Square Snapper (Detective Inspector Burgess) (16 page)

The voice mail on the very private line played the unmistakable honeyed drawl of the Reverend William Whylie announcing he was unavailable.

“Houston, we have a problem,” he muttered into the mouthpiece and hung up.

Close by, Archie and Burgess sat on their favourite bench at Albuoy’s Point. They each had grabbed a sandwich from the deli and were sitting going over the morning’s briefing. They watched as a luxury motor yacht slipped its moorings at the Yacht Club. It had to be one of the largest boats there and its graceful lines and throaty engines were causing quite a stir with those lunching on the Club’s terrace. In the park, the breeze off the harbour was refreshing and a homeless man was sleeping under a tree, his empty bottle of rum in a brown paper bag next to him. They could watch the ferries coming and going as they plied their way through the whitecaps around the harbour. From time to time a fast ferry would come in from Somerset. The water was a vivid deep turquoise and offered a stark contrast to the yellow-green of the island’s vegetation and the brightly coloured houses with their gleaming white roofs. The air was thick with humidity and both police officers were grateful for each gust of cooling wind. It was, as Detective Inspector Burgess put it “a two handkerchief day”, adopting and adapting the expression coined by Gonzalez. He took his second clean handkerchief out of his pocket to mop his head and the back of his neck. It was hard to stay groomed in this heat.

Archie looked at him. “If you wore shorts and a golf shirt in the summer, you’d stay cooler!”

“Not all of us have the legs for them, Arch. Nor the biceps for those golf shirts!” He liked to rib Archie about his body building. It had become almost a thing of vanity for him to have a well-muscled torso. “You going to enter for next year’s body building competition?”

“Hell, no. You have to diet all through the summer and I can’t handle that!”

“Archie,” he said, feeling his way. “Changing the subject, I can’t help wondering whether the Jamaican was tipped off the other day. Why did he leave the house when he did? If you hadn’t been there, we could have lost him. It takes time to put together a team to do a raid and we probably would have missed him.”

“I know, I wondered about that too. Thing is, only Pamela, De Souza, me and a couple of clerks were in the department at the time the information came back from Jamaica. I’m not even sure if De Souza was aware what was going on at the time anyway. I left about five minutes later just to check out the address. It was right as my shift ended. I wasn’t even on duty. That’s why I had my own bike. Good thing too. I’m not sure a patrol car could have chased him in that traffic.”

“Yeah, we got lucky. Could be he just always speeds and you happened to be there. Somehow, it smells to me more like he got spooked, and that’s what’s worrying me.”

“You don’t suspect Pamela, do you?”

“Right now, I don’t suspect anyone, but I do think we need to be cautious with any new information and maybe we should lay a trap for the people who had access to the info from Jamaica soon after it arrived.” He could tell Archie was getting uncomfortable with the thought that Pamela would be included in that group but pressed on. “We need to exclude everyone so we can work unfettered in the future. If we do have a mole, then we need to get them out of the picture and find out who they’re reporting to. I’m thinking of planting a different piece of false information for each one of those people. If one of the pieces of false information goes further, then we’ll know who leaked it.”

“Okay, I’m with you. What do you have in mind?”

Detective Inspector Burgess pulled out his notebook and he and Archie began to plot.

Chapter 31

The Reverend Whylie was ecstatic. His grand plan was coming to fruition, single-handedly cleansing the greater Miami area - and parts of other cities too - from the parasites that were a drain on society. He was in the throes of putting together an impassioned sermon condemning the sinner and extolling the virtues of clean living. Later he would practise it in front of the mirror, carefully choreographing his gestures and modulating his voice for the benefit of the camera. He knew that this way he was at his most seductive and could mesmerize both his live and TV audiences. A well orchestrated close-up could translate into greater donations and he knew how to work that camera. God, how he loved his life!

He sat back to contemplate his good fortune when in walked his “very personal” assistant. She was a beach-bleached blonde with large breasts and high heels that exaggerated the length of her legs so as to appear almost cartoon-like. “Bambi-esque”, was how he thought of her. Nobody amongst his overly paid and highly discreet administrative staff expected for one minute that she could actually type, or that those breasts were real, but they were smart enough to keep those thoughts to themselves. The Reverend had met her at a party in Hollywood some five years earlier. She was an aspiring starlet and, with her career going nowhere, had figured that she had found her “big break” with the Reverend. For his part, he had been estranged from his wife for several years, having parked her in a large mansion in Palm Desert. Both had a tacit understanding not to delve too deeply into each other’s private lives. As long as the Reverend kept the cheques coming and paid her country club dues, his wife was content to go about her business. In this way, they avoided the scandal of a divorce, something that was not well regarded in the Reverend’s line of business, and could both still have their freedom to live their lives as they pleased.

She walked over to him dressed in a well-cut suit with a knee-length, tailored sheath skirt. Only the Reverend knew that she wore no underwear underneath. He loved to think he could peel up that skirt in as little as three seconds. Not for nothing did he keep a comfortable leather couch in his office. It was a huge joke to him to have his way with her whilst on a conference call with his church colleagues. He enjoyed watching her move as she came towards him feeling aroused.

“There’s a message on your red phone.”

The news disturbed the Reverend. Very few people had the number to his private telephone. No member of staff was allowed to touch it.

“Come over here, baby.” He beckoned to her.

She knew that look and began to unbutton her blouse, a provocative smile upon her lips. The Reverend reached over and picked up the red phone. As he listened to the message his face clouded and he abruptly pushed her away. He could tell she was affronted and knew he had better make amends or he would pay for it later.

