Ghosts: Murder Mystery in Malta, #2

By Jesmond Grech

The village of Gudja's peace and quiet is suddenly shaken when Charles Borg, a hoodlum with a turbulent past and a present riddled with shady dealings, is found murdered in his garage. Nobody seems to be terribly sorry about this death and the list of suspects is interminable. Then, another murder follows and things begin to turn nasty.

Finding the culprits is the job of Inspector Sander Debono and his team at CID. They are convinced the murders are related but the more they delve into the present, the more they are thrown back to the past and the more they deal with the living, the more they are confronted with ghosts…

 

Grech's second novel in the Murder Mystery in Malta series offers a taste of the culture, traditions, and mentality of a Mediterranean people living on an over-populated island where not everything is all sunny and smiles. Danger, evil, and death lurk in the shadows…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jesmond Grech
• Release date: Jul 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223746850

Jesmond Grech

Jesmond Grech, a Maltese author and teacher, was born on September 14, 1963, in Mtarfa. Growing up in Paola, he attended primary school and pursued secondary education at Mt Carmel College and St Paul’s Missionary College. He holds a Bachelorship (1986) and Masters in Education (1990) from the University of Malta. Grech married Mary nee Pace and has two children. His passion for literature began with stories from his family and book-reading programs by Charles Arrigo. Grech had two ambitions: to become a teacher and an author, both of which he achieved. Early in his career, he co-authored an anthology of poems called L-Għaxra tal-Ħamsa and authored Demm fil-Korsija. Recognizing the challenges of writing in Maltese, he pursued it as a hobby. Grech's interest in writing for children led to books like Mid-Dinja ta’ Ġorġ and an adaptation of Greek myths titled Stejjer mill-Greċja. He pioneered adolescent literature in Malta with his book Ġenerazzjoni Paceville in 1999. He developed a simple, flowing style, evident in his self-published series Kotba tal-Qalb, with works like Gideb u Mħabba and Mħabba mill-Ġdid serialized for TV. His nursery rhymes anthology Bongi Wongi u l-Avventuri Tiegħu, illustrated by Marisa Attard, represented Malta at the Tour d’Europe en 27 Livres d’Images exhibition in France in 2008. Grech's first crime novel, A Simple Affair, set in Malta, was published in 2021. His contributions to Maltese literature have been appreciated by both children and adults due to his accessible writing style.

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About the Author

Jesmond Grech is a history teacher in a state secondary school and pursues writing as a hobby. He has published seventeen books in a variety of genres ranging from children’s stories and history to novels in Maltese.  In 2008 his children’s book Bongi Wongi u l-avventuri tiegħu (Bongi Wongi and his adventures) represented Malta at an exhibition entitled Tour d’Europe en 27 livres d’images held at the Bibliothèque nationale de France. Two of his novels have been adapted for local TV. His British Heritage in Malta (published by Miller) is one of the most best-selling guide books in the country. His biography about the life of the servant of God, Eugenio Borg, has been translated and published in Spanish. He lives in Malta with his family.  

To MGP

"A nd he said to them : A certain man had two sons:"

(Lk., 15-12)

1987

The brawl had shifted from Jack’s Bar and Restaurant on the shore of Pretty Bay to a narrow passage leading from the beach to the petrol station. In a statement registered at the Birżebbuġa Police Station later that evening, a few patrons who had witnessed the scene said that one of the gang, a twenty-two year old from Żejtun, took French fries from the plate of a British tourist, Eric Stevens, to spite him.  Stevens had done nothing to insult his aggressors but they had gathered around him and his girlfriend while the couple were having lunch and started to jeer at them. It became increasingly clear that the youngsters were looking for trouble and they had singled out Stevens to provoke him for no apparent reason.

When frisked at the police station, iron knuckles were found on two assailants and another was carrying a knife. In the scuffle, one of the gang, Frankie Dalli from Gudja, was killed. 

Stevens was as old as his aggressors. He had been enjoying himself on the sandy beach with a Maltese girlfriend and, round about noon of that mid-August day, they sat at one of the tables for a burger with chips. This was not the first time that he had come to Malta. His mother was Maltese and, practically every other summer, the family visited the islands to meet up with nanna¸ aunts and cousins. They all hailed from Qormi, a large town, a few kilometres away from Birżebbuġa. 

In court, Stevens declared that he had never seen those persons before. He stated;

I did nothing to provoke them. They just wanted to pick on me. One of them started eating my chips and when I told him to cut it out they insulted me and my girlfriend. I told them several times to move on and leave us in peace but this seemed to have the opposite effect. They started challenging me for a fight and when I stood up to leave, they began to push us around and molest my girlfriend who, at that time, had started crying.  When I realised that they were armed with knives and iron knuckles I brandished my pocketknife in an attempt to scare them off. They were four against me. I had no choice but to fight.

