Square Snapper (Detective Inspector Burgess) (30 page)

“Have you told Bermuda yet?”

“Not yet but I’m going back to my desk and I’m going to call Archie Carmichael right away. I’ll bet he’ll be pleased.”

Archie was sitting at his desk when the call came through from Hofstein. Everyone immediately sensed his excitement as he talked with the Miami detective.

“That is the best news we’ve heard in a very long time. I’ll pass it on to Detective Inspector Burgess and we will look forward to exchanging information with you. I hope Aaron Jacobs is right with the shipping information. Call me as soon as you know how it goes down. Best of luck. It was a pleasure working with you and, again, I’m so sorry about your partner. He was a great guy.”

“Well, Mrs. Ming, I can’t say as I know him but if you say he’s handsome, then he’s the one.” He went on to explain the conclusions of the Dade County police detective and the results of the Forensic Computer Laboratory regarding the next shipment. “This could be a major bust. I surely hope so. That Detective Hofstein and the kid in the FCL deserve it. Apparently, they worked 24/7 to get a result.”

Burgess looked serious. “I hope it all goes well. Now we need to see whether the Reverend Wylie was in cahoots with our boy Captain. We need to ask some questions of our own.”

Archie stretched his arms over his head. “You can forget talking to Captain. He’s officially not saying anything. We’ll have to get the Americans to interview the Reverend to see if there is a connection.”

“Well, Archie, you have the ‘special relationship’ with the Dade County boys. Can you set that up?”

“I’ll do my best, Buddy.” He looked at the fatigue in the face of his best friend. “You look like you could do with some rest. Why don’t you go home and I’ll finish up here.”

Chapter 65

It was six weeks since Burgess had almost lost his life. Nana was back at home and doing well. The scars on his chest were gradually fading, although it would be a long time before he played any basketball. Lifting his arms over his head was still too painful. The island was expecting its first hurricane of the season and, as it loitered some 300 nautical miles offshore, it sucked all the bad weather away from the island. The sky was a majestic blue, the poinciana trees were flamboyant with their canopy of orange flowers, the oleanders kept producing a riot of pink flowers and the birds had yet to seek shelter from the impending high winds and torrential rain. Truly, it was the quiet before the storm.

Burgess and his team, together with the Canadian forensic experts, had spent many hours putting together the evidence to convict Frenchie, Captain and various lesser dealers. They had still to discover how guns were being imported into the island as Frenchie had decided to follow Captain’s lead and say nothing more. Ja’von Williamson was coming up for trial shortly on the murders of Deon White and Rhonda Mayberry. He was pressing for deportation to a Jamaican prison and the Bermuda Government was happy to oblige. The Croatian government had been grateful for the discretion of the Bermuda police as regards the extra curricular activities of their famous olympic biathlete, whom according to the Croatian press had died tragically in a motorcycle accident while holidaying in Bermuda. It had invited both Burgess and his grandmother to Zagreb for an all expenses paid visit. Burgess was tempted to go with Jacintha and Nana in the autumn when he had some time off.

From time to time, Archie corresponded with Hofstein in Miami. The FCL computer kid had come up trumps and the DEA had managed to intercept the shipment of heroin which had been stuffed into straws and placed inside the corrugated cardboard packaging lining the boxes of foodstuffs imported from Colombia. The DEA had never seen anything like it and were ecstatic to have broken the back of a multi-million dollar drug trafficking cartel. The Reverend William Wylie was charged with drug importation and accessory to murder in the poisoning deaths of the junkies in Florida and Bermuda, although he denied any knowledge of the strychnine and stated that it was his accomplice Menendez who had instigated that. In any event, the Reverend would not be a feature on daytime television for many years to come.

As he drove towards the supermarket on Church Street to pick up his hurricane supplies, Burgess stopped at the traffic light by City Hall. He glanced to his left as a latest model black BMW pulled up alongside him. Music was throbbing loudly from a hi-tech sound system and Burgess’s attention was drawn to the set of flashy hubcaps which kept on spinning, even though the car was stationary. It reminded him of a modern day chariot from the film Ben Hur. He looked over at the driver. The face looked familiar.
Could that be Derek Trott, Deon White
’
s friend?
The driver inclined his head in a brief nod and then roared away as the light turned green. Burgess continued on his way but something nagged at the fringes of his memory.

Back at the station, with a sudden sense of urgency, he rifled around in the drawer where he kept his notebooks until he found the one with the notes of his visit to Deon White’s mother’s house. He knew it! Young Bill had told him that his cousin was “hangin’ with the wrong crowd,” and was spending a lot of money. He even said Deon had ordered a fancy black BMW. He kept scanning his cramped handwriting, anxious to find something more but not wanting to skip anything important. There it was again! Derek Trott had told Inspector Dill that White had got in with the wrong crowd, was flashing money around and even had a BMW on order which was why he had distanced himself from him. Could Trott have been toying with them all? He had the feeling they had all underestimated him. Was he now the new replacement for Deon… or even Frenchie? It surely looked like he had money to burn. He was driving one very expensive piece of machinery. It looked, in fact, like he had taken over the order for White’s car. He was glad he was not in Narcotics. It must be demoralizing to think that as soon as they had several drug pushers in custody, there were plenty more to take their place. It would be as if they never really got their man. He would have to break the news to Inspector Dill and see if he wanted to follow up on it.

While he brewed some more coffee in the office kitchenette, he turned up the radio to catch the lunchtime news. Buttering a slice of toast, he listened half-heartedly as Johnny McCabe talked about the impending storm, a new graduated work permit fee structure, the latest road traffic fatality and, towards the very end, conducted a brief interview with Bermuda’s business darling, Clayton Perinchief, who had announced that morning his intention to run for office. “Just another day in paradise,” he thought.

Acknowledgements

The author would like to thank the following people for their assistance and support during the writing of this book:

Pam and Fred Gilberd, Bradley Yahn, Archie Husbands, Susan Stirling, Kirsten Otterstein, Donald Middleton and Marlen Timm