Murder in Montego Bay Paula Lennon
PROLOGUE Sunday, 19 July, 5:01 a.m.
The man looked up when he heard the purr of an engine. He slumped low behind the steering wheel and watched as his target’s white SUV slowed to a crawl and passed his vehicle. His heart palpitated as he reached for his weapon, fondling the cold steel. This job had to be quick, clean and smooth. A better opportunity was unlikely to ever arise. It would provide no real enjoyment, no job satisfaction; it was a necessary act. The target unsuccessfully tried to open the electronic gates protecting his home. The gunman smirked, knowing that the security system’s controls would not respond. A small dog ran out to the gate and yapped sharply in excitement. The man’s smile faded. He had never liked dogs; they were annoying, needy creatures who shat anywhere they wanted to. He pressed on the unfamiliar accelerator and grimaced as the noisy engine sprung back into life. Sweat trickled from his neck down his back as his chest heaved and fell. Inhaling deeply, he could smell his salty odour mixed with fear and adrenalin. He stared through tinted glasses at his target, a young brown-skinned man who alighted from his vehicle to inspect his security system. The mark showed no indication of being disturbed by the noise of the engine as he forcefully pushed the heavy gates aside. The gunman lowered the car window. He inhaled again,
more deeply this time, taking in the fresh, clean air. He advanced towards the target who was heading back to his SUV and hit the brakes. Three explosions followed; two bullets for the man, one for the pup. The perpetrator scrambled from his car, tugged at the victim’s limp wrist and checked that the job was done. More explosions rang out as the gunman jumped back into his vehicle. They were not from his gun. The shots ricocheted off the car’s bodywork and he heard the distinct crack of the rear windshield. Startled, he slammed down on the accelerator and sped away.
CHAPTER 6 Monday, 20 July, 11:00 a.m.
“We’ve got a possible lead on the suspect’s vehicle, sir. Look at this guy, Marcus Darnay,” said Harris, swivelling round in his brand new chair, oblivious to the jealous stares of the detectives across the open-plan floor. “Lives right here in Mo Bay. Seems tae have quite a criminal record.” “Dat name is familiar,” said Preddy, as he walked towards the Scotsman. “Looks like a right dodgy so and so,” added Harris. “Well, we won’t judge him on whether he can enter Mr Universe, Detective,” replied Preddy with a tight smile. Preddy stood over Harris’s shoulder looking at the heavy set, insolent face that filled the computer monitor. The tiny dreadlocks, the wide eyes set far apart over a broad nose bridge, the square stubble jaw. Marcus Darnay was a drug dealer who had once referred to himself on customs documents as a pharmaceutical entrepreneur. Here was a man who was intimately acquainted with the criminal justice system and known to all the local judges. Incarcerated more than once for drug-related offences and a few times for theft, he always seemed to spend little time in jail. It was deeply frustrating to Preddy that the police force went to great lengths to apprehend criminals like Darnay only for the court to fail to give them the sentences they
deserved. Sometimes it was the prosecution who blundered and the defence would scupper what should have been a straightforward cruise to conviction. Past experience taught the detective that there was no point insisting on a prosecution with purely circumstantial evidence as the jury would rarely, if ever, bite. Their demand for real evidence was based partly on mistrust of the police and Preddy knew that the JCF had no-one to blame but themselves. There had been no suggestion of Darnay being involved in a murder before, but this was the natural progression for some criminals, particularly where drugs were involved. “Darnay owns a silver Subaru Outback matching the description with a licence plate starting six four seven one,” said Harris. “Do we know where he is?” Harris smiled. “Aye. Invited him in for a chat and he agreed tae come.” Preddy looked surprised. “Dat should be something, Darnay turning up voluntarily to speak to de police.” “Well, we won’t judge him, will we, sir,” said Harris. Preddy was not sure if he detected a tone in the man’s voice and decided to ignore it. With that strong accent anything could be misconstrued. “Maybe he has turned over a new leaf, sir?” suggested Harris after a short moment of silence. “Not Darnay, he is a career criminal,” replied Preddy, shaking his head. “He will just have moved on to de next type of profitable crime.” “I told him tae ask for Detective Spence when he comes in.” “Och, did ye now?” Spence turned to face the man who had taken to delegating interviewees to her. Harris gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, I forgot tae tell ye.”
