THE SHAKESPEARE MURDERS

by Marshall Huffman

  This is where he would get the big payoff. Kramer had over eighty-five million stashed in the Griffinder Bank and all he would have to do is walk in and present himself as Andrew Kramer. He is the one who had set up the account and the only one they had ever dealt with. It was his thumb print and eye scan on file. For all of the bank’s records, he was Andrew Kramer. Not even the real Kramer could have accessed the money. For someone so smart, Kramer really was a stupid man. Yes, he had some evidence against him but he could always take the money and run. He placed far too much trust in his stupid evidence.

  Promptly at 11:00 a.m. he walked into the lobby of the Cayman National Bank. He presented his key for lock box 177 C. He showed his power of attorney, which he had made out himself and forged signatures on. He was shown to the box and taken to a private room. Inside was sixty-one thousand dollars in cash, some loose diamonds, nothing of high quality, a few pieces of jewelry. He emptied the contents into his briefcase and turned the box back over to the guard.

  At the First Cayman Bank he presented himself to the bank president, Mr. Tornado.

  “Perhaps you remember me, I’m Melvin Farley. I have an account here,” he said, handing over a passport and a certificate of deposit.

  The president looked at them and then called up the account information on his computer screen.

  “I will need you to place your hand on this screen please,” he said.

  Baron complied and in a few seconds the light turned green.

  “Mr. Farley. Our records confirm your account information. How may I be of service?” the president said, smiling.

  “I wish to make a withdrawal.”

  “I see. How much of a withdrawal are we talking about?”

  “All of it.”

  “Is there some problem with our facility?”

  “Absolutely none. I am relocating and the Islands will no longer be convenient for me. My company will be doing business mostly in China and it is too difficult to access the money here.”

  “But we can transfer the money anywhere in the world almost instantly. No need to close the account,” the president insisted.

  “That may be so but nevertheless, I prefer to do it this way.”

  “That is a very large amount to withdraw.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know how much twenty-one million dollars weighs? How much space it takes up? You cannot simply put that kind of money in a briefcase and walk around with it,” Tornado said.

  “I am quite aware of that. I would like it boxed and crated. It is to be brought to the pier at Rum Point. The crates will be labeled Baron Enterprises. Nothing else is to be noted on the crates. I will require men to do the loading. I will pay them generously and that will be the last of your bank’s involvement. For your help with this transaction,” Baron said, sliding an envelope across the table.

  The president palmed the envelope and slid it into his lap without looking down.

  “Some detailed instructions are inside. I believe you will be quite satisfied with the bonus arrangements I have made for all of your valuable help in this transaction.”

  “I’m sure it will be more than adequate. We will be sorry to lose your business but I understand the situation. It has been a pleasure doing business with you. When would you like the crates delivered?”

  “Tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. if that wouldn’t be to inconvenient.”

  “I will see to it,” he said and held out his hand.

  Two down and one to go. The next one was not quite so simple. It was far too much money to try to transport. No one could be trusted to simply turn over that much money.

  * * *

  “Everything has been arranged according to your wishes Mr. Kramer. Thirty million has been transferred to this account in the AIG Bank in Zurich, Switzerland. Another thirty million to Banca del Gottardo in Laugano and twenty million dollars to the Banque Damantaire where the money is to be turned into high quality diamonds. The remaining money will remain here with us. These are the necessary papers. You will be required to go through the security measures at each of the banks within the next thirty days. Does that present any problems?

  “No. I will be in Switzerland by Friday at the latest. I would like to have these papers held here overnight and delivered to my hotel tomorrow morning at 7:30 a.m. sharp. You can arrange that, correct?”

  “Absolutely. My man will be at your hotel at 7:30 a.m. waiting for you in the lobby.”

  “Very well. Thank you for your assistance.”

  “Our pleasure. Is there anything else we can do for you Mr. Kramer?”

  “I don’t think so in regard to this trip. You have been very helpful. Have a good day.”

  “Same to you.”

  Baron started the Jeep and drove slowly back to the Ritz-Carlton. It was almost noon but it had been a most profitable day. He stopped at the Almond Tree Restaurant and had lunch on the pier overlooking the Caribbean. It doesn’t get much better than this, he thought.

  After lunch he would drive out to Rum Point and make sure everything was ready. He had a fifty-five foot Azimut aptly named the ‘TWIN SCREWS’ anchored at Cayman Kai Marina on the north side of the island. He would make sure it was topped off with water and fuel. He would also make sure the radar and GPS systems were in good working order. The middle of the Caribbean was no place to get lost; especially when he was going to have to make sure he stayed far enough away from Cuba on his way to the U.S.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Do you think he was in the house while you were outside chatting?” McGregor asked.

  “No. She had already been dead for a while by the time we entered,” I replied.

  I hated it when he tried to make me look incompetent. I could do that all by myself.

  “So he comes looking for Mr. Baron. She opens the door and then what?”

  “My guess is that he wanted to know where to find Mr. Baron but she either didn’t tell him or she didn’t know. Either way, she ended up dead.”

  “Where do you think he is?”

