Murder in Montego Bay

by Paula Lennon

  The sorrel and ginger flavour had not received much positive feedback either. It was missing something, but they had not yet given up this idea. As a drink, he loved sorrel and ginger with a splash of rum. The whole family did and there had to be a way to make it into a delicious flavoured ice-cream without the alcohol. Rum and raisin had never been allowed on the menu, as his parents were concerned about the Church’s likely reaction to them selling alcoholic-flavoured desserts. Even the idea of a separate range for adults was not met with enthusiasm at all, but he and Carter had often talked about a time when their parents would have to step back from the day-to-day running of the company. When the young people took over, they could make things happen. Religion should have no place in Chinchillerz business, as it could only stifle progression and growth.

  The silence of the room next door struck him. At this time of day he would usually hear Carter either on the phone or in a meeting, sometimes coldly berating people who had annoyed him, sometimes holding discussions with other staff members. Lester felt a thump in his chest as he realised that he would never again hear Carter’s laugh or his unique voice through the thin wall. His shoulders slumped and he buried his head in his hands, rested them on the desk, and wept.

  Eventually he sat up and wiped his face. Lester took a small mirror from his drawer and polished it before using his tongue tentatively to test his teeth. Others might not be able to see it, but his handsome narrow cheek boned face was slightly lopsided and it hurt when he sculpted his goatie. Goddamn police, how dare they arrest him and hold him in that filthy hellhole with the scum of the earth? Boy, if this was America. Goddamn police. Goddamn lawyers.

  CHAPTER 13

  Wednesday, 29 July, 12:50 p.m.

  Officer Lindon Nembhard had been removed from cell duty and confined to a desk job at Pelican Walk. His unsmiling face told every officer who ventured into his area that he did not want to be there. The police high command had assured him he was not being punished and this was standard procedure, but he still felt persecuted.

  It was an insult to be treated like a pariah at his own station. With a basic salary that barely covered his family’s needs he sometimes ended up working fourteen hour days just to get additional overtime pay. Shortage of officers to cover so many cells was always an issue and Saturday nights were bound to be worse, needing at least four people to do his job. It just was not possible for one person to keep an eye on the cells for hours on end and everyone knew that. He needed to eat, take bathroom breaks and deal with walk-in emergencies involving members of the public. And there was always the need to catch a little shut-eye in between, although he would never admit it, and time to call his girlfriend and complete the odd difficult Sudoku puzzle also had to be fitted in.

  When he first joined the force as a constable eight years ago he had carried high expectations of quickly rising through the ranks, what with his high exam grades and good recommendations from supervisors. There was a bottleneck at his career level. He had climbed only one rung of the ladder two years ago and realised with a great deal of displeasure that he was unlikely to ascend anywhere else in the near future. The idea of ever making sergeant, still less detective inspector, had begun to fade in his mind as not many officers voluntarily left the force, and those that did were not being replaced.

  He could afford to buy a small property and second-hand car for himself and his live-in girlfriend, yet could not afford to help his extended family and he dearly wanted to help his younger sisters through university. The thought of joining a private security company had flitted across his mind before being dismissed. It was a better paying job, but would not hold the same cachet as being a policeman, and there was no defined career plan in the security role.

  Moonlighting in the force was frowned upon, but not forbidden, so he took jobs as a bodyguard and as a club bouncer from time to time. Being of muscular build and looking authoritative was enough to deter the chancers. Occasionally he would keep watch over private parties too, blending in with the patrons and looking out for pickpockets and troublemakers.

  Some of his colleagues made additional money by allowing their private cars to be run as public passenger vehicles and charged the drivers a considerable amount per day to hire the car. That was a step too far for Nembhard as not only was it an illegal use of the vehicle, but the drivers drove so badly he could foresee bills for all sorts of dents and parts in the future. No, he would stick to moonlighting for now and hope that his prospects improved. God would watch over him and provide.

