The Wife's Turn: The Jacinta Joseph Caribbean Adventures, #3

Monday, 3 February, 6:30 am, Warrington

Miss Jacinta Joseph?

Yes.

Jacinta examined the two police officers in their white, starched uniforms, gold badges and nameplates. They had stopped her in an alley just below Queen Victoria Street in the older business section of the city. She had never seen either man before.

You be under arrest for de operation of detective business without a private investigator license.

Jacinta, who everyone called JJ, decided that it would work out somehow. She offered no resistance, turning around with her hands behind her back.

Something is seriously wrong. Yes, I am running a detective business, and no, I don't have a license, but how the hell did they even know I'm on the island? How did they know anything?

One of the officers locked her wrists together using plasticuffs, then each took an elbow to lead her from the alley to Queen Victoria Street. As they pushed her along the narrow sidewalk, already over-filled with people making their way to early-morning jobs, the crowd made way for the trio to pass, either by pressing themselves against the weathered stone buildings or stepping into the street.

The men were taking her toward Police Headquarters in Warrington, the capitol city of the island nation of St. Theresa, known locally as St.T, a hundred square miles of volcano that poked out of the Caribbean a few million years ago then slowly eroded down to a jungle-covered bump on the placid sea. Warrington, really just a small town of fifty thousand, was ensconced on the hillsides around a tiny harbor with only enough room for one cruise ship to visit at a time.

The buildings that ringed the harbor for the last two hundred years were a mix of stone colonial offices and warehouses. Higher up the slope, awkward concrete imitations of European homes were scattered among wooden shacks painted a riot of pastels.

After a hundred yards of weaving their way through the crowd, the men turned JJ down a second alley, one leading to the wharf area, not to the Warrington police station. This potholed alley had been one of the original streets from colonial times, paved with bricks and cobblestones, edged with concrete ditches to carry the frequent rains down to the harbor, and cluttered with trash cans and broken bits of office refuse.

JJ felt a knot of fear in her stomach. This is seriously wrong—the families are after me again. Dammit! I thought we were beyond this. In five minutes, I'll be on a boat headed for a burial at sea.

JJ waited for the first moment when her captors got sloppy—when their grip on her elbows relaxed. She ripped herself free, spun, then kicked the man on her left in the throat. The kick sent him crashing into a wall, then stumbling through and scattering three trashcans before finally falling backward onto a set of crumbling steps. She spun again to plant her heel in the groin of the other man with a kick hard enough to knock him off his feet into a ditch. There, he rolled back and forth, wallowing in what appeared to be a night's worth of kitchen garbage from a large restaurant, making no effort to get back on his feet.

While the first thug was trying to get air back in his lungs, the second was pressing on his testicles, trying to find a position that would make them feel like a bomb had not exploded in his shorts. JJ ran down Queen Victoria Street with her hands still locked behind her, leaving a string of curious office and shop workers standing on the sidewalk, gesturing wildly while discussing what to do. JJ turned up Cork Street where she followed a policeman through the front door of Warrington P.D., ran up the stairs, then, with her back to the door of the detectives' squad room, knocked loudly.

It's JJ. Let me in.

Lionel Phillips, the island's only police detective, opened the door.

Help me out of these things, she said.

Jesus! Why do you have such a hard time staying out of trouble?

Just cut them off!

Lionel was rummaging through his desk looking for a pair of sidecuts. "I didn't hear a Please."

"OK. OK. I'm a little excited. Please help me out of these things."

Lionel snipped the plasticuffs then threw them in the trash. JJ flopped into the side chair beside his battered oak desk, a desk that looked like it might have spent years as a work bench at some point in its long life.

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Lionel and JJ had worked together on several murders during the last two years since she retired from her job as a homicide detective in New Jersey to return to St. Theresa, the island where she was born. Until now, her retirement had been less than relaxing since the families that ruled the island kept trying to kill her and anyone else that got in their way.

