Waves of Murder (18 page)

New York

“H
i Chief Inspector, it’s Mel Novak,” the Lt said to C I Lloyd on the phone, “any news on Weston?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” the C I replied, “as far as we know he’s still in Holland somewhere, as soon as we’re updated I’ll call you immediately, but at the moment he has completely gone to ground. We really don’t know where he is, sorry,” he said.

“Okay, Chief Inspector, thanks anyway,” Novak said, and hung up. With all his New York cases, Weston was still Novak’s obsession.

St Petersburg

V
asili Kashnosky had set up quite a comprehensive web of agents to cover Holland, Belgium and Germany, with large cash bonuses. Belgium had only come up with the news that he had gone to Germany as his SLS Merc had been seen for sale in Stuttgart, and he was now driving a black 350 diesel saloon, but they didn’t know where he was going. Germany, Austria France, they had no idea. Vasili upped the reward to 2 million dollars. “I want his balls in a dish, on my desk,” he shouted, and banged the top of his Louis XIV desk, “and fucking SOON,” he yelled.

Moscow

K
atti’s brothers Georki and Adriof were glad to have their sister home safe and sound. She and her mother bonded at the sumptuous villa in the best part of Moscow which housed all the billionaires in that part of Russia. The houses were high walled and security gated with 24hr armed guards and ferocious dogs. In Moscow you were very rich, or almost on the breadline so the rich had to protect themselves in the most stringent ways. It was common for a would-be burglar’s body to be found in the street the next day having bled to death from dog mauling or gun shot wounds. The police did very little investigation as they knew that they would get nowhere, as the residents had the authorities where they wanted them, in their pockets, corruption was rife. Katti’s brothers were also joining the race to catch Jonathan Weston. They also wanted his mutilated body on a slab and had sent their own agents to central Europe to find him. They were very powerful ‘mafia’ types, and had dozens of ruthless men in their employ. Her father’s death was bad, her loss of diamonds was bad, but their loss of face and reputation was the main reason to catch him. To restore their place at the top of the tree of organised crime.

Rimini

J
on was enjoying his new identity and look, he now looked like a young blond Viking. His moustache was full, well across his upper lip, and his beard at least 4” long, it was a complete transformation. The old Jonathan Weston had gone, but now he had to get a new name and passport, how? he wondered. Rimini wasn’t the place, he needed to be in a large city where the ‘underworld’ could be found. Rome was the place, he thought, after all the Romans were the most corrupt people ever, they almost invented corruption. He checked out of the hotel and started his long journey across Italy to Rome, two days at a steady pace should do it.

Rome

D
riving in from the north, the other six hills were clearly visible, and in a strange way, majestic and beautiful. His route in to the city took him past the Coliseum which was smaller than he imagined, my lord, the things that went on there, he thought. Going through the inner busy part of the city, he started looking for a nondescript small hotel, and suddenly there it was, the ‘Angelo’. Just right, he thought, with a small car park at the front, he manoeuvered the car so that it could hardly be seen from the thoroughfare. The unexpected happened when he tried to check in, he was asked for his passport. Thinking quickly, he said, “I don’t have one, my car was stolen with my luggage in Rimini, but I will be paying cash,” he explained, “Oh, by the way, this is for you,” he passed the young man 50 euros, and winked.

The youngster’s eyes lit up as he took the note, “ Si signore, no problem!” he said, with a smile on his face, “ grazie,” he added and gave him the key to room 90.

Jon paid for the room four days in advance, 500 euros, room only. “Where can I do some shopping?” he asked Antonio.

“There is the market behind the hotel street, that’s the nearest place,” he explained.

