The Nassau Secret (The Lang Reilly Series Book 8)

by Gregg Loomis

  Except this time it wasn’t bullshit.

  Yesterday afternoon, Chief Quigg himself had ordered the two to meet him at the force’s pistol range way out at North West 22d and 10th. When they arrived, they stood around, sweating in the suits the Chief required they wear when on duty while the Chief fired his required rounds.

  Melchen was fanning himself with his Panama when Quigg growled, “Barker, Melchen, you boys are taking a little trip.”

  Neither man had said anything. When Chief Quigg wanted you to know something, he would tell you.

  “That fella, the Duke, you guys drove around?”

  “We remember,” Melchen said, running a finger around a collar soggy with sweat.

  Miami was a Turkish bath in the summer.

  The Chief reached into his shirt pocket, extracting a Lucky without showing the pack, a trick every patrolman learned. Exposing the pack and how many smokes were left in it encouraged partners to bum.

  He flashed his Zippo, lit the cigarette and said, “Seems there‘s been a murder in Nassau. He wired me this morning. The Duke wants you two to solve it for him.”

  The two detectives exchanged glances.

  “What if we don’t want to take vacation time?” Barker ventured.

  Quigg snorted smoke. “Whothefuck said anything about vacation time? This is regular duty.”

  The two detective didn’t have to look at each other. The Chief was taking two homicide dicks on the citizens’ payroll and sending them not only out of town but out of the country. Neither would have bet he was doing it as a mere favor. But after the Chief had been acquitted on corruption charges a few years back, it didn’t pay to ask questions.

  Within an hour the homicide cops were on an Eastern Airlines flight to Nassau, an amazing feat since wartime regulations severely limited travel by train and particularly by air. And tires and gas for the family car were strictly rationed on an “as needed” basis. Other than the white-jacketed steward, they were the only men on board not in uniform. That, of course, didn’t count the two broads in hats, blue uniforms and white gloves, the stewardesses.

  The Chief, it seemed, was in cahoots with some very influential people.

  Neither Barker nor Melchen had ever been in an airplane before and neither were eager to fly.

  Their apprehensions were fully realized. Shortly after takeoff, with the DC-3 still climbing to a predicted 7000 feet, Melchen lit up a Chesterfield and watched the steward roll a tray down the aisle and begin serving a hot lunch. Just then, the aircraft hit what was later described as an “air pocket.” Whatever you called it, it felt like a roller coaster ride, leaving Melchen’s stomach a hundred feet or so above him. Green peas were rolling in the aisle as the seat belt light belatedly went on. The guy across the aisle had mashed potatoes in his lap.

  An hour and a half later, the two detectives, independently of each other, resolved that the return should be by sea as they deplaned at Nassau International. This time it was they who were chauffeured out to what the driver referred to a “Sir Harry Oakes’s estate.”

  Once his bags were removed from the trunk (“the boot,” their driver insisted on calling it), Barker’s first impression of Government House was of a large, two-story house on a slight rise overlooking a bay. As he and Melchen got out of the old but well-kept Rolls Royce, his impression changed: Large, two-story house on a slight rise with a line of people going in and coming out, a crowd like someone was giving away red coupons, the ones you had to give the butcher to buy your meat ration.

  “What the fuck?” Barker muttered. “This a murder scene or a circus?”

  “Welcome to Nassau, gentlemen!”

  The two detectives turned to see the Duke himself, cool and smiling in white linen.

  “I appreciate how quickly you came,” he added in that precise English accent Barker was beginning to associate with the British upper crust. “I also appreciate coming straight here before freshening up.”

  “Here?” Barker asked, echoing his partner’s remarks. “This where the murder happened.”

  “Why, yes, of course. If it was murder. Why do you ask?”

  “Because it looks like a traveling freak show, all those people coming in and out. Lord knows what evidence might have been destroyed. And you think we might have a suicide?”

