberry’s murderer. I’ll give you my cell phone number. I want to know right away. The parents are flying in as is the Canadian Consul General from New York. He would like to be able to give them a name by this evening.”

  There was a sigh from the assembled group. All knew how unreasonable a request this was.

  “I’ll do my best, Detective Inspector.”

  “Archie, tell us what you know from Miami,” Burgess directed.

  “Detective Gonzalez called from Dade County. Seems they’ve had a few heroin overdoses there too. One of his colleagues had just got back from a vacation here and commented on the fact we’d had some deaths. He called and, if my gut feeling is correct, I’ll bet the heroin will be poisoned with strychnine. Seems to me, it’s easy to import from Miami.”

  Burgess was all action. “Pamela, will you let the Airport Police know and fill them in on the details? Also, call the Marine Police in case we get boats coming in at night. Anybody running without lights should be brought in for questioning.”

  He exhaled loudly. “Now, Archie, brief us on the latest murder.”

  Archie introduced PC Hollis to the team. PC Hollis had been the first to respond to the 911 call in Spanish Point.

  “I don’t think Detective Sergeant Carmichael has forgiven me for ruining his dinner plans, but this was a particularly bloody crime scene. Seems like someone may have had an altercation with a Deon White of Spanish Point. There was blood everywhere and every sign that a body was dragged out of the house and disposed of by the truck parked in the yard. We’re not sure whether White did the killing or whether he’s the victim. Anyways, the perp took a sheet off the bed and left bloody prints on the remaining sheet, so that may help. We believe White is somehow involved because it’s his home and his family said he did not turn up for supper that evening. White is a known small time dope dealer. He’s been in and out of Southwall Prison. He works as a painter and part-time mechanic over at LYV on South Shore Road as part of their good corporate citizens program. We managed to process quite a bit of evidence and are just waiting to hear back from forensics. It’s not in his M.O. to be violent so it’s looking more like he may have been the victim of a brutal assault.” He looked over at Archie to continue.

  Archie consulted his notebook and the “Burgess-like” action was not lost on the rest of the team. “Whoever it was used a bladed weapon of some sort. No sign of a knife, though. Seems there were several beer bottles, a lot of dope and two helmets at the scene - not to mention a lot of blood. In short, we should have enough DNA evidence to sink a ship. We reckon the killer, or killers, may have left in a hurry and didn’t think to clean up very well. We’re hoping their prints are on the bottles. If anybody finds anybody suspicious, approach with extreme caution and process them for blood spatters from the victim. They’ve got to have been covered in blood and, even if they shower, I bet we can still find something. We’re running on the assumption they were on bikes. There were no car tyre tracks evident, although there was the pick-up truck. I’m wondering if it could be a Suzuki. I’ll need to double-check that.” Archie suddenly sounded excited.

  “One of my colleagues has been processing the scene,” interjected du Bois. “He should have something for us in an hour or so and I’ll call it in. I’ll ask him to check the make of the truck. Detective Sergeant Carmichael is right, if you find any suspects, look for any clothing or jewellery they might have discarded and call me, or one of our team, and we’ll come and process them when you get them in custody. Blood can remain in watch catches, seams of clothing and all sorts of places, so we might get lucky.”

  “Thanks, said Burgess. “Anything else? Good work so far. Let’s get going… and be careful. These guys have tasted blood. You all have my cell phone, so call me the minute you know anything. If you can’t get me, then call Pamela.”

  “I’ll be here all day,” said Pamela.

  “We’ll call you ay-sap!” said Archie. They all laughed. Most of them knew the superintendent, at least by reputation, and it broke the tension.

  Chapter 13

  Detective Gonzalez put down the telephone.

  “Hey Hofstein, you know that hunch you had?”

  “Which one of the many?” joked Hofstein.

  “The Bermuda connection.”

  “Oh, you mean ‘the Bermuda triangle according to Hofstein’ hunch?”

  “Yeah, wise ass!”

  “What happened with that?” Hofstein was alert.

  “The detective handling the case called back to say that the heroin was laced with strychnine just like ours. Looks like our boys have gone international. They’re expecting more deaths over the weekend because it’s some national holiday or other. Believe me, they’re worried. Island’s only twenty-one square miles and apparently, over there, everybody knows everybody and their mother-in-law.”

  “Wow, that would sure complicate things. Imagine trying to get people to testify in court if they all know each other. It’s bad enough here.”

  “Yeah, nobody would ever get prosecuted!” Gonzalez’s mind was beginning to work overtime. “What if the drugs didn’t come through here but came from there? It could be the reverse. Aren’t they close to the Islands?”

