Haitian Graves (6 page)

Hammond was no fighter. He lay on the ground, on his back, breathing heavily, groaning. I grabbed his arm, flipped him over. I pressed my knee into his back and my good arm against the back of his head.

My right arm was nothing but pain. If he tried to fight back, I couldn’t hold him. I was out of uniform. No cuffs on me.

I heard a car on the road. It stopped. Pierre called out, “Ray!”

The Maglite was a couple of feet away, but it threw light into the night like a beacon.

“Over here!” I yelled.

Hammond began to squirm. I shoved his face into the ground. “Move,” I growled, “and I’ll break your neck.”

He went limp. He didn’t know it was an empty threat.

Pierre brought a circle of light of his own. “What the hell?”

I let go of Hammond and fell back. I lay on the ground, fighting the pain in my arm. Pierre took my place and snapped cuffs onto the man’s wrists. He then hauled Hammond to his feet. His face was a mask of blood. The nosebleed suffered in the crash had reopened. His cheeks and lips had been torn by broken rock and shards of concrete from the old tombs.

“I can pay you,” Hammond said. “Plenty. More than you’ve ever seen. You’ll be set for life. You too, Robertson.” The angel loomed over his right shoulder. In daytime she would be peaceful and beautiful. In the dark night and wavering beam of flashlights, she was vengeance itself.

She looked like Marie Hammond.

I suppressed a shudder.

“You gonna be okay, man?” Pierre asked me.

“Give me a minute.” Now that I wasn’t using my arm, the pain in my shoulder was fading. Nothing broken. I hoped. I took a deep breath, braced myself and got to my feet.

Not too bad.

“He killed Marie,” I said to Pierre. “He was running for the embassy.”

Sirens approached.

“Better get him off to jail then,” Pierre said.

Hammond spat. He missed my face by a long shot.

H
ammond was stuffed into the back of Pierre’s car. He demanded to be allowed to call his embassy. I told Pierre to take Hammond to the police station. I had something to do first. I headed back to Petion-Ville. As I drove, I called and asked for a female officer to meet me at the house.

Even before I made the turn onto Hammond’s street, I could tell by the lights and noise that the security company had arrived. That was good. I hadn’t wanted to hurt that guard, Jacques. He was only doing his job.

I flashed my
ID
at the big guy standing in the garage doorway, cradling the shotgun. “What’s happening?”

“Mr. Hammond was attacked in his home. The guard was injured by the intruder.”

“Is the guard going to be okay?” I asked.

He shrugged. “He’s been sent home. He’ll have a sore head for a few days.”

We turned at the sound of a police car roaring up the street. Two cops got out. One of them was Sophie Guillaume.

“Ray, what happened to you?” she said. “You’ve got dried blood all over your face.”

“Minor accident,” I said. She handed me a tissue, and I did my best to clean myself off.

“You’re with me,” I said to her. I didn’t ask the guard for permission to come in. The gate at the top of the stairs was unlocked. A heavyset man was sitting on one of the wicker chairs, talking into his
phone. “I’ll call you back,” he said. He stood up.

“I am the shift supervisor for the security company.” He looked me up and down. He saw the way I was protecting my arm. The cuts on my face, the dirt on my clothes and the rips in my pants. “You are the man who attacked one of my guards.”

“I’m a police officer and he was shooting at me. Mr. Hammond has been arrested.”

“Is that so?”

“Where are the children?”

He jerked his head toward the end of the hall. “In the back.”

I walked past him. He made no attempt to stop me. Sophie followed.

Jeanne-Marie and François were in the family room. They were curled up together on the couch. The little girl was asleep, folded in her brother’s arms. She wore the nightgown she’d been in earlier, but her face was scrubbed clean. When we came
in, François carefully moved her head, so as not to disturb her. He got to his feet.

“Where is our papa?” Some of the swelling on his face had gone down, and the cuts had closed.

“Where he can’t hurt you,” I said.

His eyes flickered to his sleeping sister.

“I’ll help you pack a few things,” I said. “Sophie, you stay with the girl.”

I didn’t know if Pierre would be able to convince Agent LeBlanc to hold Hammond. I had no proof that he’d killed Marie. He hadn’t confessed. All I had was my gut instinct. Whether in Canada or in Haiti, you can’t take a gut instinct before a judge.

I wanted these kids out of this house fast. I wanted them gone if he did come back.

A couple of weeks earlier I’d met a woman who ran a home for orphaned children. I’d put her number into my phone. Just in case.

I called it now. Told her I was on my way.

She said she’d be waiting.

François packed a small bag for himself, and then one for Jeanne-Marie. He didn’t ask me where we were going or why they had to leave.

We went back to the family room. Sophie had put a throw over the sleeping Jeanne-Marie. Ignoring the pain in my shoulder as best I could, I picked the child up. She weighed next to nothing.

