Holden stared at her, his face marred with confusion. Normally the scope of their conversations wasn’t so intrusive. Eileen could only hope that Errol didn’t know enough to know that funeral homes weren’t supposed to be actively involved in forensic investigations.
Clearly, he didn’t.
Errol shrugged. “Not really… he just doesn’t fit in, if you get what I mean.” He gave Eileen a meaningful look.
“Hmmm…where does he live?” asked Eileen.
“Does a funeral home normally need to know that?”
Holden’s gaze was impassive, but Eileen knew he wouldn’t let this go once they got back to the car. “Nah. But I started talking to a new chossel and I want to make sure it isn’t him.” She smiled sweetly at Errol and winked. “A pretty girl like me can’t be too careful.”
“Oh, geez,” Holden muttered. Errol didn’t seem to hear though. He looked Eileen up and down and — concluding that she was indeed a pretty girl — answered breathlessly, “Ronald O’Riley. He lives on Sea Breeze Hill.”
“I knew you’d look out for me,” Eileen said with a sly grin. She thanked him and sashayed back to the car.
Holden stormed along in her wake. “Listen to me,” he fumed as he got in and slammed the passenger door. “We’re not Cagney and Lacy. I don’t know what you’re up to, but solving crimes isn’t my job. I bury dead people!”
Eileen started the car. “Then tell me who should solve these crimes. Because this is the fourth victim they’ve found and I have a feeling that if you and I work together that we’d find the killer.”
“Why? What on earth would possess you to get tangled up in police business?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Because I could tell from the way you answered earlier that Derricks thought I was just a busybody and didn’t take my tip about the man in the brown car seriously. Plus, I’m a woman and I’m tired of trying to pack eight hours of sleep into my lunch hour every day since I’m too afraid to close my eyes at night. That’s why.”
Holden drummed his fingers irritably against the sharp crease in his pants. Finally, with a disgruntled shake of his head, he said, “Fine. Solving this would give a lot of people some peace of mind.”
Eileen put the car in gear. “Excellent.”
“We’re going to Sea Breeze Hill, aren’t we?”
“Yup.”
* * *
THE PINNACLE OF SEA BREEZE HILL was a rocky little mound on the east coast of the island that cast long afternoon shadows on a quaint chattel village. On one side of the road was a gully where green monkeys ran rampant throughout the day. On the other side, patches of cassava, sweet potatoes and cane were interspersed with candy-coloured chattel houses. A query at the variety shop led them down a dusty lane to a ramshackle dwelling with a backyard enclosed by a rusty paling.
They knocked on the wooden windows until a young man opened the door. His skin was deeply tanned, a stark contrast to the sad green eyes that peered at them beneath a tangle of sandy hair. Lanky and long-limbed, he looked more like a tourist marooned on a surfing vacation than a murderer.
“Ronald?” asked Holden.
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“We have some questions about Michelle’s death.”
His jaw hardened. “Her stepfather sent you too?”
“Well…he gave us directions, but…”
“Listen… Errol has problems with me, not with how I treated her,” the young man fumed as he made to close the door.
“We’re here to help,” Holden said gently as he looked the young man in the eye. “I don’t believe you had anything to do with her murder.”
Holden could sense the young man's reluctance as Ronald's eyes flicked between the two of them. Finally, Ronald ran his hand through his tangled curls and sank onto the moss-covered chunk of coral that served as the front step.
Holden knew he still had to tread carefully, even if Ronald did seem compliant. “What did you mean by Errol having problems with you and not how you treated Michelle?”
Ronald stared up at him with disgust. “If I was a rich white boy with family money I bet Errol wouldn’t have a problem.” He gestured to his dilapidated home and the weeds that surrounded it. “I loved Michelle and thankfully she could see past this.” His grin was sardonic, his eyes angry as he said, “Hmph…my mother always said that the more things change, the more they remain the same.”
“Is that your car?” Eileen asked. She pointed to a brown hatchback partially covered by a bank of river tamarind trees further along the grassy lane.
Ronald met her eyes and said, “Miss, I can’t even afford Rediffusion. Where would I get money to put gas in that or any other car for that matter?” He stupsed. "Besides, that old thing ain't moved from there in years."
Ronald had a point. Holden knew Eileen was taken aback by a white Bajan living in a place that looked like this. Many of the local whites had deep roots in plantation ownership or mercantile endeavours. Generational wealth allowed them to own huge swathes of land, myriad businesses and an incredible amount of political clout that ordinary people didn’t have. Ronald’s home, with its missing window panes and the mixed breed pot-starver who peered through the rusty paling, probably wasn’t what she expected.
“Do you think that’s the only reason Errol said we should talk to you?” asked Eileen.
Ronald’s mouth folded into a tight line. “Tell me what other reason it could be. He sent police here at two o’clock yesterday morning to bang on my door like I’m a criminal. They dragged me to the station and questioned me for eight hours without food or water. I told them Michelle was here for a few nights, but she left for a job interview that morning. I don’t have a phone so I thought she went home when she didn’t come back.”
“Did anyone have problems with her?” asked Eileen.
“No. She