  “Failed geography, did ya?” quipped Hofstein. “Bermuda’s much further north. It’s not part of the Caribbean. It’s only about six hundred miles east of North Carolina. It’s stuck out there in the Atlantic; warmed by the Gulf Stream, if I remember right.”

  “No kidding!”

  “Yeah, you can get to it from New York in about an hour and a half. Hell, Jet Blue even flies there.”

  “How come you know so much?” Gonzalez was impressed.

  “Travel channel. It’s good to dream!”

  “No shit. You’ve got that right.” Gonzalez wondered how they could work this case from Miami. He could see a trip to Bermuda might be on the books. Yes, it was good to dream.

  Jan du Bois was excited. Her colleague had just informed her that the partial print on the spear gun had matched prints on the beer bottles from Deon White’s murder. It was looking more and more like Rhonda Mayberry had been killed by the same person. Could the two have been involved in her murder and one have eliminated the other? It seemed very probable. The attack on White had been so brutal that it looked as if they could have argued and then fought. She had better call this in to D.I. Burgess.

  Burgess was delighted; another lead in the case. All they needed now was a name to the prints and perhaps they could really move forward. “This is great, Jan. Any news on th
e Caribbean databases yet? This guy has got to have a record somewhere. I just don’t see him turning from a model citizen into a murderer overnight.”

  “Inspector, I have to agree. Somewhere, somebody knows this guy. Maybe we’ll get lucky with the informants or an anonymous tip.”

  “Anyway, thanks Jan. Good work. Tell your colleague thanks from me.”

  He hung up and wrote in his notebook.

  Chapter 14

  On his way to Spanish Point to interview the family of Deon White, Burgess wished he could have brought Pamela along with him. He knew this would be a difficult task and she was good at dealing with the “touchy feely” side of the job. He checked to make sure he had an extra handkerchief. He was pretty sure he would wind up offering it to one of the female family members. He had lost more handkerchiefs that way. As he approached the house, he noted that it could have used a paint job. The coral pink was wearing thin in places with stains where the damp showed through. The roof was grey and black instead of white. He made a mental note not to drink any water, if offered. All Bermuda houses collect rainwater on their roof which then runs into a tank under the house. For this reason Bermudians keep their roofs clean and painted white. In the old days they used a lime wash which would help to disinfect the rainwater. The mildew on the White’s roof was a big deterrent to Burgess. Nana would have been appalled. She kept her home immaculate. Burgess knocked on the door and heard a dog barking in the background. God, I hope it’s not a pit bull and I hope it’s tied up. Many drug dealers kept pit bulls for protection. Some even hid their dope in the dogs’ kennels, hoping that the police wouldn’t search there.

  Burgess had his notebook ready to stick in the dog’s mouth, in case it decided to attack. It was a trick he had learned from a young Mormon missionary who had apparently used his Book of Mormon to save him from serious injury on more than one occasion. He walked up the steps to the front door, took a deep breath and knocked.

  A woman in her late thirties opened the door. She was dressed in shorts and a strappy top. Her hair was in corn rows and, from photographs of the son, Burgess immediately saw the family resemblance. He introduced himself and was reluctantly allowed in. She let him know that she was Deon White’s mother. He made a mental calculation and noted that she must have had Deon when she was about sixteen. In the dim light he could see that her face was puffy from crying and behind her, in the living room, there was an assortment of friends and relatives of all ages. A pall of smoke hung in the air from their smoking and through a window he was relieved to see that the dog was tied up on the back porch. It was hot and the air conditioner was not doing a great job. With all the body heat and the smoke, the air was pretty near unbreatheable. Burgess hoped his asthma didn’t kick in. From time to time, with weather changes and smoky conditions, he would need to resort to his inhaler. He hated to use it on the job. It always seemed to him to look like a sign of weakness.

  “Mrs. White, I’m Detective Inspector Burgess, Serious Crimes Unit. May I speak to you privately?”

  “What you got to say to her, you can say to us all,” shouted a middle aged, grizzled man in shorts and a sweat stained undervest.

  Burgess pretended to consult his notebook while he waited for the woman to respond.

  “It’s okay. We can talk here. I don’t mind if they listen in.”

  Forced to stay in the sultry, smoky atmosphere, Burgess began to question her gently.

  “I’m sorry about this, Mrs. White. I hope you won’t mind if I ask you a few questions about your son.”

  “I already told you, you can go ahead. Get on with it.” Burgess couldn’t tell if she was being hostile or if she was just naturally lacking in social graces. He chose to think the latter.

  “Can you give me an idea of your son’s whereabouts two nights’ ago?”

  “Hell, no. He don’t consult with me. Um just his mother.”

