Lost Distinction

by Rachel Sharpe

I searched his eyes. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. I woke you up because the captain said we need to prepare for landing. You know, buckle up.”

  Just as Rick said this, the ambassador entered the room. He smoothed his lapels and straightened his necktie. Without a word, he sat down in one of the chairs and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed a number and clenched his jaw as he waited for someone to answer.

  Quietly, he muttered something beneath his breath. Just as quickly as he placed the call, he ended it. Connor raced around the cabin, carrying my dishes and several glasses to the kitchen. He then picked up miscellaneous trash that had appeared during the flight.

  The intercom popped just as Connor made his last check. “Good evening, folks. We are nearing Heathrow so if you would, please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We hope you’ve had a pleasant flight and we should have you on the ground shortly.”

  Rick and I buckled the seatbelts on the couch as Connor sank into a chair, clearly winded. I glanced behind me and opened the shade. Sunlight poured in and it took several moments to acclimate myself to the change in lighting. When I did, I was impressed by the view.

  We flew over beautifully-manicured pastures whose colors ranged from pale green to vivid orange. A winding river that curled like a snake through the countryside caught my attention. Rick leaned in and pointed. “That’s the Thames River. Runs straight through London.”

  “It’s a lot longer than I imagined,” I mused.

  “It’s not as long as the Mississippi River.”

  I gave Rick a playfully angry look. “Listen, pal, just because I’m from the south doesn’t mean I compare all bodies of water to the Mississippi.”

  “I wasn’t saying that.”

  “Whoa! You’re from the south?” Connor interrupted. “That’s freaking crazy. Where’s your accent? Do you live on a plantation?”

  The ambassador cleared his throat and everyone stopped speaking. It was impressive to see someone with that much power. He placed his cell phone in his coat pocket and folded his large hands. “As soon as we land, my assistant Devin will meet us. He will drop you off at my flat. You can get yourselves ready. I have some business to attend to. When I return, we will begin the search for Arthur.”

  I nodded politely and Rick nodded his head once.

  “Now, Miss James, I understand you have never been abroad before. The time-zone change may take a lot out of you. I believe it’s almost five o’clock in the evening. If you find when I return that you are incapable of working tonight, you must let me know. I would rather have you well-rested with all your faculties sharp than overlook something crucial.”

  Although I knew the comment was meant to be considerate, it came across as insulting. During my brief career as a private investigator, I had proven myself countless times as a dedicated investigator and I had never halfheartedly worked on any case. I faked a smile. “I’ll make sure that I’m prepared.”

  He seemed satisfied with my reply and nodded once before turning his gaze to the open window. As soon as he looked away, I glanced at Rick. His brow was furrowed and Rick stared at the ambassador.

  When Rick realized I was watching, he softened his gaze, offering a slight smile. The plane began to drop in altitude and I felt the decrease as my ears popped. Without the reassurance of armrests, I swallowed hard, crossed my arms, and closed my eyes.

  I felt Rick lean closer. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “It’s nothing,” I replied, my eyes still closed. “I’m just not good at take-offs, or landings.”

  As if to taunt me, the plane abruptly dropped in altitude again and my stomach did a somersault. I tensed up and Rick replied, “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. This plane is totally safe. Mr. Cross never cuts cost on safety.”

  “I know.” I took a deep breath. “And seriously, I’m not afraid of flying.”

  “Well, we’re almost there. The buildings are a lot larger now.”

  Less than five minutes later, the plane touched down and the pilot applied the brakes. I exhaled deeply and opened my eyes as the screeching sound subsided. Glancing up at Rick, I noticed an amused grin on his face. He threw his hands in the air playfully and exclaimed, “We’re alive!”

  “Ha, funny.” I smiled, shaking my head. Something told me Jon would have teased me a lot more. Thinking of him filled me with sudden guilt as I remembered his missed calls and voicemail. I need to call him. The pilot pulled the plane near the concourse but not up to it. Instead, an airport employee raced alongside the tarmac with a set of rolling stairs.