I carried her out of the house to the RAV4. François followed and then Sophie. The guards watched us go, but they said nothing.

When we arrived at the orphanage, the outside lights were on. Two people stood in the doorway, waiting.

I parked the
SUV
and opened the back door. Jeanne-Marie’s giant dark eyes stared at me. François took her by the hand and helped her out.

“Mr. Hammond,” he said, “hurt my sister.”

“Yes.”

The boy looked at me through his expressive, bruised eyes. “
Merci
,” he said. Thank you.

Gail Warkness was waiting for me when I returned to the police station. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Robertson?” she snapped.

I rubbed my eyes. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I was just damned tired. My arm wasn’t broken, but it hurt like hell. “Arresting a killer and child sexual abuser,” I said.

It was night, and she wasn’t wearing her sunglasses. She couldn’t hide the flicker of surprise that crossed her face.

“Didn’t know about that one, did you?” I said. “Jeanne-Marie’s an extraordinarily pretty little thing, isn’t she? Hammond married Marie to get access to the kid. Then he killed her when she found out.”

“You can prove this?”

“Not yet.”

“Then I will be demanding that Mr. Hammond be released. His wife has died. The detective in charge said he was free to leave Haiti. You seem to have some sort of vendetta against him, Robertson.”

“What’s he to you?” I said. “’Cause he’s not here to build any damn palace. Maybe in the grand plans of countries and international arms deals the death of one Haitian woman isn’t worth much.”

“You’re way out of your league, Robertson. Stick to handing out jaywalking tickets, why don’t you.”

I looked at her. She would have been an attractive woman if not for the ice in her veins. “How about child abuse? You might not care about Marie. But don’t you, as a woman, object to letting a child rapist go
free?”

She flinched. “I knew nothing about—”

“Whatever.” I went into the police station to file my report. Warkness began making calls.

Nicholas squealed.

I figured he would.

I’d had him picked up. Told him he’d be charged with helping Hammond kill Marie.

He couldn’t start talking fast enough. Hammond had come home from work early that day. The couple had started arguing. Nicholas had stood at the gate, listening. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear everything. Marie told Hammond she was leaving him. Taking her children far away.

Then she screamed.

A few minutes later Hammond shouted for help.

By the time Nicholas got there, Marie was floating in the pool. Hammond handed him a rock. Told him to toss it into the brush across the street. Nicholas did so. He didn’t question why the rock was spattered with blood. Just following orders, he said.

Hammond had paid him for his loyalty. A lot.

Nicholas had also gone to Alphonse’s house. Where he hid some cash under a cooking pot. Just following orders once again.

In exchange for his statement, Nicholas was let off. I later heard he’d been fired from the security company.

Steve Hammond was officially charged with the murder of Marie Hammond. Gail Warkness washed her hands of him.

I only saw Jeanne-Marie and François once more. I went to the orphanage to meet with the woman in charge. We sat in a shady spot in the garden and watched laughing children playing.

Jeanne-Marie was showing another girl her doll. François joined a group of boys playing soccer. The sun was high overhead, and I sweated beneath my uniform.

I took out my wallet and passed over a cheque I’d prepared. “You’ll take care of them?”

She smiled at me. “Of course.”

I watched the children for a while longer. And then I went back to work.

VICKI DELANY
is one of Canada’s most prolific and varied crime writers. She writes everything from stand-alone novels of psychological suspense to the Constable Molly Smith books, a traditional police procedural series set in the British Columbia Interior, to a lighthearted historical series set in the raucous heyday of the Klondike Gold Rush. Vicki now enjoys the rural life in bucolic Prince Edward County, Ontario, where she grows vegetables, eats tomatoes, shovels snow and rarely wears a watch.

Haitian Graves
, the follow-up to
Juba Good
, is the second in a series featuring RCMP sergeant Ray Robertson
.
Vicki’s other book in the Rapid Reads series is
A Winter Kill,
featuring rookie constable Nicole Patterson. For more information, visit
www.vickidelany.com
.

RCMP Sergeant Ray Robertson has spent nearly a year serving with the United Nations in South Sudan. He can’t wait to get back home, back to policing a world he understands. But when a young woman—the fourth in three weeks—is found dead, Robertson fears that a serial killer is on the loose. It’s up to him and his Sudanese partner, John Deng, to find the killer before they can strike again.

Juba Good
is the first in a series of mysteries featuring RCMP Sergeant Ray Robertson.

“A murder mystery that explores the complexity of culture, in a simple narrative...The story feels ripped from the headlines...This relevance, coupled with the quick narrative pace, gives the book immediacy.”
—
ForeWord Reviews

RAPID READS WWW.RAPID-READS.COM