When they first met, Lionel was the vice detective, so he dressed more like someone who had just been arrested rather than a cop. Now, he was the island's only detective, so he dressed like a typical St.T businessman in a pastel embroidered shirt that hung down well past his waist. He was shorter than JJ, about five foot-ten, with her same coloring, a rich milk chocolate.

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Lionel crossed to the coffee maker to refill his cup. JJ noticed how the smell of coffee filled the small windowless office.

Do you want some coffee? he asked.

No, thanks—still trying to give it up.

So, what the hell happened?

I was on my way to Cecily's condo when two guys in police uniforms arrested me for operating a detective business without a license—or so they said.

I haven't heard anything about that.

Right! Well, I figured they weren't cops when they turned down that alley on Queen Victoria Street that heads down to the wharf.

Where are they now?

I left them in the alley, one holding his balls, the other rubbing his throat trying to get some air through it.

Stay here. I'll go check it out.

Lionel left. JJ sidled over to the coffee maker, stood for a moment staring at the glass pot, half full of fragrant black nectar, then crossed the office to sit at an empty desk, drumming her fingers. The desk had belonged to a good cop who the families killed the previous year.

She called her sister using her cellphone.

Warrington Insurance, Brigette Dearden speaking. How may I help you?

It's JJ. Listen. The families tried to kidnap me again this morning. Make sure you don't go anywhere alone for a few days. You know what happened last time.

Damn! Are you OK?

Yeah, nothing happened to me.

What about the guys who tried to kidnap you?

JJ chuckled, About the same as the last bunch.

Brigette snorted a laugh. Shall I send an ambulance?

Lionel is checking them out.

Well, I'll stick with Ian today. We don't need to leave the building.

Good. I'll call you if I hear anything.

JJ poured herself a coffee and paced while she waited for Lionel to return.

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The families were descendants of the French colonists who had originally settled St. Theresa. Even after the island was ceded to Britain in 1763, the French families continued to rule the island, controlling the government and all the major businesses. They ruthlessly maintained their position of power, eliminating anyone who seemed a threat. Dozens of former threats had been killed, weighted then dropped into a crowded undersea graveyard, five miles west of the island where the water was a half-mile deep.

On the morning of JJ’s arrest, the five patriarchs of the families were in the weed-covered and urine-soaked exercise yard of Morne Triste, a prison built in the 1700s as a British fort to fight the French and pirates. It had all the creature comforts one would expect in a dungeon.

Four wives were visiting their husbands, trying to learn what was going on. Chilled by the mist that had descended on the mountain, the nine aristocrats were huddled close for warmth. The wives' attention focused on Damien Lanausse. As the Governor-General of the island, they expected him to clear up this obvious misunderstanding.

Look, there's nothing I can do! Damien said. The arrest warrants came from the UK. Even if I had some influence with our new government—which I don't—they can't help us. We're being extradited to the UK, so we'll be under their justice system. And it seems the Americans want to have a go at us once the Brits are finished.

Paula Lanausse hugged her husband, then she hugged her brother Ainsley Bercier, an important judge. He was the one man who didn't have a wife visiting him that morning, having divorced the previous year.

Lorelle Gourges stood next to her attorney husband, Rollins. They were around seventy-five, ten to fifteen years older than the others. Lorelle thumped Rollins in the stomach, How could you idiots let this happen? You were supposed to be on top of things, to at least be smart enough not to get caught.

She gave her cousin, Ellison Fournier, a scowl, Ellison, you've been a businessman all these years. Between you and Rollins you should be able to run a little side business without alerting Interpol, for Christ's sake.

Ellison stood with his arm around his wife, Mariette, who was shivering from the cold. He shrugged his shoulders and hung his head. Mariette looked at her brother Damien and her sister-in-law, Paula, both shivering, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from fear.

Perry Deslandes, the head of Deslandes Importing, held his wife, Delphine, who had been quietly sobbing into his chest. It's my fault too, he said. We all should have been more thorough. It's that damn American detective! We've never had to deal with anyone like her.

Lorelle took charge. Alright dammit! What's to be done? Enough of this hand wringing! Let's talk action steps.

