“I agree,” chimed in Archie.
“Sure does make a lot of sense,” added Pamela. “A big fish would keep a layer or two of insulation between him and types like Frenchie. I bet Captain knows exactly who he is but is either scared - or has been bribed - to keep quiet.”
“My thoughts exactly which leads us all back to the question: who is heading up this business and will we ever get to the bottom of it?” Burgess looked inquiringly at them both.
Archie shrugged his shoulders. “Well, with us and Narcotics on the job, surely we’ll eventually get to the truth.”
Pamela looked across at them both. “Who knows, this is Bermuda after all. Changing the subject, has anyone seen Mr. Furbert? He did not come in for work today and hasn’t called in sick.”
“Ah yes.” Burgess shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “There’s been a development and I have had to take action. In fact, let’s call in Mrs. Ming as well and I can explain to you all what has happened.”
Pamela looked perplexed. “I’ll go and get her.”
While she was out of the room, Archie and Burgess exchanged glances.
“I’m not looking forward to this.”
Archie smiled reassuringly. “You don’t have to tell them about our little ‘sting’ operation. Just say a confidential informant told you… and I’ll pretend that I didn’t know either, otherwise Pamela will not be very happy.”
“Good thinking. That’s exactly how we’ll handle it.” Burgess unconsciously braced himself as Pamela and Mrs. Ming came into the room.
Chapter 63
The Dallas police had lost no time in obtaining a search warrant for Shining Light Ministries. A Texas Ranger, complete with white Stetson, boots and pistol belt, accompanied Hofstein to the headquarters of the Church. The Ranger had explained to him that back in 1823 a colonizer by the name of Stephen Austin had called for men to “range” the frontier. Even though they still wore the uniform of that era, the modern day Rangers, who are an investigative division of the Texas Department of Public Safety, now worked with tools of the 21st century: networked computers, forensic analysis and cell phones. Hofstein was suitably impressed.
He looked up at the large steel and glass building located on a busy street in an obviously expensive part of the city. “Religion obviously pays.”
“Just like crime, if you do it right,” chuckled the Ranger in a thick southern drawl.
“My partner, Gonzalez - the one who was shot - he always said you had to look out for the ones in the suits. They were the ones who scared him the most. At least with the low-lives, they kind of advertise what they’re capable of. You know what I mean? These guys are in camouflage and have a whole lot more brains.”
“Well, (he pronounced it “wayell”) your partner was one helluva a smart guy.”
“That he was... That he certainly was.”
The friendly Texan and Hofstein took the elevator to the top floor where the Reverend Wylie had his office. They walked right past the receptionist through the door which bore his name.
Startled, the television evangelist looked up from his desk, eyes blazing.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing barging in here like this?” He stood up theatrically, desk between him and the two police men, and shouted for the receptionist to call the police.
“We are the police,” said Hofstein calmly.
The Ranger showed the Reverend the search warrant. “We’re the advance party. We have several men outside going through your offices and here come two more to assist us in doing some spring cleaning here.”
“Very funny, I’m calling my lawyer.”
“Please feel free to do that. In the meantime I would like to ask you to accompany us back to the station.”
“Am I under arrest.”
“Not yet.”
“Do I need to go with you?”
“I would recommend that you do. Your lawyer can meet you there.”
One of the officers searching the desk called out excitedly to his superior. “Sir, there’s an encrypted e-mail on his laptop.”
Hofstein’s heart leaped.
“William Wylie, I am arresting you on suspicion of drug trafficking…”
The Reverend’s face drained of all colour and he remained silent as the Ranger, now fully on guard, began to read him his rights. He then cuffed him and beckoned to Hofstein to follow him out of the office.
Chapter 64
Jacobs was ecstatic. He had finally managed to crack the longest coded message.
“How did you do that?” Hofstein was intrigued and not a little impressed. “I thought the NSA guy said it would be impossible in your lifetime!”
