Waves of Murder (31 page)

Jon went into the shower in a very good mood, he was even singing. Afterwards he moved over to the wash basin, and on the steamed up mirror was the word ‘SOON’. His blood ran cold, he looked again and the glass was clear. His mood immediately changed, he dressed slowly, feeling inwardly sick, but he was too far down the road of damnation. There was no return and no repentance, he was the devil’s property now, only what was left of his life could be a consolation of wealth and luxury. He had no alternative but to carrry on killing and robbing, he would never be rid of this black mist and his hunger for diamonds and money and the devil.

He met Hannah as arranged, she looked marvellous, wearing a white silk self-patterned top and navy shorts, her slender legs were shapely and tanned, “Hi babe, why the long face?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing, I think the heat must be getting to me, now that the ship is half empty I may go for a swim in the pool later.”

“I’ll join you,” she said, “I feel the same, even 10 minutes after a cool shower, the humidity must be bursting the barometer.” They drank their coffee in silence, with Jon just staring at her rings, “They’re gorgeous aren’t they,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, “to die for!”

“2.9 carat matching stones that I bought from a dealer in Hatton Garden a few months ago and had them made into rings,” she told him. He smiled and thought perhaps he would be getting some of his old merchandise back! “40 grands worth,” she said, “I thought, I owe them to myself after all the hard work I’ve put in to the business. The necklace, the watch and the bracelet were what I managed to hang on to after the divorce, if my ex knew, he’d blow a gasket! He could spend many happy hours in a West End casino with a blonde bimbo with what they’re worth.”

Jon laughed, “He sounds like a bad man,” he said.

“Only when it came to gambling and young blondes with big tits and short skirts. He was very good looking, very charismatic, he could sell ice to the Eskimos, and I probably still love him, but as there were no children involved I decided enough was enough and severed all connections with him. Since he heard I’ve done well he wants us to get back together, no way, NO WAY!” she said, loudly, “ he’d only fritter it away. That’s enough of my life, tell me more about you.”

(Into Kieron mode) “I was born in Dublin and lived there until I was 20 and then came to London to seek my fortune. I lived with my sister, a successful private doctor, but then I started dealing in expensive cars thanks to a loan from her, and now I have a turnover of about two million a year,” he lied.

“What sort of expensive car?” she asked.

“Oh, the usual, Mercedes, BMW, Lexus, top range Range Rovers even the odd Bentley, in other words, anything over 30 grand,” he said, “I advertise them in good trade mags and papers.”

“A cut above a second hand car dealer then,” Hannah said.

“Yes, I suppose,” Jon agreed, “but no Fords, Toyotas, Renaults, Citroens etc., too cheap!”

“I’ve got a Renault Espace,” she said, with a serious look on her face, and then laughed, “it’s a very useful vehicle!”

“I’m sure it is,” he said, “but not for my customers!”

“Fuck off, you snob,” she laughed. That was the first time he had heard her swear. “Is the casino open during the day?” she asked.

“Let’s go and see,” he replied. They walked from the coffee shop through the mall to the casino, and to their surprise not only was it open, but there were quite a few midday punters. They managed to find two seats at the roulette table, Jon changed a $100 bill in to chips, Hannah changed 100 euros.

“I think I’ll go red and even block,” she said, putting 40 euros on the table.

“It’s going to be black and the odd block for me,” Jon said.

“Red, 24,” the croupier said.

“Yes!” Hannah said, quite loudly, as her winnings were pushed on to the table and Jon’s chips were taken.

“Oh well,” he said, “I’ll try again.” He did and this time he won, not much but he would try and build up a pile. After about three hours they were running about level in their winnings, nearing $1000 each, “Not a bad afternoon’s work,” Jon said, as they cashed in their chips.

“We missed out on lunch,” Hannah said, “let’s go and eat, but only a sandwich or something, don’t want to spoil dinner.” Their next port of call was Gibraltar.