  “Out of the country. Cayman Islands.”

  “How the hell would you know that?”

  “The Cayman Airlines number was the last number called from his cell phone. I checked. He left it behind. More than likely he has another one. This is what we call detective work. You should try it sometime,” I said, enjoying the moment.

  “Why? That’s why I have peons like you around,” he replied smugly.

  Ouch. That stung a bit.

  “So you’re sure he went to the Caymans?”

  “Yep. Took flight 419. Checked into the Ritz-Carlton. I talked to a Constable Pettigrew. Nice chap, as they say. He is keeping an eye on Mr. Baron. Seems he visited three banks early this morning. Had a rather large briefcase with him. They have no reason to arrest him and I couldn’t really give them one. I could have them inform him of his wife’s death but I wanted to run it by you first. He might just disappear if he finds out about that.”

  “We can’t withhold that. We have to tell him. Notify Constable Whatever, to round him up and let him know.”

  “If he was cleaning out money, he will fade out like fog in the morning sun,” I said.

  “Isn’t that poetic? You have a real way with words Bartoni. They bring tears to my eyes,” he said, faking wiping his eyes.

  “And you should consider being a standup comedian.” Sometimes McGregor can be such a butt. I know it sounds bad but I really didn’t want to let Baron know. With his wife dead, he would take off for sure if he knew someone was looking to kill him too. I reluctantly called Constable Pettigrew.

  “Her Majesty’s Service, Marissa McDonald speaking.”

  “Is Constable Pettigrew available?”

  “Who is calling please?”

  “Detective Bartoni from the United States,” I said.

  I had raised my voice slightly. I don’t know why, I guess I thought it would make her hear me better.

  “Detective Bartoni. Constable Pettigr
ew said you might call. He is out at White Sands Bay at the moment. He won’t be back for several hours. Would you like for me to see if I can raise him? We are having our daily storm and he probably isn’t in the vehicle. I would imagine he stopped to grab a bite to eat at the lighthouse,” she said.

  “No need to bother him. Just tell him that he should let Mr. James Baron at the Ritz-Carlton know that his wife has been murdered and that he should return home immediately.”

  “Oh, how dreadful. The poor man. Goodness. This is just awful. Poor Constable Pettigrew is out investigating the Island’s first murder in more than three years, and now this. When it rains it pours I guess. I’ll tell the Constable as soon as he returns. If feel so badly for Mr. Baron.”

  “Have the Constable call if he has any questions or needs anything more.”

  “I certainly will. Nice chatting with you.”

  “Same here,” I said.

  Strange people those Britt’s. Nice, but strange.

  * * *

  “Sir, I have delivered the letters to Mister Farley as instructed. He was in a very big hurry. He was waiting in the lobby. As soon as I handed them to him he jumped in his Jeep and immediately took off.”

  “He did sign for them, correct?”

  “No sir. That’s what I’m calling about. Should I try to find out where he has gone?”

  “You are at the Ritz-Carlton, correct?”

  “Yes sir, just as you ordered.”

  “Let me speak to the manager.”

  “Yes sir,” the courier said.

  “Manager, how may I help you?”

  “I’m Mr. Tornado, President of Cayman First National Bank. I need to leave a message for Mr. Melvin Farley. It is very urgent.”

  “Mr. Farley? We have no one registered under that name.”

  “Of course you do. He is staying at one of the Deckhouse’s.”

  “Sorry. All I can tell you is that we have no Farley staying here.”

  “Something is very wrong. It is imperative that I get in touch with him. My man was there and handed him some papers at 7:30 a.m. He was in a big hurry.”

  “Ah..yes. I saw your courier handing him an envelope in the lobby. He was in a frightful hurry it appeared. But that was not Mr. Farley. The man’s name is Mr. Baron.

  “I don’t understand. He was in our bank and presented identification as Mr. Melvin Farley.”

  “How strange. Perhaps he registered here under a different name for discretionary reasons. That happens more times than you can imagine.”

  After several minutes of conversation the manager told him that he thought he heard him say something about Rum Point and that he would be checking out first thing in the morning.

  “Could you ring Mr. Farley...sorry, Mr. Baron’s deckhouse?”

  “Certainly,” the manager said.

  He let it ring seven times before he informed the bank president that no one appeared to be in the room. The bank president ask the manager to check to make sure nothing had happened to the gentlemen and he agreed to have housekeeping and security take a look at the room.

  A few minutes later he reported that the room was empty and it appeared that he had indeed checked out.

  “Thank you. May I speak with the courier?”

  “Yes sir?”

  “You can come on back. I will try to find out what is going on. We need those papers signed for. We will wait for Mr. Farley to contact us here. Something must have caused a change of plans.”

  After he hung up he considered calling the police but what would he tell them?

  * * *

  At Rum Point a few hours later a truck with two crates was parked near the pier. THE TWIN SCREWS, the fifty-five foot Azimut was secured at the dock as one of the men went aboard. He was only gone a few minutes before he returned and got two other men. They brought out a crate and loaded it on the truck. The driver of the truck made a call.

