Murder in Montego Bay

by Paula Lennon

  As she pulled out a vase, a folded water-stained document fell to the tiled floor. It puzzled her for a moment until recognition dawned on her. Of course, this was the paper the police officers thrust at her after turning up unannounced, boorishly demanding entry and refusing to give her time to do her hair or get dressed. They had gone straight to her dressing table, removed one of her many bracelets and left within a few minutes. The white man was cute in a strange way although she was not a fan of red hair on any man. Black, brown or auburn were fine, but red and blonde were not manly colours. As for that long-weaved female, just because she could twang like somebody reading BBC news did not make her queen of St James. If the policewoman had hung around longer Zadie would have given her an object lesson in how to dress femininely. Flat black shoes were definitely out, jeans had never been in and long-sleeved blouses were for church. Many a time Zadie had limped in agony all day on stilettos rather than swop for flat shoes. Flip flops were as low as she would stoop to going and that was only on beaches or indoors when not expecting visitors.

  She sat on the arm of her sofa, straightened out the document and started to read. Her unlined face gradually descended into a deep frown and the paper fluttered from her fingers to the ground as she sat stock still staring without seeing. Eventually she got to her feet and walked in a trance-like state towards her kitchen. She opened the washing machine.

  Zadie had never been a fan of guns, but this one was a gift and she had not wanted to cause offence by refusing to accept it. Although she was still a teenager, her apartment was full of gifts given to her by so many admirers that she had trouble remembering exactly who gave her what, but she would never forget where the gun came from.

  Her mother had always encouraged her to study hard and try to “make something” of herself, so that she could buy whatever she needed. Her father had just mumbled that she would never starve but she should always have pride and not be a doormat. She wondered what life would have been like had she listened to her mother and taken the route to higher learning. Maybe it would have been nice to have business cards with Zadie Merton, Opthalmologist or Zadie Merton, Chemical Engineer. Business cards were for professional people and she certainly could not order any as Zadie Merton, Exotic Dancer, not that anyone knew her by that name anyway, as to them she was just Celeste. No surname. She was yet to meet a man who wanted to educate a beautiful woman, and that could only be because said woman would then pursue a career and be less likely to accede to the wants of a man.

  Zadie slipped off her indoor clothes and headed to the bathroom. She had been fooling herself all along and now he had made a fool of her too. For a few minutes she stood in front of the elongated bathroom mirror and for the first time since she was twelve years old she did not like her reflection. The tears coursed down her face as she slid to the floor naked and sat doubled up with her chin on her knees. It was an age before she unfurled, stood up straight and wiped her face. Her thoughts were much clearer than they had been in years and she knew that by nightfall her life would have changed forever.

  She slid into a sleeveless yellow cotton dress that floated out from the hips, and fell way below the knees. The dress was ideal for Caribbean weather as it allowed breeze to billow through while protecting the wearer’s modesty. It emphasised her dark skin and her enviable figure, but she rarely wore it because it was way too long for her fine legs. She applied colourless lip balm to her fully-formed lips and smacked them together. The eye pencil and mascara usually applied three or four times a day were not given any consideration. Her hair would have benefitted from a few brush stokes, but that would have taken up valuable time and she no longer had any to waste.

  She opened her closet and ran her eyes over her vast shoe collection feeling a sense of distaste at the multitudes of high-heeled strappy shoes. The unloved flats were few in number and it took her the briefest of moments to slide a pair onto her slender feet. The gun was placed carefully inside her handbag. She gave a quick glance around the apartment that she would never see again and closed the door behind her.

  *

  The canteen was reasonably quiet when Officer Timmins entered. Three other officers were present, but he was interested in dining with only one. He purchased a bottle of pineapple juice and a soy patty, and pulled out a chair opposite the targeted officer.

  “Wha’ happen, man?” said Timmins.

  Nembhard chewed on his seasoned fries. “Everything good you know, bredda.”