The gang encircled Stevens and pushed him over to the narrow-secluded passage which led to the petrol station and the bus terminus. He got hit several times by the steel knuckles and cut in various places by a pointed instrument. His nose was bleeding and he panted heavily. Luckily somebody had called the police and they arrived a few minutes later. When they broke up the brawl, Stevens was taken to hospital suffering from various wounds but not in mortal danger. In the attempt to defend himself he must have hit Frankie who remained on the floor in a pool of blood with his own knife nearby.

The statement by Lorry Portelli, one of the aggressors read:

"During the fight I saw Frankie fall on his knees holding his neck tightly. Blood was flowing profusely from between his fingers. His hold loosened and I saw blood spraying out of the neck wound. I realised that he’d been hit in the artery. There was nothing we could do. Until the ambulance came he had lost too much blood and had died on the spot."

The police issued a warrant of arrest against Stevens but, during the trial, his defence lawyer successfully argued for self-defence. His client, he said, had been savagely attacked without any provocation by four troublemakers and he could do nothing but defend himself and his girlfriend. The jury backed this theory. Stevens was acquitted of the charge of manslaughter. Frankie was buried in the family grave in the village cemetery known as Tat-Torba in the limits of Gudja.

2019

1

TUESDAY (30.04)

The police station in Raymond Caruana Street was a modest place for a village barely spreading over 2.3km ² with a population of under three thousand. It consisted of two humid rooms painted in white plaster which dropped off in patches. The larger room with a wooden desk, a phone and a tubular chair served as a reception area. The smaller contained a kitchenette and a water closet which must have been installed in the heydays of the British Empire and never renovated since. A faded green curtain separated the rooms.  

The day promised to be as normal as any other of the year. At five minutes to seven, PC Freddie Cardona had arrived from his hometown in Marsaxlokk, parked his old Maruti Suzuki in the reserved spot and hoisted a tattered red and white flag with the mast attached to the façade.

Then, he headed for the kitchenette, switched on the electric kettle and fixed himself one cuppa after another till ten. He gobbled up some ham and cheese sandwiches washing them down with more tea, the constant imbibing of which triggered several visits to the toilet.  The snack went down well while reading a novel which saw him through another uneventful morning. Time, shown on the dusty clock hanging on the wall, passed very slowly in Gudja.

At 12.15 he went again in the kitchenette, this time to heat up a gigantic slice of the home-made vegetable pie his wife had prepared the evening before. Freddie didn’t mind eating pie again for lunch.  On the contrary, the flavour of vegetables seemed to get more intense after a night in the fridge. Besides, at that time in the afternoon, he could eat practically anything.

He took the slice out of a Tupperware box, placed it in the microwave oven and waited eagerly for the bell to ring.

A delicious aroma wafting in the air made his stomach rumble. PC Cardona sat down happily at a small table in the kitchenette reaching out for the knife and fork. He hated eating lunch where he could be seen by the prying eyes of passers-by. In the kitchenette, his food could go down better.

A furtive sign of the cross, the type Brazilian players do before a football match, and he was about to dig in his meal when the telephone in the other room started ringing.

He swore softly. Why can’t I eat in peace? he mumbled to himself.

Loreto! he called out. Loreto? Are you there?

Loreto Trophy Head, the caretaker of the local council, used to visit frequently to keep him company. If Loreto happened to be in the reception, he could answer the phone himself.

Loreto!

The phone kept ringing persistently. Evidently, for once, the caretaker was at his place of work!

Blast it! That Jug Ears is never around when you want him!

There was nothing he could do but to get up and answer it himself. 

Police Gudja! PC Cardona shouted spitting precious pie crumbs in the process.

Police? It’s my husband...

Freddie recognised Polly’s voice immediately. Surely, Charlie the Viper’s wife was about to report the umpteenth case of domestic violence.

What is it Polly? Charlie did it again?

No! No! Police you don’t understand... My husband... Come and help me...

She was extremely agitated, and he tried to calm her down. She had come to the station a few times before, always with a bruised arm or a cut lip. She’d file in a report but inevitably her case would end up exhausted because she’d refuse to testify against her husband or, sometimes, she would withdraw the charges. In his heart of hearts Freddie pitied that lovely, docile person who had married one of the most disgusting men of the village. How she did so, he could never understand!

Now calm down Polly or else I won’t be able to help you. Tell me exactly what’s happened.

Charlie! He’s dead...

Blood froze in his veins and for a moment he was not sure he had heard correctly.