  “Could you tell me who his friends or known acquaintances were?”

  “Known acquaintances?” She mocked. “Deon don’t have no ‘known acquaintances’. He had his ace boy, Derek. Derek and him would go out evenin’s like. Come back around 4:00 in de morning. Come to think of it, I ain’t seen Derek around here for a while.” Burgess began to feel queasy. He hoped Derek was still alive… or could Derek be the killer?

  “Where were you yesterday morning?”

  “Um gotta work. I was up to my job in Smith’s.” (She pronounced it “Smiffs”)

  “Who do you work for, Mrs. White?”

  “Um workin’ up to de Inghams. They have a big house on Harrington Sound. Um up there all day cleanin’. Then I took de bus into town to do some shoppin’. I got back late. When I got back…” She began to sob. “I called a coupla times then walked over to his house. That’s when I saw…that’s when I saw all de blood.”

  No matter what sort of a mother she had been, his heart went out to her. No mother should have to wonder if her son had been brutally killed or even killed someone himself. Either way, the future looked pretty bleak for her. Burgess reluctantly pulled out his spare handkerchief and gave it to her. She blew her nose loudly.

  “Keep it,” he said.

  He stayed a little longer collecting information on Derek and Deon’s activities from the assembled group. He noted Derek’s address in his book and then made his way out into the fresh air. His clothes stank of smoke and his mood had deteriorated but, as he was walking around the side of the house back to his car, a young voice stopped him. It was Deon’s younger cousin who had come outside. He glanced furtively back towards the house and Burgess could see the boy had something on his mind.

  “Can I talk to you without gettin’ into trouble?”

  “I’ll do my best to keep what you tell me confidential,” assured Burgess.

  “What if it involves somethin’ bad?”

  “I’ll do my best to make sure your cooperation is taken into consideration. What’s up?”

  The boy hesitated a long while and Burgess allowed the silence to grow. “You see, Deon was hangin’ with a new crowd. Sometimes he asked me to hold money for him when he was bettin’ on the dogs.” Burgess knew he was referring to the illegal fighting of pit bulls. “He told me he was into some new business and making a lot more money. In fact, he was waitin’ for a new black BMW with them cool alloy wheels and that blue light that shines underneath the chassis. Anyways, his new boss hangs on Court Street and wanted him to pick up some merchandise for him. I helped Deon patch up his inflatable dinghy and this Jamaican dude came over. He was scary; had a tattoo on his neck.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “About four days ago.”

  “Did he have a name?”

  “Yeah, “Jah” something.”

  Great, thought Burgess. That could be any one of a few thousand males in Bermuda whose names began with “Jah.”

  “You know where Deon kept this dinghy?”

  “Sure, in de shed over there. But don’t go lookin’ in there now otherwise the others’ll know I told you.”

  “Okay, you go home and I’ll take care of this. Thanks for letting me know. For now, it can be between you and me. What’s your name?”

  “Bill.”

  “Bill?” Burgess could barely keep the incredulity out of his voice. No designer name here; just plain Bill.

  “Yeah, my mom had a crush on Bill Cosby.”

  “Ah, that explains it.” Burgess grinned. “Well, Bill, you can be my “CI”, my confidential informant. Let me know if you hear anything else and, be careful. These guys aren’t fooling around.”

  “I know. I scared,” said the boy.

  As he moved off, Burgess secretly wondered if his cousin’s murder might be a turning point for Bill. On a whim, he turned back and gave him his card. “Why don’t you come and play football with us one evening? You play?” Burgess was referring to a police community programme where they played football with any kids interested in coming to the games.

  “Yeah. Okay. Maybe
. When’s the next game?”

  “Right after Cup Match. Call me and I’ll get you on the team.”

  “Hey, cool.”

  Burgess’s mood started to lift. Not only had he come away with another new lead, but he might have done some good for the boy. He snapped open his cell phone, dialled Pamela and said, “Can you get me a search warrant?”

  Chapter 15

  Archie was hot and tired. He and three other narcotics officers had been tracking down confidential informants and minor league dope dealers. The only thing that really came out of the talks was that the drug community was jumpy. The tainted heroin was ruining business but apparently the addicts who had managed to hold out for a time were now so desperate they no longer cared if they played Russian roulette with their lives.

  By now it was lunchtime. He was swinging back into town, so he called Burgess to see if they could meet up for lunch.

  “Hey bro’, how’s it going?” was Burgess’s cheery reply.

  “Not too much going on. How about you?”

  “I have a lead with your name on it, Arch.”

  “Cool. Want to get together for a sandwich? How about I pick something up and we meet at Albouy’s Point?”

  “Sounds good. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll meet you there.”