Square Snapper (Detective Inspector Burgess) (13 page)

De Souza had already arrived as had the prisoner’s lawyer. Burgess greeted them both, pleased to have the chance to watch De Souza in action. He was good at interviewing and managed to get a lot of information from his suspects. Burgess was introduced then took a seat on a chair to the side of the prisoner. This way, the prisoner would have to turn his head to look at him. Folding his arms, he prepared to observe him. His job was to keep quiet and hopefully unnerve him. The Jamaican would wonder what power Burgess might have to cut a deal. With the tape recorder on, De Souza began.

After the formalities for the sake of the recording, De Souza stunned everyone by noisily slapping three photographs of the dead girl on to the table in front of the prisoner and going on the attack:

“Let me give you a piece of advice. If you’re planning on living outside the law, you may want to get an unlisted number. Putting your number in the phone book just shows what an amateur you are!”

The Jamaican froze for a moment then rose to the bait.

“You Bermudians in your fancy suits always looking down on us…” He almost hissed, his voice so low and menacing that his slow, sing-song accent seemed at odds with its sinister tone. “You t’ink for one minute you could survive one day in Kingston? In my country, you’d be dead in no time, stripped of your fancy gold jewellery and your condescending ways.”

The three Bermudians in the room were shocked at the hatred emanating from the prisoner. It was palpable. They all tried to keep their faces impassive but a glance towards the lawyer told Burgess he was rattled too. The atmosphere in the room had changed from neutral to supercharged in the space of seconds. Everyone wondered whether De Souza’s tactic might have backfired. Burgess was intrigued to see how De Souza would proceed.

De Souza appeared unfazed and decided to ride out the silence. When it seemed that the interview was going no further, he whipped out two more glossies and banged them on to the table. Ja’von flinched at the undue force. These were a photograph of the blood spattered crime scene at Spanish Point and a morgue picture of what was left of Deon White.

“We’ve got your fingerprints on the zodiac and spear gun. We’ve got your fingerprints in the truck. We’ve got your DNA and fingerprints at the house in Spanish Point. We know Deon was killed with a knife. What’s the betting that turns up… and with your fingerprints on it? What’re the odds that you’re the one who killed him? If you are, then you’d better ask for a blood test.”

The tension in the room expanded like a cloud, making everyone catch their breath. Burgess looked at the face of the Jamaican. Now he knew what they meant by the word “ashen”. He had literally turned grey.

“What you mean, mon?” The voice was weak, all hostility drained from it.

De Souza was on a roll. “We have reason to believe that Deon White might have been HIV positive. If so, with all that blood spray, if any got in your eyes, or your mouth or an open cut…” He let his voice trail off. “If it did, then he may have just killed you back!”

Burgess was stunned. What was De Souza playing at? Jacintha had made no mention of HIV. He sat rigid watching the scene play out. He noted the use of the words “might have been HIV positive”, hoping that would stop this from being termed entrapment. The lawyer next to him said nothing.

“Now, we know you’re an amateur, so I’m going to keep betting that you’ve left a whole lot more clues and we’re going to nail you. Let me remind you, we have the death penalty here and…” De Souza paused for effect…“You murdered a Bermudian. We don’t take too kindly to that. Your cell mates sure won’t cut you any slack. If I were you, I’d start talking… and fast.”

The Jamaican emitted a deep sigh, looked at his lawyer and then said, “If you want me to talk, you’d better stop dissin’ me… and let me get a blood test.”

Burgess marvelled at De Souza’s composure. He showed no sign of triumph, but he now had proof that Williamson had killed White.

“Did White not show you respect? Is that why you killed him? Got an ego problem, Ja’von? Too many people recognizing you’re not as smart as you think?”

“You can’t get me for killin’ White. You have no evidence that I killed him.”

“Yeah, it’s a clear case of suicide. He stabbed himself to death, wrapped himself in a tarpaulin, weighted himself down with paint cans and then jumped overboard. Oh, and he might have given you HIV just by shaking hands with you.” De Souza was deliberately sarcastic.

Ja’von’s neck was pumping. Burgess could not stop looking at it. The snake was doing its dance. He knew they were close to a definitive breakthrough.

“You want me to talk, then make me an offer I can’t refuse.”

Bingo! He
’
s taken the bait. Good job De Souza.
Burgess hid his elation.

De Souza made a show of looking across at Burgess who nodded and after about twenty minutes of having to leave the room while Williamson spoke to his attorney and more macho posturing from the prisoner, they finally managed to give him assurances that a deal might be cut if he could provide information that could lead to a conviction of others involved in the drug ring. The interview then began in earnest and the Jamaican’s voice filled the room.

“White and I were told to go and pick up the product.
(He pronounced it
“
proh-duct
”
)
We were chosen because we both can dive and have wetsuits. Plus White had a rubber inflatable with an outboard motor. The product was about a mile offshore and we found it with the GPS location finder.”

“Remember, we’ve got enough evidence to convict you for the girl’s death, so you may as well come clean now.” De Souza desperately wanted to get him to confess to at least one of the murders.

Ja’von was not going for it. He was obviously not as stupid as they thought. Strike one for the police. Burgess knew the legwork that would be involved without a confession.

De Souza changed tack. “Where did Deon get the rubber zodiac?”

“How should I know? He already had it and it was obviously not that new. Frenchie gave him money for the outboard motor, though. The one he had wasn’t very reliable and we needed more horsepower.”

When the Jamaican did not add anything further, De Souza prompted. “Tell us how the drugs got dropped off. By plane or by boat?”

The Jamaican sighed and looked at his lawyer. His lawyer nodded.

