The Atlas Murders (40 page)

 Henry spent much of the next
three days at Vera’s: reading the daily papers and lunching out. Shopping,
going into exotic shopping arcades he’d never dreamed existed. In the afternoon
he’d light the fire before Vera arrived home. On the third day her breath was white
steam in the chilled air as he opened the door to greet her.

“How was your day,” she
murmured, rising on to tip toes to kiss his lips.

 “Fine now that you’re home.”

 She looked slightly
concerned.

 “Any news from the Yard?”

 “Yes, I have a meeting with
Vincent, Tom, and the Deputy Commissioner in the morning. They should know more
about the importance of the ring and also have some news about his impending
court appearance where his defense will be asking for bail.”

 She took his hand and led
him to the warm room. Seating him before the blazing fire, she went to the
drinks cabinet.

 “How about a glass of port
before dinner?”

“Yes please. You know Vera,
you’re a treasure.”

 She handed him the generous
glass of vintage port.

“I’m your little treasure,
and you are my hero.”

He raised his glass.

 “We’ll drink to that.”

 Henry felt a strange mixture
of relief and trepidation as he walked to Scotland Yard the next morning; it
was bright and sunny with the frost still lingering in sheltered places. He
went to Vincent’s office and Tom arrived in behind him. Vincent was standing
with a file in his hand.

 “Just a backup in case we’ve
missed anything.”

 Tom was also carrying his
file on the case.

 “And here’s my back up, he
exclaimed, as he held it up.

Vincent noticed Henry’s
silence and nervousness.

 “Right, we’ll go and meet
the demigod himself.”

 The door to the Deputy
Commissioner’s office door was ajar; Vincent knocked and walked in followed his
two colleagues.

“Please be seated gentlemen.”

He sat at the desk which was
covered with papers and open files. He pushed some of them aside but picked up
one marked ‘important’. He looked at the three men before him. The wretched news
he was about to convey was already apparent from the hang-dog expression on his
face as he took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

”I’m afraid the news from The
Crown Prosecution is disappointing,” he paused, “and that’s an understatement.”

 Henry shrugged his shoulders
and fiddled with his tie, rubbing it between the fingers of both hands. He
stared at the Deputy as a criminal would stare at a jury.

 “I have their decision on
the importance of the ring as evidence. They know when and where it was
purchased. And they know it was bought by Henry. That has been verified by the
shop in question. But the crucial part is where it was manufactured. That
design of ring was, and still is being manufactured right here in London; it’s
being made at a small jewelry workshop in Chamber Street. The workshop has
given us the numbers for this particular ring sold by them over the past five
years; they’ve sold precisely 640.”

He looked at the three glum
faced men. “They’ve been sold all over Britain and the Republic of Ireland, as
well as in Europe and Australia and New Zealand.”

He stopped and waited for a response,
but they just sat there, dumb and dumbfounded.

They all realized that the defense
would also have this information and proving beyond doubt that this particular
ring belonged to Shirley would be a virtually impossible task. They also
realized that however compelling, the evidence held on the killer for crimes he
committed outside of British legal jurisdiction, would be inadmissible in a
British court of law.

 “The rest of the case
against him; he being on the ship in the port the night Shirley was murdered,
the fish hooks and his other vile defilements of the young girl would not, in
their estimation, rate enough to even bring a case against him. It would be
dismissed by the judge as purely circumstantial – not hard evidence. However, the
parts of the anatomies would be held with other evidence collected at the crime
scenes, and however long it takes, all will be done to bring him to justice at
some future date. This has been made a priority by the head of the Crown
Prosecution Service, who sends his deepest condolence to you, Henry. He also congratulates
the three of you for such a fantastic operation. Knowing the extent of Tukola’s
depraved crimes, he is deeply upset that justice can’t be served, and is angry
that more young girls’ lives will be at risk until the killer is brought to
justice.”

 Vincent clasped his hands
between his knees and in a voice straining with stifled emotion, and speaking
to no one in particular, he looked up and said, “How can this be called justice
- this bastard will be free and on the streets of London tomorrow?”

 Tom rolled the file into a
tight tube and tapping it on his knee, he blurted, “where does the law start
and where does it end?”