Lorelle, said Rollins, we've talked this out among ourselves. There's nothing any of us can do. Delphine and Mariette can run the two import companies. You will reorganize and manage my law practice. Paula can continue to manage the Governor-General's mansion. They tell us that we'll be in the UK by Friday. Even if we had some ideas, there isn't time.

Perry, continuing to hold Delphine, said, Each of us will write a letter with some suggestions for the changes that will have to take place after we're gone. That's the best we can do.

One thing we can do, snarled Mariette, is to take care of that American bitch.

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At police headquarters, still waiting for Lionel to return, JJ phoned Sheila, her mother.

Mum, the families tried to kidnap me again this morning.

O my God! I thought all that was behind us.

I don't know what's going on, but it seems they wanted to punish me. I’m at headquarters. In the hall just now, I overheard some cops saying that the heads of the families were arrested last night. So, just stay home for a few days. I'll call you when it's safe.

Thanks, dear. Beverly and I will just keep to ourselves.

JJ was hanging up as Lionel returned.

All I found was a puddle of puke, said Lionel, pouring himself some fresh coffee, but I think I know what's going on.

JJ sipped her coffee while giving him a look that said, Well, what is it?

I thought you gave up coffee. There was a playful smirk on his face.

Don't give me any crap. Tell me.

OK. There were some arrests last night. We arrested all the big boys: Perry Deslandes, Rollins Gourges, Ellison Fournier, Judge Bercier—and even Damien Lanausse! They were arrested for money laundering. The orders came from Scotland Yard who's working with the DEA in the US. The UK and the US both want the five men extradited.

How did the families know that I was involved in the investigation?

Well, that was a mistake. Someone at Scotland Yard mentioned your name in a phone conversation with the attorney who is representing the five men. I guess the Yard thought you were in the US. So, the families know that you tipped off the DEA to investigate the money laundering that was being run through the Investment Bank of St. Theresa.

How did they know what I look like and where to find me?

I don't know.

Shit! JJ started pacing back and forth alongside Lionel's desk. Did they name me as Jacinta Joseph or Jocelyne Dominique?

Jacinta.

So, they know I'm back on the island. ... OK, OK ... maybe my cover identity is still intact. I can stay at home in Point de Lance as Jocelyne Dominique for a while until this blows over.

Where's your car? asked Lionel.

It's parked in Concord. I took the bus in. I figured the cost of the bus was cheaper than repairing my car after hitting all the potholes on that damn West Coast Road. ... How long will the extradition take?

No time at all. The new government wants to make points with the US and the UK, so we've been told to cooperate completely with Scotland Yard. Apparently, the five are to be sent to the UK by this weekend. Some people from the Yard will arrive on Wednesday to accompany them.

Any danger of their lawyer being able to postpone the extradition?

Lionel laughed. That's Caldwell Lanausse. Think about who you're talking about. Our island lawyers have never done anything international. He's probably just wringing his hands.

I know from working with gangs in the US that this kind of thing creates a power vacuum that can be really dangerous. It would help to know who will be in charge after the five men get shipped off to the UK. Are any of their sons being groomed to take over?

I don't know. We've never been able to figure out the power structure of the families.

Well, I can't stay here all day. Walk with me to Cecily's condo. I'll hide out there today.

Repeatedly looking around to ensure that they weren't followed, Lionel and JJ slipped through a series of alleys and passageways that led to the marina where Cecily Bercier had two second-floor condos in a renovated warehouse. Cecily had bought one condo for herself and the other for her newspaper staff.

Cecily was JJ's best friend and the owner of the island's best radio station and newest newspaper. She was also the ex-wife of Judge Ainsley Bercier who was about to be the guest of Her Majesty's government for a decade or two.

Well, good morning, said Cecily, opening the door. I thought you were coming for breakfast this morning. Hey, Lionel.

Sorry. Your relatives tried to kidnap me again this morning. A couple of thugs were waiting for me below Queen Victoria Street. I need to hide out today.

You're kidding!

You know about your ex and the other family heads getting arrested?

"Yeah, the other wives have all called me. Everyone is