He thanked the receptionist and went up to his room, he needed sleep and threw himself on to the double bed and almost immediately fell asleep. It was hot, three hours later he awoke in an extreme sweat. In his dreams he had re-lived the last few weeks, Helen, Viktor, Anna, Katti etc. Helen’s face once again appeared above the ship’s balcony rail and called for him to join her in the water. He rushed to the shower-only bathroom discarding his clothes quickly on the floor and was soon dousing himself in cold water. Out of the shower he wondered if he was still shown on television, he switched it on and laid back on the bed wondering if he was still news, on the ‘wanted’ list of Europe. He only had to wait about twenty minutes before the image appeared of his old persona, he looked nothing like the tele picture, he was pleased, and went to compare his now face to what he had seen, nothing fucking like it! he almost shouted at the mirror, nothing fucking like me! He rejoiced again, and danced around the room. He suddenly thought about money and he decided to have a ‘roll call’ of the cash that he had. $45,000 and 160,000 euros, in sterling that came to £182,000, he would have to tone down his spending a little. After 6 o’clock he ventured out to the car to retrieve his case from the boot, there was an older man on the reception desk who just nodded when Jon waved his room card on the way back in to the hotel with his large case. He hung his clothes in the wardrobe and caught sight of a bulge in his white linen jacket. Reaching in, he found $10,000 which he had forgotten as winnings at the casino, with Katti. ‘Now there’s a nice bonus’ he said, ‘very nice, and laughed. ‘Bless you Katti!’ Little knowing what her brothers had in store for him.

Yonkers - New York

“S
orry, sir,” the young lady florist said, “I’ve run out of roses.”

Novak said, “You’ve done what?” But he said it with a smile on his face, “what am I going to do?” He did a Groucho Marx walk around the shop, with his hand on his forehead, “Okay, okay,” he said, laughing, “just do me a mixed bouquet.” The girl laughed, thinking, he’s nuts!

The door of Mary-Lou’s house opened before he reached it, “Honee-e-e!” she said, and kissed him passionately, “don’t stand there, the neighbours can see!”

“Oh, yes,” he said, “they’ve got no idea that I visit here!” They laughed, and went inside to continue their passion.

“Are you staying tonight?” she asked.

“If you want me to I will,” he answered.

“Is the President, Obama?” she almost shouted, and started fondling his genitals.

“Hey, not yet baby, I’m starving,” he said, and started to explain the difference in the bouquet.

“They’re beautiful,” she said, and went to find a vase. After some very noisy love making, she suddenly blurted out, “I think we should get married.”

Novak’s eyes opened wide, staring at the ceiling, he said,” So do I.”

“I’m free tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he added, “thanks for asking!” They laughed, and sealed the proposal with more passion. Novak had thought about his position for a long time, the Captain was still reasonably young, it would be a long time before he would move upstairs. He made up his mind in a few seconds, he would ask for a transfer to a closer district to Yonkers, perhaps even Yonkers itself.

“Okay Novak,” the Captain said, without looking up from his paperwork, “what do you want to see me about, eh?” he asked.

“I’m getting married and want a transfer to Yonkers, or close by,” he said, quietly.

The Captain dropped his pen and looked up, open mouthed, “You want what?” the Captain shouted. Mel repeated his request again. “Why, for pete’s sake? you can be married and stay here,” the captain said.

“I don’t want to, my intended has got a beautiful house, and I live in a down-town pigeon coop. I want to get closer, it’s nothing personal Captain, I just want to move on with my life.”

“What about the Weston case?” the Captain asked.

“It’s gone stale,” Mel replied, “he’s gone to ground somewhere in Europe. Chief Inspector Lloyd’s intelligence have even found out that the Russian mafia are looking for him.”

“Okay, okay,” the Captain said, “put your request in writing and I’ll put it to the Commissioner’s office, but I don’t hold out much hope,” he added. He picked up his pen and went back to his paperwork.

Rome

J
on was settling into the Roman way of life, he had come to an arrangement with the hotel management to live there as a permanent guest at a very low rent per month. He had even found himself a girl friend, a Swedish student studying ‘Roman art of the Caesars’. Tall blonde with blue eyes, a typical Swedish beauty, she had been attracted to his fair hair and beard, little did she know what lurked underneath the disguise. she was lucky, she had no diamonds and lived off of her parents and a student grant from the University of Stockholm.

