“I killed your fudge packer. Fair’s fair, right? If you kill me you’ll be spending the rest of your life making new friends at Westgate. Bet you’ll like that.”
David straightened. “I said shut up.”
“You could make it easy on everyone. Toss yourself over.
There’s no one to miss you now. You’d be doing the world a favor—”
“Animal.” Imani lunged at him, taking Daryl by surprise, knocking him back toward David and Chris. She scratched his face, wringing a curse from him. He back-handed her, sending
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her sprawling to the ground at his feet. He reached for her, momentarily forgetting David now less than a foot away.
David hurled himself at Daryl, who dodged aside, throwing Imani back on the ground. He grabbed David’s arms and the two cartwheeled backward across the flooded causeway. David’s head slammed into the pavement, knocking Daryl’s hands loose.
He fell sideways, smearing his face with cold sea water. Before Daryl could recover David crab-crawled out of Daryl’s reach, toward Chris.
“Only good faggot is a dead faggot, my poppa always said.”
“I said shut up!” David yelled. Daryl only laughed harder.
David was poised to launch another attack when reason penetrated his rage-inflamed mind. Every cell in his body demanded he rid the world of this monster, but killing Daryl wouldn’t save Chris. He reached out and caressed Chris’s cheek.
Chris stirred under his touch. His eyes fluttered open.
“Chris, baby. You’re going to be okay.” He had to believe that.
Daryl wasn’t giving up. He struggled back into a sitting position. “I’ll fucking kill all of you.”
David reached over Chris and smashed his fist into Daryl’s chin. Daryl went down without another sound.
“I told you to shut up.”
He pulled Chris into his lap. When Chris started shaking again, David looked around helplessly. His gaze fell on Daryl and the jacket he wore. It wasn’t any better than the jacket Chris already had on. Then he glanced down at his leather one, which wasn’t waterproof, but still afforded more insulation than denim did.
He stripped the jacket off and wrapped Chris in it as best he could, maneuvering his head back up into his lap where he hoped his own body heat would penetrate. Imani took up position on his other side.
“Is he going to be okay? God, he looks so pale…”
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“He’ll be fine. Won’t you, hon,” David whispered to the comatose man.
Chris moaned again. David hated the sound, but at least it proved Chris wasn’t beyond help. There was still no abatement of the storm. It could drag on for hours. David didn’t think either of them would last that long. Chris was too out of it to stand, let alone let David lead him back to the barrier and aid, or the other way, toward the airport. Would anybody even be there? Was it worth trying?
That was defeatist thinking. He wasn’t going to give up on Chris without a fight. He wasn’t going to let Chris give up, either.
“Is there likely to be anyone at the airport?” he shouted above the wind.
Imani shook her sodden head. “They’d send everyone home after they secured everything.” She seemed to divine what he was thinking. “There will be people at Grotto Bay. They can’t leave the tourists to fend for themselves. You want me to go there?”
“It’s our only hope. I can’t leave him. You can call the police again.”
She nodded and stood up. Immediately the wind whipped around her, tossing her tangled hair around her face. Her jacket flapped in the tempest.
“Godspeed, Imani,” David whispered. “Please hurry.”
She couldn’t possibly have heard him, but she squeezed his shoulder before bending into the wind and forging a path back toward Hamilton Parish.
David bent back over Chris. “Okay hon, this is it. Don’t you damn well quit on me, you hear?”
He had no concept of time passing. Minutes crawled like hours. How long would it take for Imani to reach the hotel? How fast could she galvanize help? He grew stiff, hunched over Chris, trying to shield him from the worst of the storm.
He didn’t hear it at first, the rain muffled all sounds. Then he grew aware of a sound he never thought he’d hear again. A car
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engine. A cop car rolled into view. A grim faced constable drove.
Imani rode shotgun.
The squad car slid to a stop, bumping into the far wall. Before it stopped completely the constable, wearing a rain slicker and looking uneasy, had thrown the door open and scrambled out of the car. Imani beat him out.
David ignored the constable. Imani ran over, dropping to her knees beside them.
“I met Pete on the way out. They got your message and sent a patrol car out. Once they saw the body they got another unit.”
