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Though still post-dawn groggy, I was determined to make this outing quick. I hadn’t come to TCI to inspect dead boaters. I was anxious to begin my analysis of the remains that might be Ryder Palke and Quentin Bonner. Remains that had been lying out in the elements for far too long.
Musgrove was driving a fire engine red VW Taos displaying no police logo. An air freshener in the shape of a potted plant projected from an AC vent. I suspected the small SUV was her personal vehicle.
“How’s the flat?” she asked.
“Far beyond expectations.” It was true. I’d anticipated an unmemorable but adequate hotel room. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s no biggie. The place belongs to a cousin who spends most of his time in London.”
“It’s very generous of him to allow a stranger into his home.”
“Let’s just say the bloke owes me.” Delivered in a tone suggesting the topic was closed.
Today Musgrove wore jeans and a khaki shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. Her hair was pulled into a spiky pony at the back of her head. Military shades and concealer failed to hide a bruise on her right cheek.
Sudden flashback image. Musgrove in my office on our first meeting. Monday’s crescent-shaped discoloration was now largely gone.
This time I asked.
“Have a run-in with a door handle?” I said lightly while gesturing at her face.
Musgrove snorted a laugh. “That nails it, no pun intended. Have I told you I’m a bloody klutz? Recently I had a wall cabinet installed in my loo, and I keep forgetting the thing is there.AndI keep leaving the door wide open. Not a good combo.”
“You look good in black and blue,” I joked, a bit uneasy.
Musgrove nodded but said nothing. Had the mood in the car suddenly changed? Or was I imagining it.
When I’d finished my muffin, which contained unidentifiable gummy masses but tasted pretty good, I asked about policing in TCI, mainly wanting to relieve the tension. Imagined tension?
Some of what Musgrove told me I already knew. Some I didn’t.
“Only Provo and Grand Turk have detectives,” she began.
“What happens on the other islands?”
“We use police boats. Or planes.”
“Explain rank.”
“I’m a superintendent. Below me are ASPs, assistant superintendents, and SIOs, senior investigating officers. These are the folks in charge of murder investigations. Below that level are the IOs, investigating officers, mostly detective constables or detective sergeants who deal operationally with the murder, complete the file, and attend court.”
“What about forensics?” I asked, feeling this was much more detail than I needed.
“Officers in the FSU, the forensics support unit, are well trained in the collection of evidence. But the only analysis they can perform start to finish is for prints. All evidential comparisons must be sent away.”
“To Miami.”
“Usually.”
“Tell me about the coroner.”
“The coroner operates as you’d expect, in terms of notification of next of kin, death certificates, authority for autopsies, et cetera. That’s how cause of death will be determined for the boaters.”
“By the pathologist from Miami.”
“Yes. Harvey Lindstrom.”
“Where were the bodies taken?” I asked.
