Waves of Murder (19 page)

“Can I stay with you for a while, I’ve got nowhere to go, plee-e-ez?”

“Okay, but you must find a job and flat as soon as,” her sister said, “Jack likes his privacy and the flat isn’t that big.”

“Bless you,” Lorna almost shouted, “I’ll be down about tea time,” she added. “How much to Hove?” she said to the cab driver at Brighton station.

“What street?” the driver asked.

“Wordsworth street,” she replied.

“About £7.50, depending on the traffic,” he answered.

“Okay, yes please,” she replied. The cabbie put her roller case in the boot.

Rome

J
on went to the nearest travel shop to find out about dates and fares. Via Dublin looked good, any official eyes might not be looking at any passengers landing in London from there. He booked through Ryanair, who seemed to be the cheapest. Of course, he could afford schedule flights, but this way he thought he was safer. It had been many months since he had been to London, and hoped his trail was completely cold. Landing at Dublin airport, this would be the first real test of his new passport. He walked through passport control with no problems, the desk officer hardly looked at it, but his bag, only one, went through the x-ray machine. One bag was all he needed, he wanted to travel light. He crossed the concourse to book to Gatwick, also with Ryanair. His flight was in one hour’s time, just long enough to have a sandwich and a beer. His flight was on time at Gatwick, through passport control, on English soil, made his heart pound in his chest, but there again the desk controller hardly looked at it. He did notice a police presence at the customs ‘out’ door in to the main concourse, but they may or may not be looking for him. Jonathan Weston, definitely not Keiron Pearce, a blond man with a beard.

The next part of his visit would be tricky, the safety deposit box. He looked at the key in his hand and turned it over and over, £320,000 in there, just waiting for him! It’s just opening time at Barclays branch at Marble Arch, oh well! Shit or bust, he thought and crossed the street to enter through the automatic doors. Walking across to the safety box counter, he said to the desk clerk, “I’d like to access my box please,” he held up the key.

“Yes, sir,” the young man said, “please follow me.” He was led through a glass door, down a short corridor and shown in to the large heavy-doored room containing hundreds of boxes, all in numerical order. He soon found 0771 and pulled out the box from the aperture. He opened the box and there it was, 320 grand in euros and dollars. He loaded the lot into his bag, pushed the box back and locked it again. Walking out, he sighed a huge sigh of relief and thanked the desk clerk, handing him the key, “I won’t be needing it again,” he said and walked out. He hailed a cab and said, “Gatwick airport please, oh, and do you take US dollars?”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply, “it’s a fixed fare, $120.”

“Okay,” Jon said, “let’s go.” Arriving at the north terminal, he passed $150 to the driver.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, after hearing the magical phrase ‘keep the change’.

His cab journey from London had been a little fraught, traffic was thick but it was a comfortable trip. He sat back in the seat and watched the rolling hills of Surrey, were they called the North Downs? He thought it would be a long time before he would see them again. A very long time. Jon sat in the main hall thinking about his next move, should he fly direct to Rome, or go via Dublin again? No, it’s probably better to go direct, he thought, I’ll be well out of the area in a few hours.

Rome

H
is Ryanair flight landed on time at Rome airport, he had gone through passport control and customs without a hitch. Leaving the airport, he hailed a cab back to his hotel. He was greeted by Gretta with a passionate kiss. They went up to Jon’s room and did what Romans had been doing for centuries ....... “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she almost shouted as she reached her orgasm.

They wandered from the hotel, hand in hand, down to the small shopping area and found a bistro, typically Italian, and sat at a corner table. They ordered canneloni and a bottle of chianti.

Yonkers - New York

T
he wedding was to take place at the Town Hall Registery office, Mel being Jewish and Mary-Lou being Christian, a religious service would not be possible in the time allotted. Either one would have to go through changing their religion and they felt that that wasn’t necessary. There were about 50 guests including Mel’s widowed mother who did nothing but cry! still, she enjoyed it! Mel had managed to get a transfer to New Rochelle, just a 30 minute drive away. His new life and bride had turned him into a new man, completely, “Thank you Lord,” he said quietly as the newly married couple walked past their family and friends outside the civic office and were covered in rice and confetti. Unfortunately, being the new boy on the job, and Mary-Lou being snowed under with law work, their honeymoon would have to wait, but that didn’t matter, they were well engulfed with what newly-weds do, anyway!

