Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) (41 page)

"
I don’t
think
. I
know
I’m Myra Hoffman,
"
she replied. Her accent was American but Callum noticed a hint of the Queen’s English. Perhaps went to school in London, he guessed.

"
I have news for you
,
lass,
"
Callum began.
"
I’ve met the real Myra Hoffman. You ain’t her.
"

"
She’s not the real Myra Hoffman,
"
said Myra.

"
How is that even possible?
"
Callum asked. Rait chuckled. The young woman said nothing, but her eyes seemed to become a colder shade of blue, as she fixed her gaze in anger.
Hell of an actress,
Callum thought.
Actress?
He remembered thinking before that he had seen her picture somewhere, in a poster… advert… on display… He paused and looked about to see if there was a window open, as he suddenly found it drafty in the moving car. He saw the other sedan following close behind.

Rait cleared his throat before he spoke,
"
Is that your grandfather’s legacy?
"

He jabbed his chin towards the iron box.

Callum nodded,
"
Yes, what little there is.
"

"
It will help us bring justice,
"
Rait replied, then he tried to look nonchalant as he asked,
"
May I see it?
"

Callum could see Rait was champing at the bit and took advantage.

"
Only if you’ll allow me a peek at her locket,
"
Callum suggested. He guessed it was important when they took it on the runway.
"
Might give me a clue as to who she really is.
"

Rait thought for a moment, then nodded as he reached into his pocket. Callum picked up the box and traded it with him. Rait studied the markings on the box with great interest.
"
How do you open it? Is there a key?
"

Callum looked over at him, and replied,
"
No, I’ve had to jimmy it open with a knife.
"

Rait reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a switchblade. He pressed the button and the blade sprung open and locked in place.
Guess the 1959 switchblade ban doesn’t apply to this wanker,
Callum thought to himself.

"
May I?
"
Rait asked, but with a tone that did not really sound like a request for permission.

"
Knock yourself out,
"
replied Call
um, as he turned his attention to
the little gold locket in his hand.
Elegant gold chain, Celtic design
. Pity it was broken and re-knotted
.
He raised his eyes to see ‘Myra’ glaring at him with venom in her stare. It was as if he was a heathen defiling a religious relic. He popped
the latch
. He heard the sharp, hateful intake of air through her teeth. Ever so gently, he opened the locket. There were two photos. One of a boy in an old fashioned sailor suit. And the other was a picture of the young woman here in the car directly across from him, with - -

"
Are you sure you don’t have the key?
"
Rait asked as he was trying to pry the lock with the tip of his blade.

"
Nah, it’s been a pain,
"
Callum replied.
"
The damn thing re-locks every time I close it. I keep telling myself to jab something in it next time I open it, to keep it from locking.
"

Callum looked back down at the locket and this time he decided to inspect the back of it
. H
e turned it over
, then
squinted his eyes as
he tried to read the engraving:

To Myra,

Happy Anniversary!

Archie

December 31.

Callum felt a shiver run up his spine as he read the inscription. He looked up at Myra again and asked,
"
What’s your full name?
"

"
Myra Amelia Sloan Hoffman,
"
she replied without any hesitation.

"
Sloan? With an ‘e’ or without?
"

"
Without.
"

Callum suddenly sat up straight, as he opened up the locket again. He held it to the light from the window. It was her eyes. Myra’s eyes.
Now I know where I’ve seen her before!
Callum thought to himself. He looked up at her, she was staring at him inquisitively as if sensing his sudden realization.

Callum’s tired mind started to put the pieces together.
Of course!
It’s a nutty conclusion, but now he knew who really killed Agatha Gilcrest in 1909!

SLICE!

His revelation was interrupted by the sudden sound of grinding metal, like a butcher sharpening his knife, then a spray of liquid on his rumpled suit.

An ear-piercing scream like a banshee being expelled from Hell rattled his eardrums. Then he saw Rait’s hand still holding the switchblade next to his shoe, blood spurting from the bloody stump where the hand used to be.

CLICK

The other agent, horrified at what he had witnessed, now turned his gun from Myra and aimed it directly at Callum’s face.

Myra suddenly grabbed his gun arm.

BLAM!

April 10, 1982

Chapter
LIV

Edward had arranged for the porter to take his luggage to his stateroom while he rushed to speak with Captain Hastings on the bridge of the RMS
Titan
. He was about to ascend the fore staircase when he suddenly stopped. It was as if he was transported back in time.

