‘Sorry, boss. Just come from the hospital.’
‘I’ve asked you all here at this late hour to summarise the situation in the Carol Barrington case. I think all of you are aware now of the serious attack on this lady, a thirty-seven year old woman from England. He indicated a photograph, obtained from Carol’s passport, on the white board behind him. The attack took place at her holiday home at Batts Rock and we urgently need to find the perpetrator. It’s important that we keep up the momentum.
The victim is in intensive care in the QE. She hasn’t woken up yet – and is unlikely to for some time, if at all. She’s being put into a medically induced coma to protect her brain. The hospital has advised us that her skull is fractured in two places, and she has concussion. They fear she may also have a bleed on the brain, and if that is the case, this could well turn into a murder enquiry.’ He looked around at the sea of faces and saw that he had their full attention. ‘We’ve got two DC’s stationed at the hospital; they’ll let us know when we get the go-ahead to interview the victim, if and when she regains consciousness. We’ll see then if she knows who her assailant is.’ Turning to DI Phillips, he asked ‘Anybody see anything, James?’
James, who had been leading the team of PCs conducting house to house enquiries, said ‘We’ve spoken this evening to the occupants of all the neighbouring properties. Nobody saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. A young couple staying at the house next door, noticed the two women on the terrace, watching the sunset. They then went out, and returned at about two o’clock, went straight to bed and didn’t hear or see anything. The people renting the first floor apartment, Elizabeth and David Henderson, were away overnight, staying at the Crane Beach on the south-east coast – we sent someone down there to check and their friends and staff, all corroborate this. The Hendersons didn’t return until...’ he consulted his notebook ‘six o’clock this evening.
We also spoke to the housekeeper, Josie Wark. She last saw the victim yesterday. She only works four days a week and Saturday’s one of her days off, otherwise she would have found Carol herself, this morning. She was extremely upset. She doesn’t know of anyone who could have done this, and is not aware of Carol having seen anyone since she arrived on the island, other than her step-daughter and the couple from the upstairs apartment.
I’ve spoken again to Simon Barker, the step-daughter’s husband, who found the victim, and also his wife, Fiona. Simon mentioned that Fiona’s brother, Jack Barrington, has a grudge against the victim. Apparently he resents Carol for splitting up his parents, as he sees it. He’s on the island, staying with the Barkers. I’ve arranged for him to come into the station first thing in the morning.’
‘Simon Barker volunteered this information?’ the DCI asked.
‘He did. And his wife was furious, I can tell you,’ he grimaced. ‘Of course, she doesn’t believe her brother could have done it. The Barkers are putting together a list of the names of anyone on the island known to the victim.’
‘Yes, DC Sands has just emailed the list through,’ said the DCI. ‘About twenty five names on it. I want them all checked out, together with all the contacts in her phone and tablet. Who, if any, of those contacts is currently on the island? Have any of them left the island today? See if any have any previous. If you find anything significant, I want to be advised immediately.
I want her text messages examined and her ipad analysed. See if there’s anything that may be of interest on there. I want all this done overnight, if I can have some volunteers?’ A sea of hands went up. ‘Thank you. Now, are there any questions, or anything to add?’
‘I can see if any of my informants have anything. I’ve got a very reliable contact.’ DC David Morgan spoke up.
‘Do that, Dave.’ he said, standing up and looking around the room. ‘I’ll get an update in the morning.’
DCI Brown left the room and general chatter broke out amongst the team. As the door was closing, he overheard one of them speculating about the bad publicity that would ensue, particularly if the vic died. He couldn’t agree more; the murder of a tourist would definitely not be good news for the economy of the island. He decided to try for a complete press embargo on this case until progress had been made.
CHAPTER TWELVE
On the outskirts of Holetown, DC David Morgan pulled the unmarked car into a secluded lay-by just off a remote country road, and switched off the lights. He waited, listening to the wind rustling the sugar cane leaves. Before long, the passenger door was opened and a young dreadlocked Rastafarian slipped into the passenger seat. As always, he smelt strongly of cannabis.
‘Well, Moses, what have you got for me?’