“Sorry, Honey. Some bad news. I need to be alone for a moment. Why don’t we get together for dinner this evening at that French restaurant you like; wear the emeralds I got you. They go great with your eyes.”

Immediately she smiled for real.

He tried to keep the disdain from his face.
How obvious you are.
I can distract you with a false compliment and a dinner just as easily as a dog with a ball.
God, how he was tired of stupid people. It was time for a change. He deserved better. As she left, he picked up the red telephone again. He felt uneasy. He wondered what the problem could be and steeled himself for the conversation to come.

“Brother Whylie. It’s been a long time. How are you?” His friend’s voice was the same as always, or was there an underlying note of tension? The Reverend was unsure.

“Always good to hear from you, Clay,” he drawled. “Although I have to say your message was a little cryptic.”
Best to feel his way on this
.

“You may have heard about the heroin poisonings in Bermuda?”

“Can’t say as I have. Tell me more.”

His friend began to tell him more about what had transpired in Bermuda. “The police are all over this here and the island is too small for this kind of thing.”

This time the Reverend did catch a tremor in his friend’s voice. This must be bad. In all the years he had known him, he had never heard him sound so unglued. “I hear you, Brother. Let me talk to Jefe and get things straightened out. He must have mixed up a shipment for another customer. How much are you in the hole over there?”

“I’ll see what I can do. By the way, I understand congratulations are in order; ‘Insurance Personality of the Year’. Great news, my friend. Next you’ll be running for office.”

They hung up. The Reverend was displeased. His day was now in ruins and he was going to have to pay three million dollars to keep his friend happy. Never, not even to his old college friend, would he admit that he was the instigator of the poisoned heroin. The time was not right for that revelation. He realized that there was much more groundwork to do educating his followers and convincing them over the months that these deaths were for the benefit of all. Good over evil, etc., etc. He would need to make an impassioned case for the need for America to free itself from the leeches that sucked the lifeblood out of its morality and economy. Yes, he liked that analogy. That would appeal to the business people too. He could talk about “If your right hand offend thee, cut it off.” That, he thought, as a theme had promise. What he needed to develop was a popular backing for society to be cleaned up in this way. He was sure he could sway the millions in his congregation. As for the money, it wasn’t that he didn’t have it; it was the principle of the matter. Cujo Menendez’s group had screwed up and sent over some poisoned heroin. This could somehow get connected back to him. He did not like mistakes and would have to take it up with Cujo.

Back in Bermuda, the insurance executive was uneasy. The conversation did not sit well with him. How could Whylie not have heard about the heroin in Bermuda when he knew about his insurance award? Both were local news. If he knew about the award, he had to have heard about the heroin. Why did he get the feeling his friend was not on the up and up? He had always been a loose cannon, even at college. Something was amiss and it only served to make his mood darker.

Chapter 32

“Detective Sergeant, could you come into my office for a moment?” Burgess hated the subterfuge, yet he had to know for sure if there was a leak in his department. “I just wondered if you could give me an idea of how things are shaping up with your investigations.”

De Souza was happy to chat, making Burgess feel even lower than before. He fervently hoped that De Souza was clean. He was one of his favourite detectives; a good interrogator, conscientious investigator and one who was definitely destined to go places. Feeding him false information was a risk as he might become suspicious. Burgess tried to sound as casual as he could. “Keep this to yourself for now, but it looks like we may have a lead as to the owner of the boat.”

“Really? That’s great news. Maybe that’s the ‘Drug Baron’ we keep hearing about.”

“I surely hope so. There’s no telling where this case might lead or who we might end up putting away. I just hope it’s not someone in the Government. Very messy, if that’s the case and reflects badly on the island. Anyway, that information is between you and me for now.”

“Sure thing. I hear you.” De Souza got up and left. Burgess felt terrible. He heard the sergeant leave the office and called in the first of the two clerks.

Mrs. Ming had been with the department for several years. Burgess enquired of her family and how her research was coming along. She had been liaising with the Narcotics Division and was helping them in the bid to find out the name of the ‘Captain’.

“It’s not been as easy as we initially thought, she said.” Burgess realized she thought this conversation was going to be a reprimand for slow work.

“I understand, Mrs. Ming. Don’t worry. Rome was not built in a day. However, between you and me, and keep this to yourself for the moment, it looks like the Jamaican is going to give up the name of this Captain character.”

“That would be wonderful and save us a lot of time and effort. In any event, I’ll keep trying until you tell me he’s confessed.”

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Ming. Thank you.” God, he hoped the staff did not find out what Archie and he were doing. If they did, there would be a mutiny on his hands. Morale would plummet and he would probably be demoted. He hoped he was doing the right thing. He also wondered for the first time whether he should have mentioned something to the superintendent. Somehow, he just could not bring himself to tell him his suspicions. The superintendent would jump all over it as a reflection on the way he was running the department. In any event, hopefully he would have an indication as to whether he was right or wrong in a few days. If there was a mole, then he would tell the superintendent that he had brought to him his findings “ay-sap.”

Archie was going to take Pamela out to dinner that evening and pass on information that Gonzalez thought the heroin was being doctored here and then sent to Miami. He hoped she would fall for that, because she was no fool. He was sure that if she found out she was under suspicion and being duped, Archie could kiss that relationship goodbye. Burgess sent up a silent prayer for his friend. Hell, she might even resign and he would be left without a competent budding detective. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone and dialled the extension of the second clerk. “Mr. Furbert, could you come in for a moment and update me on what you’re working on?”