DCI Bardsley, A Manchester Cop on a Caribbean Cruise.

DCI Bardsley

Book 1.

A Manchester Cop on A Caribbean Cruise 

   Bardo, as he was known by everyone at the station and by his mates down the working men’s club, had been on the force for nearly 30 years. He had started as a cadet and worked his way up to DCI in the Greater Manchester Police Force. Working out of the city office just off Ducie Street, he didn't mind working from the satellite station since the old station was undergoing a much-needed makeover, even though the custody suite and the cells were still in use around the builders.

Just as he was leaving for work on a typical Manchester Monday morning at the end of February, and yes, it was pissing down and cold, a courier pulled up in a car. The courier walked towards his front door and knocked. Bardo opened the door, and the courier asked him to confirm his name before handing over an envelope that required his signature.

He was leaving his average semi-detached on an average street in Swinton, where he had lived with his wife, May, for 22 years until her death some 6 months ago. They had been married for two and a half decades, but had never seemed to get around to having children. His brother had a son, Jamie, who came to stay some weekends; he was a good boy and loved the fishing trips they did when the weather was good enough.

Bardo opened the envelope as he sat in his 2-year-old, metal grey, Skoda Octavia. The letter was confirmation of a booking from a cruise company that his wife, May, had booked before she was killed in a hit and run accident on the A666, one of Manchester’s busiest commuter roads that ran from the City towards Bolton. The only evidence they had was that they believed the driver left a partial fingerprint lifted from the number 9 button on May’s phone.

The officers working on the case thought the driver stopped after running May down, found her phone, dialled “9-9-9”, but didn’t speak. They had just left the phone open and then drove off. They were never apprehended, and according to his superiors, the case would remain open until he or she was picked up, fingerprinted, and run through the system.

From his car, Bardo rang the cruise company to check that it wasn’t a scam. The travel agent confirmed that a two-week cruise around the Caribbean, sailing out of Miami on Friday, 23 March, had been booked and paid for. He told Andy that when booking it, May had said she wanted to surprise her husband with the cruise for their 25^th Wedding Anniversary and to commemorate his 30 years on the force. He was certainly surprised and told the agent he would have to think about it and would get back to them.

Since May’s death in August the previous year, Bardo hadn’t been himself at home or work, missing his Friday nights with the boys down the working men’s club where he had been a member for 29 years after his dad had signed him up on his 21^st birthday. He also missed out on a fishing trip, which was a piss up, by saying he was far too tired and overworked.

He regretted not going to the 10^th birthday party of his nephew Jamie at the Indoor skydiving experience based at the Trafford Centre, but he just couldn’t face all the “how you doing mate?”, “We’ll pop round for a drink”, “let’s have a curry” conversations. He also found it odd that none of May’s female friends had been in contact. What did they think that he was going to pounce on them? Anyway, he needed more time.

The Chief Inspector had him back on desk duties at the satellite office, checking over cold cases. The Chief said his reason for doing it was that he knew losing May had knocked ten bells of crap out of him, and he needed to get his mojo back, which of course would take time.

All Bardo could think of was finding the bastard. The one who had driven the faded red Nissan Micra with false number plates and no tax or insurance. GMP had located the car. It was used by drug dealers as a pool car around Salford. It was burnt out at the bottom of Rake Lane, Clifton, and it was the car that had killed May. Oh, and thinking he should change his name to Mulder and get an assistant called Scully...

Before closing his computer and getting ready to leave for home he rang the travel agent back and explained the situation about May and said he would like to go on the cruise on his own, the travel agent took some security details from him and made a few changes to the paperwork and said they would post his revised documents out to him within 2 weeks.

Sure enough, on Friday, 16^th March, the courier arrived with his new travel documents. He drove to work that morning feeling a bit upbeat that at last, he had something to look forward to, not just sitting and pondering on the next thirty or so years without May and spending the rest of his working life looking after the X Files.

God, his life was dull.

But now it was going to change.

Most nights, when he got home, he would open a beer, eat a meal for one, watch a bit of TV, or play some Jazz on his retro record player that May had bought him for his birthday or just read. Tonight, he was a little excited as he was looking forward to reading up on the cruise. He popped open a beer, this week’s tipple was Manchester Pale Ale made by JW Lees in Middleton, it tasted OK; he could only manage 2 on a school night.

He opened May’s laptop and typed in the cruise company’s name on Google. Then, using the details from the documents, he logged into the website. “Bloody hell,” he said out loud, “this ship is huge!” He started reading the stats: six speciality restaurants, three swimming pools, nine bars, and shows every night, a casino, plus a gym. Why would you put a gym on a cruise ship? He laughed to himself.