‘Aint got nothin’ man. ‘Cept, no way a local done this. Got everyone checkin’ but no names comin’ up. Word is, it’s a visitor.’
‘Not a local? You sure about that?’
‘Never steered you wrong before. This is so big, man, word woulda got back straight away. Take it from me, he’s not from here. We woulda known by now.’
‘Is there anything else?’
‘No man. But still checkin. Anything more comes up, you’ll be the first to know.’ Moses put his hand out for the small roll of dollars DC Morgan proffered, before opening the door and melting away into the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The following morning, DCI Louis Brown was ready for business by six, having snatched a couple of hours sleep on the sofa in his office. Just as well I’m single now he thought, as he grabbed a coffee from the machine in the corridor, before wandering through to the MIR, where those who’d stayed behind were still at their desks, bleary-eyed.
‘Any luck?’ he asked, stroking his newly-shaved chin with one hand, cup of coffee in the other. He could swear he could already feel new stubble coming through.
Eddie, one of the support team looked up. ‘We’ve found a couple of people on the victim’s contact list who live in England, and are in Barbados now. One of them is Jack Barrington, who we already know about.’
‘We’re interviewing him later this morning.’ said the DCI.
‘The other is Sir Ralph McIntyre Brown. He has a villa near Sandy Lane Golf Club. He comes out to Barbados every year, but not usually as early as November. There was a third, one of her tenants, but he returned to the UK two days prior to the attack.’
‘Good work, Eddie. We’ll follow up on this McIntyre Brown. Anything from the phone or ipad?’
‘Nothing of any interest in the text messages, sir. In one of the victim’s emails to her step-daughter, sent more than a year ago, she mentions feeling stalked by her ex-husband, Saul Harrison. We’ve checked, but there’s no record of him entering Barbados, but he’s known to us – conviction in the UK for GBH about fifteen years ago. Ex-SAS.’
‘Interesting. Find out what you can about him. What about the names the Barkers’ supplied? ‘
‘We spread them amongst the team.’ Eddie said, turning to a fair-haired young man seated on his right.
The young DC spoke up. ‘One of those on my list, Tony Meadon, is in England. I’ve checked, and can confirm he’s been there for a week, so he’s ruled out. Another, Julien Roberts, was hosting a party in his villa. I’ve spoken to his wife, who corroborates this, but I’m also going to speak to a couple of the guests, to be sure. The third, Jason Jones, was in his restaurant all night, then drinking with friends until the early hours. A few members of staff have confirmed this, so I believe we can rule him out. The fourth is one of us, and he was on duty that night – DS Jacob Smith. I’ve got two more to check on. He turned to a young constable sitting near the end of the table. ‘Marilyn?’
The PC studied her notes. ‘Of those on my list, Damien Errington was in the QE hospital, all night, following a fall at his villa. Hospital staff have confirmed this. The second, Dale Arnold, is a doctor, at the same hospital, and was on duty that night. Again, confirmed by staff. The last two are both pilots., Saul Bostock was on St Lucia that night and Edwar
d Bates was, and still is, in the States. All confirmed, so all four can be ruled out of the enquiry. I’ve got a further three to check up on.’
A civilian support worker was next. ‘I had the gardener on my list, one Raol Alleyne, age twenty-three. He says he was at home, alone, that night. No-one to corroborate this. Lives alone, on the outskirts of Prospect. He’s been the gardener there for four years. No previous. Said he bumped into Mrs Barrington in the supermarket that morning. Just said hello and sorry for her loss. I’ll keep him on my list, see what I can find. The other four all checked out, with cast iron alibis.’
A young, Bajan PC reported next. ‘I had six on my list; four have checked out, no problem. One, Aidan Pearson, is a guy they used for small DIY jobs, I haven’t been able to track him down yet. He’s not at home and not answering his phone, but I’ll keep on it. The last one, Margaret Miller, I still need to speak to.
‘Thank you. Good work, all of you. Now, I want those of you who’ve been here all night, to go home and get a few hours rest, once you’ve done your paperwork. And thanks again for your dedication.’
