Wrongful Dismissal

Chapter 9

October 6th, 2013, was the day of the 'real Memorial'. Closed coffin. Poor soul had been on his face for eight days. His forehead and nose were crushed in the fall. He was a good two hundred twenty pounds and over six feet tall. He fell hard.

Because there was a police investigation the body had been kept by the police for more than a week. Then sent to be autopsied in Spanish Town. Nothing else was found. No poison or other injuries inflicted more than the obvious ones. After a whole week the one knife was removed in the center of his skull. The second knife actually fell out at the crime scene, when they carried the body out of the house. That is why Mason knew that a woman had stabbed him with that second knife. It was not plunged in as deep.

Eight days later they turned him over for the first time in order to perform an autopsy. Then Prestige Funeral Home from St. Thomas went to Spanish Town to pickup the body. When he arrived in St. Thomas, his mother went to see him. No one wanted her to go but she had to be sure for her peace of mind, that it was really him. She 'strong herself up' and went.

His face had been flattened and spread out much too much because of the weight pressing on it for eight days. The mortician, although with best effort, was not able to reconstruct the face, it had just been too long, therefore the coffin would have to be closed.

Mason attended the Family Memorial for Ceyon.

Just like Ceyon Montcliffe, it was dignified, quiet and somewhat upbeat. It was the way that he would have wanted it to be.

Nevertheless very sad.

A university bus arrived. Mason noticed who was disembarking. He also noticed who was NOT disembarking. That was very important to take note of. Some students came and some faculty. Some came because of fear of duppy. Others came out of respect and love for him.

The ones that were not there made their lack of presence felt - loud and clear - to Mason - if nobody else.

As he sat respectfully listening to the eulogies given. He had to shake his head, motionlessly. To think he was almost killed over this case. It told him what was at stake here for the assassins.

It was huge.

By this time family had informed him that this story had hit the news in the United States, Canada and even on the bus in London, England.

The buses in London are equipped with televisions to entertain their passengers and as the news played, Ceyon's cousin was sitting on the bus hearing about the tragedy in St. Thomas, Jamaica. Ceyon was an international figure, alive or dead.

Mason had learned with time that Ceyon had helped thousands of people. Hundreds of students. Many people had high-profile, executive jobs in those three countries because of the mentoring, training and teaching Ceyon had given them. He was an amazing person.

Mason wished that he had known him when he was alive. Ceyon was a person whose interests or attitudes were similar to Mason's.

After the memorial they went to Prospect Cemetery. There was Auntie Babzy throwing herself on the tombstone and on the coffin as it was lowered into the crypt. Many crying. Shaking their heads. Snuffed out at forty-four. Gone too soon. Why? So many unanswered questions. Such a good person with so much to offer the world, obliterated. For what? Such a waste. A mindless waste.

Mason stared at Ceyon's mother.

What is the feeling of a mother who puts her child in the ground and watches cement being thrown on top of a beautiful mahogany coffin with brass fittings? How fragile we all are. Even big strong men - so fragile. Life must be respected. So easily gone. Ceyon was someone's son. He came from her body. She nurtured him. Loved him. Inspired him. Trained him. Protected him. Made him strong. Made a man out of him.

Sadness overwhelmed Mason as they spoke about his accomplishments in such a short life, so much accomplished. At forty-four he was at the 'top of his game'. A senior lecturer at such a young age. Impressive. Where did he have to go from there? He was almost at the top. Snuffed out in minutes. Who has the right to take a life? Who has the right to judge who lives or dies?

Ceyon Montcliffe was buried across from his favored cousin.

When Suzette got married Ceyon arranged everything for her wedding. Decorated the wedding hall. When she died Ceyon arranged everything for her funeral. Big flowered letters spelling her name. She died in childbirth. Along with the child. He loved her so much he wanted to die when she died. Now they lay there together only feet away from each other.

Life is cruel, death is crueler. Her father began to die when she died. Not five years later he was buried not far from her. Sadness filled the air.

So much tragedy in this family of people who only deserved the best of everything. The best that life has to offer.

Ceyon was gentle, he was kind. He was full of life and fun. He loved to dance. He loved making people laugh. When he laughed it made everyone laugh around him even though no one knew what he was laughing about. He laughed with his whole body. He wouldn't hurt a fly. They called his grandfather Peaceful Man. And that is how all Peaceful Man's children and grandchildren were, including Ceyon, simply peaceful. He was one of the eldest grandchildren of Peaceful Man.

Who would want to hurt this person or this family?

After having been with the family, seeing and getting to know all these lovely, gentle people, Mason was more determined to find Ceyon's killers.

ALL of them.

Gigi was at the funeral too. For Mason's sake. They walked away hand in hand, slowly, solemnly, quietly, from the cemetery.

Gigi was crying openly, "I can't help it. I find these things so sad. When you see really good people, upstanding people, have such sufferance violently forced on them, it breaks your heart."

Mason didn't say a word. He just looked at her in agreement.