Murder in Montego Bay

by Paula Lennon

  He still remembered his delight when she told him she was thinking about getting a divorce, how his heart had leaped, but he managed to maintain a poker face while consoling her. Every time he looked at her he wondered how her husband ever thought their relationship would work if he stayed in Kingston running a private forensic lab and she moved to Montego Bay to open a second establishment. It meant she usually travelled back to the family home on Friday nights and returned to the western coast on Mondays. This was fine with Preddy as it meant he could see her Monday to Thursday when time allowed, although they agreed to be as discreet as possible for now. She lived less than a fifteen minutes’ drive from his apartment and he had once absent-mindedly taken a turn into her road with his son who had wondered where they were going. It was a close call, but Preddy had evaded a tricky situation by claiming that he had just wanted to view the outside of a property that was new on the market.

  Preddy had never imagined himself in this type of relationship, but it worked for them as they both knew the score. He always enjoyed the time they spent together particularly walking along the sea side at the edge of the water, allowing the warm water to lap over their toes, while cool salty breeze blew against their faces. He could talk to Valerie about anything and everything, although inevitably they always ended up speaking about the topic that had united them in the beginning: crime and evidence. She was his ideal kind of woman; natural, bright and ambitious, a person who understood what it was like to work under such intense pressure day after day, sometimes with no demonstrable results to show for it.

  Four days had passed since he had last seen her, although the two spoke every day. He smiled wryly. She had made excuses to spend a weekend in Montego Bay. On Saturday night they had done a soul concert and dinner, before he returned home alone to endure a restless night, unaware of the mess that he would wake up to on Sunday morning. Now that her divorce was proceeding, their relationship would soon be out in the open, although a few people were already aware of it, and he was looking forward to introducing her to Annalee and Roman one day. Valerie would still need to travel back to Kingston each weekend for the sake of her son who was due to start sixth form next term. Teenagers could be particularly tricky at the best of times, let alone when a family shake-up was imminent and it was best that immediate change was not imposed on the youth.

  Roman was thirteen and Annalee eleven at the time that his divorce had been finalised, but he and his ex-wife had gradually got the children used to the idea of separate homes in the year before that. He was grateful for the fact that they were able to split reasonably amicably, having agreed that the relationship was over. Although he did think the child support was on the steep side, he had no wish to rock the boat. The last thing he wanted was for his children to believe he did not wish to fully support them and besides, the payments did not leave him poverty-stricken. It was better to hand over the money for his children’s benefit than to give it to the predatory lawyers.

  Preddy set the security alarm and turned the lights off, leaving only the sitting room light on. Although the apartment felt relatively secure, he preferred not to give any prospective thieves the blanket cover of darkness under which to case his residency. Very few burglaries occurred in this area of the community, but, as usual, he double-locked the front door before walking down the external staircase and strolling off into the moonlit night.

  CHAPTER 10

  Thursday, 23 July, 9:20 a.m.

  A mass of empty coffee cups surrounded the three detectives who sat around their desks comparing notes and awaiting the arrival of Preddy, unusually late that morning.

  “Tell us about Glasgow, Detective Harris,” suggested Spence. She tried to swirl her chair around to face her new colleague, but it creaked and moved grudgingly. “All we know is dat it is in Scotland, which is not in England, and dat it cold.”

  “Yes, tell us what would make us want to go to Glasgow,” added Rabino, sitting upright and staring at him over the top of her monitor.

  Harris smiled. “Ye got me there. Okay, I’ll admit the weather is nothing tae crow about. It is the largest city in Scotland with about 600,000 people, if ye like huge places. We’ve got loads of restaurants, museums, art galleries. It’s great for nightlife and shopping.”

  “Shopping? Do you know how many Jamaican dollars there are to the pound? We won’t be doing much shopping,” said Rabino. “If I never used to travel with my father back in the day, I would never have been able to get on an aeroplane and go anywhere.”

  “Is not a joke. De fare alone make me eye water.” Spence opened her eyes wide as she spoke. “I have never made it further dan California and I paid my own way. Detective Harris, you lucky you get free plane ride to come here. Nobody not going pay for us to go Scotland.”

  “Not even to as far as Kingston,” Rabino smiled. “It’s a whole big thing to claim gas allowance for the car. A plane ticket would give them a heart attack.”

  “Ye might get seconded one day, ye never know.”

  “And we might win de Super Lotto at de next draw too,” said Spence. “You must prefer to stay in de office and work all de time when you over dere? It must be better dan walking around in de ice?”

  “It doesnae snow all the time, ladies,” Harris defended the character of his misunderstood homeland. “And believe me ye get dressed for the weather and ye get used tae it. We are allowed tae wear coats, scarves and gloves ye know.”

  “But if you have to make a phone call outside you would have to take off the gloves,” said Rabino, cringing at the thought. “You cannot press the numbers with gloves?”

  “Believe me, it’s naw that hard. Uncomfortable sometimes, but naw so hard,” Harris laughed. “Ye do it without thinking about it.”

  “Bwoy, me never want to experience dat. Me couldn’t bear it,” Spence shivered.