“What time are we expecting him?” asked Preddy. “In about an hour, sir,” said Harris. “I’ll be down at the lab though, if that’s okay with ye?” * Preddy was on the lookout for Darnay and was disappointed to see the suspect turn up in a taxi and not in his own vehicle. It would have been too good to be true. He would need to work much harder than that to get Darnay. He retreated to the sparse interview room to wait for the new arrival. Spence was already seated and drumming her fingers on the off-white plastic table. Preddy sat in the empty matching chair beside her and positioned another one on the opposite side of the table. “Me ’fraid to come to dis place, you know,” Darnay announced sarcastically, staring at Preddy as he sidled through the door and took up a seat. “Me never bring a bodyguard and me know dat you will beat me, kill me.” “You are perfectly safe here, Mr Darnay. You have my word,” Preddy replied. “I don’t want your word, Misser Police Officer, ’cause I know what it good fah,” Darnay retorted. “Everybody know say you a Dirty Harry!” Preddy was used to this and did not flinch. He held the interviewee’s gaze and said nothing. Darnay leaned forward aggressively and Preddy noted two prominent tattoos on his arm. Names and birth dates of children, he guessed. “Turn on de TV camera! A dat me want!” “Dere is a CCTV camera right over your head, Mr Darnay.” Spence pointed and Darnay’s eyes followed her direction. He was not to know that despite their best efforts it rarely recorded properly. “Thank you for coming in to see us. We are glad you could make it.” “I heard dat you want talk to me and I have nothing to
hide.” Darnay settled back in his chair, jeans-clad legs spread apart, one arm slung over the backrest and the other hovering around his crotch. He leered openly at Spence. “Ask me what you want ask me, natural lady, me well glad fi see you, too.” “We are grateful, Mr Darnay,” she smiled at him. Marcus Darnay, God’s gift to women because He just couldn’t be asked. “Where were you on Saturday night?” The conversation was largely disappointing. Darnay was at the Orchid Bar all night on Saturday until dawn on Sunday morning. He did not know Carter or Lester personally and denied owning any type of gun. The car, he said, was stolen a few days ago and he had not yet got around to reporting it. Neither of the detectives believed this for a minute, but as it was not a crime to fail to report a stolen vehicle, there was nothing they could do. Preddy wished there was such a crime. If a victim did not have a valid excuse, such as being in hospital or off the island, they should be charged with the crime of failure to report. Too many people were using the convenient excuse of being robbed when asked about their vehicle’s involvement in a crime. According to Darnay, he could always find transportation to get around if he needed to. There were plenty of cars in his garage workshop that were either already fixed or in the process of being fixed when their impoverished owners conceded that they could not pay for the service. Reporting the theft of the car had been the last thing on his mind and he expressed his gratitude to the detectives for reminding him about it. Preddy was sceptical of Darnay and his garage. The idea that this criminal could ever have a legitimate business was not credible. Darnay was not stupid enough to take the car there and even if he did, it would have been expertly dismantled into a million pieces by now. The detective knew that there were many places off the beaten track where a car could be
successfully hidden and there were also many precipices over which it could have been pushed, never to be seen again, so thick and deep was the bush. It could even be at the other end of the island by now, parked up in some remote village where unsuspecting residents walked past it every day. Maybe someone had already painted it and changed the licence plates. But then there were the bullet holes. If the Red Hills witness was as good a shot as he thought he was, there would be bullet holes and those were not that easy to disguise. * Preddy stood in front of the whiteboard in the evidence room. With his black marker he began to write the names of the persons of interest as Rabino and Spence looked on intently. Marcus Darnay, Zadie Merton, Kirk Grantham. He hesitated briefly, and decided against writing down the names of any of the officers at Pelican Walk. The team already knew who they were. There would be too much bad blood if any of the officers discovered that they were under investigation and it would be more prudent to file that information in his mind where no feathers could be ruffled and no cliques formed. “Is Harris not back yet?” asked Preddy, glancing at his watch. “No, he went to look at Lester’s SUV. It’s parked up at the lab, sir,” Rabino replied. “Dat white man, you see.” Spence kissed her teeth. “Look from when him gone.” “Don’t be so mean, he might find evidence,” said Rabino with a grin. “He must be good for something or he wouldn’t be here.” “So you say.” Spence sounded unconvinced. “Foreigner can come here and do as dem please.” Preddy did not take the bait and concentrated on the
whiteboard instead. The Glaswegian should have returned by now and Preddy could not imagine what his colleague was still inspecting at this hour. “Darnay. We need to find his car. Get a clean sweep of dat garage,” Preddy said, tapping the suspect’s name. “Can we ensure all parishes know we are on de lookout for dat car?” He waved a photograph at the team. “Zadie Merton, Carter’s girlfriend. A very elusive lady who is not interested in our investigations. Not returning calls to her cell phone. Keep trying her.” “Get dis, sir: Grantham does have a Subaru, too, but a metallic bronze Forrester with a different registration,” said Spence. “Starts wid a four.” “Interesting, Terence Chin Ellis was somewhat suspicious of him,” said Preddy. Rabino tapped her pencil on her notepad. “You can speak to two people who saw the same car drive past them in broad daylight. One will say it was red, the other will swear it was blue. Numbers are always a bit off.” Preddy moved the marker down to Kirk Grantham’s name and drew a circle around it. He took out his cell phone and pressed away for a few seconds, studying the large screen. “Hmm. De weather forecast for the next few days is looking fine,” he smiled broadly. “Who would like to accompany me for a day at de races on Wednesday?” “Caymanas Park?” asked Spence, her eyes brightening. Preddy smiled. “No, not horses, Spence. Nice try.” “Right up my street, sir,” said Rabino. “I love all that Formula One stuff.” “Well, it’s not quite Formula One,” said Preddy. “She just loves de fine young men and de rippling muscles. De cars don’t mean nothing to her,” Spence teased. “You’ll be able to let dat weave down, and flutter dose lashes, girl! Let it
all hang out!” Rabino laughed and threw a scrunched up sheet of paper at her. “You talk too much! I love watching racing cars.” “Well, I guess dat’s settled den,” said Preddy.