  *

  On the first floor above Nembhard’s head, the detectives were holding a team briefing.

  “Remember dat strange guy from de funeral? Not a suspect, sir,” Spence announced. “He’s a serial mourner. Him go to plenty funeral and behave same way.”

  “Is he right in the head?” asked Rabino.

  “Not a thing no wrong wid him. De man is a loner. Him get caution before, but him just keep on doing it. One day him going do it with de wrong family and den we going have to scrape him up off de ground,” predicted Spence in a matter-of-fact manner.

  “The Chin Ellis parents say they dinnae know Darnay at all, nor his friend.” Harris informed them. “But then again they said half the people who turned up were strangers.”

  “A food dem did a look. I don’t know what is wrong wid some people,” said Spence.

  “Darnay is not in need of food though,” said Preddy thoughtfully. “Him look very well-fed to me.”

  “He must think we’re idiots and won’t make any connection,” said Rabino, adding in Patois, “A bright him bright and bold.”

  “Him well bright fi true,” agreed Spence.

  “Yes, him bright,” said Harris. The eyes of his three colleagues were immediately upon him and he smiled back pleasantly. “What? I got it. If ye are all doing Patois I dinnae want tae be left out.”

  Spence laughed. “We going have to take time talk now. Is not everything you hear we going want you to learn.”

  Preddy smiled. Harris was learning fast which was just as well. He turned his attention to a worn plaque on the wall holding a yellowed paper—the result of facing the penetrating sunlight for two years. The shiny bamboo frame remained as good as new, having been treated with non-toxic borax to render it impenetrable to termites. The plaque commemorated the work of various divisions of Area One police and was a particular source of pride as it was not easy to get acknowledged in the force unless you did extraordinary work. Much easier to get singled out for special attention if your crown ever slipped. Preddy stood and rubbed clean a smudge on the glass. He moved the plaque slightly so that it was level. Marcus Darnay would never get the better of him. This murder would be solved.

  A shrill noise rang through the station and a universal groan went up from all except Harris who looked around quizzically.

  “What’s that?”

  “Fire alarm,” said Spence, stretching her bare feet towards her discarded shoes. “Don’t know if it’s a test or de real thing.”

  “Come on,” said Preddy heading towards the door. “Let’s get to de assembly point.”

  “What about the people in the cells?” asked Harris.

  Spence glanced at him sideways. “I guess dey will need a hero.”

  Preddy smiled. “Other officers will take dem out, Detective Harris. We won’t leave dem to burn.”

  “Can we find out if this is a drill, sir?” asked Rabino, turning off the desk fan. “I was just getting comfortable and I really don’t want to go out there right now.”

  “Come lady, bring your shades,” said Preddy grinning back at her. “We can ask downstairs.”

  He pulled down the blinds so that any officers passing by in the hallway could not see inside the evidence room. Blinds were also on the other side of the room attached to the window that faced outdoors. These were partially shuttered already as a barricade against the sun rather than prying eyes, as, other than the window cleaner, no-one ever climbed up that far. />
  The detective locked the door and followed his colleagues down the stairwell, accompanied by other officers who were also making their way towards the courtyard. They congregated under the huge Julie mango tree which dense cluster of leaves provided welcome shelter from the direct sun rays.

  Harris looked up in admiration. “Any chance we can get some of these mangoes down?”

  “But of course,” said Spence. “Gwaan climb it no?”

  “I’ll catch,” offered Rabino.

  “I dinnae think so. Tree climbing should be left tae young kids.”

  “Nobody not climbing any tree,” said Preddy following their gaze. “When de handyman come him can use a stick and pick dem. You can get plenty mango.”