Bumping into DI Phillips as he left the office, the DCI brought him up to date with what the team had unearthed during the night. ‘Get in touch with this McIntyre Brown and set up an interview for later this morning.’
‘Will do. Jack Barrington’s coming in at nine. That’ll give me time to give Sir Ralph a call right away.’
‘We’ll both see Barrington.’ the DCI said. ‘Let’s see what his grudge is and what he’s got to say for himself.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘Jack Barrington?’ asked DCI Louis Brown, coming through the door of the interview room, balancing a couple of files and a paper cup of coffee. From his seat at the far side of a small table in the centre of the room, Jack nodded. The DCI pushed the door to, with his hip, and plonked the files on the desk, placing his steaming coffee alongside.
‘DCI Brown.’ Louis said, extending his right hand. Jack hesitated, looking a little nonplussed at the sight of the huge black policeman towering over him, before grudgingly leaning forward and shaking his hand. Limp, sweaty handshake noted the DCI.
‘Thanks for coming in. Did DI Phillips explain what we wanted to ask you about?’ The DCI took a seat opposite Jack.
‘He said it was to do with the attack on Carol Barrington. Dunno what it’s got to do with me,’ he replied, somewhat belligerently, eyes downcast. ‘He asked if I would come voluntarily into the station to give a statement. So, here I am.’
‘Can I offer you anything to drink?’
Jack shook his head, just as DI Phillips came through the door and sat himself down next to his boss. The DI put a note in front of Louis, Meeting with McIntyre-Brown 1.00pm at the Yacht Club.
‘Morning, Jack. DI James Phillips.’ They shook hands. ‘We spoke on the phone. You found us alright, then?’
‘Everybody knows where the police station is,’ said Jack, in a sullen tone, looking down at the desk.
Clever shite thought Louis, observing him. Young-looking for twenty-nine, slightly built with a mass of dark brown, unkempt hair. He had an unhealthy pallor, despite having been in Barbados for nearly four weeks. He obviously didn’t spend much time in the sun. Judging by his body language, he certainly wasn’t happy to be talking to the police, and he was having great difficulty making eye contact.
‘Jack,’ said DCI Brown, ‘we’d just like to ask you a few questions. You are not under arrest and are free to leave anytime you want to, ok?’
‘Ok.’
DCI Brown continued. ‘On the night that your stepmother…’
‘My late father’s wife,’ Jack interrupted, looking up at last. ‘She’s no mother of mine, step or otherwise.’
‘Alright; your late father’s wife. Can you tell us where you were on the night Carol Barrington was attacked? That would be the night before last.’
‘I was out on the town,’ said Jack, shortly
‘We need to know a little more about where you went, who you saw and what you did that night.’
‘Am I a suspect then?’
‘No, you are not a suspect. At this stage, we’re simply trying to eliminate people from our enquiry. Now, would it be true to say that you’re not the biggest fan of Carol Barrington?’
‘It would,’ Jack said with a sneer.
‘And why would that be?’ asked James. Louis could tell he was resisting the urge to reach over the table and shake the unhelpful little shit.
‘I can’t stand her. But for god’s sake I would never attack her. And as for raping her, that’s gross.’ Jack pulled a face.
‘What makes you think she was raped?’ asked the DI, looking up sharply.
‘Well... I assumed. That’s what everyone’s saying. Wasn’t she?’
The DI ignored the question. ‘What’s your history with her? Why do you dislike her?’
‘She split my parents up. She’s just a gold-digging tramp.’
‘Gold-digging? Why do you say that?’
‘He was a lot older than her. She had to have been after his money. She made sure he didn’t give me any more cash once she’d got her claws into him. Wanted him to make me stand on my own two feet.’
‘I can see that wouldn’t go down too well,’ said the DI, with irony. ‘So, let’s go through what you actually did on the night in question. In your own words.’
‘Since I got your phone call last night, I’ve been thinking, trying to piece the night together. I thought you would ask about it. I left my sister’s place about nine,’ he said. ‘The trouble is, I got stoned quite quickly. After I left Fi’s place, I caught the bus into Holetown and scored some drugs straight away.’