Wait a minute! Wait a minute! What have you said?

Charlie... I found Charlie in a pool of blood. His throat is slit. Please come quickly. I think he’s killed himself...

A bitter taste substituted the delicious flavour of vegetables in Cardona’s mouth. He was filled with an uneasy feeling as suspicious questions started to mill in his head. Was this the truth? Did Polly react to the abuse and went overboard? What had really happened? Did she kill her husband?

Where are you? he asked with perspiration gathering on his brow.

Home.

And Charlie?

He’s in the garage. I went to call him for lunch and I found him dead. Polly broke down in sobs. Please come here quickly...

During the seven years in which he had been posted in Gudja, he had been to the Viper’s house in Ħal Far Road several times. The garage which served as his workshop was adjacent to it. There was no need for directions. 

I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Just stay calm and don’t touch anything!

When he hung up, he was at a loss as to what he should do. The constable wasn’t the kind of person who remained lucid in times of panic. On the contrary, that brief phone call had upset him greatly. In the village, the worst that could be expected was a quarrel amongst neighbours over trivial matters: a dog pooing in the neighbour’s front garden, somebody leaving the volume of his radio too high, a bickering about parking space, at worst, a bumper to bumper collision. Death was unheard of, especially on a Tuesday afternoon.

When his breathing normalised, PC Cardona could think better. The first thing that he had to do in these circumstances was to dial the Żejtun station to inform the sergeant on duty and to ask for backup. The station’s number was written on a piece of paper scotch-taped to the desk. With trembling fingers he hit the numbers on the Panasonic landline phone and explained the case to the person who picked up the receiver. They’d be there as soon as possible, they answered. In the meantime, he was instructed to go to the scene of the incident and see that nobody touches anything.

Just follow the usual procedure, they ordered him.

Ok Sir, he answered even though he wasn’t quite sure what the usual procedures were. He took it to mean as ‘go and stand there until we arrive.’

When the constable hung up, he gave a longing look at the steaming pie. Famished though he was he couldn’t finish it up, now.

I guess it’s goodbye to the pie! he muttered cursing all the while.

He put on his cap and headed for Viper’s home as quickly as his pot belly permitted.

INSPECTOR DEBONO HELPED himself to another serving of kosksu. The smell of onions, crushed garlic and fresh beans filled the kitchen with a pleasant aroma and a delightful bliss lingered on his taste buds.

"Ah! This kosksu’s just as I like it! Prosit! "

Assunta was elated with his praise even though she never showed it.

Better be careful now! You wouldn’t want to end up looking like that constable of yours, would you?

Micallef? Oh! That’s impossible!

If you continue eating like that, you will.

"But ħanini, to waste this is a sin! he said trying to justify himself for clearing the casserole off the last spoonful. Besides, I haven’t eaten a proper meal for the past ten days! Have pity on me!"

The night before they had returned from their Easter holidays at Lugano where they stayed at their daughter’s and her family. They had enjoyed the vacation thoroughly but Carmen couldn’t fry an egg without making a disaster. In an effort to be polite, Debono had endured his daughter’s so-called cooking stoically.

Come on! Don’t exaggerate! Assunta said, trying to defend her daughter. She isn’t such a bad cook...

He shuddered at the thought of what he had tried to ingest every time they had decided to eat at home! His thought went back to the overcooked ham and mushroom risotto which looked like a sticky sludge on the plate. Debono had providentially suppressed a cry of horror in time when he had seen the mixture on the table. The chicken breast stew was burnt and tasteless. A chocolate cake was too dense and rubbery and for some reason it had not risen well. Oh yes! In the kitchen, Carmen was the opposite of King Midas. Whatever she touched turned into an inedible mess! The only things that turned out well were the traditional Maltese figolli which Assunta had prepared on Maundy Thursday. Rosi had watched nanna cook in fascination and helped out in the icing decorations.

Poor Kurt! To eat the stuff she prepares! That man must have the stomach of a goat!

Assunta remained silent. She knew he was right but she would never pass a denigratory remark at anybody let alone her daughter.

After finishing up the kosksu, Debono grabbed his Bent Bulldog pipe and the packet of Mac Baren classic loose blend and headed for the yard.

It seemed to be the most sensible thing to do after such a good meal. Plants were blooming, the sun was not atrociously hot, birds chirping... Everything was contributing to the enjoyment of a peaceful afternoon.

The Easter break had passed quickly. They went for the Good Friday pageant at Mendrisio, the procession at Riva San Vitale and, inevitably, there was also shopping time in Via Nassa. Debono and Kurt would take care of little Rosi while the ladies shopped till they dropped. They had a relaxing break which already seemed ages ago.