St Petersburg

V
asili sat at his huge desk with six of his ‘agents’ almost standing to attention in front of him, (in Russian) “What the fuck is going on? Do you not care that my Anna has been killed, why have you not found this animal yet, and presented him to me to deal with? Does any of you know where he is?” They looked at each other nervously.

“WELL?” he screamed.

A brave young one said, “He was last seen in Stuttgart, where he changed his car, but has not been seen since.”

Vasili thought, if he went from Amsterdam to Stuttgart, he must have travelled south. “Okay,” he said, “I want that you should concentrate on Austria and through to Italy, get more agents on the trail, AND FIND THE WHORESON,” he screamed.

Vasili and his colleagues were well used to ‘dealing’ with people, many had suffered at their hands. A quick bullet in the head wasn’t their way, garrotting with piano wire and the use of blow torches were only some of the deaths that Jon could expect after being castrated, had his tongue torn out and his eyes and teeth removed.

London

C
hief Inspector Lloyd received a call from Barclays Safety Deposit branch, telling him that the box of Jonathan Weston had been emptied and that they were sorry the police were not informed at the time because the young man on the desk was covering for the usual operative who had phoned in sick. “Wasn’t the instruction spread to all bank staff?” Lloyd asked.

“Yes,” said the bank man, “but the bank has a policy of rotating staff every four months and the meeting with the instruction hadn’t happened at that time.” The instruction being that Jon’s request was ‘stalled’ on an excuse, and the police called, but it all went wrong.

Lloyd put down the phone and held his head in his hands and said to no one, “I don’t believe it, I just don’t believe it. We had him and let him go! DAMN” he shouted, and banged the leather-topped desk.

His door flew open and Sgt Bryant asked, “Are you all right, sir?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, “just pissed off, we missed Weston by a whisker. Oh he’s clever, very clever, but the fucker’s going to get caught one day and I hope it’s soon,” he added.

Rome

W
as the devil working on Jon again, he had feelings of restlessness. Lounging around in Rome was boring him, he had a wicked thought, a cruise, not necessarily to murder a rich woman for her jewellery but his thoughts were going that way. He would have to give that one a lot of consideration. He had found an apartment not far from the hotel, it had all mod cons, was cheaper than living at the hotel and Gretta was able to move in with him and give up the bedsit-sized flat she was living in.

The shopping centre included a travel shop, deja vu kicked in as he looked at the window display, ‘CRUISES’ the large poster said and listed lots of examples, including pictures of the cruise ships. Mmm he thought, ‘ I wonder’ he said to himself, smiling. Had the devil taken up residence again? One of the ships was enormous, 14 storeys or decks high, he counted, it went to the Greek Islands, Greece, Cyprus, the Holy Land and Egypt, for three weeks than back to Orbetello, the nearest deep port to Rome. The ship boasted large staterooms with balconies, ‘luxury on the waves’ it said. He walked in and said, “ Inglese?” to the young man at the desk.

“Yes, signore,” he replied.

“Good, I’d like to book the cruise advertised in the window. What’s the price for a mid-ship, half-way up, stateroom?”

The young advisor referred to the brochure and his computer, “Okay, sir,” he said, “6,000 euros including 150 euros on-board spending.”

Jon laughed and said, “Can I put the 150 euros spend on the red, in the casino?”

“Yes, of course, and I hope you win!” said the youngster, also laughing.

“Okay, let’s go for it, I need to get out of the city and get some fresh air in my lungs.”

“Magnifico!” said the salesman, and started to fill out the booking form. He showed Jon the graphic of the ship and pointed to the exact stateroom.

“Perfect,” Jon said. The 6,000 euros was passed over the desk, he received a copy of the booking which was also his receipt. The cruise would leave in two weeks time, good he thought, 3,000 passengers, at least half of them women.