  The inmates were led out by a group of officers, some with guns drawn at their sides, all dressed in the standard uniform of black trousers with red seams running down the sides from waist to cuffs, light blue short-sleeved shirts and flat black caps. Among the group, he spotted Timmins, the officer who had arrested Carter and Lester and who had, whether unwittingly or on purpose, created a disastrous chain of events. A few paces behind Timmins came the disgruntled Nembhard. Preddy felt little sympathy for the man’s plight. If he had done his job properly the pressure on Pelican Walk would not be anything like it was today.

  Timmins had noticed Preddy too and a scowl crept across his face. Who did the detective think he was? Watching him all the time, clamming up whenever he saw him approaching? Arresting lawbreakers was Timmins’ job and that was exactly what he had done on that Saturday night. He was now under suspicion on his home soil when nobody could possibly have any evidence against him. Only careless fools with little training and even less sense committed crimes and left evidence, and he was nobody’s fool.

  “Look pon de hot sun inna de sky, me cyah go out deh!” grumbled one detainee.

  “Dat’s where you are going and nobody not carrying you. Walk, man!” ordered Timmins.

  The resentful man dragged his feet. “Bwoy you have people just a fry inna de sun. You is a wicked set a people!”

  “A true man,” said another inmate, “not even one umbrella or nutten!”

  “De sun good for you man,” replied Nembhard. “You going have a long wait before you see de sun again if you did really stab up de man.”

  “Is dis a drill, officer?” asked Preddy as the group passed in front of him.

  “Yes, sir,” said Nembhard. “Wilson clearing de place first den we can all go back in.”

  “Wilson? I didn’t know we change fire officer?” said Preddy in surprise.

  “De fire officer on leave today, sir,” replied Nembhard.

  “A him pick de right day,” said another angry inmate. “Man have fi out here a bu’n up!”

  “Put dem under de almond tree for a while,” said Preddy, noting that the large courtyard really did not provide adequate cover for the men.

  The last thing he wanted was a riot on his hands, and in any event the men were innocent until proven guilty and deserved to be treated in a civilised manner. He wondered why Wilson had taken the decision to run the fire drill in the fire officer’s absence. This was surely outside of Wilson’s remit and had caused an unnecessary distraction. The detective’s eyes followed the marching group as they approached the nearby almond tree whose flat compacted leaves acted like a thatched roof to the welcome relief of the suffering men.

  One frustrated suspect kicked out at a stray female mongrel trying to share a small spot of shade. The dog quickly scuttled to one side narrowly avoiding the boot, her wide brown eyes warily watching out for more attacks. Timmins immediately rounded on the would-be assailant.

  “What you doing, man? Leave de dog! It trouble you?”

  Timmins gently called out to the dog which hesitantly crept a bit closer, ever watchful of a human trick. The officer bent down and Preddy could see that he was talking to the animal although he could not hear what was said. The dog wagged her tail timidly and curled up close to the officer’s feet. Timmins patted its head and the dog focused her grateful eyes on him for a few seconds before placing her head on her paws.

  Within ten minutes the fire practice was over and the officers and suspects were free to make their way back inside. The detectives waited until everyone had entered before following behind.

  “Well, at least we know we can get everybody in and out quickly without anyone dying from sunstroke, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” said Rabino drily.

  “Oh, we know much more dan dat, Detective,” said Preddy.

  They filed back into the evidence room one by one and flopped down into their chairs. Preddy was soon on his keyboard amending his notes.

  “Lord, it’s hot. So, did you bring any skirts with you, Detective Harris?” Rabino asked, eyeing the Glaswegian. “You must feel like you need one right now.”

  “Skirts? Oh, ye mean kilts?”

  “Yes, same thing,” she said. “You bring any?”

  “Naw. I didnae think there would be any cause tae wear them in Jamaica.”

  “You suppose to wear dem once a week,” said Spence. “You never know?”

  Preddy said, “Don’t listen to her. She a ginnal.”

  “What’s a ginnal?” asked Harris.

  “A deceptive person,” Preddy grinned. “A term usually reserved for tricksters rather dan hardened criminals.”