“Well, I decided to do some lateral thinking. I figured if there was a message from Colombia to advise this Cujo guy about picking up the drugs, they must be coming either by land, air or sea. In that case, most probably the information would be about planes or ships schedules, container numbers, trucking companies, dates and so forth. I rewrote some of my Spanish programs and bingo, up came a name that matched a ship that is due in on Monday. It was simple after that to figure out the date and container number.”
“You’re a genius.”
“I know,” smiled Jacobs. “I had to think of something. My reputation as the FCL genius was at stake!”
“Well, this is fantastic. We will need to alert the DEA about this shipment. I imagine they will want to spearhead its take down. Are you positive it’s this Monday?”
“No question about it. I can even give them the container number. I am double-checking to see what the ship’s manifesto contains so that we know what to expect in that container.”
“Once you have all of that, can you please send it over to my lieutenant. He’ll want to be up to speed on all of this.”
“Absolutely. Will you be there at the take down?”
“I’d like to be, but I think the lieutenant will call in the DEA to take care of it from now on. I have a lot of work to do back at the precinct and a new partner to break in. I am only glad that we can get this stuff off the streets. I am pretty certain we can connect the dots now. The famous, or should I say ‘infamous’ Reverend Wylie was bankrolling the show, Cujo Menendez was importing, cutting and distributing through his network; seems like he was supplying the Bermuda market too. We’re not exactly sure who decided to cut the heroin with strychnine. That will probably come out, once the Reverend is interviewed. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say. I wish Sebas were here to see this. He always hated the ones in suits and, by God, was he right.”
“Have you told Bermuda yet?”
“Not yet but I’m going back to my desk and I’m going to call Archie Carmichael right away. I’ll bet he’ll be pleased.”
Archie was sitting at his desk when the call came through from Hofstein. Everyone immediately sensed his excitement as he talked with the Miami detective.
“That is the best news we’ve heard in a very long time. I’ll pass it on to Detective Inspector Burgess and we will look forward to exchanging information with you. I hope Aaron Jacobs is right with the shipping information. Call me as soon as you know how it goes down. Best of luck. It was a pleasure working with you and, again, I’m so sorry about your partner. He was a great guy.”
He hung up and saw the expectant faces of Burgess, Pamela, De Souza and Mrs. Ming all waiting to hear the news.
“They got him! You won’t believe it. Turns out it was that television preacher guy, Reverend Wylie -”
“You mean the good looking one?” exclaimed Mrs. Ming.
“Well, Mrs. Ming, I can’t say as I know him but if you say he’s handsome, then he’s the one.” He went on to explain the conclusions of the Dade County police detective and the results of the Forensic Computer Laboratory regarding the next shipment. “This could be a major bust. I surely hope so. That Detective Hofstein and the kid in the FCL deserve it. Apparently, they worked 24/7 to get a result.”
Burgess looked serious. “I hope
it all goes well. Now we need to see whether the Reverend Wylie was in cahoots with our boy Captain. We need to ask some questions of our own.”
Archie stretched his arms over his head. “You can forget talking to Captain. He’s officially not saying anything. We’ll have to get the Americans to interview the Reverend to see if there is a connection.”
“Well, Archie, you have the ‘special relationship’ with the Dade County boys. Can you set that up?”
“I’ll do my best, Buddy.” He looked at the fatigue in the face of his best friend. “You look like you could do with some rest. Why don’t you go home and I’ll finish up here.”
“Thanks, Archie. I think I will take you up on that. I’ve had days when I’ve felt better!”
“Just one thing,” interrupted Pamela. “When are you going to tell the superintendent about this?”
“Monday afternoon,” said Burgess. “Once I’m sure that they’ve got the right day, ship and container.”
“That makes sense.” Pamela went back to her computer and continued writing her report on the Croatian.
Chapter 65
It was six weeks since Burgess had almost lost his life. Nana was back at home and doing well. The scars on his chest were gradually fading, although it would be a long time before he played any basketball. Lifting his arms over his head was still too painful. The island was expecting its first hurricane of the season and, as it loitered some 300 nautical miles offshore, it sucked all the bad weather away from the island. The sky was a majestic blue, the poinciana trees were flamboyant with their canopy of orange flowers, the oleanders kept producing a riot of pink flowers and the birds had yet to seek shelter from the impending high winds and torrential rain. Truly, it was the quiet before the storm.