He left it for another week before he told Gretta that he had to go on a business trip to Ireland. His family house in Dublin had been sold and he had to see to the sale of the contents and other assets to do with the property. “Why are you taking your dinner jacket?”

Thinking very quickly on his feet, “My family is having a big celebration because of the sale, at a posh hotel in Dublin, but as you aren’t coming I will buy you something very very special,” he promised, and kissed her cheek.

“That would be very nice,” she said smiling, and kissed him passionately.

A simple soul, he thought. He left with his luggage on the morning of the sailing which was timed for 3pm, which gave him three hours to get to the ship and check in, and to park the car etc. His case and suit carrier was taken and his car was parked. Terrific he thought, that’s what I call service. His stateroom aboard the ‘Cesaro Roma’ was luxurious to say the least, absolutely terrific!

London

C
hief Inspector Lloyd lay in bed unable to sleep, how did that cheeky, audacious, murdering bastard get away with getting his hands on the 320 grand at the safety deposit bank? he said to himself. Then it hit him, “Disguise,” he said out loud, waking his wife.

“What did you say?” she asked, “you’ve been mumbling in your sleep for hours, now please shut up and go to sleep!” He did.

“Bryant,” he called loudly to his DS, “we’re going over to Barclays Bank, have a plain car brought round.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer said.

They walked into the bank and up to the deposit desk, “I’m Chief Insp. Lloyd, Scotland Yard,” he said, showing his warrant card, “I’d like to see your CCTV recording of Wednesday the 8th of July.” It took about 15 minutes to find the recording, they were ushered in to a small rear office where the play-back equipment had been set up on a desk. “Right,” he said to the clerk, “please could we see from opening time?” The clerk ran the tape, after about ten minutes the image of a tall blond bearded man walked in and up to the desk. “Was that the man with the deposit key 0771?”

“I don’t know sir,” said the clerk, “I was off sick on that day.”

“I see,” said Lloyd, “can you get the chap who was on duty, please?”

“Yes, sir, I think it was Andrew Backley,” and disappeared.

He soon came back with the young clerk whose face was ashen and wide-eyed. Lloyd showed him the stilled image of Jon, “Is that the man who entered box 0771 last Wednesday?”

“Yes, sir,” he said with a wobble in his voice.

“Did you not know of the instruction that we were to be informed when he turned up?”

“No, sir, I was a temp on the desk that day,” he added.

“Okay,” Lloyd said, “you can go now, both of you,” he grunted. He sat studying the image, “Bryant, take this down, blond hair, blond moustache and beard, 6ft 1” or 2”. Now all we’ve got to do is to get this new description circulated on every TV station in Europe. He’s probably using an alias, but the image is the main thing,” he declared.

They walked out of the bank past the two clerks who said, ”Goodbye gentlemen.”

Lloyd waved half-heartedly, and said sarcastically, “Should be serving burgers.”

The ship was almost an hour late due to the tardy arrival of a group of American tourists, which was music to Jon’s ears. He laid back on his king-size bed, and started to watch TV. The news came on and after about two minutes he saw himself on the screen, “Fucking hell!” he said loudly, “those poxy bank cameras.” There he was, almost full faced, at the deposit desk. But in his favour was the fact that he could discard the facial hair. He went immediately into the bathroom to shave. there was nothing he could do about his hair, but just wear his fedora hat.

He went for a walk around the main deck of the enormous ship and decided to count the number of blond men who were about his height. The TV description had said 6ft+, slim, blond hair, moustache and beard. He checked his reflection in a window, nothing like the TV look-alike, even with his hat off. He had counted 38 men on the ship so far, that would answer to that image, probably from Scandinavia, they loved the Mediterranean. If he was challenged at a passport control he would merely say that he shaved off his beard because of the hot climate, job done! The Russians, Scotland Yard and even NYPD had the bearded face on record now. Would his one step ahead all the time one day come to a halt? Perhaps South America would get him away from the furore? He had all the money with him, mostly in the ship’s safe, which was in larger notes that he had changed at the ‘Bank Roma’ before he left.