On the toolbar on May’s laptop, he found the Facebook App logo, which he clicked on. He didn’t ‘do’ Facebook. Why on earth would you want to tell all and sundry what you are having for dinner, bloody strange people, he thought to himself. The page opened up on a group page called “Cruising with Alan and Dawn.” Firstly, he thought it looked like a dating agency website, but he was wrong. Scrolling down the page, he saw that it was full of questions, answers, and information on drink packages. Do you or not tip? And if you do, how much? Should a man wear a DJ on chic nights? Is Lobster served in the MDR? What is the MDR? With over 1400 members in the group, there was plenty of information to read up on.

His head was full of stats about the ship, pictures of sandy beaches, palm trees, Islands he had only dreamt about visiting with their colourful shops and happy smiling people and thought how on sea days he could sit by one of the ship’s 3 pools with his Kindle and a tall drink. Well, he thought, in just a week I will be happy and smiling with them…. I hope… Whoever Alan & Dawn were, they had a good thing going with this site.

Closing down the laptop, he opened another beer and picked up the latest novel by Lee Child, “Never Go Back.” He had heard that a film had been made from the book and that Tom Cruise played the role of Jack Reacher, Jesus, he thought, a fuckin dwarf to play a giant! Picking up the book and settling down from where he left off, Bardo was soon asleep in his favourite chair and then just after 11, he climbed into bed.

Over the last year, he’d read many books about FBI profilers, serial killers, PIs, and CSI teams from all over America and the UK, and he wondered whether a real pathologist would go driving around the country sticking their nose in, asking questions like Nicky Alexandra from Silent Witness did.

For a while, he’d been binge-watching the Jason Bourne films and the other films with the dwarf Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. He had also watched the full back catalogue of Steven Seagal films and just after Christmas had signed up with Netflix so he could watch all four seasons of the cop drama Harry Bosch about an American Detective. The books were by Michael Connelly. He had read a few of his books and liked the way they went through the life of the detective, as well as having a good storyline. He thought that one day he would draft a book; after all, how hard could it be? He could write his life story - a piece of piss!

He woke at 7 am and, as normal he showered, dressed, had 1 slice of toast with a black coffee (all the real men in the books he read just drank black coffee) then drove to the old office to pick up some files that might bring some light on one of the cold cases he was working on. Walking through the custody suite, he noticed 2 plods having trouble with a homeless guy, Ooops, he thought, then he remembered the letter from upstairs that they should call them “rough sleepers” now, since most of them have homes… “Fuckin liberty,” he said to himself…

2

Special Agent Camille Deschamps had been with the FBI for 10 years. She had grown up in Breaux Bridge, a small town in the heart of Cajun Country near Lafayette, Louisiana, where nearly 30 per cent of the population spoke French. Camille’s mum, Clemence Deschamps, came from Breaux Bridge, where four generations of her family had lived in the same house.

Her father, David, was from Ireland, and this is where Camille got her green eyes and her full head of red hair from. Most of the time at home, they spoke French, and anyone would think she was from France. Camille knew from an early age what she wanted to do; it was all she had ever dreamt about, and now she was doing the job she loved.

She wasn't a loner at school but had just preferred to be by herself and study; all she ever wanted to do was be like her Gramps, a Police Officer who had served with the Louisiana Police Force for over 35 years until his death. Four years ago. When Camille was a child, she would rush home from school to meet Gramps, who would show her old scenarios of cases that he had worked on, and Camille would try to work out who did it.

One story they could never get to a conclusion about was the disappearance of Joliette Deschamps, Camille’s sister, who in 1998 went to meet a friend who had never come home. Jolie, as everyone called her, was two years older than Camille and had been an adventurous child, climbing, camping out and always getting into mischief. Even though the name Joliette meant “pretty” in French, she always had cuts and bruises and a dirty face!

The only lead the Police and the FBI had was a green pickup with one brake light not working. David had never gotten over the disappearance of his eldest daughter, Joliette. He lost his job at the Wood Mill after he started drinking and getting into fights - he was a broken man. In 2000, he went back to Ireland and never came back.

On March 9th, Camille arrived at the Miami Field office situated on the top of a deli with a multicoloured IT Recruitment sign above the door. Special Agent Deschamps had been posted to work at the Miami Field office after the 4 current agents, 3 male and 1 female, had all gone down with a strange virus which Camille thought was very suspicious for all four at the same time, especially as Agents were not supposed to socialize together out of work, how did all 4 get the very same virus?