  “You no hear say dem find Darnay car and ah examine it?”

  “Eeh eeh?” His voice was cool and unruffled. “Den me no hear say it well burn up?”

  “Yes, man. It not in a good state at all. Dem can’t find no fingerprint nor nothing like dat. Dem find a bullet in de backseat though, so dem can do nuff wid dat.”

  Nembhard placed his fork carefully onto his plate. “Bullet inna de backseat?”

  “One man a Red Hills did shoot up de car and de bullet inna Darnay car match de man gun,” Timmins explained. “Darnay well careless, man. A jail him a go as sure as night follow day.”

  “Dem have to ketch him first.” Nembhard wiped his lips and got to his feet.

  “How you mean? You no hear say him sick up a hospital? Him not going nowhere for now.”

  “Oh. Dat is good news.” Nembhard picked up a toothpick. “Later.”

  Timmins glanced at Nembhard’s unfinished fries. The man was a big eater who never left a crumb for an ant. As he watched his colleague’s departing figure he wondered whether Preddy could possibly be right.

  *

  The Pelican Walk detectives tried to maintain a degree of optimism while they waited for the chance to interview Marcus Darnay, but patience was just about ready to pack up and leave. The doctors continued to stonewall all attempts to speak to the patient until he was out of danger which they reckoned could be at least another day or two.

  Rabino was on the phone making yet another of her hourly calls to the hospital. “Yes,” she said to the person on the other end.

  “Yes?” Harris pricked up his ears and looked over his monitor at her. It was not a positive sounding yes, but it was better than all the “no’s” she had been uttering.

  Rabino shook her head, making a slashing movement across her throat and Preddy watched with a sinking heart. Please God, do not let Marcus Darnay be dead, he thought, as Rabino put down the phone.

  “He can’t speak, sir. His voice is gone temporarily, the doctor thinks.” She stretched across her desk and picked up a bag of mints. The plastic crackled as she unwrapped one and placed it into her mouth.

  “You should offer one of dose to Detective Harris,” said Preddy.

  “Oh sorry, do you want a mint, sir?” Her hand was poised to throw one at Harris, but he frowned and shook his head while giving Preddy a death stare.

  “See me here,” said Spence, hands ready to catch a sweet.

  Preddy turned his attention back to his screen. Harris did the same, staring blankly at it.

  “Damn,” muttered Harris after a few minutes and repeatedly rapped his fingers on the desk.

  Preddy rocked back in his chair and studied the white man’s sunburnt face. “He can write, right?”

  “Huh?”

  “Marcus Darnay cannot speak, but he can write.”

  Harris stopped drumming and realisation dawned on his face. “Right.” He scooped up his car keys and beckoned to Preddy to follow. “Let’s go.”

  As they entered the hospital the sight of weary people in reception caught Preddy’s attention. It had not been so bad the last time he was here, but now the air-conditioning unit had clearly malfunctioned, leaving the building feeling unbearably hot. It was quiet and stifling without that comforting hum in the background.

  The silence was shortlived. Someone, a recipient of bad news, began to wail and flail on the ground. Preddy thought it was a woman, but as he got closer he realised that the howls came from a man. A mother who had been breastfeeding her child sat mot
ionless, apparently unaware that the baby had long ceased feeding and her full breast was lying unused on his cheek. A few patients turned to stare at the official-looking white man and his colleague as they entered the lobby, but most ignored them and remained lost in their own personal misery.

  The detectives followed the receptionist’s directions and made their way via the lift to Darnay’s ward. A policeman stood guard outside the en-suite room where Darnay lay still, dressed in a white hospital gown. The cuts and bruises did not appear to be so bad now that his face was clean. His left arm and leg were covered with absorbent bandages. On his right arm silver handcuffs glimmered in the slim bead of sunlight that penetrated the half-drawn blinds above his bed.

  “Marcus Darnay, we meet again.” Preddy pointed at the bad leg. “Dat look painful.”