She looked down at Chris. “How is he?”
“Not good.” He continued to hold Chris in his lap.
“Constable Pete?” Imani pointed at Daryl. “This is the man who killed my father and brother.”
“And who are these other people?” Pete asked, eying both Chris and David uneasily. He paid particular attention to David’s battered face.
David looked up. “I’m the one who radioed in when I found the constable’s body.,” he indicated the unconscious man. “Daryl killed the man before we got here.”
A second vehicle appeared out of the rain. An ambulance.
David muttered a prayer of thanks. He stood back as two EMTs hustled first Daryl, then Chris into the back of the ambulance.
They ran some routine tests on David and Imani.
“You both need to check in to the hospital when you get back. We’ll take these two.”
“Chris has been ill lately. He just got over a bad flu. I think that’s why he’s so weak.”
The nearest EMT nodded. “We’ll take care of him, sir.”
“Come with me,” Pete said. “The two of you will ride in my vehicle.”
David and Imani climbed into Pete’s squad car. It was a far different ride than his last one. Pete accommodated them by BeRMudA heAt
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cranking the heat up. Even with the welcome warmth flowing over him, David couldn’t stop shivering. Beside him Imani wasn’t doing any better.
They passed through the recently moved barrier and pulled to a stop in front of a second squad car. An older Black constable stood beside his vehicle, conferring with the EMTs.
“I need to go with you,” David heard him say. “This man is under arrest for suspicion of murder.”
The EMTs looked unimpressed. It was David’s observation that emergency workers figured they had seen it all.
“He’s probably hypothermic,” one of the EMTs said. Both men looked at the battered Daryl, but made no comment.
David glanced at the lead car, where one of their own had been butchered. A pair of crime scene techs were already at work going over the car interior. A coroner’s wagon waited on the sidelines. Their job never had to be rushed. Sirens screaming, the ambulance carrying Chris and Daryl raced down North Shore Road toward Hamilton.
“You want to explain yourself, sir?” Pete said. When he saw David’s reluctance he added, “I’m going to find out what went on tonight. With your cooperation we can keep it short. Without it, I’ll take you both back to the station.”
David sighed, trading looks with Imani. He was done with the bullshit. He asked. “And who exactly are you?”
“Constable Peter deGraz.”
“Okay, Constable deGraz. I’m David Eric Laine, LAPD
homicide detective. What do you want to know?”
“You can start by telling me who that other man was. The one who looked like the storm did a real number on him, with fists.
The one this young lady seems to think murdered her father and brother.”
“And that other police officer,” David said. “That’s Daryl. I think he killed my brother, Jay. He also killed my father.”
“Who was your father?”
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“Joel Cameron.”
“The man who was just murdered? You’re Joel Cameron’s son?”
“David Laine,” David said. “Visiting from L.A.”
“He’s an LAPD homicide detective,” Imani said proudly.
“Weren’t you recently in custody for that murder?”
“Yes, and I didn’t do it. The murderer was that man, Daryl Billings,” he glanced at Imani. “This is my half-sister. I came to Bermuda to meet my family.”
“How did it happen that you were arrested for the murder of Joel Cameron?”
The question didn’t surprise David. He shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure that out,” David muttered. “But I assure you, I didn’t do it.”
“I think it would be best if you come to the station with me, after all,” Pete said. “We need to clear this up.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know Chris is all right.”
Pete frowned. “What is your relationship to this Chris?”
David hesitated only a couple of heartbeats, then he drew himself upright and met Pete’s eyes. “He’s my husband.”
David had to give the young constable credit. He didn’t blink when David dropped his bombshell. He merely nodded and wrote it down in his notebook.
Then he flipped up his mike and radioed the ambulance.
David could barely hear the disembodied voice at the other end, but Pete was nodding by the time he broke off the call.
“It appears your, ah, friend is going to be fine. The hypothermia isn’t serious and he didn’t lose any heart or brain function. They want to keep him at King George overnight for observation, but they assure me it’s just a precaution.”
“Fine. Let’s get this over with then. Call my lawyer, Aidan Pitt. I won’t talk until he gets there.”