  “Now that you mention it, I see I was wrong in allowing people to walk through the house. Sir Harry was an extremely popular person and I was afraid they might think the government was hiding something if I shut it up. You see, I have no experience in such things. That’s why I called your chief and asked for you two. And, yes, it could be Sir Harry took his own life.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  The Duke shrugged, “As I said, I have no experience in these

  Matters, but I can’t think of anyone who would want to kill him.”

  “I think it would be a good idea to get all those people out of the house,” Barker suggested.

  Should he add “sir”? “Your Majesty”? He had never addressed a duke who was an ex-king. Was there a title for that? Not knowing made him uncomfortable, like having to guess which fork to use at the annual dinner and fancy ball given by the Police Benevolent Society.

  A bag in each hand, the two cops followed the duke into the house.

  Inside, the afternoon sun slanted through louvered shutters, striping the room in light and shadow. Turning on the overhead lights didn’t make things look better, at least for Melchen. He’d seen some pretty gruesome murder scenes but never one like this: The room stank of stale smoke, both wood and an odor Melchen guessed was human flesh. The room where his butcher carved meat (for which he surrendered said red stamps), was a lot cleaner than this. Blood splattered three of four walls and soaked a now water-sodden bed as well as couple of stuffed chairs and a Chinese screen. The victim’s body had been left in place awaiting the arrival of the two Miami cops. It did not require a coroner’s verdict to see the top of the skull had been bashed in and the body set on fire, although blisters on arms and legs could indicate the burning was pre, rather than post, mortem.

  Melchen looked closer. What was that on the screen, a hand print, smeared in the blood now turning an earthy brown? He stepped closer and squinted.

  “Looks like we might be able to lift at least one print,” Barker said from behind him. “Got enough light for the latent print camera or do we need a flash?”

  Melchen shifted his weight, running a finger around his collar although this time not from the heat. “Ah, we need to talk.”

  The Duke spoke for the first time since entering the room with the two detectives. “Do you need me? I need to confer with a number of people outside.”

  Barker shook his head. “You go ahead. We’ll be fine in here. Just please don’t leave the premises. We’re sure to have questions.”

  The Duke was almost to the door when Melchen spoke. “Er, sir?”

  Edward turned to face him, a question on his face.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about this being a suicide.”

  When the door closed behind the Duke, Barker asked, “OK, what is it we need to talk about?”

  “The latent print camera.”

  “What about it?”

  “We were in such a hurry, I left it back at the station.”

  Barker sighed. “Well, we still have the crime-scene camera.” He reached into one of his suit cases and handed a bulky camera to his partner. “Here, hold this while I slide the plates in.”

  Melchen watched Barker stack a pair of Cramer dry plates on the floor and attach the flash unit to the old Kodak. He said nothing but he was thinking how few investigations had turned out well when they started so poorly.

  50.

  (partial)

  TRANSCRIPT OF TRIAL OF ALFRED “FREDDIE” DE MARIGANY FOR THE MURDER OF SIR HARRY OAKES

  October 18-November 12, 1943

  In the Supreme Court of the Bahamas

  Lord Justice Overbrook presiding.
/>
  Sir Alfred Adderly for the Crown

  Godfrey Higgs, Esq. for the defense

  Transcript: Edward Taylor, Certified Shorthand Reporter

  Partial transcript of Mr. Higgs’s October 20 cross examination of James Barker:

  Q: Now, Detective Barker, if you please, remind me how long you have been with the Miami Police Force.

  A: Ten years give or take.

  Q: And in that time, how many murders have you investigated?

  A: I’m not sure.

  Q: Give me an estimate. Ten, twenty?

  Sir Alfred: The Crown objects, m’Lord. The witness has testified he is not certain.

  Mr. Higgs: He’s the prosecution’s expert witness, m’Lord. His inability to remember how many homicides he’s investigated goes to his credibility as well as to his memory.

  The Court: Overruled. Proceed, Mr. Higgs.

  Q: Shall I have the reporter read back the question, Mr. Barker?

  A: No, That’s OK. I’d estimate a hundred or so.

  Q: And in these hundred or so murder investigations did you take fingerprints?