After a few moments of
bewildered silence, the Deputy Commissioner laid his two elbows on the desk and
leaned over to be closer; as if by doing so it would give more consolation to
the hurt and despondency permeating the room.

“I can’t begin to feel the
disappointment that you’re feeling; especially you Henry. I assure you that we
did our best but it just wasn’t good enough. To think of that beast walking
free tomorrow is such a travesty of all that is right and just.”

 Henry stood. “I want to
thank you for everything,” and looking at The Deputy, “but especially my two
colleagues here for their great help particularly when I was away on that hell ship.”

Somehow holding in his
emotions, he shook hands with the three men in the room, turned and walked out.

 His last evening in London
was spent with Vera; he took the train back to Runcorn the next morning.
Although offered, he flatly refused to take a much needed recuperation break
and reported for work the following Monday.

Henry often reflected,
particularly in his darker moments, that his experiences on the Rangoon could
best be described as, ‘the misadventure of a lifetime…’

~~~~~~

Forty Years Later

The End of the Beginning

Sadly, Vera’s past heartache
and Henry’s continued anguish meant their relationship could never last. Vera
retired to her family estate where she took up painting and had limited success
with her contemporary work. She spent much of her time hidden away in her
bedroom writing melancholic love poems.

Oswyn went on to get his
master mariners ticket and became senior captain in the company. The shipping
company was taken over in the mid-eighties and he then retired to the family
plantation in India. One of the plantation staff served life for the murder of
Nilima.

Lord Percy Welland suffered a
stroke and was rendered a helpless man for five years before he died in1975.
His wife Centaine still lives on at Thurrock Hall and believes she sees a ghost
of a young girl walking the corridors at the witching hour of midnight.

Gary Conrad stayed on at sea
and became chief steward, eventually settling ashore after marrying a wealthy
widow who owned a hotel. He now lives most of his time in the South of France.

Sean Sweeney stayed at sea
and is due for retirement. He never married but spent his leave time helping
out in India with the street children. He intends to see out his remaining
years working with these children in Calcutta.

The captain of the Rangoon
took retirement and he and his wife went to Colombo and found Pippa’s mother. On
their first emotional meeting he returned her diamond ring. They tried to tell
this broken-hearted woman about her beautiful daughter’s death. The captain and
his wife bought a house outside of Colombo where they lived with Pippa’s mother
- their helper and companion. The captain passed away peacefully, but both old
women still live there with their memories; content, resigned and strengthened
by sharing the burden of their losses.

The Beginning of the End?

 Although recently retired from
the police force, Henry Carter can never stop being a cop; and he can never
stop being eaten away by the injustices done to his beloved niece and all the
other poor victims of Tukola’s murderous reign.  He is hoping that if he can
finally catch up with the killer, new technology not available in 1958 will lead
to Tukola’s conviction and exorcise the demons that still dwell in Henry’s
troubled soul.

Please Read On

P
art Three

No Pleasure Cruise

Chapter Thirty-Three

Havana, Cuba –
2000.

As Henry Carter walked along
Havana’s historic seafront he looked like any relaxed tourist enjoying his
retirement. He was a lean fit man, still sporting a full head of blonde but
slightly graying hair. He had well chiseled features with eyes once warm and
loving but now cold blue like arctic pools.

He pondered how little had
changed in Cuba since1958; he mused about the new millennium, especially how
during the last five years it had given the sense that humanity was going over
a mountain and into a new state of existence. But nothing has changed. Even all
the scare-mongering that crashing computers could cause world chaos was a storm
in a teacup. He often thought during the lead up to the new century, whether he
would live to greet the year two thousand. Silly how it must seem now, three
months into the millennium. At the time his concern was very real, now he put
it down to retirement nerves.

 Henry strolled along The
Malecon, thronged with vibrant young people enjoying a carnival atmosphere;
happy voices and laughter resonating to a background of Latin American music.
There were quite a number of young girls seeking the attention of passing
tourists, an aura of love and lust that brought his world of loveless solitude
into sharp focus. There were times he regretted never having had a lasting
relationship, but he had seen others in his job whose marriages had crumbled
under the strain of long hours and demanding conditions.

The wrenching from his life