Admiring the view from the first-floor office, she stood just 5 feet tall in her standard FBI shoes. The jacket of her FBI-issue trouser suit fitted exactly right, hiding her concealed weapon on her right hip. She made herself a coffee, picked up the case file, sat down in an uncomfortable chair and read.

Special Agent Deschamps had been sent to work on a case that involved a drug dealer in the Art Deco area of Miami going by the name “The Mexican.” The four Agents assigned to the case had collated a great deal of information on “The Mexican” and the 20 or so foot soldiers before, conveniently, she thought, getting a virus that incapacitated them for at least 4 weeks. This is something that may come up in her investigations’ she thought. The Intel she received was that drug dealers were using the cruise ships to move drugs in and around the Caribbean Islands and had paid off dodgy officials at some of the ports.

In the report, she also read that the drugs were possibly collected from Puerto Rico, Cuba, Nicaragua, and Jamaica and then concealed on the cruise ships. She read in the report that on the last night before the cruise ends all the cases were stored in the ship’s hold and were not seen again till the weary travellers collected them the next day, this is where she suspected the drugs were being placed into the bags, on disembarkation the cases would be collected from the baggage hall.

Agent Deschamps also had information on some of the Ship’s crew, baggage hall attendants and porters who were on the payroll of “The Mexican” they would try and pick the Florida address but with over 2,000 people travelling from all over the world to join the ship they had to be a bit more cunning and have men in cars to follow the bags to car parks or hotels for people who opted to stay another night in Miami.

The men who worked the baggage hall would know which bags to look out for. After receiving a WhatsApp image of the bag, and an address label. Plus, the row it would be placed in would be by the team working on the ship. They would report back if any cases were stopped by customs. Or would send a picture of the bags with drugs, and if possible a picture of the person carrying it to the outside team who sat waiting in taxis, “The Mexican” also had a taxi firm on his payroll, he used them to avoid any suspicion, and when they got the call or text they would follow the case until they found a safe place to retrieve the drugs using force where necessary.

The gain was higher than the loss, for each case they lost at customs, more cases and drugs would get through. “The Mexican” was not bothered about the consequences of innocent people getting caught with a 5k bag of heroin; in their case, it was the 50 to 100K per ship that got through customs that kept his bosses in South America happy and kept him in the lifestyle he had become accustomed to. They needed a high amount of drugs to continue coming in to undercut the other gangs of South Miami, and he planned to move up a notch within the drug world.

The Mexican aimed to move further up the coast to Miami Gardens & Hollywood, he knew better than to mess with the gangs of Overton, Liberty City & Opa-Locka, he would need to double his team of pushers and sellers, plus he didn’t want to start a war with another gang, not yet. It was all about respect and knowing your limits.

3

Monday, 19^th March, Bardo finally got around to arranging a meeting with his boss at the old Station and told him about the letter and the cruise that his late wife May had booked.

His Chief Inspector thought it was a little late to be booking a 2-week holiday with the number of Officers off sick with this Australian Flu and some taking the piss claiming they had it. After a couple of minutes, he said it would be a good idea for Bardo to go on holiday and get away from Manchester for a while. He told him to tie up any cases that he could, keep the murder book up to date and pass on any information to the relevant departments and then to go get some sun on his back.

Bardo thanked him and said he certainly would. 

The next 3 days seemed to fly by.

Thursday morning, he drove to Ducie House and had to climb the stairs because the bloody lift had broken down yet again. He was certain it was the guys from the local Paper moving their trolleys up and down in the personnel lift along with their parasols and cases of promotional fizzy water just because they couldn’t be arsed walking down one flight of stairs to use the goods lift…. he could be wrong, he thought.

After making a coffee, he flicked through the three cold-case files sitting on his desk. He couldn't do anything with two of them at present, as he was waiting for information to come through from Glasgow and Newcastle and for DNA results from a sock found between the 2 layers of a brick wall from a house in Eccles just before Christmas. In 1974, a body was discovered by builders doing the footings for a conservatory at the house. The body was still sitting in the morgue, no one had reported him missing, and no one seemed to care.

The third case was only 17 years old, so it was not that cold. It dated back to 2001 and had been featured on the BBC television program ‘Crime Watch’, where a stolen Volvo had been driven into a kebab shop in Broughton, killing 2 people. One victim was a Chinese immigrant who had probably been smuggled into the country and was slowly working off his fare. The other was the notorious, nasty piece of work, Fat Tony, who, in his day, had kebab shops, brothels and porn shops all spread over Salford. Fat Tony was the main drugs importer for that side of Manchester and had links with people trafficking gangs from Asia. Re-reading the fire report, Bardo thought it was most probably a tit-for-tat killing from one of the gangs in Cheetham Hill. The driverless Volvo had slammed into the shop, pushing Fat Tony, the flimsy counter, and the innocent Chinese man across the floor, hitting the big chunk of kebab meat that was cooking on the rotisserie, which subsequently fell into the boiling fat and exploded. Fat Tony had been pinned to the counter by the Volvo and burnt to death on the spot. Two more weeks won’t matter to Fat Tony Bardo decided.