The pattern of black tiles inlayed on the white floor was exactly the same as the
Titanic
’s First Class entrance. Edward’s hand rested on the bronze cherub holding the lamp at the base of the grand staircase. He had not been on the RMS
Titan
since the decorators had begun doing the finishing touches. He knew that they were going to be similar; he had no idea that it was going to be so exact. He remembered feeling so small, the stained-glass dome in the ceiling seeming so high and enveloping. He had been lost and found his way to the clock and waited… waited for …
Mommy
…

Edward slowly walked up to the landing before the stairs split into two directions. His fingers touched the replica of the detailed oak carving entitled,
Honour and Glory Crowning Time
. For a moment he was a little boy again, staring, enchanted by the beautiful carved angels flanking the large wind-up clock face with Roman numerals.

Now, as an adult he could inspect it more closely. The angel on the right named Glory,
is
fan
ning
a palm frond over the other angel’s head. Honour, the angel on the left, is ignoring Glory. Instead she is concentrating as her foot rests on a globe… the world… she is busily inscribing on a tablet resting on the clock.
Is she recording history?
The wreath of Victory is at Glory’s feet, resting against the pedestal that supports the clock… or time.
Was this glory of victory over time?

"
Edward! There you are!
"
a voice from the distance called out.

He turned, almost expecting to see someone else but his thoughts shattered back to the present as Roger’s rotund form came barreling down the marble staircase.

"
Yes Roger, what is it?
"
Edward asked, as he continued up the stairs to meet him.

"
Have you seen this?
"
Roger huffed, out of breath. He then handed Edward a folded newspaper.

"
No, what is it?
"
asked Edward as he unfolded the local
Saturday Comet
. A color photo answered his question. It showed two black Mercedez-Benz cars, overturned and battered, along the side of the road. The headline read:
Horrific Car Crash in Essex!

"
Are these the same….
"
Edward started to ask.

"
Yes,
"
Roger replied.
"
It says it happened yesterday. According to the estimated time, it happened not long after they left the airport.
"

Edward scanned the article but then realized nothing was sinking in. There was a long awkward moment of silence as he found himself staring at the photo of the wreckage.

"
Edward? Are you alright? Everyone’s been asking for you…
"

"
Were there any survivors?
"

"
The article doesn’t say. But I called someone at the Essex Police. They haven’t identified all the seven bodies pulled from the wreck yet.
"

"
Seven?
"
Edward repeated.
"
How many agents were present yesterday?
"

"
I don’t remember. But they did confirm that
none
of the dead bodies recovered were female.
"

"
She survived,
"
Edward said.

"
It gets more interesting,
"
Roger added.
"
It seems that the driver of the stretch sedan was shot in the back of the head.
"

"
Is that what caused the crash?
"

Roger replied,
"
That’s their preliminary speculation but they won’t make a definite ruling until they finish their investigation. But right now Myra… the con artist… is on the loose… and she may be armed. Should we warn your parents?
"

"
No,
"
said Edward.
"
I don’t think we should bother them with this.
"

"
Under the circumstances maybe we should get them off of the boat. What about when we dock at Cobh tomorrow?
"

"
No, it’s their anniversary cruise,
"
replied Edward.
"
I won’t allow that woman to ruin it for them. The security is clearly tight due to Their Royal Highnesses but they should be informed. I’ll take that responsibility.
"

Roger grumbled in dissatisfaction,
"
Do you have one of your drawings or a photo of her? We can have her face plastered on every TV set on the planet. She’ll be caught in no time then.
"

"
No,
"
Edward commanded.
"
We don’t want that kind of publicity. Not with the Royal family aboard, and we certainly don’t want her to upstage the anniversary dinner tomorrow night… I don’t want to give her that satisfaction.
"

"
But…
"

"
No buts,
"
Edward interrupted.
"
Follow my instructions to the letter. I’ll contact my associate in the British Intelligence. We’ll make sure that there’s extra security in all the nearby airports.
"

"
Airports?
"

"
She’s fixated with me,
"
Edward replied.
"
She’s going to try to get back to New York. An airline is the only way to get to me, unless she can make it to Cobh port in Ireland by tomorrow, which isn’t likely without any money or resources.
"

"
You sure?
"

"
Positive,
"
Edward replied.
"
Right now she’s going to lay low and try not to attract attention.
"

. . .

Debi loved working in London’s oldest toy store. She was always a child at heart and enjoyed testing out the new toys. What she loved the most was seeing the look of complete joy in little kids’ eyes
:
t
hat expression when they found that ‘perfect’ toy
,
the one that was made for them.