at a young age of someone so precious had probably accounted for much of his
disillusionment with humankind. The torment that had eaten away at his heart
and mind for so many years had left a void of dark despair that he looked set
to take with him to his grave.
But his despair had now suddenly been thrust from its
dark cavern into a bright open arena with the development of new DNA technology.
He would seek out this evil to his last breath, and extract retribution against
the monster that had ruined so many lives, including Katherine his only sister
who died at a young age, dispirited and heartbroken.

He walked up the beautiful
Prada and came to the small open space with its water features and palm trees. The
fading light played on the statue of La Manzana de Gomez filtering through the
palms in shafts of rose pink. The early evening was hushed in a brief solitude
as taxi’s sat idle outside the hotels and the marble benches were vacant except
for a few young couples holding hands silently, happy in their precious love
zone. An old man sitting like a statue bent over rolling a cigarette, looked up
as Henry approached. He observed with patient sad eyes the stranger standing
bathed in an ethereal shadow of a soft rose hue. He offered Henry his tobacco
pouch.

 “You like a cigarette?”

 “Thank you.”

He held the soft pouch in his
hand and politely asked the old man, “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

 He tapped the seat with his
bony hand.

 “You are very welcome to
join me.”

The old man smiled a broad
smile showing perfect white teeth and a light seemed to flicker in his dark brown
eyes; his gray hair was groomed and fully enhanced what was once a very
handsome face. His coffee-colored skin was a wonderful example of the mixed
breeding of the Cuban people. He seemed to be of Spanish origin, with white northern
European and African genes vying for a place in his DNA mix.

 Henry proffered his hand.

 “I’m Henry Carter from
England.”

 “Please to meet you, Henry.
My name is Enrique Cardero.”

He struck a match and lit
both their cigarettes.

“You come to Cuba for
vacation?”

 Henry inhaled the mild
tobacco and felt relaxed as he let the blue smoke slowly release from his mouth
and nostrils.

“Yes, I am here on vacation. But
I am also here on a bit of business which will take me to some of the other
Caribbean islands.”

 “Si, it’s nice to be doing
business. I once had a business which I loved. My father grew tobacco and I was
the oldest son, so I took over the farm when he got old and I also grew
tobacco. It is very good land and grows the finest tobacco; you are smoking it
now. I still go there a few times a year to see our old home and farm and I
take back tobacco with me which I cure for myself. It is a very skillful
business curing tobacco.”

 “When did you leave your
farm to live here in Havana?”

 “I didn’t leave my farm. I
had to go when the state took all the farms in Cuba. I worked there for some
years but I had to live in a small house provided for workers. You see, I was
not considered by our new government to be suitable to manage the farm. Maybe I
did not support the revolution enough, I will never know, but it is best not to
complain or I might not get my state support.”

 “Do you live near here?”

 “Si, I live not far away. I
am waiting for my son to finish work and we will walk home together. He works
as a bar manager in the Hotel Inglaterra just here,” he explained, pointing to
a large building across from where they were sitting.

“That’s the very hotel I’m
staying at. Maybe we should go there and have a drink.”

 Enrique looked down at his
shabby but spotlessly clean dungarees and pulled at his worn blue stripped
shirt with his fingers.

“I could not go into that
hotel with my old clothes. By law we cannot go to tourist hotels, the door man
would not allow me in and it might embarrass my son.”

 “I’m sorry Enrique, I did
not mean to… I mean I didn’t know.”

 “It’s alright Henry I don’t
feel offended. I remember the good times when I could go into any hotel or bar,
but those times are gone. I had lots of money to spend and my wife and family
had a good life, she died a long time ago, she could not get used to our new
life of just living, or should I say, existing. She was from a very wealthy
family who owned two thousand acres of land and her father was not too pleased
for her to marry me with only one thousand acres. All the people working on my
farm had a good life and wanted for nothing. Sure, there was poverty in places,
but not so much that it could not be remedied with some good and proper
government. We did not need the drastic socialist policy of our Comandante and
his rebel friends. You see Henry, one cannot speak too much for fear of being
reported to a member of our local committee for defense of the revolution - and
they are many. My son, he got a good education and is a pediatric surgeon but
has no place to practice; all the hospital places are full so he works in the
