Murder in Montego Bay

by Paula Lennon

  Great opportunities to catch criminals were squandered by the lack of people, equipment and tools which frustrated Preddy immensely, yet a foreigner appeared on board for a few weeks and suddenly more men could be found. It did not help either that Preddy had seen a photograph on the Jamaica Constabulary Force website of a wine and cheese party held for a departing French ambassador at his spectacular residence at Tryall in the parish Hanover. In attendance were the superintendent and commissioner as expected, but in the background was the clearly identifiable red head of his newest team member. Harris had never mentioned it, and although the brief article was entirely focused on the ambassador’s legacy, the detective did wonder why Harris had been singled out to attend the function since the high command never invited detectives to such events. He hoped that Spence and Rabino had not noticed the article as so far the team was devoid of any real tension. The strain between himself and Harris was a different matter.

  Preddy took the verbal pounding well, and only a very observant person would have seen a twitch of his mouth when the commissioner made it clear that demotion was a distinct possibility and declared that he would consider removing him from the case entirely if no progress was made.

  Preddy had never been removed from running a case in his life and had certainly never experienced the humiliation of demotion. His last promotion was six years ago and as far as he was concerned the only way was up. Whatever could he have been thinking? the Super wanted to know. Preddy knew what he had been thinking. That drug dealing was most likely being facilitated by persons unknown at Chinchillerz and they needed to be caught to protect the citizens of Jamaica in general, and the reputation of St James parish in particular. He was not to know that the cocaine infused products had not left the Chinchillerz warehouse at all or that the innocent transit driver and passenger thought they were being hijacked by armed robbers and had fled for their lives.

  “I gave you men to answer phone leads, Detective,” said the superintendent. “And now I’m hearing that you used them to spy on Chinchillerz headquarters.”

  “I thought dey were for use on de case in general. You didn’t specifically say dey were for manning phone lines, sir.”

  “But this is to do with drugs,” said the superintendent. “Why is it the first I am hearing about drugs?”

  “I don’t know what you and Detective Harris discussed, sir,” said Preddy pointedly.

  The superintendent looked at the commissioner who sat forward in his chair. “There are a lot of things you don’t know Detective, like who killed Carter Chin Ellis, which is what you need to find out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, are there any other secrets you want to share with us?”

  I can drink a whole pot of ganja tea and go a whole day without pissing, sir. “Not dat I can think of, sir.”

  “Well know this,” said the commissioner. “None of us are indispensable, Detective. The mayor says he wants to see me, the minister wants to talk to me and the business people have started to make a noise. I don’t even know what response we’re going put out later. Tread carefully, Detective.”

  As Preddy stood, the superintendent said, “You ready to leave, Detective? Aren’t you curious about the well-being of Miss Ida?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Preddy, quickly retaking his seat, “but I thought she must be okay since you didn’t elaborate on it.”

  The commissioner looked annoyed. “Well, she was eventually released by her kidnapper. Whether she is okay or not is a different matter. I was informed that she looked considerably shaken by her ordeal and we took the precaution of escorting her to her doctor.”

  “I must apologise to her, sir. Is de doctor same place down de Freeport she gone to?”

  “No, the one at the medical centre in Rose Hall,” said the superintendent. “And I hear that he is expensive too, so I hope she doesn’t send us the bill for treatment.”

  “I will apologise, sir.”

  “I think you should stay away from her,” said the commissioner thoughtfully. “Unless we have progress on the case to report, I think we should all stay away.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Detective, I won’t lie to you,” said the commissioner. “If we had more manpower I would remove you just like that, today. The superintendent assures me that he doesn’t have anybody else with as much experience to run the case, but I’m not so sure that we can’t find someone—like Harris.”

  Preddy felt his stomach muscles tighten and his breath caught in his throat. “Sir, I will meet wid my team and get de case going in de right direction.”

  “Just see that you do,” warned the commissioner. “You can leave now.”

  Preddy nodded at his superiors and left the interview room, unbuttoning the top of his shirt as he went. Harris? Over his dead body. Preddy made his way to the men’s restroom, where he splashed cold water on his face and stared in the mirror, noting that the specks of grey hair had begun to multiply. The door opened behind him and Officer Nembhard walked in. This was the last person that he wanted to see.

  “Alright, Detective?”

  “Yes, man. How you doing?” Preddy mumbled robotically.

  “Me alright, sir. Me deh here a try keep it together, you know?”

  “Dat’s all we can do.”

  “How your case going? De Chiney murder? Everything alright so far?”

  Preddy dried his hands on the coarse paper towel which once moistened felt less dangerous enough to apply to his face. He pulled himself up to his full height, dabbed at the remaining spots of water and threw the towel in the bin.

  “Everything a gwaan well, man,” he lied, and made his way out of the restroom.

  *

  The children had come to meet their father at Pelican Walk and were sitting in his car waiting for him to chauffeur them home.

  “Is dat your boss, Dad?” asked Roman peering at the white man who had climbed into the jeep next to their car and waved at them. “Bwoy, him hair red, eeh!”