  “Everything has been taken care of. The body is in the crate.”

  “No one saw anything?”

  “Of course not mon; I’m not stupid.”

  “What about the Jeep?”

  “Yes, yes. Left it where it was, no one touched it, mon. I don’t like waiting around like dis mon. Someone could see us.

  “At Rum Point? Before noon. You worry too much.”

  “What about the body?”

  “I have made certain arrangements. It is not your concern. Just deliver it where I instructed.”

  “Look, I need to get going. I got tings to do mon.”

  “You are getting paid plenty for this little job.”

  “I suppose. What do you want me to do with the letters?”

  “Letters?”

  “The ones we found on him.”

  “Yes. Yes, bring those to me when you are finished loading the crates. I almost forgot about those. You need to get a move on. Get the two crates loaded aboard THE LARK at Spotters Bay but don’t speed, I don’t want you to draw any attention. Then deliver the body where I told you.”

  “Maybe I should just keep dem crates.”

  “If those crates are not at the boat in one hour, I will send Carlos to find you. You do not want me to send Carlos do you?”

  “Easy mon. Take it easy. No need for dat kind a talk. We will be at de Bay in one hour,” the man said.

  “Good,” the man said and hung up.

  The driver was shaking when he hung up the phone. Everyone on all three of the Cayman Islands knew that if Carlos was sent to find you the chances are you would never be seen again. He was like a shadow. He would slip up beside you and just as suddenly he would be gone leaving his victim dead, often barely recognizable.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Commissioner was less than amused at the murder of Mrs. James Baron since she was connected to a number of high profile charity events in the city. That put pressure on him which in turn put pressure on everyone else. It always flows downhill. We were all braced for the worst and we got it.

  “I have called in the FBI as of this morning. They are sending a team of investigators to assist us in this matter and before I hear any moaning and groaning, the Mayor so much as told me in no uncertain words that this is what he wanted. See what I mean about flowing downhill?

  It is my understanding that they will arrive later this afternoon so I want you to be prepared to bring them up to speed immediately. I also have scheduled a press conference for 4 o’clock and I want the Captain and Bartoni to be there as well. Bartoni, I don’t want any smartass remarks from you, got it?”

  “Got it,” I said. This didn’t seem like the time to make a wisecrack.

  “Make sure you do. Now, I want a summary of everything we have so far and I want it to me no later than noon. You got work to do people so get to it,” he said.

  Nothing like words of wisdom to inspire the troops. After he had gone Captain McGregor called me into his office.

  “I knew this was going to happen,” he said.

  “We all did. As soon as I found Mrs. Baron I knew our goose was cooked,” I replied.

  “So what do we know? I mean really know?”

  “Everything or just the latest.”

  “Just the Baron part. I pretty much know the rest of the gory details.”

  “Okay. James Baron was the attorney of record for all three of the other murder victims. We don’t know how they were connected exactly but it is a pretty good guess that they were somehow. Once Baron learned that Kramer was murdered he decided to take off to the Cayman Islands and hops on Delta flight 249 to Miami. From there he takes Cayman Airways flight 419 to Grand Cayman and checks into the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. I contacted a Constable Pettigrew and ask him to track down Baron at his hotel and notify him that his wife was murdered but he wasn’t able to locate him when I last checked. Seems they have their own crime wave going on just now.”

  “What kind of crime wave?”

  “They have their first murder in the last three years or so.”

  “Oo
oh, a real murder spree,” the Captain said.

  “It’s all perspective I suppose.”

  “So now what?”

  “When Pettigrew calls back I’ll find out what flight Baron is coming back on. I’ll meet him at the airport and see if we can make some sense out of all of this. He went there for more than just some fresh air and sunshine. My guess is he had access to Kramer’s money and he went to clean out the account. Probably had the money transferred to some other account. You know how easy it is now days. Any third world nation takes in money with no questions asked as long as they get their cut. I doubt if he had many problems.

  “What about Mrs. Baron? Do we know anything more about her murder?”

  “Unfortunately, no. No fingerprints on the knife. They are running DNA on some hair samples they took from the scene but you know how that goes. Unless they are in the National Data Bank it doesn’t do squat until we find the person that did this. The knife is very interesting. Apparently it is a Poignard, whatever the hell that is.”

  “What about James Baron? Could he have done this and then took off?”

  “That’s one possibility. I haven’t ruled it out. He could always act so surprised. Oh gee, I am devastated. I can’t believe this happened. You know the routine. He just happened to be in the Cayman Islands when is wife is murdered. It will be harder than heck to prove and I’m sure he knows it. Reasonable doubt and all. Even if the hairs turn out to be his, so what? It’s his house.”

  “What about the press. Are you going to bring up this part?”

  “If someone asks, I’m not going to dance around it. I certainly intend to say he is a person of interest. He is certainly of interest to me,” I said.

  “Just tread lightly, okay?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “No.”

  * * *

  Jean Dixon, the FBI profiler was talking to Eric when I came out of the captain’s office. She started to slink away but I stopped her.

  “No use trying to hide. We already know your amigos are coming.”