Gibraltar

B
eing British territory, Jon realised he had to be careful, and wore his wide brimmed fedora when he went ashore. It was well pulled down over his eyes, CCTV was probably used here because of the electronic, booze and jewellery stores. But one dire problem would be British TV possibly showing his face as being wanted for murder. Hannah and Jon walked into a ‘Brit’ pub for a well-earned cool drink, he spotted the TV set up on the wall above the bar, and positioned himself facing it and therefore barring Hannah’s view. He watched the screen intently, but thankfully he was now old news and his picture didn’t appear. “You don’t need your hat in here,” she said.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise I was still wearing it, it’s so lightweight,” he lied.

“Shall we stay ashore for dinner?” she suggested.

“Good idea,” Jon said.

“By the time we go back to the ship and change etc, we’ll be starving, we can spend some winnings in the best restaurant in Gib.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jon said. He stopped a taxi, “What’s the best eating place in Gib?” he asked the driver.

“The Rock Hotel,” came the reply.

“Okay, let’s go,” Jon said, and they got into the taxi. Anywhere in Gibraltar is 15 minutes, the Rock Hotel was about half way to the top of the rock. The building was actually built into the granite and a beautiful colonial mansion facade fronted the large venue.

St Petersburg

V
asili’s reputation and power had waned amongst his peers in the underworld and the brotherhood. The word had gone out that he’d been made to climb down from catching the man who’d killed one of his family and robbed them of thousands of dollars. In short, he’d been made to look a fool, and he would have to do something about it. To make things worse, a rival gang had robbed one of his gambling outlets and burnt out one of his Lear jets.

He summoned Mikhail and five of his best men, “Go and find me a substitute for this Jon Weston, and we will bring him back here and make a big show of killing him, IN FUCKING PUBLIC,” he shouted. “He must be English, and look like Weston,” he demanded.

It was a very warm day down by the Hermitage, tourists by the hundred from all over the world, “What does an English tourist look like?” He parked the Mercedes opposite the queue, Mikhail needed to get back into his brother’s good books. Over $500,000 had been spent looking for Jon Weston, he read the description and studied the photograph.

James Sumner, an accountant from London, with the obligatory large lens camera over his shoulder, walked along the snaking file of people to enter the museum to see its treasures. The Mercedes crawled slowly along the road and then the rear door opened and two henchmen got out and grabbed the Londoner, pulling him into the large car. His camera fell in the gutter as the horrified queue watched. The car screamed away at break-neck speed, Mikhail turned around in the front passenger seat and said, “English?”

“Yes, yes, what’s going on?” he shouted, “let me out, I’m a British citizen.”

The Russians laughed, “But you are in Russia now,” Mikhail said.

“What do you want, money? I’ll give you money,” he cried, and tried to reach into his pocket for his wallet. One of the men grabbed his wrist with an iron grip.

“No, we don’t want money, we’ve got plenty,” Mikhail said, “we want English lessons or perhaps we want to teach the English a lesson.” He laughed.

James was pushed in to Vasili’s office, Vasili stood and looked him up and down, walked around him and then read the description while he looked at Jon Weston’s photograph. “Very good, Mikhail, you and your men have done very well. Sit down Mr Weston,” Vasili said.

“My name is James Sumner, I’m an accountant from London,” James answered.

“NO, you are Jonathan Weston from London and you killed a member of my family, stole her jewellery and threw her body into the sea.”

“No, no, I can prove I’m James Sumner, here, here, look I have my passport,” he cried as he offered it to Vasili who slapped it out of his hand and then slapped James across the face sending his spectacles across the marble floor. One of his henchmen stood on them, smashing them to pieces.

“Put the word out that we have brought Jon Weston back. Tell London, New York and Rome, and we will bring him to justice. Find me the best make-up artist to make this man look more like Weston and then take his photograph with a copy of the day’s newspaper above his head, “ he said calmly, but with menace.

