Waves of Murder (15 page)

“Hello Lt Novak, welcome to London,” Lloyd said, holding out his hand, Novak took it with a firm shake, he liked that. Lloyd was a shorter man than Novak, but broader than him, “C’mon up,” Lloyd said. His office was spacious and comfortable, with winged leather chairs, not like the plastic rubbish at the 30th Precinct he was used to. “Well, let’s see how far we’ve got with this Jonathan Weston. He’s currently on his way back from a Carribean cruise, according to his girl friend. I’ll put a man down at the gate quayside at Southampton to apprehend him when he disembarks. By then we will be down there to question him,” Lloyd announced.

“Chief Inspector, that is music to my ears, I’ve got evidence here to nail that evil murdering bastard,” Novak blurted as he patted his brief-case.

“Good,” Lloyd said, “we’ll get him back here as soon as possible.”

Jon wrapped the diamonds in a towel and packed them carefully in one of his two large cases and marked it near the handle with a cross scratched deeply with a knife into the leather trim. Then he put it near the door, for a fast exit!

Novak thought, twenty four hours and I’ll nail him, take him back to New York and send him up the river for life. He laid back on his bed and watched ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’, he thought it a good quiz show. He dozed off.

The dinner was terrific in the hotel restaurant, salmon salad, with ice cream in three colours, to follow and a large French brandy and coffee to finish. Fabulous! he thought, and good sized portions. His phone woke him, “Hello Novak, C I Lloyd here. Weston’s ship docks at noon tomorrow, I’ll pick you up at your hotel at 8.30am, is that all right?”

“Sure, Chief Inspector, as I said, music to my ears!” Novak replied.

Jon had the task of dealing with Katti, one he didn’t relish, but then again he was only going to get her drunk and take her diamonds. She would be the only one to survive, and not go over the side of the ship ......... like Anna! “Hello Katti, it’s Jon,” he said, “dinner tonight, yes?” he asked.

“Yes Jon, that will be very nice, thank you,” she said.

“I’ll pick you up at 7 o’clock,” he replied, and hung up. “It’s our last night,” Jon said, “so we must make it special, champagne, dancing and possibly some special dessert!” he said, laughing as they walked towards the restaurant. After a sumptuous dinner which had started with champagne cocktails, Jon just took tiny sips of his to every full glass of Katti’s, they went to the night club and danced almost every dance. Jon had a bottle of Dom Perignon brought over to the table, earlier he had ground up six paracetamol and had the powder in a small poly bag in his pocket. A lethal cocktail with alcohol. He chose his moment when she went to powder her nose, and emptied the powder into her topped-up glass.

She returned and laughing, said “I’m having a lot of fun tonight, thank you babushka, thank you!” She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, then giggled.

Good, Jon thought, the champagne is having its effect, she’ll be legless after the next drink, just right for me to lift those little beauties from her. He lifted his glass and said, “Cheers!” and made a big gesture of drinking the entire contents in one go, which was actually not very much.

She followed suit, and finished the glass in a few seconds, then laughed nervously, “Am I a naughty girl?” she asked.

“Yes, but it’s good to see you enjoying yourself and happy.” About ten minutes passed and she said she felt dizzy and she turned a very pale colour and suddenly slid down in her chair.

A crew member came over and asked if he could help. “Yes,” he said, “just help me to get her back to her suite.” She was just about able to stand. “It’s quite a way to her suite,” Jon said.

“Don’t worry, sir,” the well-built youngster said, “we’ll get her there, she doesn’t weigh much.”

“Thanks a lot,” Jon said, as he fumbled in her clutch bag for her key card.

“You’re welcome, sir,” said the helper, and walked smartly down the corridor.

Jon laid her as gently as he could, on to the bed. He lifted her eye-lid, she’s gone he thought, for a long time! He started to remove her jewellery and wrapped them in a face flannel, putting it in his trouser pocket. For good measure, he mixed another cocktail with some whiskey spirit and another four paracetamol. Lifting her head, he said, “Drink this Katti, it’ll help you sleep for a long time.” She coughed and spluttered a little, but the lethal mix was swallowed and she just flopped back on the pillow. It was now 2.30am, the ship docked at 9am, he would pay his outstanding account as soon as he could, and be the first to disembark.

