Negril Bob moved slightly. Charisa walked over to him. ‘He was going to take me home,’ she said.
‘That’s as maybe,’ one of the officers said. ‘Our instructions were to immobilise him, shoot to kill if necessary.’
Wendy came down the driveway, put her arms around Charisa. ‘I’m glad you’re okay.’
‘He didn’t do anything. We just talked,’ Charisa said. ‘Have you told Troy and Billy that I’m fine?’
‘They know. They’re with DCI Cook at Challis Street.’
‘I want to go to the hospital with Negril Bob.’
‘He’s under arrest for kidnapping. He’s also a suspect in the murder of two people, one of them being your brother.’
‘He said I reminded him of his sister,’ Charisa said.
Wendy could see that the traumatic events had left her confused. ‘We’ll follow the ambulance in my car if you like. Troy and Billy can meet us at the hospital.’
‘Thank you.’
***
Larry met Jimmy, his best contact with the gangs in the area. Jimmy was not a drinker, or, at least, not to the extent of Rasta Joe. There was no longer an excuse for Larry to drink as much as before, and for that, he was pleased. ‘You’ve heard about Negril Bob?’ Larry said.
‘A lot of people were frightened of him around here.’
‘He’s not coming back. If we can’t get him for murder, then we’ll get him for kidnapping.’
‘What do you want to know?’ Jimmy said.
‘You’ve always been careful before in what you said.’
‘Before there was a Negril Bob to worry about. If we must, we’ll tell you what you need to know.’
‘We?’
‘The other gangs. You’re being here all the time is not wanted.’
‘There’ll always be a police presence looking into gang activity.’
‘But it won’t be you. It’s you and DCI Cook they don’t like.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘You two are persistent. You keep looking for dirt.’
Larry wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, or whether some members of the police were taking bribes to look the other way.
‘Rasta Joe? Was Negril Bob there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we prove it?’
‘Not without Morris Beckford and Marcus Roots.’
‘They’ve already been charged with one murder; they’re not likely to admit to another.’
‘That’s your problem. Beckford’s not that smart; he tends to talk too much sometimes.’
‘Samuel Devon?’
‘Beckford and Roots, probably Negril Bob.’
‘Probably?’
‘Devon was trying to be smart. Most times, it’s a severe beating, maybe a knife wound, but they don’t normally kill someone for their first offence,’ Jimmy said. So far, he had kept to one pint, the same as Larry.
‘Then why was he thrown into the river?’
‘Beckford had a temper. And Samuel Devon had a big mouth.’
‘You think he upset him?’
‘It’s possible, but Beckford and Roots wouldn’t have done it without Negril Bob giving them the order.’
‘But it can’t be proven?’
‘Not a chance.’
Even the beating up of Billy Devon was unproven. Beckford and Roots were the keys; reduced sentences a possibility for providing testimony against their former leader.
***
Negril Bob’s shoulder wound was minor. The armed officer’s intensive training had ensured no lasting damage, but if the man had not collapsed to the ground, he would have fired another shot. One thing was certain as Negril Bob walked out of the front door of the house: he wasn’t going back. Wendy had expected the worst, was relieved that nothing had happened.
At the hospital, Charisa was reunited with Troy and Billy in the reception area. Inside, in one of the rooms, Negril Bob sat up in his bed. His shoulder had been bandaged, the bullet having passed through it. Outside his room were two uniformed police officers.
The doctor had warned about taxing the man; Isaac, cognisant of the need to respect the doctor's advice but desperate to wrap up the current investigations, sat to one side of Negril Bob’s bed.
‘You’ve been charged with kidnapping,’ Isaac said.
‘Charisa will tell you it was a misunderstanding.’
‘We know that, but we have proof that she was locked in the boot of your car, and then the back seat, and that restraint was used. That’s a clear conviction for us. The prison term is at the discretion of a judge.’
‘In my case, a long time, then?’
‘That depends on you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Samuel Devon, Rasta Joe, and Dave Dallimore.’
‘What about them?’
‘We know that you were with Beckford and Roots when Rasta Joe was killed.’
‘Where’s your proof?’
‘Dave Dallimore was our proof, but you had him killed,’ Larry said.
‘I’ve never heard of him,’ Negril Bob said.
‘He was a homeless man. Beckford and Roots had followed me out to where I had found him.’
‘This is the first time I’ve heard of this.’
‘You’re a liar,’ Isaac said. ‘We know you weren’t there when Dallimore was killed, but we know it was you who gave the order. That’s still a conspiracy to murder.’
‘My lawyer will have it thrown out.’
Isaac knew that he probably would. A phone call at the approximate time was insufficient evidence.
‘Samuel Devon,’ Isaac said.
‘What about him?’
‘Beckford and Roots will talk.’
‘Why would they do that? If, as you say, you’ve got them for one murder, they’re hardly likely to admit to another.’
‘Beckford might. He’s not too bright.’
Both Isaac and Larry knew they had their man, but the proof was uncertain. There was no way that Beckford and Roots would be advised by their lawyer to admit to an additional murder. The kidnapping charge could be proved, and if Charisa kept to her story that the man had behaved impeccably, then his sentence was not likely to be too long.
Outside the ward, Charisa waited to see Negril Bob. Troy was understandably not pleased with the situation, although Billy was relieved that he was off the hook. He would have done
