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This wasn’t over.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - SCOTLAND YARD, CYANIDE, AND A MYSTERY

he next morning, Lee slept in until almost ten o’clock. When he finally woke, he couldn’t believe the time. He never slept like this. But, on reflection, he realized that he did feel better than any time since the assault over in Mustin Field.
I guess I must have needed it.
He dragged himself out of the little BOQ cot, showered, and dressed. He’d planned to do some exploring around the home he was buying out in Delaware County one of these days. Since this was a quiet Sunday, that sounded like a plan for the day. He stopped for breakfast and then headed for Wallingford.

The Scotland Yard detectives were virtually indistinguishable from the masses of businessmen who milled about in Heathrow Airport. But, instead of briefcases, they carried sketches of a woman’s face. This case had a very high priority, so there were more than thirty of them working the airport. None of them knew the details of this particular crime except that the woman was charged with mass murder, so they were working the case as top priority.

Marita Novikov was killing time in a little bar close to the Swiss Air counter. She was thoroughly relaxed, enjoying her drink while she awaited the call to board her flight to Geneva. She smiled, thinking
about the reaction Papa would have when he found out that she hadn’t arrived in Moscow as planned.

Marita had thrown away the London-to-Moscow tickets when she arrived in Heathrow. Then she had gone in the ladies room and, using her little cosmetic scissors, shredded her American passport, as well as everything that identified her as an American citizen. When the documents were thoroughly shredded, she flushed them down the commode. Then she’d purchased the Geneva tickets, using a Swiss passport.

When she flew out of Heathrow, she’d be flying with tickets that gave her a one-day stop in Geneva before taking her on to Cairo. Her plan was to fly to Geneva, accomplish a few financial transfers, and then fly to Egypt. Once in Cairo, she would change to another name and another passport, and she would fly to either Paris or Rome. Then on to Hong Kong or the Philippines.

Her short-term plan involved several different names and passports. After a week or so, she would arrive on a small island off the coast of South America. That would be her home for a year or two while she had the operations that would change her appearance forever. Past that, she had no firm plans.

Raising her glass, she toasted herself. She had planned this day for more than ten years. She had put up with Papa’s ridiculous idealism and Rick’s groping hands for so long that she could hardly remember another life. But now it was behind her. She would live the life of a fabulously wealthy socialite for the rest of her life. It really had been worth it!

The airport speakers announced her flight, and she hurried to down the drink. Her excitement at finally being on her way took over. She picked up her precious little briefcase and walked swiftly toward the boarding gate.

With her passport and ticket in hand, she was almost to the gate when a voice at her elbow said, “Excuse me, madam. May I see your passport?” She turned swiftly and saw two men at her elbow. Two more were moving in swiftly from another angle. The man at her elbow smiled and said, “Hello, Maria.” At the same time, his hand rudely
grasped her upper arm. She jerked away and turned, only to face another pair of policemen.

In an instant, Marita realized that she would never see Geneva. She fainted.

The men didn’t even try to catch her. They watched her crumble to the floor. Then, standing on either side of the prone woman, they looked closely at their copies of the sketch, comparing it to her relaxed face. “Yup. Damned good likeness, I’d say. Whadda you think, Joey?”

“Looks good to me. But hell, even without the picture, I’d run her in just for fainting when she saw the bobbies, wouldn’t you?”

“Makes sense to me.” Then, bending over and slapping her gently, “C’mon, lady. I’ve got some handcuffs waiting for you.”

Then to the other two detectives that were standing to the side, “Would you get her baggage off the plane? Make sure they don’t miss anything. We’ll get her over to the safe room in customs and wait for you there.” Then, on his walkie-talkie, “Okay, Everyone. We got her. She was getting on a Swiss Air flight as expected. Everyone can stand down.”

Still groggy, Marita was led away to a hidden room to the side of the customs area. Once there, she tried to protest that she was an innocent traveler. “My name is Marita. I don’t even know any Maria.” It didn’t work. By then they had gone through the briefcase and found the papers for the Swiss bank accounts. They had also found her assortment of passports, all with different names and issued by different countries, in a secret compartment in her purse.

They handcuffed her to a shackle on the table in the customs room and stationed a guard outside the door while they waited for the U.S. Marshal and the paddy wagon to arrive. It had been an easy, routine capture. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was only about fifteen minutes before the Marshall arrived. The Scotland Yard guard and the marshal opened the door and, to their surprise, the woman they knew as Marie was sound asleep. Her head was resting peacefully on her folded arm on the table in front of her.

The marshal crossed the room in a single bound, grabbing Marie’s shoulders and pulling her up to a sitting position. But it was too late.
The smell of cyanide hung in the air around her, and a slight froth could be seen at the corners of her mouth.

Marie Novak, aka Marita Novikov, was dead.