  The door opened and a cheerful Preddy bounced into the room. The female detectives exchanged meaningful looks as their superior clasped his hands together firmly and beamed around the room.

  “Give me some good news no, people?”

  Rabino grimaced. “Darnay’s garage is clean. No sign of the car or any parts of it.” She rolled up an open bag of mints and aimed it at Preddy. “Catch this, sir.”

  Preddy caught it and popped two mints into his mouth. “Good news, anywhere?”

  Harris wondered why Rabino’s generosity did not extend to him, but decided to ignore it as Rabino had been nothing but friendly towards him so far. The other female he was not so sure about.

  “We’ve compared notes from Nembhard and Wilson’s interviews, sir. Cannae see anything out of place.” Preddy took the documents from him and pulled out a chair.

  “Sorry, sir. De prosecutor says she can’t run wid de narcotics thing,” said Spence shaking her head. “She says we don’t know where de drugs came from.”

  Preddy groaned loudly and placed his forehead on his desk. It was the only possible charge he had left against Lester, having dropped the drink-driving charge because the breathalyser was found to be old and miscalibrated. The charge of assaulting a police officer had already gone—having listened to the arresting officers’ tales he had decided that the case sounded contrived and too flimsy to stand up in court. Neither officer was hit or even pushed. There was a brief struggle when Lester refused to step out of the vehicle, but the brothers had put hands only on each other, not on the officers. Those sorts of charges had never managed to gain traction in the past.

  Now their last possible charge for drug possession would not stand up either. He knew exactly why the prosecutor had shied away from a drug charge, but he felt obliged to send her the files anyway. The SUV was left unlocked and unattended on a side road for a good few hours during which time the brothers were at Pelican Walk. The defence would claim that anyone, even the police, could have stashed the drugs in the car before Carter returned and drove it home. Once the prosecution had spoken, the chances of them changing their minds was slim. That was just how
it worked, unless the commissioner appealed to the Director of Public Prosecutions herself who was not known for ignoring her prosecutors’ recommendations.

  “Wakey, wakey,” said Rabino.

  “I’m wide awake. I’ve had my tonic.” Preddy raised his head and gave a pained smile. “I’m just wondering how long we’ve got before de walls start closing in.”

  Preddy knew that the Chin Ellis family, the public and the media were bound to turn against the police once they realised that no charges would be brought against Lester. The pressure on the lawmen would ratchet up a notch as one brother had been assaulted, the other murdered, and the officers could not justify the arrests. There was only one likely outcome to this and it would involve the government being forced to pay out millions to settle claims for wrongful arrest and false imprisonment, in addition to assault and battery. This was all taxpayers’ money, as the JCF had no separate coffers of its own.

  Once the news did get out that all possible charges against Lester had been dropped, the response from the Chin Ellis family was swift: if money was what it would take, then money was what they would give.

  “De phones don’t stop ring all day,” complained Spence that afternoon as she slammed down the receiver. “And not even one sensible call. People want to know if dem can claim de money by telling how much shot dem hear. A what kind of foolishness dat?”

  “That’s what ye get sometimes when ye offer big rewards,” agreed Harris. “Although the announcement clearly said ‘for information leading tae an arrest.’ Can we get any more hands on deck tae weed the callers out, sir?”

  “Not at dis time,” said Preddy. “We are just not going to get any more resources. De calls will soon die out when de idlers give up. Until den we’ll just have to manage.”

  The seasoned detective exuded outward confidence that he did not feel, but it was his duty to keep the team alert and driven. While ten million Jamaican dollars would not make anyone rich, it would sound like a fortune to the locals barely surviving on the minimum wage. The idea of “nothing ventured, nothing gained” would take over and so they would continue to ring. Everyone had a cell phone nowadays and a lot of people had more than one. They might not be able to find money for many of life’s necessities but they would always find a way to obtain credit for their phones, even if that money was relayed by friends and family abroad. It had been his experience that offering reward money too early in a case simply led to a lot of wasted man hours, and this was the unwelcome result of having drawn the ire of the Chin Ellis family. He would have to work twice as hard to regain their trust and cooperation.

  Preddy left his team manning the phones and made his way to his office. He liked working in the open-plan area, but also appreciated having his own quarters to retreat to. It was a large enough room for a police station of this size, with a solid wooden desk and sturdy chair in the centre, and a separate table which could seat four people comfortably, although they would have to borrow mismatched chairs from adjoining rooms. Filing cabinets sat in each corner and criminal law books adorned the shelves on the walls. A large window provided considerable light and the half-drawn blinds kept the sunlight from being too overpowering.

  He lowered his athletic frame onto the chair and started to read the interview reports of Nembhard and Wilson. Officer Wilson said he had not left the front desk from the moment the Chin Ellis brothers entered Pelican Walk station. Officer Nembhard swore he had patrolled the holding cells on a regular basis and said most of the inmates appeared to be asleep in their bunk beds. Even the three who shared a cell with Lester seemed unconscious, although one of them did turn over when the cell door clanged shut. According to Nembhard, Lester had played down his injuries in the immediate aftermath of the assault.