Jon had thoughts of going to London, but first he must see about his passport. How would he find someone to get him one? He decided to go to St Peters Square, around the cafés he could probably find the person to help him. He chose a pavement cafe in a corner at the bottom of the square. Looking around, he was glad to see the lack of CCTV cameras, in fact, Rome didn’t have many, just one or two near banks and important buildings. There weren’t even any speed cameras on the main thoroughfares, good! he mused, Orwell’s ‘1984’ hadn’t quite reached Rome, he thought again, but it will, one day! Sitting sipping his chianti he noticed two men lurking by a fountain, wearing black leather jackets. He guessed that they were Romanian possibly, and watched as they went up to a tourist with a map open, to ask him directions. As one kept him busy the other one easily picked his pocket very skilfully, he then passed the wallet on to a young girl who just walked on, not even faltering her pace. Bingo! he thought. The tourist walked on completely unaware that he had been robbed. Jon decided to follow the older looking map-man, who eventually sat on a low wall and mopped his brow with a dirty handkerchief. Jon sat on the wall about six feet away from him and said, “Do you speak any English?”

The man turned, and said nervously, “Yes, I used to live in Slough, but I was deported last year. Are you the police?” he asked.

“Good lord, no, I’m on your side, almost a fugitive,” he added, “I need a passport,” he confided, “do you know of a way I can get one?” he asked.

The man looked around, and said, “That could be expensive, do you have money?”

“Yes,” Jon answered.

“Meet me at 6 o’clock, but not here, over at the last table at the far cafe on the square. I will be with a friend,” the Romanian said.

When 6 o’clock came, Jon was seated at the table. He was suddenly confronted by three men, all obviously Roma’s, “You wish for a passport?” one of them said. He was huge, over 6ft and almost as broad. “We hef Irish or German only, and they are 5,000 euros,” he said, as they all sat down.

“Good,” said Jon, “I’ll go for Irish,” he answered. The big man held out his hand as if for the money, “No, my friend, cash on delivery I’m afraid.”

“Okay,” the big Roma said. Obviously another deportee from Slough. “But I will need a photograph, and no dark glasses. We will be here again at noon, tomorrow,” he said quietly, through his yellow teeth.

Jon was in the same seat at noon the next day and true to their word, the Roma’s were on time. The large man produced an Irish Republic passport. “What name do you want on this?” Jon had thought about this and came up with the name ‘Keiron Robert Pearce’. He wrote it on a small part of a wine list, and tore it off. “Okay, we will want the photograph today at 6 o’clock, here.”

Jon walked around the shops outside the square until he found a pharmacy, and inside, at the back was a photographic booth. It took only ten minutes for the image to drop through the slot, good he thought, whatever happened to Jon Weston? he laughed. Six o’clock arrived and so did the big Roma, only. “Do you have the money?” he asked

“Yes,” answered Jon.

“Give me the photograph, I will be back in 10 minutes,” said the Roma.

Jon ordered some chianti, his drink had just arrived, as did the passport. The big Roma pushed the passport across the table, under his huge hand. It was then that Jon realised that the other two ‘gentlemen’ were standing behind him. Kieron Robert Pearce opened the passport and looked at the main page containing his image. Fucking hell! he thought, this is perfect! How do they do it?

“Now, my friend, the money,” demanded the giant. Jon pointed to a magazine laying on the table. The Roma opened the pages to find 10 x 500 euro notes, he took the cash and put it his inside jacket pocket.

Offering his hand, Jon shook it and said, “It’s been nice doing business with you.”

“Goodbye,” they said simultaneously.

It had been 3 or 4 weeks since the last bulletin showing his old persona as Europe’s most wanted man, it seemed that it was old news and that he was yesterday’s chip paper. So, he decided to book a flight to London.

London

H
aving been on remand pending investigations, Lorna Harper was finally called to trial at the Old Bailey. The evidence was not as solid as C I Lloyd had originally thought, her barrister was good, very good, and pointed out that she did not know what Jonathan Weston was doing, she didn’t know that he had actually murdered the women in question. She thought that he had only robbed them. The trial lasted three days, and Lorna was found ‘not guilty’, she left court. She was broke, homeless and jobless, really just another victim of Jonathan Weston. Of course, she had perjured herself, and would have to live with that for the rest of her life. After all she hadn’t the power to stop him, and the thought of a wealthy life-style appealed to her bad side, and anyway she was a looker and would easily climb the ladder of well-being again. She phoned her sister in Brighton and told he that she had been found innocent, “I know,” her sister said, “it was on TV news.”