  Preddy’s eyes followed his son’s gaze. Annalee sprung to attention, momentarily discarding the messages she had been studying so intently on her phone and stared at the man too.

  “No, dat is Detective Harris. Remember, I told you we had a secondee from Glasgow.” Preddy took out his badge and polished it before replacing it in his breast pocket. “He is certainly not my boss.”

  “Oh, is him come from Scotland,” said Annalee. “Him have kids?”

  “Three, ‘wee bairns’ he calls dem, though I think dey are all teenagers. He didn’t bring dem to Jamaica though.”

  “You should bring him home and make him cook haggis for dinner,” she suggested.

  “Haggis?” asked Roman. “Wha’ dat?”

  Preddy looked at his daughter. “You know what haggis is?”

  “Well no, but people in Scotland eat a lot of it like how we eat ackee and saltfish.”

  “Sheep heart, liver and lungs, dat is what haggis is,” Preddy said.

  “Me no want any of it,” said Roman, wrinkling up his nose.

  “Ugh! Me no want him come cook dat at all,” said Annalee.

  “If Harris can try mannish water, you can try haggis, don’t?” Preddy said, while thinking that he himself would probably only try haggis for a dare and if the money was right.

  “Dat is because you never make him look inside de pot and see de goat head in dere,” said Roman. “If him ever see de goat eyeball a look pon him, him run!”

  Preddy started the engine and proceeded to reverse.

  “We can say hello, Daddy?” asked Annalee.

  “Sure,” said Preddy through gritted teeth. He wound down the window and waved back at the detective. “Dese are my two problems!”

  “Hello, wee problems!” said Harris.

  “Hello, Detective Harris!” chorused the teenagers, waving cheerfully.

  “Be good for ye dad, now. He’s a hardworking man.”

  “We always good! Don’t listen to what Daddy say!”
Annalee grinned and waved again.

  Preddy rolled up the window and made his way onto the main road. Harris had better listen to what he had to say. This was not a case that could be run by someone without connections to the locals and their customs, no matter what high-tech strategies were in use in Europe.

  CHAPTER 20

  Monday, 9 August, 10:10 a.m.

  Preddy stood under the porch of the Rose Hall medical centre, glad that it provided much needed shade from the sun’s harsh rays. He was surprised that no-one responded to the sound of the buzzer, although he could see the two receptionists happily chatting away to each other. Maybe it was the plain clothes that they were ignoring—after all they did not know him. He took out his badge and pressed it against the window, using the other hand to hold down the buzzer. The door opened a few seconds later.

  “Sorry, Officer,” the woman said sheepishly. “Who you want to see?”

  “Ida Chin Ellis’ doctor.”

  “What is your name, sir?”

  “Detective Preddy.”

  The woman looked back at her colleague. “Call Doctor Sherman and tell him that a Detective Preddy wants to talk to him.”

  The law man took up a seat beside the door admiring the potted yellow orchids that had grown so tall they had to be secured to the walls. The aroma was clean and fresh. Instrumental jazz music floated about the cool lobby, and he closed his eyes momentarily, allowing the calmness to seep through his veins. His vibrating phone disturbed his brief respite, but he quickly answered it having identified the caller as Detective Spence. Their conversation was short and as he hung up he experienced an adrenalin rush which enhanced the therapeutic effect of the tea coursing through his veins. Soon he would have a car to inspect.

  “Detective Preddy? How can I help you?”

  The detective looked up at the doctor, a pale-skinned man with a pointed nose who Preddy guessed was of Jewish heritage although he spoke with an infliction of Patois indicating that he had been exposed to Jamaicans for a good while.

  “We can go somewhere quiet or we can talk right here, if you prefer?” said Preddy, tapping the orange envelope against the side of his knee. The doctor spotted the movement and his composure slipped momentarily.

  “Er, why don’t you come this way?”

  Doctor Sherman led the detective along the hallway to a lift. As the door started to close the doctor said, “I guess that is what I think it is?”

  “You guess right,” replied Preddy.

  A lady attempted to enter the lift and Preddy instinctively caught the door allowing her to get in. She smiled at him and nodded her thanks. The doctor again pressed the button for the fourth floor and placed a forefinger lightly against his lips shooting Preddy a warning look. The woman alighted in front of them on the fourth floor and walked in the opposite direction. Preddy was shown into an office with the doctor’s name prominently displayed on a gold-plated plaque affixed to the door. Preddy cast his eyes over the medical certificates adorning the walls and deduced that the doctor had done most of his training in Syria twenty years ago.

  “How long have you been in Jamaica, Doctor Sherman?”

  “Eight years now since I’m here. Citizenship granted long time ago,” Doctor Sherman replied proudly. “I’m not leaving. Even with all the foolishness that’s going on here I still love it.”

  “Good, I think we need more people like you around. We need all de help we can get.”

  The doctor frowned. “I know I’m going to get myself into trouble now.”

  “No, you’re not.” Preddy took the photograph from the envelope and held it up. “Thank you. You obviously have a strong sense of morals.”

  Doctor Sherman did not respond immediately. He clasped his hands together and rested them on the desk in front of him looking at the photograph.