  A: Whenever possible.

  Q: If you please, describe the process.

  A: It’s not complicated. You sprinkle black adhering powder over the surface which sticks to the oils we all have in our skin. Then we gently brush away the excess. Then we use a special camera to photograph the print.

  Q: Is that what you did in this case?

  A: Not exactly.

  Q: Explain, please sir.

  A: Well, er. . .

  Mr. Higgs: You look uncomfortable, Detective. May I fetch you a glass of water?

  Sir Alfred: m’Lord, the Crown objects to Mr. Higgs characterizing the witness. The jury can tell whether he looks uncomfortable or not.

  The Court: Refrain from characterizing how the witness appears, Mr. Higgs. You may proceed.

  Mr. Higgs: Thank you, your honor. Now, Detective, you were about to explain why you did not use the special fingerprint camera.

  A: I mistakenly left it behind in Miami.

  Q: Forgive me but could you speak up? I have a slight hearing disability.

  A: I mistakenly left it behind in Miami.

  Q: I see. Well, you had another camera with which you took photographs of the scene, did you not?

  A: We did.

  Q: And where, might I ask, are those?

  A: Might I have that glass of water?

  Mr. Higgs supplies a glass of water from the supply on counsel table

  A: Thank you.

  Mr. Higgs: You are welcome. Now, those photographs, where are they?

  A: There aren’t any photographs. The plates got exposed somehow on the way back to Miami.

  Mr. Higgs: I’m sorry?

  The witness: (raising his voice) The plates were destroyed by being exposed to light somehow on the way back to Miami.

  Q: I see. But you did succeed in lifting a print, did you not?

  A: We did.

  Q: That would be the print you identified as belonging to my client, Freddie de Marigany?

  A: Yes, sir.

  Q: Between you and Captain Melchen, who found the print?

  A: I did.

  Q: Do you remember the date?

  A: July 9th.

  Q: You are certain?

  A: Yes.

  Q: July 9th is not an approximation?

  A: No.

  Q: I believe in your report you stated you found the print on the

  Chinese screen in Sir Harry’s bedroom.

  A: Correct.

  Q: Captain Barker, I direct your attention to the Chinese screen I had brought into the courtroom. Is it approximately the same size as the one on which you found the print allegedly my client’s?

  Sir Alfred: M’Lord, the Crown objects to Mr. Higgs having Captain Barker testify about an object not in evidence

  The Court: Mr. Higgs?

  Mr. Higgs: The defense does not contend this screen has any evidentiary value. It is the witness’s memory we are testing.

  The Court: Very well, you may proceed. But first, how much longer will you require this witness? It is almost 4:00 and the Court intends an afternoon recess.

  Mr. Higgs: Thank you, your honor. We are within ten minutes or so of finishing with Detective Barker and would very much like to do so before the afternoon recess.

  The Court: Ten minutes it is. But, be warned, the Court frowns on missing tea and I rather suspect the members of the jury feel the same.

  (General laughter in the audience.)

  Mr. Higgs: Detective, please point to the place on that screen that would correspond to the place on Sir Harry’s screen where you found the print. In fact, please step out of the witness box and place your hand on the place.

  (The witness does as requested)

  Mr. Higgs: Let the record show the witness is pointing to the upper right hand corner of the screen. Is that correct, Detective?

  A: Yes, sir

  (witness returns to stand)

  Q: After you and Detective Melchen made your inspections of the murder scene, and at the request of the Governor, you made a written report, did you not?

  A: We did.

  Q: But there was no mention of the fingerprint.

  A: I found it an hour or so after the report had been given to the Governor.

  Q: I have here a report noting the discovery of a fingerprint, date July 19, signed by you and marked Defendant’s Exhibit 12 (hands it to witness) Is that your signature?.

  A: (Witness examines document) It is.

  Q: Read the third line from the top, please sir.

  A: (Witness reading) “I noted a heretofore undiscovered fingerprint at about the center of the Chinese screen.”