4

It was Thursday, 22 March, when the ship docked in Miami’s cruise terminal. Due to the vast number of people disembarking and new passengers embarking, it took 2 days to clean and prepare the 2,000 cabins. Anju Patel of Goan descent was an FBI agent working undercover in the laundry, and like most native people from Goa, he spoke Marathi and was also fluent in Portuguese. Anju had been on the ship for six weeks, which was three back-to-back cruises in and out of Miami. Each night when his fellow laundry workers thought he was emailing his family back in Goa, he was reporting back to Agent Deschamps, who was scheduled to board the ship today so he could finally meet her in person.

During the first two weeks, he had noticed nothing untoward because he didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for, as the brief from the Miami Field office had gone missing. It was in the third and fourth weeks that he spotted how the drugs were being smuggled onto the ship. The old, damaged laundry was taken off, and when new bedsheets, towels and tablecloths were brought onboard, he found that they concealed the 10K bags.

Once the drugs were secure inside the ship, someone would store them away. Anju’s next task was to find out exactly where they stored the drugs; he had his suspicions, but needed them confirmed, so he planned to get close to the gang dealing with the drugs so they would trust him. He decided to join the group that had started a gambling club in one of the locker rooms, as this would help him to fit in and be accepted. And sure enough, when he started losing money, like it was running out of fashion, he got noticed and was accepted as one of them.

As Anju was sitting having breakfast one Thursday morning in the part of the ship where only the crew are allowed, a large man he knew as Manuel sat at the side of him and said, “I believe you owe a bit of money to the club?” 

    “Yes,” Anju replied, “About 2 thousand dollars” 

“I know,” said Manuel “, how would you like to pay some of it off?” 

“Any help would be appreciated. I should be sending money back home to my family, not gambling it away,” said Anju. 

“OK, leave your breakfast and follow me,” ordered Manuel.

They quickly walked down two flights of stairs; Anju had never been so far down the ship before. Still following Manuel, they reached the locker room, and after Manuel had unlocked the door, they both went inside. Two men he didn’t recognise were standing in front of a large table on which sat six cases. Both men were wearing disposable gloves and were trying to prise open the cases by pushing a pen or a screwdriver into the zip, splitting the teeth and moving it around to open the case. They didn’t take anything out of the cases, but they lifted half the clothes and placed a 5k bag in the middle, replaced the clothes and then they ran the zipper around the case a few times to lock it again. When all six cases were locked, one of the men took a phone out of his pocket and took a photo of each of the luggage labels and any other stickers that were on the cases. He then messaged the photos to a contact number on his phone. Manuel said, “I want you to work in here today and to do as many bags as you can. We only have 12 hours to do this”. Passing Anju a screwdriver, he said, “Juan will take the photos and send them to the team outside, but if I catch you stealing from the cases, I will cut your fucking hand off.”

Bloody ironic, Anju thought to himself, taking the screwdriver, so it's OK to smuggle 5K of heroin onto the streets of Miami, but you can’t steal a pair of earrings out of a suitcase!

Manuel and one of his men took the six cases out and brought another six in and put them on the table. Anju asked the other man what his name was, but he snarled back, “No name, no talk, you just work.”  They set about the task of opening the cases; the other man did four to Anju’s two as he was faster due to his experience. The other man pressed a button on the wall and said, “You need to be faster, quicker, quicker” Then the door opened, and the six cases with drugs went out; another six were brought in. Anju said, “I have no bags of powder left,” but no one was listening, so he shouted, “I need some bags of powder. I have none left!” The other chap stopped what he was doing and opened a door leading to another room where there must have been at least a hundred 5k bags on a pallet, and at the back of the dimly lit room stood another table where 2 people were quickly splitting the larger bags into smaller ones for shipping out. To the side of the table was a roller shutter door, and Anju had no idea where it opened out to, but he made a mental note to find out. The man pointed to the table and said, “Take, be quick” They made a total of five trips carrying three bags each time, and they visited the secret room another four times during the day.

Anju had no idea how long he’d been in the room or how many suitcases he’d packed with heroin, but he did know that he was knackered. Manuel came back and let him out and locked the door behind him, leaving the other men inside, with the door locked. Manuel turned to Anju and said, “You knocked $200 off your debt if you don’t get into any more trouble, you’ll pay it off in 20 weeks or 10 cruises,”. 