James was shaking, sweating and crying at the same time, “You’ve got the wrong man,” he shouted. He received a heavy slap across the face again that almost rendered him unconscious. Mikhail walked towards him with a hypodermic syringe and plunged it into his neck, blackness descended, James Sumner was as good as dead.

The word was soon spreading around the world’s TV networks, the web and all other media, announcing that the ‘Cruise’ killer was in custody in Russia and would be put on trial there.

Yonkers - New York State

M
el Novak threw his newspaper into the air and shouted, “The Russians have got him!”

Mary-Lou rushed in from the kitchen, “I don’t believe it, I presume you are talking about Jon Weston?” she asked.

“Yes, but I don’t know how they did it,” he said.

“A very tenacious people, the Russians, and they’ve got friends everywhere,” she said.

Mel looked at the picture of Jon Weston, it had been a long time since he last saw him, but it definitely looked like him, or did it? Mel thought, but now it was way beyond his tenure, and after all, he had, allegedly, murdered a Russian citizen.

In Los Angeles, Liz Fenner’s sister had been made bankrupt and had tried to convince a bank that she was the beneficiary of a large fortune, with forged documents, in cash and property, by mis-representation. She had been charged with attempted fraud, found guilty, and imprisoned in the state women’s penitentiary for two years, with a twelve month parole order. Mary-Lou said, “She’ll only do 6 months, otherwise she’ll go crazy in there, I know, I’ve been to these places on client visits, they are the pits!”

St Petersburg

V
asili had put out an edict to punish the raiders of his casino’s and the arsonists that burned his jet. Four lesser members of a rival family were brought to him and paraded before his ornate Louis XIV desk. “You know what to do,” he said to Mikhail. The four unfortunates were taken to an enormous basement area, two video cameras had been set up to record what was about to happen. They were suspended upside down, naked, above industrial cattle carcass grinders. When these were switched on the screams were blood-curdling.

Mikhail shouted, in Russian, “You will soon be fertilizer,” and the victims were lowered into the machinery, screaming, which soon stopped as they were devoured by the spinning knives. The cameras had recorded the whole event, with sound, which made it more horrific.

“I WANT A COPY OF THE DVD SENT TO EVERYONE IN ST PETERSBURG,” shouted Vasili, and when Weston goes in, he goes feet first.” They laughed. “And I want recordings sent to Scotland Yard to show them how to treat murderers of women,” he added. James Sumner was dragged from his cell-like room still in a drugged state, then suspended by his arms. He was lowered, feet first, into the grinder. His screams stopped at about his midriff, it was all recorded, sound and vision, in colour.

New Scotland Yard (London)

C
hief Inspector Lloyd opened the stiff envelope and pulled out the disc, the note attached read ‘Jonathan Weston’s justice’. He put it in his DVD player and what he saw made him feel sick, he’d seen a lot of horrific things in his long career, but this was the worst. “Get me NYPD, I want to speak to Captain Colletti at the 30th Precinct,” he said to the operator. “Hello sir, I’ll get straight to the point, I’ve just seen the most disgusting DVD of the execution of Jonathan Weston by the Russians. I won’t go into detail, but it was completely barbaric, strictly from the dark ages of the tzars. Perhaps you’d like to pass on the information to Lt Novak.”

“Okay, Chief Inspector, I’ll do that, thanks for calling.” The Captain hung up. I’ll send it to him, he thought.

Yonkers - New York State

“
The Russian mafia have executed Jonathan Weston,” Mel told Mary-Lou, “in the most horrific way. But he had no trial, just captured and executed, they don’t waste any time, those bastards, do they?”

“I think sometimes that’s better than keeping them on death row for years,” Mary-Lou said.

“Yeah, may be you’re right,” Mel said, “it’s a shame we couldn’t have brought him to good old American justice,” he added.

“Yeah, and he would be a VIP on death row for 10 years and then have his sentence reduced and be paroled in two years to go cruising again!” she said.

“Wow!” Mel said, “you are very radical and I didn’t know it!”