  The intercom popped one more time. The voice of Phillip, the pilot, said, “Well, folks, let me be the first to welcome you to England. We’ve received word that an airport official will be meeting you shortly so please sit tight. You’re welcome to walk around the cabin and again, thanks for flying with us today.”

  I unbuckled my belt and walked over to the bathroom to freshen up. Despite being told that it was full-sized, I was still surprised to walk inside an airplane restroom and see a shower stall. I splashed water on my face and brushed my hair, removing all the knots I had acquired during my naps.

  When I felt I was presentable, I rejoined the group. The cabin door was open and two officials were boarding the plane. One was a short, stern-looking man with steely eyes and thin lips wearing a suit and identification badge. The other was a tall, lanky ginger-haired man in his late twenties with light-green eyes and freckles sporting a purple dress shirt and tan slacks. The taller man made eye contact with Mr. Cross and nodding, smiled slightly.

  “Welcome to London and Heathrow.” The stern-looking man greeted us in an English accent. “My name is Winston Kast and I work for this airport, overseeing security matters. I was informed that you departed from Barnstable Municipal this morning. Is that correct?”

  The ambassador stood up. At his full height, he towered over the security official. He crossed his arms behind his back. “That is correct.”

  As soon as Winston opened his mouth, the ginger-haired man exclaimed, “This ‘ere is Ambassador Gatlin Cross.”

  The security official turned his gaze to the younger man, frowning. “I am well aware who this is.” Returning his attention to the ambassador, he added, “For security purposes, I will need to see identification for each of you and will be required to search your bags before you leave.”

  Ambassador Cross extracted his black-leather wallet. While he handed the security official his license, Rick and I pulled out our licenses and handed them to him as well. He stared at our pictures then at us skeptically. I felt my face flush as he scrutinized the validity of my identification. Finally, he handed us our respective driver’s licenses.

  The ambassador stared down at the man. “Will that be all?”

  Winston stared up at him, unaffected by his intimidation attempt. “No, sir, I need to see everyone’s passports. Standard protocol. You understand.”

  I felt a knot develop in my throat and my heart raced. I glanced at Rick and saw him flinch. He quickly composed himself again and did not show another sign of concern. The ambassador stared down at the man.

  Without a word, Ambassador Cross walked down the hallway and moments later, returned with three passports. He handed them to the airport official who immediately studied them. After a few moments of agonizing silence, he handed them back to the ambassador.

  Winston turned toward the door, then paused. He glanced back at me and stared into my eyes. I swallowed hard as he crossed the cabin and stood within inches of my face. We were about the same height so he stared directly into my eyes when he said, “Ma’am, I need to search your purse.”

  I looked at Rick then the ambassador and finally back at Winston. I reluctantly handed it to him. He unzipped it and popped it open callously, nearly spilling the contents. Irritated, he scanned through it, checking my cell phone and lipstick and finally pausing on the news article.

  My heart rate increased as he unfolded
it and read the headline. His pause caught the ambassador’s attention and he slowly walked over. As soon as he realized the ambassador was approaching him, he folded the paper, stuffed it in my purse and handed the bag back to me.

  “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  The ambassador frowned before repeating, “Will that be all?”

  Winston glared at him. “No, I still need to check your luggage.”

  The ambassador’s brow furrowed. “Very well.” He walked over to Connor. “Would you be so kind as to get me another scotch on the rocks?”

  Connor ran down the hall to the kitchen. Moments later, he returned with the drink. During his absence, Winston had exited and was standing near the luggage cart, carefully inspecting my clothes.

  “This ‘ere is a bloody mess,” the ginger-haired man lamented, shaking his head. “A damn waste of time, too. I mean, if you can’t trust a bloody ambassador, who can you trust?”

  “Even political officials are humans,” Rick replied, “and power corrupts.”

  The ginger stared at Rick. “You’re a bit of a downer, aren’t you, mate? And bloody ‘ell, what ‘appened to your eye?”

