Free Deadly Deceit by Jean Harrod Page A

obviously allow some of them to stay here,” she said.
    He nodded. “These people have been here a while. Some of them have jobs as domestic cleaners, and gardeners. Some help build houses. But all new arrivals are transported to Provo, and flown straight back to Haiti.”
    “What kind of processing do you do before deporting them?”
    “We take the name they give us, fingerprint them, and send them back to Haiti.”
    “Do any of them claim asylum?”
    He stared at her. “We send them straight back.”
    She took that to mean no other processing was done. Then she remembered what the Chief Justice had said the night before. “I’ve heard about the inter-communal tensions,” she said.
    “Can you blame our people? They are being squeezed out of their homes and jobs.”
    “I’ve heard about the missing pets too,” she said. “What do you know about voodoo? Is it being practised here?”
    He gave her a scornful look. “I know very little about it.”
    She didn’t believe him, and wondered why he was being evasive. The Police Commissioner, of all people, would know if voodoo was practised on the island and any consequences resulting from it. She looked at him. “I understand that bones were found after a bonfire on the beach. I’m told the locals believe their pets are being sacrificed in voodoo ceremonies.”
    He nodded. “Bones have been found, but I don’t believe they have anything to do with voodoo.”
    “Have they been analysed in the laboratory?”
    “Why should they be? They’re not human.”
    Jess knew when she was being fobbed off. “Don’t you think it would be a good idea to get those bones analysed, to find out for sure if they’re human or animal?”
    “Police resources are already stretched,” he said.
    “I’m sure they are, especially if you have all these community tensions to police. But if you get the bones analysed, you’ll hopefully be able to tell the locals with certainty that they don’t belong to their missing pets. That would de-escalate the situation.”
    Suddenly, the car came to a halt at crossroads. “We’re here.” The Commissioner got out.
    Jess was relieved to be able to get out too, and take in some air. She looked around. The Governor had been travelling back from the lighthouse, in the direction of town, when that truck hit. She crossed diagonally over the road and studied the tarmac on the other side. A few fine pieces of shattered glass, and a scorched patch on the grass verge, were the only signs left of a crash. Everything else had been cleaned up efficiently. That surprised her. “Did forensics find anything interesting or unusual?” she asked.
    He shook his head.
    “Obviously the Governor’s car was travelling down from the lighthouse. So which direction did the other vehicle come from? East or west?”
    “It hit the Governor’s door, so it would have come from the west.”
    Jess looked along the deserted road, and felt uneasy. Who would steal a truck from a local supermarket in the middle of the night, go joyriding – if that’s what they were doing, accidentally plough into the Governor’s Land Rover, then disappear without a trace and without calling the emergency services? She turned back to the Police Commissioner. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said, truthfully.
    Immediately his eyes became wary. “The accident report will tell us everything,” he said, in a voice that brooked no more questions.
    Why was he being so cagey? She was sure he knew more than he was telling her. “I’m going to relay my initial findings to London when I get back,” she said in a businesslike voice. “And I’d like a copy of the accident report please to send them.” She paused. “I’d like to see the Governor’s car too.”
    He nodded. “You will have a copy of the accident report as soon as it’s ready,” he said. “The Governor’s Land Rover is in the Government Garage, which is close to the Governor’s Office.”
    She nodded. “I’ll