hotel. If he could go the U.S. he could have a good life, but it is not so to
happen.”

“I must tell you Enrique, I
am a retired detective and I spent my whole life except for a brief period at
sea, working in England. I came here on a ship on the last days of 1958 and if
you have the patience and time, I will tell you why I am back here again.”

Henry stubbed out his
cigarette, then looking up he noticed two policemen standing a short distance
away. They seemed to be engaged in some kind of surveillance activity. Enrique
also noticed them.

 “Henry, we are being watched
for no reason except you are a tourist and I am Cuban.”

“That’s not good.”

“Ah, here comes my son now.”

Enrique stood up and greeted
his son as if he had been gone for months instead of some eight hours.

“Rafael, I want you to meet
my new friend, Henry.”

Rafael put out a nervous hand
and shook Henry’s hand.

 “Pleased to meet you Henry.
I’m sorry, I must hurry,” he added, glancing at the two policemen.

“I will see you back at home
Papa.”

Rafael walked quickly away as
both men sat down again.

 Enrique spoke softly to
Henry.

 “I will have to go now. If
you wish to come to my house you are welcome. You see our two policemen are
leaving but we have another unwelcome guest coming across the plaza.”

 Henry turned to the direction
Enrique nodded, and standing under the palm trees with his German shepherd dog
on a chain sitting at his feet, was a policeman wearing a black beret and khaki
shirt over a belted black britches; his heavy black boots added to the ominous
presence.

“You walk with me now Henry.”

 Enrique stood up and began
to walk away. Henry let him go a short distance and followed. He looked back at
the Gestapo style policeman and saw he was busy with three youths - he was
examining their papers. Henry passed a large imposing building faced with a
pale green marble sporting in large letters the brand name, ‘Bacardi’. This was
a buzzing metropolis when I was here last, but on its narrow road to socialism
and with American sanctions, any vibrancy has long faded. What a shame for a
wonderful country and her fine people, he lamented. Thoughts of 1958 were
running through his mind and memories of Alicia and their brief but passionate
liaison seemed to grab him and awaken a reality of purpose and desire to grasp
at something real - an impossible dream. I’ll go and find her out. But what if
she is married which more than likely she is. Could I do it discreetly? he
pondered. I’ll talk to Enrique.

 Enrique had slowed down to
wait for Henry as they walked down O’Reilly Street.

“The special policeman you see,
he could be very, how would you say, nasty. He could take me to the police
station for no reason and question me about stupid things I know nothing
about.”

 “I don’t want to get you into
any trouble. I will go back to my hotel now. Thank you for your company.”

 “No Henry,” Enrique
protested with an air of defiance.

 “There is no need. If we
give in to all their stupid little laws they have won. I have to keep some
little resistance and independence even if it does mean spending twenty four
hours in their custody.”

 As they walked down a side
street Henry again began to think back to 1958 and he recognized some of the
ornate buildings he saw. They strolled on in the fading evening light on the
dimly lit streets with cracked and worn pavements, where loose and broken stone
slabs could trip a less than careful walker. There were few cars or other traffic
on the streets except for the big old classic 1950s American taxis, patched up
and preserved, still plying their trade. These pre-revolutionary automotive
dinosaurs were now a major tourist draw.

Enrique stopped and took a
key from his pocket; he turned the lock and opened a large paneled door with
peeling blue paint and splits through the distressed timber.

“Here we are. Welcome to my
humble abode.”

 They walked through a dark
hallway and pushed open a door into the modest parlor. Rafael was relaxing in a
large lounge chair, listening to loud lively salsa music. Then he jumped up, a
little surprised to see Henry.

 “Come in and sit down. I
didn’t expect you would come home with my father.”

He turned the music down.

“We like our music loud, that
and baseball are our major entertainments.”

 Enrique went to sit at the
table where a place was laid. He took the cloth off the plate and looked with
relish at the fried rice, sliced chicken and bacon.

“Have you eaten Rafael?”

 “Yes father, I ate at the hotel.
Would you like a cup of coffee, Henry?”

He seemed a little
embarrassed as he searched the very bare cabinets.

“Ah, yes we have some coffee
left. It’s very hard to come by sometimes but we manage a little from time to
time. It’s one of our major exports and that’s why it’s so scarce.”

 Henry felt he had intruded
into the very private lives of these two people who offered him coffee - a rare
treat they could not really afford. He was humbled by their generosity and visualized
them in a western country living an affluent lifestyle.