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So David ended up back at the Hamilton Police Station. Imani was taken to a separate interview room to give her statement.
This time David was served coffee. The constable even brought him a reasonably fresh muffin. By the time he finished it, Aidan had arrived.
Once again he went over what had happened since he and Chris had arrived on the island. This time though, he seemed to have found a more sympathetic listener. Pete recorded the entire interview, then had David sign a copy of the report—which he read over carefully.
“I hope you’re a better cop than you are a client,” Aidan said once Pete left with the report. He pulled up a chair and sat down.
He must have been pulled out of bed, he looked more rumpled than David had ever seen him. “I don’t think I’ve had anyone give me as much trouble as you and Chris.”
David played with his empty coffee cup, twisting it around in his hands. “Yeah, well, let’s just say I know how a homicide dick’s mind works and they like things easy. And I wasn’t about to make it easy for them.”
“I guess I can understand that. But you really put yourself at risk with this stunt. You’re just lucky it worked out.”
David already knew that. He didn’t need Aidan to remind him; all he had to do was think about Chris’s slack face and what had nearly happened because of his “stunt.” “What’s going on with Daryl? Is he in the hospital too?”
“Yes, he is,” Aidan said. “He has some serious injuries from his exposure. I gather he didn’t cooperate.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Yes, well, it turns out Daryl Billings has quite a string of charges against him under a couple of assumed names. Mostly aggravated sexual assault, which is notoriously hard to prosecute in Bermuda. Most were dropped for lack of evidence, but he was finally put into mandatory counseling, which he failed to attend.
Not that anyone did anything to follow up. But murder…” Aidan shook his head. “No one saw that coming. We don’t have a lot
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of experience with these ‘psychopaths,’ I think you call them.”
“I’ll wager if you take a closer look at his stay in Florida you might find some unsolved rapes there. Maybe worse. These guys escalate; the thrills get harder and harder to reach, so they have to increase the savagery of their attacks just to achieve the same stimulation. I think that’s why he came home early. I suspect it’s what Joel found out about him.”
“I’ll let the police know that.” Aidan actually smiled. “I know they’ve collected enough DNA evidence to convince even the dullest jury to hold Daryl accountable, once they run the proper tests. That, plus the trace evidence they collected from the site of Joel and Jay’s murders, will no doubt point to Daryl.”
“So, when do I get my passport back? And Chris’s camera and laptop?”
“That should be returned within twenty-four hours. I’ll need to settle up with Chris as well. I hope he’ll be satisfied with my final bill. Will you be leaving right away?”
“Yes—no. Oh hell, I don’t know. I have to talk to Chris first.”
David tore the rim of the coffee cup. “At the very least I need to go to my father’s funeral. I can’t very well leave without doing that. I owe it to the whole family, if nothing else.” Especially Imani, but he didn’t say that part out loud.
Finally he was allowed to leave. Back at Aunt Nea’s he used Chris’s BlackBerry to put in a call to Des. He got lucky, as Des hadn’t gone to bed yet. Of course, he reminded himself, L.A. was five hours behind Bermuda. It was barely evening there.
“Des, hon, good news,” he said, trying to sound cheery, knowing Des wasn’t easily fooled. “We’re in the clear. We’ll be coming home soon.”
“Great. Now where’s Chris? Why didn’t he call?”
“Ah, well Chris is in the hospital until the morning—”
“The hospital? I thought you just said everything was okay.
You were supposed to look after him. What is it with you and him that you can’t stay out of trouble for five minutes? What’s BeRMudA heAt
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he in the hospital for anyway?” Left unspoken was “this time.”
“Hypothermia,” David said, knowing that was going to trigger a new blast. Des didn’t disappoint him.
“Hypothermia? How the devil do you get that in the fucking tropics? This is because he was sick last month?”
“I don’t know, Des.”
“It is. I knew he shouldn’t have gone. I can’t believe he would get sick again after all that. Tell me what happened!”
“It’s a long story. I’ll let Chris explain it all to you tomorrow.
Suffice to say, he’s fine. We should be back early next week.”