  Rick ignored this one-sided conversation. It seemed odd because he was by nature a kind person, but for some reason, he felt the need to be rude. He turned his attention to me. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine. It sure doesn’t feel like the afternoon. It feels like the morning.”

  “That’s normal,” the ginger interjected. “You’ll ‘ave loads of energy tonight, but tomorrow,” he whistled, “you’ll be lucky if you’re up by noon, love. I’m Devin, by the way. Devin O’Malley.” I accepted his hand and we shook.

  Beside me, I felt Rick tense up. Devin noticed and grinned and he released my hand. “Easy there, mate. Not trying to steal your bird. Just a friendly ‘ello. I work for the ambassador.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I replied. “So do I.”

  “Do you? What do you do?”

  “She’s here about Arthur and let’s not discuss this any further,” the ambassador responded curtly.

  Devin’s grin fell and he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, it seems that our luggage has been cleared. Devin, I would like to leave as soon as possible. We have a lot to do.”

  Devin jumped down the stairs as he raced to load the luggage in the trunk of a black BMW SUV. The ambassador led the way down the rolling stairs. Before heading to the stairs, I turned to Connor, who was picking up the ambassador’s empty glass. “Thanks for everything and good luck with school.”

  “Thanks. Enjoy London.”

  I smiled at him before leaving. When I reached the final step of the stairs, Rick helped me down. The ambassador was already seated in the vehicle. Devin was behind the wheel, which was on the wrong side of the car.

  I stared momentarily then shook my head.

  Rick leaned close as we approached the SUV. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, I forgot cars here are opposite of American ones.”

  Rick laughed. “Yeah, that messed me up when I was here last. My first night, I nearly collided with a taxi because I forgot to drive on the other side of the road. Shook me up bad. After that, I either let Arthur drive or we took the train.” His smile faded into a frown as he thought about Arthur.

  I took his hand and squeezed it. “We’re going to find him.”

  Rick offered a tormented smile. “I sure hope so.”

  Chapter 13

  Our drive to the Cross family’s London flat took about thirty minutes. I was surprised to learn the police had cleared the crime scene so quickly, but Rick’s agitation suggested he believed the ambassador’s “corrupt power” was the cause. As we rode, Mr. Cross focused on some paperwork that Devin gave him and Rick stared out the window in silence.

  I was filled with apprehension about the first missing person case I tackled being that of my boyfriend’s cousin so I spent some time trying to decide what would be the best approach to my investigation. Even anxiety could not quash my enthusiasm when two great London landmarks came into view. I nearly jumped up in excitement when we passed Big Ben and Parliament, but I controlled myself. I had to remember this was work, not a vacation.

  Although it shouldn’t have surprised me, I was taken aback when we arrived at the Cross family’s London “flat.” In a word, it was massive, equivalent in size to three small Manhattan apartments. As soon as we crossed the threshold, an elderly woman named June greeted us. She had the physical characteristics, the charm and mannerisms of the late Grace Kelly. While Devin struggled to bring our luggage inside, June whisked us into the impressive, cream-colored drawing room. She insisted we have some tea while dinner was being prepared.

  The ambassador accepted the tea but declined dinner, insisting he had pressing matters to attend to. His haste seemed warranted. The moment Devin, red and winded, stepped inside, the ambassador took one last sip of tea, stood up, and excused himself.

  Devin wheezed as he followed Mr. Cross out the door without a word. I stared down at my cup of jasmine flavored tea, considering what to do while waiting for the ambassador to return. Still not my drink of choice, but when in Rome, I mused. As I nibbled on a scone, I realized that I didn’t necessarily need to wait for Ambassador Gatlin Cross to begin my investigation. There could be potential clues throughout the apartment itself.

  “What are you plotting?” I glanced up to see Rick turning his cup around in his hands.

  “I was just thinking about taking a look around and seeing if there are any clues to Arthur’s disappearance.”

