Square Snapper (Detective Inspector Burgess) (7 page)

Burgess had his notebook ready to stick in the dog’s mouth, in case it decided to attack. It was a trick he had learned from a young Mormon missionary who had apparently used his Book of Mormon to save him from serious injury on more than one occasion. He walked up the steps to the front door, took a deep breath and knocked.

A woman in her late thirties opened the door. She was dressed in shorts and a strappy top. Her hair was in corn rows and, from photographs of the son, Burgess immediately saw the family resemblance. He introduced himself and was reluctantly allowed in. She let him know that she was Deon White’s mother. He made a mental calculation and noted that she must have had Deon when she was about sixteen. In the dim light he could see that her face was puffy from crying and behind her, in the living room, there was an assortment of friends and relatives of all ages. A pall of smoke hung in the air from their smoking and through a window he was relieved to see that the dog was tied up on the back porch. It was hot and the air conditioner was not doing a great job. With all the body heat and the smoke, the air was pretty near unbreatheable. Burgess hoped his asthma didn’t kick in. From time to time, with weather changes and smoky conditions, he would need to resort to his inhaler. He hated to use it on the job. It always seemed to him to look like a sign of weakness.

“I already told you, you can go ahead. Get on with it.” Burgess couldn’t tell if she was being hostile or if she was just naturally lacking in social graces. He chose to think the latter.

“Known acquaintances?” She mocked. “Deon don’t have no ‘known acquaintances’. He had his ace boy, Derek. Derek and him would go out evenin’s like. Come back around 4:00 in de morning. Come to think of it, I ain’t seen Derek around here for a while.” Burgess began to feel queasy. He hoped Derek was still alive… or could Derek be the killer?

“Where were you yesterday morning?”

“Um gotta work. I was up to my job in Smith’s.”
(She pronounced it
“
Smiffs
”
)

“Who do you work for, Mrs. White?”

“Um workin’ up to de Inghams. They have a big house on Harrington Sound. Um up there all day cleanin’. Then I took de bus into town to do some shoppin’. I got back late. When I got back…” She began to sob. “I called a coupla times then walked over to his house. That’s when I saw…that’s when I saw all de blood.”

No matter what sort of a mother she had been, his heart went out to her. No mother should have to wonder if her son had been brutally killed or even killed someone himself. Either way, the future looked pretty bleak for her. Burgess reluctantly pulled out his spare handkerchief and gave it to her. She blew her nose loudly.

“Keep it,” he said.

He stayed a little longer collecting information on Derek and Deon’s activities from the assembled group. He noted Derek’s address in his book and then made his way out into the fresh air. His clothes stank of smoke and his mood had deteriorated but, as he was walking around the side of the house back to his car, a young voice stopped him. It was Deon’s younger cousin who had come outside. He glanced furtively back towards the house and Burgess could see the boy had something on his mind.

The boy hesitated a long while and Burgess allowed the silence to grow. “You see, Deon was hangin’ with a new crowd. Sometimes he asked me to hold money for him when he was bettin’ on the dogs.” Burgess knew he was referring to the illegal fighting of pit bulls. “He told me he was into some new business and making a lot more money. In fact, he was waitin’ for a new black BMW with them cool alloy wheels and that blue light that shines underneath the chassis. Anyways, his new boss hangs on Court Street and wanted him to pick up some merchandise for him. I helped Deon patch up his inflatable dinghy and this Jamaican dude came over. He was scary; had a tattoo on his neck.”

“Okay, you go home and I’ll take care of this. Thanks for letting me know. For now, it can be between you and me. What’s your name?”

“Bill.”

“
Bill?
” Burgess could barely keep the incredulity out of his voice. No designer name here; just plain Bill.

“Yeah, my mom had a crush on Bill Cosby.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Burgess grinned. “Well, Bill, you can be my “CI”, my confidential informant. Let me know if you hear anything else and, be careful. These guys aren’t fooling around.”

“I know. I scared,” said the boy.

As he moved off, Burgess secretly wondered if his cousin’s murder might be a turning point for Bill. On a whim, he turned back and gave him his card. “Why don’t you come and play football with us one evening? You play?” Burgess was referring to a police community programme where they played football with any kids interested in coming to the games.

Burgess’s mood started to lift. Not only had he come away with another new lead, but he might have done some good for the boy. He snapped open his cell phone, dialled Pamela and said, “Can you get me a search warrant?”

Chapter 15

Archie was hot and tired. He and three other narcotics officers had been tracking down confidential informants and minor league dope dealers. The only thing that really came out of the talks was that the drug community was jumpy. The tainted heroin was ruining business but apparently the addicts who had managed to hold out for a time were now so desperate they no longer cared if they played Russian roulette with their lives.

Archie was pleased. He enjoyed these breaks in the day and the opportunity to chat with his best friend. Albouy’s Point was a favourite Hamilton haunt for him. It was always breezy and he liked looking out across the harbour and watching the kids learning to sail the little “Optimas.” He hoped he could get a park bench for them.