  Darnay glared at him through swollen eyes and Preddy smiled brightly at the detainee. “You never seem happy to see me anymore. I could develop a complex, you know. Sorry I couldn’t bring de natural lady wid me to cheer you up.”

  “Just Officer Whiteman again, I’m afraid,” said Harris as he picked up the medical chart at the end of the bed. “Marcus Adyemi Darnay, fractured left ulna...”

  “A whe’ you a call-up call-up me name so fah?” he croaked angrily. “You no have nutten fi do?”

  “Och, so ye can speak!” exclaimed Harris. “Fancy that.”

  Preddy sat on the bed, wriggling around in a show of making himself comfortable, pretending not to notice Darnay wince with each movement.

  “Well yes, we do have plenty to do,” said Preddy. “Every road we go down leads us straight back to you. But de doctors don’t want you to try talk, so we going try to spare your voice.”

  “I was going tae ask ye tae write, but both of yer arms look a bit fragile,” said Harris. “I’m going tae ask ye a series of questions. Nod once for yes. If the answer is naw just keep still, okay?”

  “Paper,” whispered Darnay.

  “So, you happy to write?” said Preddy. “Fine.”

  Preddy put his head outside the room and beckoned to the police guard for the key. He returned to the bedside and released the suspect’s hand from his shackles. Darnay instantly tried to pry the gun from the detective’s holster, but Preddy held on to it firmly and used his weight to body slam Darnay’s chest, pinning him against the hard mattress. The invalid cried out in pain and swore loudly. Harris pointed his weapon at Darnay’s temple and the desperate man gave up his futile struggle.

  “Understand something, man,” warned Preddy. “If you make another move I going shoot you. Not in de leg and not in de arm. De coroner will come get you.”

  “Dinnae let that happen, Mr Darnay,” added Harris.

  Darnay gazed longingly at the window, while Preddy followed his gaze. “If you even made it dere is a five-storey fall for you and if you survive you will be coming here month after month through de door marked wheelchair access only.”

  “He’s naw going tae try anything, are ye, Mr Darnay?”

  “Me nah go nowhere,” Darnay conceded faintly.

  “First we’re going tae talk about the Subaru, then we’re going tae talk about Zadie Merton,” said Harris. “A bullet in yer car matches those taken from a man who shot at ye on the night of Carter’s murder. Did ye kill Carter?”

  Preddy handed Darnay pen and paper which he clasped and held close to his face concentrating intently as he moved the pen carefully over the page. When he handed it back to the detective, Preddy crumpled it and threw it in the corner narrowly missing a nurse entering the cubicle. The detective received a reproachful look as she picked up the paper, unfurling it to reveal a drawing of an oblong with stick legs and something resembling a snout at one end and a curly tail at the other.

  The nurse shook her head at Darnay and retreated from the room with what appeared to be his medication. Although Darnay was in great pain he forced himself not to beg the nurse to return.

  “Officer, gwaan ’bout you business,” he mumbled. “Me done tell you say dem thief me car.”

  “You are our business,” said Preddy. “And you are going to answer de questions.”

  Darnay stirred and cleared his throat, eyeing Harris. “Kingfish done long time you know, yet you still deh here a take up space. Why? You no serve no purpose now.”

  Harris was amused by this, having recognised the reference to the crime team led by an English crime fighting chief years ago. He accepted that all white officers would probably be connected to Operation Kingfish by the public at large for the foreseeable future.

  “Ma purpose will soon become apparent tae ye, Mr Darnay.”

  “I heard dat you and your family all got granted visas, to de land of de Mounties of all places.” Preddy said. “Congratulations. Well done.”

  Darnay went perfectly still and this time the pain really did set in. His temples pulsated and his eyes blinked rapidly. Preddy was pleased that he finally had Darnay’s undivided attention.