“A boat dropped them off. Some fancy guy’s yacht. The captain is a friend of Frenchie.”

Burgess began to take note. This was new. Could this be the kingpin they had heard existed or was the Captain doing some business on the side of which the owner was not aware?

“Was this a sailing yacht or a motor yacht?”

“It was a motor boat. Big too. I heard the engines and only saw it from a distance but the moon was pretty bright and I could see all that fancy satellite shit on the bridge.”

“Any idea where the boat came from?”

“No, mon. How should I know all that stuff?”

With the information from Gonzalez and Hofstein, Burgess assumed it had come up from Florida; perhaps from Ft. Lauderdale or Jacksonville. He made a mental note to check with Marine and Ports for boats coming to Bermuda from the South East coast of the U.S. around the date of the girl’s death. It would be hard to verify. Patrolling the coastline was a nightmare and many a boat could come in close without lights and not be spotted. An idea began to take root in his mind. Perhaps he could enlist the help of Johnny McCabe to see if they could tease out information from the general public. Many times fishermen would be out at night and would see things that they would not report to the police. He wondered if they might get lucky. If there was a case that had got the attention of the general public, it was this one and maybe they might be more disposed to come forward, even anonymously. He wanted to know the name of that boat and who owned it. He felt a renewed sense of urgency and purpose. Excusing himself, he left the room and headed back to his office.

“Yeah, turns out he saw it once on a CSI episode. Some murderer got HIV from slashing the throat of his victim and getting blood in his eye. He thought that it might work here to put some pressure on Williamson.”

“Well, I’m impressed. De Souza - that wily dude!” Archie couldn’t stop chuckling.

“You’ve got that right. You should have seen him in action. He should join the Bermuda Drama Society. He’d get the lead role in all their productions! Arch, I’m thinking of giving some of this information to the press to see if we can get a response from the general public. You know how often the fishermen see things they don’t bother to report. We might be able to get them to call in to Crimestoppers. In the meantime, I need you to get over to Marine and Ports and check out any boats coming into Bermuda. Harbour Radio might have something. Also, do you think we might be able to get satellite photos of Bermuda on the night of the girl’s death? I’m wondering if the satellite might be able to pick up any marine activity around the island that night.”

“I’m on it!” Archie was not hopeful, but knew they had to do the due diligence. He thought he might call Gonzalez to see if he could assist with obtaining satellite photos. That was something he’d never done before. What about that Google website that zeroed in on wherever you wanted? He wondered if a night photo at a certain time would be possible or was this something to ask Gonzalez. Perhaps the CIA or NASA could help.

Chapter 25

Johnny McCabe was delighted to be called upon to help with the investigation. He and his cameraman set up the conference room at police headquarters ready to interview Detective Inspector Burgess. Burgess, for his part, had primed McCabe as to what he wanted to achieve. He knew that the type of questions the reporter would ask could allow him to launch an appeal for information on any suspicious boats or activities inside or outside of the reef. He hoped that this might help their investigations regarding the origin of the poisoned heroin and, who knew, by giving out the Crime Stoppers Anonymous telephone number, they might get lucky.

On the other hand, maybe they would not. Some Bermudians had called into the People’s Corner saying that they were glad to see the back of many of the addicts and that the tainted heroin would teach today’s kids to stay away from drugs and put the pushers out of business. Some had even gone as far as to say it was a message from God telling people to stay away from such sinful habits. Burgess marvelled at the range of opinions on one tiny island. Little could he know that the poisoned drug was the brainchild of someone with quite similar, albeit grossly skewed, thought processes.

McCabe asked him general questions regarding the different cases, how they were connected, the investigations so far, and the impact on the hospital’s morgue. (Burgess knew Jacintha would not be amused by this). However, he had been primed by the police’s Department of Communications and was able to field those questions adroitly. McCabe also led into the question of activities on the water the night of Rhonda Mayberry’s murder, allowing Burgess to launch his appeal to the public.

However, now that he had the Detective Inspector in charge of two murder cases as a captive audience, McCabe could not resist probing a little further.

“We understand that you have the alleged murderer of Rhonda Mayberry and Deon White in custody. Any information from him as to who is behind the importation of these drugs?”

“He is cooperating fully with us and, although I cannot talk about the details of our discussions, he has provided us with some interesting leads, one of which is the fact that the drugs were brought over by boat. That is why we are asking the general public if they may have seen any suspicious activities on the water the night of the murder of Miss Mayberry. We also know that the boat would probably have had to come into Bermuda to refuel. It therefore may not have carried on to another destination. So, as far as we know, it’s likely it’s still here. That is all I can tell you right now.”

McCabe was thrilled. This was dynamite! Could the boat belong to a Bermudian? He had heard the rumour about a drug lord who was high up in Bermuda society. This could be the beginning of a huge story. Even though McCabe was no investigative reporter, he could feel his curiosity and reporting juices flowing. The desire for a career boost was positively energizing. As the police’s first line of contact with the press, he was well positioned to break anything important first.

“Do you think the boat belongs to a Bermudian? Could this be the so called ‘drug baron’ you hear rumours about?”

“I really cannot add anything further to what I have already told you.”

McCabe recognized the standard ploy of “broken record” sentences. The Detective Inspector would begin repeating that same thing a million different ways. This interview was effectively over and he would get no more from the policeman today.

“Okay, that’s a wrap,” he said to his cameraman. “Detective Inspector Burgess, we’ll have this on the lunchtime radio today, seven and eleven o’clock TV news tonight and again on the radio tomorrow morning. I hope we get lucky with this. Keep us posted and, if we can help again, we’d be happy to.”