Anju asked Manuel, “What about the other chap?”  

“None of your concern” replied Manuel sharply,  

“Oh, come on, you can’t leave him locked in that room” pleaded Anju, Manuel opened his jacket to show him the handle of a gun tucked into the top of his trousers and said slowly and menacingly while prodding Anju in the chest “Again, it is none of your concern, now go, do laundry.”

Anju put his hands up in defeat and walked away. Feeling tired and hungry, he remembered that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, as he hadn't managed to finish his breakfast before being escorted to the lower floors of the ship by Manuel. “Guess I will just have to wait till the morning now,” he muttered to himself as he opened the door to his cabin that he shared with one other, stripped off, had a shower, fell on his bed, and slept.

5

Bardo sealed the files for the three cases he was working on, emailed a list of things to do to the admin team, and then turned off his PC. He locked his desk drawer, said goodnight to anyone who was listening and walked out the door.

It was a Thursday night, which traditionally used to be late night shopping, but nowadays most shops stay open till 10 pm every night, and he decided to do some clothes shopping for his holiday. He knew it was a bit late in the day, as he was flying out the following morning, but for the last 24 years, his wife May had picked out and bought any new clothes he had ever needed. He knew he needed to buy some shirts, trousers, shorts for walking, shorts for swimming, t-shirts for the day trips and some vest tops for lounging around the pool. He could wear the dinner jacket he had got for the Sportsman’s Evening last summer, he thought to himself, but he would need to try it on when he got home, and was sure it would still fit as he didn’t know he’d put on that much weight over Christmas. As he was walking past Sketchers on Market St, he spotted some tan boat shoes that would do the trick.

£175 lighter and a few bags heavier, he made his way back to his car. Taking the same route as he did every night, down Great Ancoats Street, Swan Street around the Arena along Bury New Road then left at McDonald's towards the Casino at Broughton, right onto Littleton Road, left at the roundabout onto Agecroft Road to Lumns Lane then up to Rake Lane where the red Nissan Micra had been burnt out and dumped and as he looked at the spot, as he did every single time he passed, he realised it didn’t get any easier.

The first thing he did when he got home was to try on his dinner jacket and trousers. “Fine,” he said to himself out loud “, it will do, as long as I don’t put too much weight on, in the first few days.”  Thinking about all six restaurants onboard, and the 24-hour food made him hungry, so he decided to ring out for a curry when he had finished his packing. He had to sit on his case to lock it, and he wondered how the hell May had managed to do all this. How did she put his and her clothes in a case and not get them creased? He opened himself a Bud while his thoughts drifted to May and happier times spent together at a beach bar in Spain, sipping a cool G & T, eating local food, and watching the world go by.

The taxi arrived at 5 am the following morning for the 30-minute drive to the airport. After check-in and going through passport control, he had just enough time to find a seat, have a brew, select and buy a magazine and then he was off.

The plane was an Airbus 3000, and he had a window seat with two empty seats next to him as his flight was only half full, which was good as he could stretch his legs and sleep for a while. He had a mate who had downloaded the next 2 Lee Child books onto his Kindle for him, which was a good thing because he only had 10% left of “Never Go Back” to read. His mate talked about Mobi this and Epub that, but he had no idea what it all meant, he got the books for free, great result!

The take-off was smooth, and shortly afterwards the steward came round with a meal and drinks. Bardo read for a while, slept a little and enjoyed a G&T while he chatted with the stewardess only because she had blonde hair and blue eyes. The ‘fasten your seatbelt’ sign came on, and the captain went through his practised speech about landing and informed the passengers that it was 25 degrees outside and would probably hit 30 degrees by the late afternoon. He reminded them to change their watches to the local time and to enjoy their holiday. Half an hour later, Bardo was saying thank you and goodbye to the blue-eyed blonde Stewardess.

He eventually collected his bag from the luggage carousel, and wondered to himself, if his bag was always the last one off the plane, or did it just feel that way as he walked through the ‘nothing to declare’ door

“Wow, I am in Miami,'' he said as he joined the line for a cab and thought how strange it was looking at all the yellow cabs lined up. His cab drove through the airport complex onto the streets of Miami towards the South Shore; his hotel was situated in the Art Deco area.