  Q: So, would it be truthful to say that (Mr Higgs holds up a finger) One, finding that finger print was of such insignificance that you waited ten days to report it and (Mr. Higgs holds up second finger) second, that print was of such insignificance you can’t even remember where on the screen you found it, a fingerprint that is the sole shred of evidence connecting Freddy de Marigany to the murder?

  Sir Alfred: We object. . .

  Mr. Higgs: No more questions, your honor

  * * *

  Partial transcript of Mr. Higgs’s November 11 direct examination of Dr. Hugh Quackenbush:

  Q: Dr. Quackenbush, as a fifteen-year fingerprint expert with the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation, are you familiar with the process of lifting fingerprints?

  A: I am

  Q: Describe it for the jury, if you please.

  A: A black powder, or accurately, dust, is sprinkled over the area. If any of the oils contained in and on human skin are present, the powder will adhere to it, revealing the print’s presence. Lifting it consists of pressing an adhesive tape, like Scotch Tape, against the print.

  Q: Once lifted, then, the fingerprint becomes portable, correct?

  A: Once lifted and applied to a solid surface, like, say paper in a file, yes.

  Q: But the lifted print could be applied to any solid surface, right?

  A: Correct.

  Q: A hypothetical question, Doctor: Let us assume a person leaves his fingerprints on, say a drinking glass. Let’s further assume someone for reasons of their own lifts those prints and moves them to another substance, say a Chinese screen. Is there any way those pre-lifted prints could be detected as not being original?

  Sir Alfred: The Crown objects to the question as calling for an opinion based on facts not in evidence.

  The Court: Mr. Higgs?

  Mr Higgs. I will rephrase. Doctor, In your opinion, was that single print taken from an original source or was it moved from one place to another?

  A: Definitely moved.

  (outburst in audience)

  The Court: (banging gavel) Order! I will have order or I will clear the courtroom!

  Mr. Higgs: Sorry, I’m afraid I missed that. What was your answer?

  Sir Alfred: Your honor, I note that the
only time my brother only needs answers repeated are those favorable to the defense.

  The Court: Is that an objection of some sort by the Crown?

  The witness: I said, the print had definitely been moved from some other place.

  Q: (by Mr. Higgs): How do you know that?

  A: (Witness holds Crown’s Exhibit 36) This is a print of a right thumb. It is shown upside down.

  51.

  427 Lafayette Drive

  Two Nights After Gurt’s Return from London

  Braves closer Craig Kimbrel blew a ninety-six-mile-an-hour heater right past the batter for the final out in the ninth, preserving a two-run lead.

  Lang turned the TV off. “Guy’s incredible. Led the league in saves last year, looks like he’ll do it again.”

  Father Francis agreed. “With two on base, it was close. Aut vincere aut mori.”

  Lang stood, stretched and returned to the depression he had made in the sofa’s cushions. His hand went to his face, stopping just short of the bandage that had replaced the stiches. “Consequences of losing aren’t that severe. In the World Series, maybe.” He nodded toward the den’s bar. “Nightcap?”

  Francis thought a moment before, “Best not.”

  Overhead, Lang could hear Gurt’s footsteps as she checked on Manfred one last time before crossing the hall to the master bedroom. Both men glanced upward.

  “Great dinner, good ball game,” Francis said, the comments of a man not quite willing to come to the point yet.

  “That mean you haven’t quite finished your research?”

  Francis grinned, white teeth brilliant against the black face. “You know me too well.”

  “Scienta est potential. But apparently not enough to get you to find out what you can about the Oakes murder investigation.”

  “Actually, I think I will take that nightcap.” The priest held up an empty glass.

  “Help yourself.”

  Francis stood and crossed the room. The cubes remaining in the Sheffield silver ice bucket rattled as he shoveled them into his glass.

  “I have learned enough to say that Edward, the then Governor General, appeared to botch things from the start. The question is whether or not he intended for the investigation to flounder.”

  Lang stood, crossed to the bar and looked remorsefully into the empty bucket before padding barefoot into the kitchen and filling it from the ice maker.