  “Och, I’ll try tae remember that one,” said Harris. “I usually only wear ma kilt for special occasions.”

  “Oh, dat’s a shame,” said Spence. She turned and stared at him intently. “Is true dat you don’t wear anything under it?”

  “Well, I cannae speak for anyone else, but I always wear something under it.”

  “I guess you must suffer from icicles forming on all parts of you?” said Rabino.

  Spence nodded in agreement. “Eeh, eeh! Suppose to painful.”

  The female detectives both laughed and Sean Harris flushed pink. His chair scraped back as he stood upright and glared at the officers. He seemed a few inches taller than before, Preddy thought, although he was probably around five foot ten at most, about three inches shorter than himself. The green eyes flashed and took on a dark emerald tint giving Preddy a slight chill, but before he could intercede Harris spoke:

  “Ye know, if we were in Glasgow, right about now we would all be marching tae the human resources department and ye would have tae explain why ye think that sexism is appropriate in the workplace.”

  All voices were suddenly silenced. Rabino’s standalone fan purred gently as it valiantly circulated warm air. The wall clock ticked loudly, unaware of its intrusion.

  “Since there is naw HR here, maybe I’ll just take maself off and make a call tae the top man instead?”

  The foreigner strode out of the room and slammed the door leaving an eerie quiet in his wake. The old plaque jumped and became dislodged again as if settling into its preferred position of comfort.

  “Lord God! What we going do?” asked a panicked Spence. Her smile had long disappeared and she held a hand to her chest.

  “Oh, hell!” Rabino blinked rapidly and looked crestfallen.

  Preddy stood up and quickly walked towards the door, but before he could reach it the door creaked and the red head reappeared, stopping Preddy in his tracks.

  “Look pon you,” Harris declared in his best Patois. “You cyah take joke?” He closed the door and disappeared again.

  A collective sigh of relief went around the room. “A him a de real ginnal,” said Spence, staring at the door.

  “That is one strange white man,” murmured Rabino.

  Preddy retook his seat and allowed himself to exhale. “I don’t disagree wid either of you.”

  He was relieved that it was a joke, although he was somewhat perturbed by it. Who knew that the mild-mannered Harris could act in that way? How would they recognise what was an act and what was the true Harris? The white man could look and sound positively menacing if he chose to. If it could b
e channelled wisely then maybe he would prove a good antidote against the criminal element of the city after all. Preddy decided not to think too deeply about the alternative.

  *

  On the outskirts of the city, a homeless man settled onto an upturned rubber crate under a towering mahoe tree. It was a strategic position for catching hungry school children and other pedestrians in need of a light snack. He wheeled his wobbly handcart there each day, sold a few guineps picked from trees on wasteland, got drunk from the sun and slept amid the noise of the traffic. Then, when night fell, he would make his way back to his tiny ramshackle abode made of discarded boards and rusty zinc.

  Tonight would be different. He would be able to sleep peacefully with soft seats on which to lay down and a solid roof over his head. It was so much better than his old yard which most people would pass without even noticing as it blended into the dark trees so well. He had no intention of abandoning it completely as it was habitable in dry weather, though not so good in rainy or windy weather even with the multitude of black plastic bags strewn all over it. He still had no toilet. That was what the bush was for and he didn’t really worry about where he washed or if he could wash at all.

  There was no kitchen either, but he just needed dry wood and paper to start a fire and he could cook in one of the many lidless pots he collected from the garbage dump. Usually he cooked turned cornmeal which was the cheapest staple to be found with the few dollars he managed to scrounge. When he succeeded in converting a tourist’s day trip into a guilt trip he would buy chicken neck for the pot. Otherwise it would be cornmeal and callaloo or pak choi. Occasionally he would get piece of yam to cook with a few green bananas, a very rare treat with the cost of ground produce these days. If he had no food he could always go to the charity kitchen and lay wait the arrival of the next generous patron. For now he was doing just fine.