A few minutes later Burgess came strolling over.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Preston,” he called out as he passed the blonde English lady painting the children sailing. Her paintings had become familiar in the local art community. Burgess wished he had the money to buy one for Nana. He knew she would love the vibrant colours of the water which provided a stark backdrop to the small boats with their crisp white sails. They would remind her of an earlier, quieter, more carefree Bermuda, when you walked to school, obeyed your parents, went to church on Sundays and life was conducted at a gentler pace.

The pair of police officers sat on a bench eating their fish sandwiches. Any tourist looking at them would have thought they worked for one of the international insurance companies Bermuda was so well known for. Little would they guess the real nature of their business. Burgess took out his notebook and commented back to Archie on his interview with Mrs. White in Spanish Point. Archie was immediately alert when he heard what the young cousin had said.

“This could be it, Buddy. We need to get in contact with the authorities in Jamaica and see if they have this guy’s prints on file. Fingers crossed. This could be the big break… and how many men have a snake tattoo on their necks? It’ll be hard to keep that hidden in this heat.”

“I know. I’m thinking that we need to give this information to the press. With Cup Match coming up, we have got to get this guy arrested and a grip on the drugs.”

“I agree, there’s no time to lose. I’ll call Pamela and see if she can get an answer from Jamaica one way or another today.”

“Thanks, Archie. What’re you doing over Cup Match? Because of the murders, I’ve been able to hand over my Cup Match duties so I wondered if you and a date might like to come over for a barbecue on Wednesday evening.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I was thinking of seeing if Pamela might like to come along. I like her. She’s cool. Why don’t you see if the lovely lady pathologist might join us?”

“Archie, we’ve had some information on the heroin from our guys in Vice. Usually, heroin coming into Miami is from South American countries, Caribbean islands or Mexico. They think that these shipments are probably coming in from South America. The cities that are their primary entry points are Miami, New York, Newark and South West border towns – mainly in Texas. From what their informants are telling them, they believe these particular shipments are coming in from Colombia. So far, it seems as if Miami has been the prime target.

Apparently, this time they came sewn inside a shipment of teddy bears and other assorted soft toys. Doesn’t it make you sick? What if a child got one of those toys by mistake? Kind of reminds you of when they were sending dope sewn inside the bodies of Vietnam war soldiers whose bodies were being repatriated. Do you remember hearing about that? These people stop at nothing. Anyway, let me get off my soap box. Seems the contact this end is a guy known only as ‘Jefe’, which means ‘boss’ in Spanish, although word on the street is that he’s not from Central or South America. In fact, he’s not even Latino but nobody has ever seen him.”

“Whoa, this really is a global business. I’m not in narcotics, so I’m learning more and more and you’re right, they’ll stoop to anything to transport the stuff.”

“Yeah, I got accused today of being lousy at geography. One thing I do know is where Colombia is,” Gonzalez chuckled. “Anyways, we’re now trying to get a bead on this ‘Jefe’ character and his operation. I imagine he will only be one layer. This business is like peeling an onion, my friend. You gotta keep peeling away the layers until you get to the core… which is usually very, very rotten.”

“Good analogy, Gonzalez, very poetic. At least you didn’t flunk English!” They both laughed.

“And you should hear me in Spanish. Anyways, I’ll keep you posted.” He signed off.

Archie turned to Burgess. “That was Gonzalez. They traced the shipment in from Colombia. Go figure. I wonder if it came in poisoned or if that happened when it was processed in the U.S. Anyway, he’s on the case and it looks like there could be a big cartel behind this one. It’s coming in stuffed in soft toys. I would imagine they’ll be tracing any new shipments of stuffed animals. Looks like they could have a break in this.”

A few storeys up from where Archie and Burgess chatted, a heavy-set businessman spun around in his executive leather chair staring out of floor-to-ceiling windows to get a glimpse of his new 110 foot Sunseeker motor yacht moored at the Yacht Club below. He was a grizzled, brown skinned Bermudian. Everything about him shrieked money; from his polished Italian shoes to the expensive suit specially tailored to hide his girth, to the flashy diamond in his signet ring, this was a man who obviously enjoyed the finer things in life. His office reflected his taste for the expensive. The cream carpet, thick enough to hide a golf ball, was complemented by cream silk padded wallpaper. There was none of the minimalist look here; imported European antiques contributed to the room’s opulence and at its centre, in front of the spectacular view of the harbour, stood the focal point of the room: a magnificent antique partners’ desk. Those, however, who had sat on the other side of it well knew there was no equality here. They were definitely the underling and, no matter how high up in the hierarchy of the company, were made to feel just a little intimidated by the sheer proportions and extravagance of the office. And one should not be fooled by the furniture from yesteryear. The Louis XIV credenza housed an impressive array of electronics which, with the touch of a button, could operate television, curtains, doors, projection screen and an array of lighting. Although there was a company no smoking policy, this office was redolent with the pungent aroma of last evening’s cigars.