He was dropped off outside his huge hotel, paid his driver and entered the cool, spacious foyer with palm trees on either side of the glass doors. May and the travel agent had carefully picked this hotel as part of their holiday package; it was three stories high with a foyer the size of a football pitch and was one of the Hilton group. The bellboy dressed in some type of uniform he’d seen in an Agatha Christie film from the 1960s took his bags to one side while Bardo went to sign in. He passed over his passport and credit card to the young blond receptionist behind the counter, who was about 5 feet 10, slim with sparkling white teeth and a smile a mile wide and spoke with an Eastern European accent- God, he thought, they get everywhere! When he arrived at his room, the bellboy placed his bag on a plastic sheet that covered the bottom of the bed and stood with his hand out waiting for a tip. Bardo put 2 dollars in his hand and said Thanks. The bellboy walked out muttering something to himself under his breath as he quietly closed the door.

The room was massive with a king-size bed backing onto a wall with a door on either side. One led to the bathroom and the other to a walk-in wardrobe. The flock wallpaper covering the walls was something like you would find in an Old English home or a pub in Salford. He unlocked and opened the set of patio doors and walked out onto the small balcony from which you could see the sea and the beach, and to the right, you could see the docks and the ship he was boarding tomorrow. They were probably letting people off and getting the cabins ready for all the new arrivals due on the following day. 

Time for a shower, then something to eat and a few beers, he decided, as it was only 16.00hrs.

Walking out of the hotel into the evening heat, he found a 50’s 50s-style diner on Collins Avenue called ‘Big Pink,’ which on its billboard described itself as a retro hangout with a huge menu. He decided on a burger and fries, with a side salad and a Sam Adams lager to wash it down with. All the staff looked happy, smiley people who were eager to help but were not too pushy. He paid the bill plus a 10% tip that came to $30, grabbed his jacket and walked to the door to a chorus of “By y'all have a nice day now,” which made him close his eyes and shake his head and say to himself, “For fucks sake!”

After the big meal and the beers, Bardo went for a stroll along the Boardwalk, ignoring the warning signs about walking on the boardwalk after dark because knew he could handle himself thanks to his police training, visits to the gym, some hand to hand combat training and by completing the riot control course plus he had watched all the Steven Seagal films   -    In his head, he was good to go.

The sun was setting over the ocean with the gulls screeching above, and he could see boats in the distance bobbing about as the tide went out. He spotted a few fishermen standing waist-high in the swell with their rods. Bardo considered going down to the beach and having a chat with them, but he looked down at his new Sketchers and thought, not today, so instead, he sat down on a bench made from driftwood and stared out to sea.

His mind was on May and how she would have loved it on the ship, dressing up on Chic nights enjoying the odd pina colada, dining in a different restaurant every night and dancing under the stars, this took him back to a big family holiday they had enjoyed in Spain some years back with his brother and his family and with May’s sister and her husband. They had stayed in a villa with its pool, double BBQ, a built-in bar with a canopy over it, plenty of sun loungers, and even several speakers dotted about that looked like rocks spread around the garden, which were wirelessly set up to a Bose music system in the living room. He remembered how young Jamie had plugged in his phone and they had all the old greats playing in the background, and he danced with May, well, when he says dance, it was more like a shuffle, all night long under the stars, only stopping to top up their glasses.

Sometime later, while he was still sitting staring out to sea, he heard a chap in a local accent say, “Give us your money and your watch” Bardo stood up and shook the thoughts of May from his mind and stared at three guys, one centre forward, whilst the other two were slightly behind. The centre guy had a knife about 6 inches long with a serrated edge down one side and he was saying “Give us your money and your watch” The chap on the right added “And hand over your phone Bro” The centre guy looked at the chap on his left and said in a Hispanic accent “Fuckin’ Bro we’re here to rob him, not talk about old times”

Bardo put both hands up to prove he had no weapon and said in a calm voice, “Come on, man, calm down, man, and let’s talk about this!! No need for anyone to get hurt” While his mind flashed to his last Lee Child book, ‘No Going Back’ and what Jack Reacher had done in the opening paragraphs outside the diner.

The centre chap mocked in a fake English accent, “Sorry, old chap. Less of the fuckin’ chit chat. Give us your fuckin’ money,” The guy on his left said again, “And yer phone” The centre chap turned to his left again and said, “Just shut the fuck u,p Bro. I’m dealing with this” Bardo was looking at the 2 outer guys but keeping an eye on the centre guy and said in a calm voice. “Look, this is what’s going to happen. In the next 2 weeks one of you will be in a box while the other two will be carrying it into the church and tomorrow morning on ABC, NBC or CBS there will be a photo of one of you and your Mamma in tears saying what a good boy you were” Then Bardo took a step back to get in a fighting stance and then suddenly the centre chap lunged forward.