  “He came in here with his father, moaning and groaning like a child. Covered up under one big towel as if his face was hanging off or something. I was reluctant to even lift the towel. When I looked I saw part of his face bruised up and a tiny part of one of his teeth chipped. That was all.”

  “Okay, so we know dis is not a fist,” said Preddy, feeling a certain warmth towards the doctor. He liked no nonsense professionals. “Do you know what it is?”

  “I have a theory,” Doctor Sherman said thoughtfully. “I examined him close-up and took some photographs. That sort of bruise is caused by blunt force trauma. Like when someone has been violently hit with an object or when the victim’s head has come into contact with something hard. Maybe from some instrument used to hit him, or dropping on him from a great height, or from tripping or slipping.”

  “Do you know which one is more likely?”

  The doctor stood up and walked over to a tall steel cabinet where he flicked through some files before taking one out. He returned to his desk and opened it, revealing even more photos of Lester taken from different angles.

  “Well, all I can say is that his face met with something hard.”

  “Could he have done it to himself?”

  “It’s possible, but I know that young man much better than you, Detective. He is vain. He comes here for a pimple. There is no way he would hit himself or allow anybody else to hit him for that matter. Trust me, he didn’t see it coming.”

  “What do we have left?”

  “He was taken by surprise or he tripped,” said the doctor. “My guess is that this was caused by a solid piece of metal, but not a hammer which is too square. Something with heavy weight in it.”

  Preddy stared off into the distance. “Like a weightlifter’s hand weight? Would dat do it?”

  “Yes, it could,” said the doctor. “Why? The minister find money to buy exercise equipment for the inmates now?”

  “No. We don’t even have a proper gym for de officers. Just some weights, dumbbells and bar bells, things like dat.”

  “So he found his way into the police gym while under arrest?”

  Preddy shook his head. “Nobody gets special privileges. By all accounts he had a good few drinks dat night. I can believe dat he fell, but I’m trying to work out when.” Preddy put the photos back into the file and handed them to the doctor. “I’ll keep de one you gave me.”

  Doctor Sherman folded his arms across his chest. “You mean the one you somehow got your hands on, Detective?”

  “Yes, Doc,” Preddy smiled. “Dat same one.”

  On the way back to Pelican Walk, Preddy gave more thought to what Doctor Sherman had said. Lester had removed a towel in order to have his injuries photographed by the doctor. The fibres that Valerie detected on Lester’s photograph were likely from a towel, not from a covered object used to hit him. He wondered whether an inmate or Lester could have got near to any weights. They were stored only in the gym although they were sometimes borrowed by the officers and taken home for the weekend, usually to be brought back on Monday morning.

  The detective swerved suddenly and pulled the car over onto the pavement, narrowly avoiding a startled newspaper vendor who had been walking towards the oncoming traffic waving his gossip rag at the motorists. The vendor was brave, there being two lanes of fast-moving traffic to manoeuvre unless the lights were on red. He would skip to the opposite lane when the lights changed and try to convince those motorists that their day would not be complete without a Star newspaper. Every inch of his skin was covered up, from the stripey long socks through to the coloured headscarf.

  Preddy showed him a conciliatory palm and sat still deep in thought for a few minutes. A girl approached his window with a laden purple crate and struggled to heave it towards him. He shook his head at her. No box juice or soda sale today. A young man with a sponge and bucket quickly set about cleaning Preddy’s windscreen, despite the detective’s attempt to wave him away. Rather than produce his badge, Preddy rolled down the window and handed him a J$50 note. As much these traffic light workers irritated him, it was better that they annoy motorists in the day rather than terrorise them in their homes at n
ight.

  Back at the station he made a beeline for the makeshift gym which was completely empty and silent. The notebook on the counter top served as a register and held a record of the various officers who had borrowed weights and returned them. Preddy flicked the pages until he found the entry he had been searching for. Both Nembhard and Timmins had signed out for various weights on Saturday afternoon. There was no indication as to when they had been returned but a quick look around the gym proved they were all there. He lifted the heavy objects to his nose and realised that the usually tardy cleaner had recently wiped and polished them. Nembhard and Timmins, one or both of them knew something that they weren’t telling. He closed the register, switched off the lights and made his way back outside the building.

  At the rear of the station the other detectives had already gathered. They watched with great expectations as Marcus Darnay’s Subaru was transported down the driveway on the back of a tow truck. They waited impatiently as the driver and his assistant carefully lowered the long-sought-after evidence to the ground in a far corner of the courtyard.

  The police would never have known about the car but for the fact that a homelessman had returned from begging in the town centre the previous night and had found the vehicle ablaze. He had flagged down a passing motorist to complain that his house had been set on fire and an unidentified man was seen running away. The firemen on site were suspicious of the cause of the fire and had alerted the traffic police who had done a follow-up on the car which by now was barely a shell.

  Harris went directly to the vehicle’s rear and studied the chassis. “Aye, those are bullet holes.”

  Spence bent down and looked closely. “Me never think Darnay woulda destroy him good vehicle,” she said. “Me think him would maybe paint it, change de plate and give somebody to run robot.”