  Preddy sighed and picked up another report. Jerry Knight. The inmate with the bruised knuckles was now formally charged with the assault on Lester. Although the detective had hoped for a quick resolution to this case, he feared that it would not happen. The wheels of justice turned slowly on the island and the court system was just not equipped to deal with instant trials. A huge backlog of criminal cases existed, caused by ill-equipped courts, lack of court staff, over-worked prosecution lawyers and police officers, as well as vanishing witnesses and incomplete files. Then there was the defence lawyers’ strategy of demanding case management hearings at every possible opportunity. It could be months before the assault case against Knight would be heard, but at least it was a pretty strong one.

  Preddy’s attention was drawn to a large orange envelope sitting at the corner of his desk. When he had received the divorce petition from his wife it had been dropped off at his office and he remembered the feeling back then on finding a similar envelope awaiting him.

  Being forced out of the Runaway Bay home within six months of spending hundreds of thousands of dollars making it comfortable for the family had been painful. Creating a more spacious living environment was supposed to help the strained relationship, as they could retreat to their own zones when the need for peace and solitude took over. The children could also get away with increasing the volume on their TV shows and games without being accused of disturbing their parents. Although he had convinced himself that things were improving between them, he knew deep down that much of the blame lay with him. It was his own fault for working as he did and neglecting his wife, who found temporary comfort with one of the local carpenters he hired to work on their home. A man who quickly vanished unpaid when he cottoned on to exactly whose wife he was playing with.

  The words on the front of the envelope were typewritten and was addressed to him personally, marked “private and confidential” in bold. He wondered if the letter had come from the police high command. Maybe his progress had been too slow for them? Or maybe they were just tired of seeing his face? There were no stamps on the front. The back of the envelope gave no indication of where it had come from either—it had been hand-delivered.

  He carefully tore the envelope open and retrieved a single large photograph accompanied by a typewritten letter on plain paper with no letterhead. It was only a few lines long without signature. The writer stated that the marks to the side of Lester’s face were made by a blunt unknown object, not by a fist. The note was obviously written by an educated person who was involved in the medical field and who had personal access to Lester Chin Ellis. The detective deduced that it had to be from a private medical facility, as the wounded Lester had refused the attention of Pelican Walk’s own on-call doctor.

  Preddy immediately went to question the young office assistant whose job was to sort and deliver mail. The youngster had no idea who had dropped off the envelope. A pile of letters sat in a bag at the door of the station when he arrived and he just sorted them out and delivered them. Preddy knew that the chances of identifying the doctor who had treated Lester was slim. Charges had been laid against Knight and any questions about the incident would now have to go through the respective lawyers. If he asked the prosecutors to find out who Lester’s doctor was, they would demand to know why the interest and what the relevance was.

  The detective stared at the photograph while trying to envisage what object the inmate could have used in the attack. There should have been nothing in the cell, as all personal belongings were removed when suspects were booked in at the front desk. He frowned and tapped the envelope on his desk. The doctor and patient confidentiality code was sacrosanct and whoever wrote the note would never come forward voluntarily.

  CHAPTER 11

  Tuesday, 28 July, 2:30 p.m.

  The funeral of Carter Chin Ellis took place at the local Roman Catholic church in which he had been baptised as a baby. Only family and close friends were invited, yet there was a noticeable gathering of hangers-on and spectators, most of whom were inappropriately dressed in tight colourful leggings and T-shirts, while others were clad in shorts and vests. Some of the invited mourners were bedecked in ostentatious jewellery that appeared quite out of place in the church yard.
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  Preddy had managed to convince the Chin Ellis family to grant the detectives permission to discreetly attend the funeral service, using the excuse that they were providing added security. His real intention was to see if anyone caught his eye as being particularly out of place.

  The interior of the church was sensitively decorated with specially imported pure white oriental lilies, gladioli and carnations. The wooden pews were packed with solemn faces, many of whom had flown into the island for the service. At the front stood the solid white casket which would remain open until the start of the service to allow mourners to pay their respects.

  The local Chinese business community was out in force, and it occurred to Preddy that he had never seen so many Jamaican Chinese of all ages congregated in one place. He could identify quite a few of them whom he recognised as owners of various businesses including opticians, pharmacies and supermarkets. People that he used to say hello to when he walked the beat many years ago, although he doubted whether any of them would even remember him, as back then few would ever respond.

  Rabino and Harris were strategically placed at the rear, surveilling the mourners as they gave heart-felt eulogies. When the ceremony was over they followed the extremely long procession to the family plot in the adjoining town of Reading for the interment. Spence was already in Reading keeping a watchful eye on the arrivals and ready to accost anyone who appeared dangerous. Carter’s parents stood weeping into their handkerchiefs as their beloved son’s coffin was lowered into his grave. Miss Ida’s glasses fell from her face, narrowly missing the deep hole and were quickly retrieved by her husband, who wiped his wife’s face tenderly and replaced the glasses over her nose. She gave him a grateful half-smile. Lester, whose face was a picture of abject misery, stood on the other side of his mother with one arm across her shoulders. He dabbed at his own reddened eyes from time to time and squeezed his mother’s hand.