At the same time, Bardo heard an almighty bang and felt a whooshing sound past his right ear. The centre chap stopped dead in his tracks. He had a red dot right in the centre of his head that hadn’t been there two seconds earlier. He fell to his knees while the two outer guys looked at each other, turned and then ran. The centre chap fell forward onto his stomach, and his face hit the boardwalk with a splat, and the knife fell out of his hand. Bardo looked down and saw that the back of the would-be robber’s head was missing. FUCK! He thought, then he heard a voice behind him asking.

“Sir, are you all right? Sir, are you injured?”

Not knowing what to do next or wanting to get shot, he thought, you don’t get shit like this happening on Market Street. He linked his fingers and put his hands on the top of his head, and dropped to his knees, just missing the blood and brains leaking out of the hole from the head of the centre guy.

“Sir are you OK?” asked the voice again, and Bardo looked up and saw what he thought was a vision from a glossy magazine, a slim redhead with the greenest eyes he had ever seen looking down at him, speaking with a slight French accent while holding a gun.

Bardo shouted, “Don’t shoot me, lady. This dead guy just tried to rob me”

“Sir, I am Special Agent Deschamps with the FBI. Are you injured?”

Still confused and wondering what the hell was going on, thinking he was on the set of CSI Miami, he could hear sirens and see blue and red flashing lights speeding along the boardwalk and onto the beach. The Special Agent asked him to stand, and he stood up slowly and walked back to the bench, sat down, put his head in his hands, and thought. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Sir, I am Special Agent Deschamps with the FBI. Are you injured?”

“No, just a bit shook up. Is this for real?'' stuttered Bardo.

“Sir, yes, Sir. We’ve been following this group for some time. I did what I thought was necessary. We know this group and what they are capable of. We have a team looking for the other two, and they will be apprehended soon.”

“You just shot the back of his head off!”  Said Bardo, “In England, we ask questions first.” 

The sirens were getting louder, the blue and red lights getting nearer, and a motorcycle cop stopped about two feet from where Bardo sat. The rider got off the bike, and as the helmet came off, she swayed her head left to right to let down about two feet of golden blond hair. Bardo thought, ‘Bloody hell, it’s not CSI, it's Baywatch’ as she introduced herself as Officer Peterson.

Officer Peterson was the tallest police officer Bardo had ever seen, as she was easily over 6ft 5. She removed a tablet from one of the bike panniers and walked over to them, and it looked like she was walking in slow motion. Officer Peterson asked Bardo if he was OK and if he needed to be seen by a paramedic. While she was talking, she was typing on the tablet, presumably opening up a new crime report and asked for his details. Bardo handed over his passport and driver's license so she could copy the details down, and as she typed up his information onto her tablet, she asked Bardo what he was doing on the boardwalk and why he was in Miami.

Bardo explained he was on holiday and due to go on a cruise the following day. Officer Peterson asked for a copy of the ship’s itinerary, which Bardo emailed over from his mobile immediately and added that if she needed any more information, they could meet up on the 6th of April when the ship was due back in Miami. She smiled and asked if he had cruised before. Bardo didn’t know if she was chatting him up or just trying to keep him calm, and Bardo explained how he came about the cruise and the death of his wife.

Bardo was going into shock; he could see her lips moving, so he knew she was talking, but nothing was getting through, so he just kept nodding and smiling. The adrenaline started to pump through him, and his hearing was coming back while Officer Peterson handed back his passport and license, her phone buzzed, and she took it out, turned her back to him and started talking.

Bardo hadn’t noticed the redhead slip away, and she was chatting to two other men in similar clothing, who he guessed were also FBI, as they both had Ray-Ban aviators on. Officer Peterson was still on her phone, so he walked over to Agent Deschamps and the two men. Agent Deschamps introduced him to her colleagues as Mr Bardsley, but he corrected her by saying, “Actually, it's DCI Andrew Bardsley of the Greater Manchester Police Force” he took out his warrant card and passed it to Agent Deschamps. He always carried it with him; it was like his get-out-of-jail card.

The Agent read the information on the card and gave a little smile, one of the other FBI chaps must have been receiving some information in his concealed earbud as he put his hand over it and started to talk into the sleeve of his jacket, Just like the movies, Bardo thought, even though the FBI Officer walked a few feet away Bardo tried to listen to his half of the conversation but it was difficult. The Officer re-joined the group with his hand still at his ear, saying, “We have the two runners.”

Agent Deschamps checked that Officer Peterson had all the details she needed, and in a flash, the two FBI Agents and Special Agent Deschamps were running towards a black car parked some distance away.