  “So, you’re getting your woman and kids out of de way next month, all nicely set up in Vancouver? Just in time for back to school eh? And den you’re going to join dem under a different name,” said Preddy, handing Darnay another piece of plain paper. “Is dat de plan?”

  “One nice big happy family,” said Harris. “I love those. And ye can choose any colour picket fence ye want, doesnae have tae be a white one.”

  Darnay placed the pen and paper on his chest and gripped the side of the bed with his bandaged hand. His eyes began to brim with water.

  “Dere is still a chance dem can make it,” said Preddy wistfully. “You now well you going have to do time. How much I don’t know.”

  “We will see what can be done for ye if ye co-operate,” said Harris. “If somebody paid ye tae do this ye need tae tell us now.”

  “Me never do a damn thing,” mumbled Darnay.

  “What no go so, nearly go so,” said Harris in pitch perfect Patois.

  Darnay raised his eyebrows and for a split second forgot his pain. “But wait, dis white bredda no easy! Me never do it though, me ah talk de truth!”

  Preddy’s lips tugged into an involuntary smile. Jumping from white boy to white brother, completely bypassing white man, was a considerable social leap for Harris, whether he appreciated it or not. Preddy reached into his inside pocket and took out an object which he held up by the window pretending to study it.

  “You know, my kids had rattles when dey were babies. Never dis loud and never dis heavy. I’m guessing dat de nice baby of yours took dis rattle home and your wife’s fingerprints will be all over it. Am I right?” said Preddy. “Maybe even on de bullets inside too? What do you think de Canadian authorities will say if she gets charged with possession of ammunition?”

  Darnay closed his eyes and thought about the grand plans of which only he and his main woman should have been aware. They must have interrogated her and had obviously frightened her into revealing their plans. He would have been a new person in a new land of opportunities and would have started his own bakery in Vancouver, giving the deprived Canadian-Jamaicans some of the tasty treats they missed from back home. The patties, meatloaves, coco bread, cornbread, sugar buns, spice buns, grapefruit soda and ginger beer, he could see them all on the black, green and gold shelves displayed on banana leaves. His children would go to good private schools and benefit from a First World education. They would learn to twang in English like the best of them and probably learn French too.

  Even that outside baby son would be filed for eventually, once Darnay had settled. In his mind’s eye he proudly watched the children graduating from high school in pristine gowns, throwing black caps into the air, clutching that scroll of paper that he never managed to get his own hands on. Paper that would give them a chance to start solid careers, gain great advantages in life and make the most of opportunities that had eluded him in his youth.

  “Wake up, Mr Darnay,” said Preddy, prodding at the patient’s good toe. “Physical evidence does not change. It
does not disappear. It tells it like it is. Give your family a chance for a life, Mr Darnay.”

  Darnay eyes remained closed, but he was listening and he knew that the next words that came out of his mouth could send him to jail for a long, long time.

  Preddy’s phone rang and he listened to the voice on the other end while looking at Harris. “Let’s give Mr Darnay a minute more to think about it,” he said, and they exited the room.

  CHAPTER 30

  Friday, 15 August, 3:12 p.m.

  The concierge acknowledged her with a bow and a smile as she entered the five-star hotel. She walked down the red carpeted corridor, tracing steps taken on previous visits to the premises. Ornate chandeliers hung from the high ceilings and two large well-stocked aquariums provided live distraction for the elite clientele. One contained baby turtles which peeped around the submerged stones and swam beneath the water. The other contained a mixture of small and large colourful fish and plants existing in perfect harmony. She did not bother to greet either of the receptionists who were busy booking in new visitors, and they barely glanced at her.

  Sometimes the door was left ajar, but this time it was firmly closed, as he was not expecting her. She looked up and down the hallway and then put her face close to the door and knocked on it, listening for movement. As she waited impatiently she remembered that the opulent suite took up a good portion of the west wing and he could be anywhere within. Her knocking was more urgent this time and finally she heard his voice.

  “Is that room service?”

  “Zadie.”