Celebration on Mackinac, Part 3

Celebration on Mackinac, Part 3

Henry’s discoveries about Miiga and his conversation with Stedley seemed miles away at this point. To be sure, he hadn’t had time to catch up with Stedley or to see if he had changed his mind about talking to Miiga. Like most everyone else on the island, he had been focused on the boat races. He had not even been able to spend time with his wife, who came over for a few hours the evening before and stopped by the station to say hello. She was a practical wife, however, being a cop’s wife, and when it was evident that no romantic break was forthcoming, she left in good cheer and Henry lost track of her.

The boys had been right about the amount of activity on the island. It was all he could do to keep up with dispatch, who seemed to be sending him out every 15 minutes or so, at least during the evening hours, which stretched from about 3pm to 5am. The men took turns catching some quick z’s in the early morning hours, on the bunks in the back, but for the most part, it was non-stop.

As was also predicted, the bulk of the activity was related to public drunkenness, calls about out-of-control parties, and kid-style vandalism. There were also increased calls from the regulars, like Mrs. Havers, about suspicious activity nearby. Most of them turned out to be young people necking or other inoccuous things, but still, the sheer level of activity kept everyone on their toes.

There had been a bit of excitement for the island the night before. They had made a fairly large arrest. One of the men that Henry had long suspected of dealing drugs on the island was observed making a suspicious transaction. It gave the boys a “reasonable suspicion” cause to stop him. When he ran, well, that raised it to “probable cause” and they gave chase. Searching his pockets, they found several packets of what Henry identified in all probability to be meth or some form of rock cocaine.

Henry recognized the man as Jujee, Miiga’s friend. He felt bad in some ways about the arrest on the one hand, but he had little tolerance for such behavior on the other. He knew, or at least assumed, that the drug trade was part of the Jamaican survival on the island. He suspected it was largely what kept them coming back to the place; the extra money it gave him. But in his mind – and certainly in the mind of his wife – he’d rather the place shut down than be a haven for drug trafficking.

Jujee had been moved from the Mackinac jail last evening to Mackinaw City, where the facilities were better equipped to handle actual criminals. Jujee’s fate, Henry knew from his days on the Detroit PD, would likely be a plea bargain that would result in jail time, deportation, and registration with U.S. Customs as persona non grata. Clearly he was muling for someone. If the prosecutors and interview staff was savvy enough, which they probably were not, they might et something. If Jujee was a skilled and long-term criminal, he would do his time and get paid on the backside for his loyalty.

They had executed an emergency search warrant for the dome, where Jujee stayed. The judge had limited the warrant to Jujee’s room, the common area, and the shed out back, so they couldn’t search the entire place. Henry had been asked to come along, not only because he had made the initial arrest, but because his experience with searching for drug was vastly superior to those of his fellow officers. He had wanted to go, in any case. Not only was it the most real police work he had done since he’d been on the island, but he had heard Miiga talk about the dome so frequently he’d been dying to get a glimpse of this happy place.

The warrant came through at 9am the next morning and the officers headed out. It didn’t take Henry long to find Jujee’s stash. Evidently, Jujee did not expect to be caught, which suggested that he had been engaging in the activity free of scrutiny for some years. Henry had known about the shed from his talks with Miiga, and so had included it with specificity on the request for the warrant. He left the officers to search Jujee’s room and headed out to the shed, gloved and with plastic zip lock bags to cart away contraband anything that was suspicious.

He smiled to himself when saw the ring of rat poison sprinkled in a circle around the shed. It was just like Miiga had described it. He turned the latch on the unlocked shed, stepped inside, and flipped on the light. There were shelves from floor to ceiling, stocked with all manner of food products. Cans of Ackee, the fruit he had eaten when Miiga brought him the fish, were piled high. He opened giant plastic containers that revealed plastic bags full of dried beans, he assumed pidgeon peas. He read the labels, running his fingers over the tops and sides to make sure the cans were truly sealed: corned mutton, sardines in oil, sardines in tomato, cream thick, jack fruit, hearts of palm, sapota in syrup, chick peas, pine juice. Most of the things he did not recognize. He realized he had just scratched the surface of their culture on his afternoon meetings with Miiga. He hoped they would resume when the weekend was over. He had so much to learn.

Far back in the corner he noticed some open cans. The first one shook with a dry substance. When he open the top, the smell of bitter almonds hit him. Arsenic no doubt. And no doubt that was the rat poison that had been scattered about the perimeter of the building. They really had brought rat poison all the way from Jamaica.