Bardo walked back to Officer Peterson and asked if she needed him for anything else. She replied that she had everything for now and that she would probably see him on the 6th of April. Bardo asked if she knew who the dead guy was, and she replied, “Yes, he had been in and out of prison all his life and before today, he was the number 2 to a wannabe gangster working out of South Miami called The Mexican. No loss to society, I’m sure,” she added.

She put her hand out for him to shake it and said, “Even under the circumstances, have a good trip” They shook hands, but she held onto his a little longer than he expected. Bardo looked into her blue eyes and thought she should be in Baywatch.

Bardo walked back into the hotel and wandered around until he found the bar; he got himself a large scotch, which he downed in two gulps, ordered another single, and they found a comfy chair overlooking the pool. In the corner, there were three guys with drums, a piano and a double bass, all in their sixties, wearing dinner suits and looking happy to be there. He recognised the music they were playing as ‘Take Five’ by Dave Brubeck. 

As Bardo looked out over the pool, he saw the last of the red and blue lights disappear into the night. 

Three hours later, and the CSI chaps were wrapping up. The body had been taken to the city morgue for the State Medical Examiner to do an autopsy, even though it was bleeding obvious how he had died with a hole on the front of his head and with the back of his skull missing!

Still looking out of the window, Bardo noticed a bleach-blond, attractive woman in her mid-thirties sitting at the next table. She had one drink in front of her, and you didn’t need to be a detective to realise she was on her own. She smiled and asked Bardo if he knew what was going on outside. The accent sounded familiar to him, and he remembered hearing it on the TV when May watched a series of programs about Nashville country and western singers. Bardo replied that he was sorry, but he had just gotten back from a walk after a big meal, and he did not know what was happening. (He just didn’t want 101 questions) She smiled again and said, “I know what you mean, everything is twice the size in America, sometimes it's better to order a child’s meal or even just a starter!”

They chatted for a while about nothing, listening to the trio doing a poor version of ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ when looking at his watch, Bardo noticed that it was 23:50 hours, time for bed, he thought. He thanked the woman for her company and wished her goodnight. As he got up to make his way to his room, he recognised the music playing as Chet Baker’s ‘Tenderly’ and had noticed that another musician had joined in with the trumpet, “Should I get another drink or bed?” he thought to himself. Bed won.

The next morning, after breakfast, he paid his bar bill at reception and was waiting outside when his taxi arrived at 09.50. His taxi driver looked like he should have been in the band ZZ Top with his salt and pepper beard hanging about a foot from his chin. The driver said, “It’s only a 10-15 minute drive to the dock,” and passed Bardo a bottle of cold water. “Cheers,” replied Bardo.

The trip down Ocean Drive in the clean, cool taxi was pleasant. They went past Art Deco hotels and shops to the right, and the vast South Beach that ran four miles from the Harbour at Fort Lauderdale to the South Pier stretched out on their left.

It was 10 am, and the beach was already crowded with people throwing Frisbees to dogs, whilst others sat reading, and children played on the shoreline. At the bottom of Ocean Drive, it became 5^th Street, then, nearer to the cruise terminal, it became MacArthur Causeway. The driver expertly parked alongside all the other cabs, took the case out from the trunk, and Bardo paid him the fare plus a $10 tip. “Thanks, man. Enjoy your trip,” said the taxi driver. “I will,” replied Bardo, picking up his bags and walking towards the cruise terminal.

Before getting on the ship he had to confirm his credit card for any on board purchases and had his photo taken for his cruise card which he was told he had to carry with him at all times as he had to show it when getting off and coming back on the ship and use it to pay for drinks above the classic package that came inclusive with the cabin, he also needed it to turn the electricity on in his cabin as was told that there was a slot just inside the door to put the card into.

Walking up the metal stairs, he entered the ship and was greeted with “Good morning sir, do you have your cruise card please?” the chap in the white security uniform swiped Bardo’s card on a card reader and his face appeared on the monitor, the crew member smiled and said, “Welcome on board Mr Bardsley.” Bardo went through a door and walked into a huge area with twin staircases going up three floors with one almighty chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

Stood in a line were five crew members in full white starched uniform who all greeted him with a smile and a shake of the hand, at the last one he stopped in his tracks and noticed a redhead with gorgeous green eyes who placed a Hawaiian style lei over his head and said in a very strong French accent “Bonjour Monsieur” then took his hand, squeezed it hard and looked at him right in the eye and said “I hope you enjoy your time on board Sir. Maybe I will see you around.” 

“No doubt you will,'' replied Bardo as he noticed her name badge read Joliette Deschamps.

You can get the rest of the book on Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0D5SZP85N?binding=kindle_edition&qid=1756146427&sr=1-1-fkmr0&ref=dbs_dp_rwt_sb_pc_tkin