Burgess and his team, together with the Canadian forensic experts, had spent many hours putting together the evidence to convict Frenchie, Captain and various lesser dealers. They had still to discover how guns were being imported into the island as Frenchie had decided to follow Captain’s lead and say nothing more. Ja’von Williamson was coming up for trial shortly on the murders of Deon White and Rhonda Mayberry. He was pressing for deportation to a Jamaican prison and the Bermuda Government was happy to oblige. The Croatian government had been grateful for the discretion of the Bermuda police as regards the extra curricular activities of their famous olympic biathlete, whom according to the Croatian press had died tragically in a motorcycle accident while holidaying in Bermuda. It had invited both Burgess and his grandmother to Zagreb for an all expenses paid visit. Burgess was tempted to go with Jacintha and Nana in the autumn when he had some time off.
From time to time, Archie corresponded with Hofstein in Miami. The FCL computer kid had come up trumps and the DEA had managed to intercept the shipment of heroin which had been stuffed into straws and placed inside the corrugated cardboard packaging lining the boxes of foodstuffs imported from Colombia. The DEA had never seen anything like it and were ecstatic to have broken the back of a multi-million dollar drug trafficking cartel. The Reverend William Wylie was charged with drug importation and accessory to murder in the poisoning deaths of the junkies in Florida and Bermuda, although he denied any knowledge of the strychnine and stated that it was his accomplice Menendez who had instigated that. In any event, the Reverend would not be a feature on daytime television for many years to come.
As he drove towards the supermarket on Church Street to pick up his hurricane supplies, Burgess stopped at the traffic light by City Hall. He glanced to his left as a latest model black BMW pulled up alongside him. Music was throbbing loudly from a hi-tech sound system and Burgess’s attention was drawn to the set of flashy hubcaps which kept on spinning, even though the car was stationary. It reminded him of a modern day chariot from the film Ben Hur. He looked over at the driver. The face looked familiar. Could that be Derek Trott, Deon White’s friend? The driver inclined his head in a brief nod and then roared away as the light turned green. Burgess continued on his way but something nagged at the fringes of his memory.
Back at the station, with a sudden sense of urgency, he rifled around in the drawer where he kept his notebooks until he found the one with the notes of his visit to Deon White’s mother’s house. He knew it! Young Bill had told him that his cousin was “hangin’ with the wrong crowd,” and was spending a lot of money. He even said Deon had ordered a fancy black BMW. He kept scanning his cramped handwriting, anxious to find something more but not wanting to skip anything important. There it was again! Derek Trott had told Inspector Dill that White had got in with the wrong crowd, was flashing money around and even had a BMW on order which was why he had distanced himself from him. Could Trott have been toying with them all? He had the feeling they had all underestimated him. Was he now the new replacement for Deon… or even Frenchie? It surely looked like he had money to burn. He was driving one very expensive piece of machinery. It looked, in fact, like he had taken over the order for White’s car. He was glad he was not in Narcotics. It must be demoralizing to think that as soon as they had several drug pushers in custody, there were plenty more to take their place. It would be as if they never really got their man. He would have to break the news to Inspector Dill and see if he wanted to follow up on it.
While he brewed some more coffee in the office kitchenette, he turned up the radio to catch the lunchtime news. Buttering a slice of toast, he listened half-heartedly as Johnny McCabe talked about the impending storm, a new graduated work permit fee structure, the latest road traffic fatality and, towards the very end, conducted a brief interview with Bermuda’s business darling, Clayton Perinchief, who had announced that morning his intention to run for office. “Just another day in paradise,” he thought.
Acknowledgements
The author would like to thank the following people for their assistance and support during the writing of this book:
Pam and Fred Gilberd, Bradley Yahn, Archie Husbands, Susan Stirling, Kirsten Otterstein, Donald Middleton and Marlen Timm
Square Snapper (Detective Inspector Burgess) Page 23