The inspector pressed tobacco in the chamber, struck a match and puffed up smoke. The last time silver lunt had passed between his lips, he was on the promenade of Lago Ceresio with his son-in-law and the little one by his side. He missed Rosi most of all! She was growing up by the minute and getting very verbal in Italian and English. When Carmen comes to Malta in summer, the child would be two.

The first puffs were dissolving in the spring air when Charpentier’s Te Deum began to ring. Justin had downloaded the jingle to his iphone. He glanced at the display and startled as soon as he saw the name of the caller. It could only mean trouble.

Good afternoon, Commissioner.

Hi Sander, where are you right now?

At home. I’ve just...

Good. I’ve got work for you!

Gatt didn’t believe in social niceties or introductory preambles. 

But I’m not on duty today, Sir. I should be at HQ tomorrow.

Jesus! Don’t you think I know that? The fact is there’s a two-bit hood lying dead in his garage and District Inspector Manicaro isn’t sure it’s suicide. I’m assigning the investigation to you, and I need you on the spot a.s.a.p.

But isn’t Jerry Mallia on duty today? I wouldn’t like him to be offended...

Are you kidding me? That nincompoop can’t distinguish cow dung from horse shit! Mallia’ll follow orders like the rest of us! the commissioner snapped.

After a short pause Gatt continued in a softer tone.

Listen Sander, I’m sorry to call you from your leave. It’s comprehensible that you’re pissed off but do understand that you’ll be generously, and I mean generously, compensated for this favour. Don’t worry about that! The thing is I need an ace to settle this matter and I can only think of you. You know how much I respect your expertise!

The commissioner had a special way to coat a pill with sugar. Debono had known him for more than two decades. They had been colleagues at CID but, contrary to him, Gatt was in there only to springboard to higher places. One moment he’ll dash you and trash you, another moment he’ll flatter and pamper. After all those years the inspector still didn’t know whether he loved or loathed the guy!

Is there any reason why this case is so important that you phone me up during my leave?

Debono could hear Gatt’s distinctive chuckle. His suspicions were right. It seems that there was!

You don’t follow the local news, do you?

On and off the inspector browsed through the websites of the local dailies. He must have skipped something.

Certainly not when I’m on holiday. I switch off for good, Debono replied in his defence.

Bad habit Sander, bad habit! I’ve been to a EUROPOL meeting before Easter but still, I always give a good look at the papers everday. It’s called internet Sander... Gatt chuckled again.

I know, Sir... I switch off because I want to!

Perhaps you can afford to do so, I can’t. If I’d followed what’s happened, you’d see that everything starts fitting nicely like a jigsaw-puzzle...

Debono couldn’t comprehend the enigmatic words and the commissioner briefly explained the situation. It had been revealed in the media that the parliamentary secretary within the Ministry for the Interior and Law Enforcement owed more than three hundred thousand euro to the Inland Revenue Department. Forgetting that members on their side as well owed huge sums to the taxman, the Opposition was clamouring for the secretary’s resignation. In an attempt to deviate public opinion and calm the waters, the minister himself had issued a press release praising the efficiency of the Police Corps, pointing to the decrease of the rate crime and the speed with which criminals were being brought to justice. Right on cue, Charlie the Viper has been found dead...

So, just because the parliamentary secretary has been caught with his pants down with IRD, I’ve got my peace shattered in this splendid afternoon...

Not only yours! Not only yours! But you’ve got the concept, old boy! I always told you you’re a fast learner! Gatt joked. He himself has just phoned me up insisting on a speedy solution of this case...

There was no need for the commissioner to specify who He himself was.

I told him I’ll put you on this case, Sander.

Oh! That’s nice of you! Debono said sardonically.

For heaven’s sake! Don’t fish for compliments! You know you’re my best shot. Anyway, he told me he didn’t care who I’ll put as long as this case is resolved soon. There you’ve got it!

I promise I will do my best as usual, but I’m not going to hurry up and risk making mistakes...

Don’t worry about that, Sander. You’ve got my understanding and thorough support. I give you my word.

Debono knew it was an empty promise. When push comes to shove, Gatt was always on the side of power. The inspector had no blurred illusions about that. Gatt had jumped up the ladder of the hierarchy with rapidity because he had hobnobbed with the big brass, twisted and turned his values without any scruples, back-stabbed friends and foes without a blink of an eye and licked countless arses. The commissioner wouldn’t jeopardise his position for anyone or anything.

Okay then, Sir, I’ll phone PC Micallef and my sergeants to...

Gatt let out a bellowing laugh.

I’ve already did so myself! They’re on their way to pick you up. Cheerio and keep me posted.

The call ended.

For a few moments Debono remained glued to the rattan