He replaced the can. Next to it he noticed a small dishtowel. It wasn’t the sort of dish towel one should find in a dirty shed. It was ironed and hand embroidered with tiny pink flowers and the words “bless this house.” From the looks of it, he suspected it was pure linen and from its condition, it hadn’t been there long. Most likely one of the women had come to replenish the poison and had dropped it accidentally, or laid it down and forgotten it. He stuffed it into his pocket to return to the kitchen.

He went through each of the open cans with no discoveries. They were filled with chick pea flour, turbinado sugar, and dried scotch bonnet peppers. Several shoeboxes at the other end of the shed, however, yielded pay dirt. The boxes were stuffed with tiny envelopes, clearly made ready for street sale, filled with rock or meth. Henry was out of practice, but he suspected meth. He yelled for his fellow officers to help him and they logged the property. Jujee was either going to have to work a deal or be content to pump iron in a cell for some years.

After wrapping up that particular scene, including taking fingerprints from the door and walls, the entire crew headed back to the station. It was 12:30. Henry was settling in to help write up his share of reports, when the dispatcher turned to them.

“Boys, looks like we might have to get out the ambulance. I’m on with Dr. Fenster. Out to the Grund place; you know, the old Bontemps place. Looks like our boy Dick. Who wants it?”

“Henry, let you and I go,” said the captain, letting out a sigh. Joe, go out and get the prowler. It’ll make the neighbors feel better. Henry, let’s you and me head out now.”

They hopped on their bikes and rode with deliberate speed to the house.

“Bound to happen sooner or later,” said the captain. “Probably a heart attack.” That was all the captain said.

When they arrived. They were greeted by Dr. Fenster, who was sitting on the porch writing notes on a pad. He looked up at them as they passed through the door.

“Well, it’s unclear exactly what it was, but I would guess it happened sometime during the night, and if I were a bettin’ man, I’d say it was a heart attack. Could also be cirrhosis.” The doctor lowered his voice. “It’s no secret that the man was a heavy drinker and, well, he also had hepatitis. The cook and the housekeeper said he was complaining of stomach problems. That can be typical, too. Anyway, cirrhosis or heart attack; those are my guesses.”

“Any sign you can see of foul play?” asked the captain.

“Well, that’s your job, I’d guess, but if you’re asking if anything is suspicious, the answer is no. He’s got a lot of the classic symptoms of cirrhosis, just looking at him: stomach ulcers, bruises on his legs, and his fingernails are curved and white. Pretty classic, I’d say. Like I say, heart attack or cirrhosis was bound to get the old boy sooner or later.”

“Anybody here when you estimate time of death?”

“Well, the cook was here. She stays here. The housekeeper was sent home around 1. She might have been in the house at the time, but she didn’t stay the night. His wife – you know Margaret – she was at her parents’ place. From what I gather, he had been complaining of stomach cramps all night. Long about 11 or so, the cook helped him up to his room to look for some Pepto Bismal. Says she left him up there. He’s in his pajamas now, as you will see, so he must’ve decided to go to bed at some point.” The doctor put his note paper in his bag and stood up.

“I would have thought the old boy would stumble down and get some help, but from what I’m told, the party was pretty racous. Maybe he did and no one heard him. Anyway, the covers are neat and all. Looks like he just went to bed.”

“I’d like a copy of your notes when you’re done, Doc,” said the captain. “And, autopsy notes, too.”

“Sure. Sure. Margaret would prefer no autopsy, she says. ‘Course, if you find something, we’ll do one, but I’m satisfied that it was a liver problem. John, you know how Dick could put ‘em away.”

“OK, well, we’ll give you a call, then. Thanks,” said the captain. He turned to Henry with a sigh, “Well, touch base with the ladies. Why don’t I go inspect the body, see what I see and all. You start talking to the folks back there in the kitchen. We find something, let’s talk about next steps. We don’t find anything, let’s make this quiet. Islander talk . . . they talk a lot. We don’t need to spend taxpayer money on a guy who pickled his liver.”

Henry made his way back to the kitchen. His mind was racing. Marlene and Miiga were sitting with Margaret at the kitchen table. Each had a cup of tea. Their faces were expectant when he walked in the room. He could not help thinking that this was all a little too coincidental, but there it was, coincidence. The only person he had told about his discovery had known about it for years and done nothing, so there was no reason to suspect that Henry’s information had triggered anything in Stedley. Similarly, Marlene hadn’t known any more than she knew years ago. The only person to suspect, at least in theory, was himself.

How fortuitous that he would go just now, just when Henry was thinking of ways -- legal ways -- to make him pay. He would have liked to see Dick Grund rot away in a jail cell somewhere, or if not, perhaps be stripped of his fortune. Something to make him hurt. He had once again cheated the system. Fuck.