Lee arrived in Media and went straight to the realtor’s office. Luckily, she was there and ready for him. Lee was delighted to hear that the owners of the home he was buying had already moved out. The mortgage banker had approved the mortgage and, if he wanted, he could close on the purchase the following week.

“Wow! That was a lot faster than I expected. What happened?”

“I’m not sure. The bank said that there was absolutely no problem with your credit. In fact, the banker seemed surprised that you wanted to even take out a mortgage. He seemed to think that you could pay cash if you wanted to do it.”

The light dawned on Lee. Of course the banker would have found out about his inheritance. Lee was so used to living without it that he had only mentioned it out of a desire for full and correct disclosure on the credit application. He had not considered its effect on his credit. “Oh, heck, I know what he’s thinking. No problem. What do I have to do to close the deal?”

“Well, you need insurance. I can arrange for it, if you want me to?”

“No. I’ve got my car insurance with a Texas company that caters exclusively to military officers. I’ve had really good luck there, so I’ll use them. I can have a binder in a day or so.”

The two went on to discuss the details of the closing and turnover. Lee asked for another tour of the home, and the realtor agreed to go with him that afternoon.

After agreeing to meet her later, Lee left to do some exploring. A little worried that he might have moved too fast on the purchase, his first stop was in front of the home on Sykes Lane. He was happy to find that it still looked good.

Sitting there, he experienced a real surge of emotions. This was going to be his first real home in almost two decades. It was really going to be
his! He was going to live here with Maggie! Like real grown-ups!
God, where did that thought come from?
He grinned at himself, cynically dissecting his thoughts and laughing at himself over the undeniable pride he felt. But try as he might, he couldn’t stop the sting behind his eyes.

Pulling himself together, he drove back to Media, parked, and went to Packy’s pub for lunch. He was no sooner seated than he saw big Bill Jordan come in the door.

“Bill!” He raised his voice enough to be heard. Bill saw him, grinned sheepishly, and came over to the booth where Lee was sitting. “Care to join me?”

“Sure, why not?” He slid his huge bulk into the booth.

“So Tony still has you on the job, eh?”

“Yeah, big time. I lost you in traffic on I-95 the night before last, and Tony was worried sick that something had happened to you. When you came out of the BOQ this morning, I called him. He’s a happy camper now.”

“You can tell him that I went down to D.C. to help the Feds interview those two we caught the other day. Nothing bad happened there. I think we’re getting close to finishing all of this nonsense.” He went on to tell Bill about the Skimmers, the fire, and the fact that someone was on the run over the Skimmers’ murders. He was careful not to give any details that would endanger the FBI’s ongoing investigation, and he deliberately didn’t tell Bill about the case’s loose ends. He didn’t want anyone knowing that they were still looking for other people. He asked Bill to relay the info to Tony.

The two chatted idly while lunch was served and eaten. Then Lee left to meet the realtor, telling Bill where he’d be so the big man didn’t have to search or follow. He was surprised to find that he actually was beginning to like the huge mobster.

Soon he was in the house. This time he did a detailed inspection to see what repairs were needed. He found a lot of paint that needed work and again noticed the need for new kitchen cabinets and appliances. He did some measuring with a tape measure the realtor had thoughtfully brought along. From what he could tell, all of the critical systems were working well, and, even though it was mostly obsolete, even the kitchen equipment could still be used.

The most pressing need that he could see was lawn care. The previous occupants obviously didn’t mow before they left, and it was looking bad now. There was a small shed in the back yard that was open and empty. He asked the realtor if he could use it to store a mower if he got one. She said she would call and get the owners’ permission.

Back at the realty office, she made the call and got permission for him to use the shed. He thanked her and got directions to the nearest place to buy a mower. Soon he was at Granite Run Mall, buying the first lawnmower he had ever owned. He had it assembled on site, got instructions on its use, and loaded it in his car with the handles hanging out the open trunk. Then he bought a gas can, filled it, and headed back to the house.

When he got to the house, he unloaded the mower and filled the gas tank. Then he tried to get it started, with no luck. He was still struggling with it when he noticed big Bill leaning on his car, laughing uproariously.

“Man, I’ve heard the expression, but I didn’t think I would ever actually get to see a monkey fucking a football! Now I have.” He was laughing so hard he could hardly talk.

“Okay wise-ass! Can you do it better?” Lee was laughing in spite of himself.

“Absolutely.” Still laughing, Bill came over and proceeded to teach basic mower operation to his new pupil. Soon Lee was cheerfully mowing away. Bill got in his car and departed, returning in a few minutes.

Bill got out of the car and waved to stop Lee, who by now had his shirt tied around his waist and was sweating profusely. Lee carefully stopped the mower and tentatively turned it off before walking over to where Bill was standing.