Happily, the ship arrived half an hour early, the half hour could be useful, he thought. He made a joke about leaving early, saying that he would be late for work! “Thank you, sir, I’m afraid it’s a bit high, £2,035,” she said.

“Okay, what’s that in US dollars?”

She calculated it and said, “$3,050, at today’s exchange rates,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said, and peeled off $3,100 and passed it across the desk, “keep the change,” he added as he walked away.

“But sir, I’m not allowed to accept gratuities.”

“That’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” he laughed over his shoulder.

A porter came up to him with a trolley, “Can I take the bags, sir?”

“Er, yes, down to the gangway, please,” Jon replied, and followed, keeping his eye on the case with the ‘cross’. He was off the ship in ten minutes and had retrieved the Golf in twenty minutes. The M3 was easily accessed from the city and he was soon on his way. The Golf GTI was soon eating up the miles back to London. His bladder was somehow weak, it must be nerves, he thought. The matrix ahead announced ‘Services - one mile’, good he thought, I’m dying for a pee. He pulled into the car park and ran into the main building, making straight for the gents. Ooh I needed that, he said to himself. On the way out he noticed a set of public phones, he felt in his pocket for some English coins, there were none. He also noticed a ‘Bureau de change’, “I need some pounds,” he said, passing $100 across the desk through the glass gap.

“It’s $1.40 to the pound,” the girl said, “okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine, and I also need change for a phone call.”

“Yes,” she said, “is a pounds worth enough?” she asked.

“No, can you make it two pounds, please?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

He collected his cash, thanked the girl and went to the phone. He dialled Vicky’s number, “Hello, 8822,” her voice said.

“Vicky, it’s Jon.”

“You keep away from here, you evil bastard, don’t come anywhere near me. Lorna’s told me everything, just keep away. The police are looking for you, I repeat, just get out of my life, forever,” she said with a sob in her voice. The phone went dead. Panic went through his body like a streak of lightening, he sat in the car and tried to think logically. After ten minutes, he began to think clearly, right, I’ll go back to London, keep away from the flat, get the Merc and go over to the Continent.

Detective Constable Davison was caught in traffic just north of the dock area in Southampton. When he arrived, passengers were already disembarked and carrying luggae hither and yon. He pushed his way up the gangway, showed his ID and went straight to the reception desk, “I’m looking for Jonathan Weston,” he said.

“I’m sorry, but he left the ship about an hour ago,” she replied.

“Oh hell,” he said, and ran to the gangway. He asked if Jonathan Weston had disembarked.

The security girl checked the list and said, “Yes, he was one of the first to leave, at about 8.45am.”

“Thanks,” the DC said, and ran down the gangway through the passengers, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he shouted as he barged through them. Down at the squad car he called C I Lloyd, “I’m sorry sir, the bastard’s managed to slip past me, I was held up in traffic,” he said.

“Don’t talk to me about bloody traffic, there’s been an accident here on the M3, at Cobham, we’re at a complete standstill, even the eastbound lane to London is slow.”

While this was going on Novak was fuming inside as he looked at the vehicles going the other way, slowly. Then what he saw made him shout, “Fuck, there he is, in that small silver car!” But by then the Golf had sped on and it’s path was obscured by a coach. C I Lloyd immediately got on the radio to apprehend the driver of a small silver saloon going east on the M3. But as he said it, he realised the futility of his request. Fuck, fuck, fuck Novak said, under his breath, I’ve lost him.

Jon drove straight to his lock-up where he kept the beloved Merc, he left the Golf in a side street and just took the one important suitcase, and put it in the Merc’s boot, it just about fitted in. He was soon going north on the M1 heading for Harwich, to get the ferry to Holland. Amsterdam was his destination. He had thought to go to the safety deposit box in London, but the old bill would be watching it for a while, so he would leave it for the time being. It would keep. Novak couldn’t stay in England for much longer and C I Lloyd would be made busy with all the other crime in London. He already had enough money to stay away, no one knew the Merc, and the diamonds he had he would sell slowly in Holland and Belgium. London was going to be a no-no for a long time.