  Rick’s smile faded as he placed the half-empty cup of tea on the sterling-silver serving tray. “What makes you think there’s anything here?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s just a hunch. Henry”— I hesitated when Rick’s face fell at the mention of his late cousin’s name—“With what happened to him and this place being the last known sighting of Arthur, I just think there may be something here that was overlooked.”

  “Makes sense.” Rick nodded thoughtfully. “So what’s the plan?”

  I stood up and straightened my shirt. “I’m going to do some snooping.”

  “Okay.” Rick stood up. “So what should I do while you snoop?”

  I heard June mutter something as she cleaned the entry hall. “Could you distract her?”

  Rick turned in the direction of the sound. “Distract Ms. Chambers?”

  I stared at him. “You know her?”

  Rick rubbed his neck, frowning. “Let’s say we’ve met before.”

  I inched closer and stared up into his gorgeous eyes, offering a slight pout. “Please?”

  He exhaled. “Fine. Just be careful. That woman is no fool. She knows if one lump of sugar is missing.”

  I hugged him and he returned the embrace. Sighing, he walked out the room and I heard the muttering stop. “Yes, Richard? My goodness, your eye looks positively dreadful. Whatever happened? You’re not still getting into trouble, are you?”

  While Rick diplomatically tried to explain how her employer’s son popped him in the eye during a brawl for my honor, I turned the corner and tiptoed down the hall. The first room on the right was a bathroom and the second two were the guest rooms where Devin placed our luggage.

  As soon as I opened the door of the second room on the left, I realized it was the ambassador’s study. Furnished with a large, mahogany desk, two espresso-colored bookcases and a small, beige couch, it seemed a polite business setting.

  The next door stopped me in my tracks. Placed across it in an “X” pattern was blue and white tape with the words “DO NOT CROSS” written in well-spaced intervals. While the flat may not have been deemed off-limits, this room was another story. Whatever happened to Henry happened in that room.

  Glancing back to make sure no one was around, I held my breath and, using the bottom of my shirt to avoid leaving prints, pushed the door open and quickly entered the room. I
closed the door behind me quietly before turning on the light and looking around. I’m not quite sure what I expected to find in what was probably Henry’s room.

  I guess I hoped there would be something that stood out and explained why he made the choices he did, how his decisions cost him not only his own life, but also put the life of his younger brother in jeopardy. Instead, there was nothing, just a simple, evergreen-colored room with light brown curtains covering the two windows. A queen-size bed stripped of its sheets and pillows took up the middle of the room.

  On the light-colored carpet near the bed was white body outline tape and where the head was traced, a dark discoloration suggesting a morbid mixture of blood and bodily fluids. The sight was disturbing, but I didn’t have time to dwell. Nothing about the room suggested foul play, but I still had my doubts. Stacked randomly on a bookcase between the two windows were medical books. I picked up an anatomy book and flipped through the pages.

  A small slip of paper fell out and landed on the floor. I placed the book on the shelf and reached down for the paper. In a long, left-slanted font, someone had written, “Bronx 020 5555 7799.” I figured that this must be some kind of contact information for Henry’s cocaine dealer. As I placed the paper back inside the book, another fact became clear.

  Henry had not written down Bronx’s contact information. Looking again at the anatomy book, I realized that Henry had written things throughout the book. He left notes, drawings and unanswered questions everywhere in a neat, cursive script. It did not match the writing on the slip of paper I had picked up. The page I had opened the book to showed a large-scale drawing of the human heart and its four chambers and valves.

  Henry had drawn a crude cross through the center, separating the four chambers more distinctly. Incoherent jargon littered the page. Although I wasn’t medically trained, I recognized his additions to the text were conceived while he was high.

  I dismissed most of it as babble. One comment was so frightening, it chilled me to the core. Near the left atrium, Henry drew a star with a message beside it: “The pulmonary vein carries oxygenated blood. If there is a primitive duality of man, as Stevenson suggests, perhaps man’s most base evil can be contained if the amount of oxygenated blood flowing can be modified.”