“Good afternoon, Ladies. Sorry to be seeing you again on such unhappy circumstances. This must all be a bit of a shock to you,” he turned to Margaret. “Mrs. Grund, I’m so sorry. I promise we won’t be long. Just a few routine questions, you know, and then if we have other questions, well, we can talk later. Are you OK?”

“I’m OK, thank you for asking, officer,” she gave him a weak smile. He could read neither sadness nor anger on her face. She simply looked tired. Henry wondered if she had been up partying the night before. She certainly looked that way. He thought that he might check her alibi quietly later, but somehow he doubted she was involved.

“Marlene, right?” he asked. She nodded. “You were here all night and didn’t hear anything?”

“Nope. Last time I remember seeing Mr. Grund was when we went up to his bathroom and got some more Pepto. He was complaining of cramps and the kitchen bottle was empty. I found him the Pepto and I think that’s the last I saw of him.”

“And you didn’t think anything was wrong when Mr. Grund didn’t come down for breakfast?”

Margaret gave a snort.

“Mr. Grund often didn’t come down for breakfast. But I did worry when I didn’t see him for lunch. Thought he might be sick,” said Marlene, still stoic.

“Right, right. Well, the doctor says it looks like he may have had a heart attack or died from liver complications.” He turned to Margaret. “Do you think the family might want to have some definitive answers? We could certainly order an autopsy.”

“I . . . I guess I’m still in shock, Officer. I can’t really say what I want right now. I don’t care. Whatever you think is best,” she said. Not the response he was expecting. He guessed he wouldn’t check up on her after all.

“Well, we’ll wait for the doctor’s report and get back to you. For the time being, we’ll remove the body, and – I know this is hard – but we’d like to ask that you, you know, just for a day or two, not move back into or clean the bedroom.”

“Of course,” she said, again managing a weak smile at him. “Just call me when you’re done. I’m going to stay with my brothers at the other house. Marlene and Nesta can get you what you want.”

“Nesta?”

“That’s me,” said Miiga. “My Christian name.”

“Oh, well, learn something new every day,” he said brightly. “Uh, anyway, I guess I’m through here unless you have any questions of me,” said Henry. His entourage was silent. “Thank you ladies, he said, and turned back toward the dining room. On his way out, he caught glimpse of the hand towels hanging on the cabinets; hand embroidered with tiny pink flowers and the words “bless this house” on them.

It caught him for a moment. He remembered the matching one was still in his pocket from earlier that day. It didn’t make sense. He started to ask about them; take one, perhaps, and compare it to what he already had, but thought better of it. He bowed his head once, extended his condolences again, and headed out to the porch.

“Find anything?” asked the captain.

“Nope. You?”

“Nope. Looks like what the doc said. Let’s wrap this up. Get this old boy buried and out of their lives.”

The ambulance had arrived, as had officer Timpkins in the prowler. They left him to supervise the body removal and left him with instructions that the body could be released to the family immediately.

The short ride back to the station to write up the report was done in silence. Henry fingered the towel in his pocket and tried to make sense of it. He knew Miiga had come to the dome, but why would she take one of the Grund towels? She knew Marlene and Stedley had been longstanding friends, but what business would she have coming to the Dome? It was out of place.

“Cap, I forgot something at the house back there. Be right back,” said Henry, and turned around. He removed the towel from his pocket and walked in. Timpkins was still in the house with the orderlies. The women were where he had left them.

“Excuse me, ladies. I’m not sure how it happened, but I seem to have accidentally walked off with one of your towels. This does belong to you, right?” He addressed is question to Mrs. Grund, who smiled.

”I’ll take that, thank you,” Marlene said, and snatched it out of his hands with a furrowed brow.
“Marlene made those when I was a littlel girl,” said Margaret, looking fondly at her cook. “She always carries one hanging over the side of her apron. When I was little, I used to love to dry my hands only on the one hanging from her apron,” said Margaret.

“Lots of cooks do that. Habit,” Marlene said sharply. Henry noticed she wasn’t wearing one. “Guess I must have dropped in the front room or something.”

“Yes, that must have been it. Well, ladies, I’m off.”

Henry rode back to the station in silence. He took his time and enjoyed the beauty of the place that he was beginning to call home. The cap was right. There was something very delicate about the island, something that needn’t be upset if at all possible. The right balance. He filled out his report, leaving out the hand towel, which was of no consequence, really, and hoped that he would see Miiga next week at the library.

When he had a free moment, he walked over to the one computer connected to the Internet. Just for fun, he looked up signs of arsenic poisoning:

• Inflammation of the liver
• Hepatitis
• Stomach cramps
• Cirrhosis

Henry did not amend his report.


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