Crew members were looking for Anna on the ship, her suite was searched. Novak and C I Lloyd got involved. After about an hour, they found Katti, still unconscious. “The evil bastard,” Novak said to Lloyd, “we’ve got to get him, and get him soon, before he kills again.”

Katti was finally interviewed, she screamed and cried when she realised her jewellery had gone, “My brother and his friends will get him, they are very powerful in Russia,” she announced.

Novak looked at Lloyd and said, “This is going to get big, and very nasty.”

“Yes, you could be right,” he agreed.

“Novak?” the phone shouted. He recognised the Capt’s voice, “What’s going on?”

“Sorry boss, we lost him. The ship was early and the Southampton cop was late due to traffic.”

“Fucking hell,” said the Captain, “come back, the department can’t afford for you to stay any longer, get back as soon as. The Brits will have to handle it.” The phone went dead.

“Fuck you,” he said, “how he got to be Capt I don’t know! Well, goodbye lovely old London, it’s been nice knowing you,” he added. Still, he had dozens of snapshots to show the crew down at the 30th Precinct.

Jon came off the M1 at Luton and went on ‘A’ roads across Essex to Harwich. The queue for the ferry to Ostend was quite long, and he was almost the last to get on. Other motorists ogled his car, sitting in their Renaults and Fords! Once on board he was able to relax, he had rushed through passport control and payment, car registration etc., there was nothing to do now but enjoy the four and a half hour journey, ‘here we go again, sailing the ocean waves, but this time , no killing.’

Arriving at Ostend on time, Jon finally drove down the ramp on to the quayside. Being at the back of the queue didn’t help, but at least now he was on Belgian soil and able to roam freely without the fear of Novak and his cronies. Antwerp was about an hours drive away, well-known for it’s diamond dealers, more or less a bigger Hatton Garden, he pulled up at a taxi rank, “Where’s the best hotel?” he asked the first driver on the rank who couldn’t take his eyes off of the Merc.

“Er, m’sieur, you go down zis street, turn left and it’s the ‘Excelsior’ about 200 metres on the right.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, and passed him a $10 bill. He heard a loud ‘sank you m’sieur, ‘ave a nice day’ as he gunned the V12 to his destination. The Excelsior was perfect, private car park and valet parking, “Take good care, please,” he said to the car hop, and gave him $20.

“Sank you,” the boy said, as he sat in the driver’s seat with a huge smile on his face.

A porter took Jon’s special case to the reception desk, and received $10 with a ‘sank you, sir’.

“Good morning, Lt Novak,” the voice on the phone said, “it’s Lloyd, there’s another woman missing, an Anna Borikova, from the Carribean Star, Weston’s cruise ship. There’s no sign of her, quite a wealthy Russian woman who wore lots of diamonds,” he reported.

“Don’t tell me, no diamonds found either,” Novak said.

“No,” Lloyd said, “ no diamonds.”

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve been called back to New York, sorry, NYPD can’t let me spend any more time and money on this Jon Weston case.”

“I see,” said Lloyd,” I’m sorry it went wrong, but it was a terrible mixture of circumstances, but don’t worry we will get him sooner or later. I’ve got the police in five continental countries alerted, with all those diamonds we are concentrating on Holland and Belgium. The trouble is we don’t know what he is driving, he abandoned the VW Golf in Camden Town, London, even left his luggage in it with the keys in the ignition. He probably hoped it would be stolen to confuse us. Sorry Novak, that’s the best I can say at the moment,” Lloyd announced.

“Okay, Chief Inspector, thanks for sll your help, goodbye and good luck,” Novak said as he hung up the phone. Terminal 5 at Heathrow was buzzing, most of the passengers were fellow countrymen going home. In the queue to check in, he got talking to an attractive woman from Yonkers, in New York State. Luckily he was seated in tourist class across the aisle from Mary-Lou, his new friend. The man next to her, an English man, offered to change seats so that they could sit next together. ‘Thankyou Lord’, he offered up a silent prayer, she would make the journey much shorter! They had soft drinks from the trolley girl and chatted, and chatted, and chatted, and when she told him that she had been staying at the Reubens Hotel at Buckingham Palace, he laughed out loud and told her that he had stayed there! How did I miss this dish, he thought, what a shmuck! Oh well, that’s life!