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- Herausgeber: Boruma Publishing
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
Why did somebody kill that man?
The mysterious death of a popular figure at a Caribbean resort has inspector Johnny Cliff wondering why someone might want him dead. He didn't seem to have any enemies, but there's no question it was murder. And he still has to solve the case of Henderson’s dog disappearing. It’s busy times on the island.
~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~
Johnny Cliff looked out over the white beach, taking in the crystal clear water. It was a shame, really. The view had been ruined. Now the dead man lay on the sand where the waves broke, his body jerking with each incoming wave. The corpse did not belong on this idyllic beach.
Johnny let out a long breath, forcing the muscles in his neck and shoulders to relax. Then he turned his attention to the doctor standing barefoot on the beach. She bent over to examine the body, going over it pretty thoroughly. He was grateful. She didn’t like doing police work. She thought her job was to keep folks alive, not figure out how they died; but she was the only doctor they had, and it reassured him to see her being so professional.
When the tiny woman stood up, Johnny went over to her. “He died from drowning, Mr. Cliff,” she said. “I want his body in my clinic and I need to run some other tests. I’ll send blood samples to Barbados for toxicology tests, but I’m guessing he died from drowning.”
Johnny stared down at the body; the skin was all wrinkled and bloated. He’d never seen a drowning victim before and it wasn’t pretty. “So he drowned…” he mused.
The doctor clucked at him. “Now I didn’t say that at all, Mr. Cliff and you won’t be putting your words in my mouth.”
“You said he drowned.”
“I said I think he died from drowning. If I am right, he might have drowned, or he might have been drowned. I'm thinking that a policeman should be the one what knows the difference.”
Johnny Cliff raised an eyebrow. Murder wasn’t common on the island. Violent crime reared its head once in a while, but it was mostly domestic disputes and it was hard to remember the last time they got anyone killed. More people died from accidents. He hoped this was one.
“It’s hard to tell for certain,” Doc Vantage said. “The statistics say that men are four times more likely to drown than women. This man been floating in the surf for a time, crashing into rocks in deep water before washing back on the sand. He’s bruised up pretty good.”
“But you are suspicious?”
She nodded. “I’ve seen some fishermen who drowned, accidental-like and washed up on shore. But they had a different look to them. Plus, I’m seeing some marks on his throat that don't quite fit in with him just getting caught in the undertow. They make me think someone might have held him underwater long enough to make the drowning happen.”
“They couldn’t be from someone dragging him up on the beach?”
The doctor snorted. “So you think a person sees a body floating in the shallows and they go grabbing him by the neck?” She shook her head.
Having no answer, Johnny turned away. The body would go to the clinic and he wasn’t going to find anything on the beach. The tourists were all over it already. And if the man had been tossed in the water around rocks, then any clues would be wherever that was, not on the hotel beach.
He walked back to his office letting his mind play with the few facts; see if he could figure a place to start looking.
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Death of a Sandman
A Caribbean Mystery
By Ed Teja
Copyright 2014 @ Ed Teja
This story is fiction. Like most fiction that has a point,
it has roots in the real world, and those tenuous connections might confuse people.
Don’t be fooled.
Copyright © 2014 by Ed Teja
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Cover Photo by Saiph Muhammad on Unsplash
Death of a Sandman
Johnny Cliff looked out over the white beach, taking in the crystal-clear water. It was a shame, really, the way it ruined the view. But the dead body did.
Now the dead man lay on the sand where the waves broke, his body jerking with each incoming wave. The corpse did not belong on this idyllic beach.
Johnny let out a long breath, forcing the muscles in his neck and shoulders to relax. Then he turned his attention to the doctor standing barefoot on the beach.
She bent over to examine the body, going over it pretty thoroughly.
He was grateful. She didn’t like doing police work. She thought her job was to keep folks alive, not figure out how they died; but she was the only doctor they had, and it reassured him to see her being so professional.
When the tiny woman stood up, Johnny went over to her. “He died from drowning, Mr. Cliff,” she said. “I want his body in my clinic and I need to run some other tests. I’ll send blood samples to Barbados for toxicology tests, but I’m guessing he died from drowning.”
Johnny stared down at the body; the skin was all wrinkled and bloated. He’d never seen a drowning victim before and it wasn’t pretty. “So, he drowned…” he mused.
The doctor clucked at him. “Now I didn’t say that at all, Mr. Cliff and you won’t be putting your words in my mouth.”
“You said he drowned.”
“I said I think he died from drowning. If I am right, he might have drowned, or he might have been drowned. I'm thinking that a policeman should be the one what knows the difference.”
Johnny Cliff raised an eyebrow. Murder wasn’t common on the island. Violent crime reared its head once in a while, but it was mostly domestic disputes and it was hard to remember the last time they got anyone killed. More people died from accidents. He hoped this was one.
“It’s hard to tell for certain,” Doc Vantage said. “The statistics say that men are four times more likely to drown than women. This man been floating in the surf for a time, crashing into rocks in deep water before washing back on the sand. He’s bruised up pretty good.”
“But you are suspicious?”
She nodded. “I’ve seen some fishermen who drowned, accidental-like and washed up on shore. But they had a different look to them. Plus, I’m seeing some marks on his throat that don't quite fit in with him just getting caught in the undertow. They make me think someone might have held him underwater long enough to make the drowning happen.”
“They couldn’t be from someone dragging him up on the beach?”
The doctor snorted. “So, you think a person sees a body floating in the shallows and they go grabbing him by the neck?” She shook her head.
Having no answer, Johnny turned away. The body would go to the clinic and he wasn’t going to find anything on the beach.
The tourists were all over it already. And if the man had been tossed in the water around rocks, then any clues would be wherever that was, not on the hotel beach.
He walked back to his office letting his mind play with the few facts; see if he could figure a place to start looking.
Wylami, his secretary looked up as he came in.
“Mister Henderson was in early. Someone killed his dog the other night—chopped it with a cutlass. He is hopping mad.”
“Everybody hate that dog,” Johnny said. “Mean old thing. Shouldn’t have been killed though.
“Somebody chopped it good.”
“Did he file a report?”
She scowled at him and he remembered that Henderson couldn’t read or write.
“I filled one out and made him put his mark on it,” she said. “It’s on your desk.”
Johnny nodded. He took off his glasses and grabbed a tissue from the box on Wylami’s desk. As he started cleaning the lenses, she glared at him.
“There’s a Mister Sprately from the hotel in your office, Mr. Cliff,” Wylami said. “He been waiting nice and patient for a time. He seems like a pleasant man.”
She smiled as she spoke of him. Johnny thought she had the nicest smile he’d ever seen. She didn’t let him see it often though. When it faded, he smiled at Wylami, straightened his tie, and went in the office to meet Sprately.
Sprately was a detective, a Dutchman the hotel chain had sent over to solve a rash of petty crime that was pissing off the tourists. He hadn’t met the man yet, and this seemed like a good time.
As the head (and only) police officer, he’d be expected to keep Sprately advised on a murder that took place on the hotel’s beach.
Sprately turned out to be friendly and about Johnny’s age, which surprised him—he’d expected an older man.
“They don’t send the seasoned pros to small resorts like this,” Sprately laughed. “They work the posh places in Europe and Asia. The beach resorts get the new kids who are sent out to earn their bones chasing down maids with sticky fingers and bartenders who are running whores.”
“And what brings you to my office?”