‘What did you take?’ asked the DCI, leaning forward.
‘Just weed, but it was bloody strong stuff. Let’s see… I remember watching a transvestite show at Ragamuffin’s ‘cos one of the ‘ladies’ made a fool of me. She didn’t like me smoking at the table and the stupid bitch stopped her Shirley Bassey act and came over to my table. Oh look folks, he’s smoking! she announced to the whole fucking room. Then she actually took the cigarette out of my mouth and ground it out in the ashtray. Everyone was laughing. I wasn’t going to put up with shit from an old tranny like that, so I left.’
‘What time was that?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose you could check with Ragamuffin’s to see what time the show was on. I think it would be about half past ten.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I hung around for a while in the main street. There were a lot of people there. You know what it’s like in Holetown. Real party atmosphere. I was drinking, smoking weed and people watching... I think I can remember having a burger at some point, but I don’t know where I got it from. I’ve got no memory of getting back to Fiona’s. I must have got a taxi, I suppose. The next thing I remember is waking up at about midday the next day. That’s when I found out what had happened to Carol Barrington.’
‘How did you feel when you were told?’
‘I thought it was karma.’
In response to prompting from DI Phillips, Jack confirmed he’d been alone in Holetown. ‘I spoke to a few people, as you do, but I don’t remember seeing anyone I knew.’
‘Is there anyone that could confirm your whereabouts that night?’ asked DC Phillips.’
‘I told you, I didn’t see anyone I knew. I suppose the staff at Ragamuffins might remember their star turn humiliating me.’
‘Hmm...’ said DCI Brown. ‘So, no-one can vouch for you. Did you speak to Fiona or Simon when you got back to the restaurant?’
‘I’ve told you I can’t even remember getting back.’
‘And you think you got a taxi home?’
‘I must have done. It’s a bloody long walk. One of the taxi drivers might remember taking me. I think they keep records? Are you going to charge me then? Do I need a solicitor?’
‘No, we’re just try
ing to establish the facts at this stage, Jack. However, we’d like you to voluntarily give a DNA sample. Do you have any objection to that?’
‘Cool. I’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘Thank you.’ The DCI turned to the DI, ‘James, can you arrange that before Jack leaves?’ Turning back to Jack he said ‘We might need to speak with you again. We’ll let you know if you need your solicitor present.’ With that, the interview was over.
Once the DNA swab had been taken, Jack left the station, after confirming that he was not planning to return to the UK for a month or so. From the window, Louis watched him lean against the wall of the station, light a cigarette with trembling hands and inhale deeply before crossing the road to the nearest bar.
‘Check with the taxi drivers to see who took him home, and at what time,’
the DCI instructed James.
‘Already on to it, boss.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DCI Louis Brown and DI James Phillips made their way past the sleek, black yacht moored at the quayside. Very nice thought the DI. As the manager led them through the open-air restaurant, he noticed the sumptuous buffet set out under the vaulted wooden canopy of the Barbados Yacht Club. There was an array of beautifully presented dishes. He saw grilled lobster, crayfish, caviar, poached salmon and langoustines, all nestled in crushed ice. In the carnivorous section, there was a huge side of roast beef, and barbequed suckling pig, alongside an array of salads, vegetables, pasta, rice, even Yorkshire puddings.
‘How the other half live,’ muttered James, under his breath. ‘I’ve just realised, I’m starving.’ As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since his granola several hours ago.
‘Keep your mind on the job, Phillips.’ Louis replied in mock severity.
They followed the black-suited Manager through to the farthest end of the open air restaurant, past the swimming pool set back on the terrace, to the table where Sir Ralph McIntyre-Brown was swirling his after lunch drink in a huge brandy glass. The DCI introduced himself and his colleague, before apologising for interrupting his lunch. Sir Ralph, he noted, was a man of about sixty five, of distinguished appearance, tall, with silver streaks in his once dark hair. Dressed casually, but immaculately, in a white Gant short-sleeved shirt and navy blue knee-length shorts, he had a military bearing with a hint of self-assured arrogance that only the super-rich seemed to acquire.
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