Waves of Murder

by J B Raphael

  “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!

  They landed at JFK New York, almost on time. Novak and Mary-Lou walked through the airport together, they had become very friendly and swapped phone numbers with promises to contact each other. There was obviously a mutual attraction, she is gorgeous, Novak thought.

  “Well, that was a fucking waste of time and money,” the Capt shouted when Novak walked into his office, “gimme your expenses sheet, and do I need to sit down?” he added. “Oh, I see, the Reubens at Buckingham Palace, how was the Queen? .... $2,850?” he almost shouted, “I hope your report can back this up, or did you spend most of your time sightseeing?”

  “No Capt,” Novak started, “I ....”

  “Okay, okay, now let’s get back to what’s happening in good old New York City, eh,” he said.

  “Hello,” Mary-Lou answered.

  “Hi,” Novak said, “it’s Melvyn Novak, the guy you flew back from London with,” he explained.

  “Hi Melvyn,” she said, “what a pleasant surprise, how are you, still jet-lagged?”

  “No,” he answered, “not after two weeks!” They laughed. “How about we meet up for dinner?” he asked, as his heart rate increased.

  “Yes, I’d like that,” she said.

  “I’ll drive up to Yonkers, how about Thursday night?” he suggested.

  “Yes, that’ll be fine,” she said.

  “Just give me your post zone number and I’ll put it into my sat nav. Shall we say 7 o’clock?”

  “Yes, fantastic,” she said, and gave him direction
s. Mary-Lou Miller was a divorced, local Attorney, She’d been on her own for three years, and now felt it was time to meet someone. She thought Melvyn Novak was a very attractive man, gentle, kind, smart, with a good sense of humour. Shame he was a cop, but then you can’t have everything, she needed some loving.

  Novak left New York City in time to be in Yonkers, about 20 miles away, at 7 o’clock sharp or possibly a little earlier. As he drove into the pretty town which took him back to his childhood, the buildings, the narrow streets, the stores, a general store, the feed store even a horse storage and smithy’s works, he saw a nice florist’s and decided to buy Mary-Lou some roses. A beautiful bouquet, red, yellow, pink and white, a dozen in all. He straightened his tie, Italian bought in Harrods London, and knocked on the door of the very smart, one storey large house.

  “Hi Melvyn,” Mary-Lou said, as she opened the door, “you’re right on time!” she added.

  Novak produced the roses from behind his back, “For you,” he said, smiling like a teenager on his first date.

  “Come on in.” she said, adding, “oh, they’re beautiful, you shouldn’t have!” she almost shouted, “thank you! Okay Melvyn Novak, what can I get you to drink?”

  “Oh, call me Mel, all my friends, except the Capt, do,” he said.

  “Okay, big Mel, what’s it to be?” she asked.

  “As I’m driving I’ll have something soft,” he answered.

  “No you’re not,” she said, and went over to a beautiful oak door and opened it.

  From where Mel was standing he could see a fabulously laid table with candles and a central candelabra. His heart jumped or missed a couple of beats, he’d never been entertained like this before. “Wow,” he said, “that looks gorgeous, but I had intended for us to go to the best restaurant in town,” he spouted.

  “This is the best restaurant in town,” Mary-Lou laughed. Mel was in awe of this woman’s personality, he thought, could this be love at first date? “So, how about your favourite tipple, scotch I bet, yes?”

  “Er, yes,” he said, “with ice please,” he added. They tapped their glasses, and said ‘cheers’.

  Dinner was the best he had ever eaten. They laughed, talked about London, “What did you think of Buckingham Palace?” Mel asked.

  “Fantastic,” she replied, “it made the White House look like a hovel!” They laughed.

  “Don’t let Obama hear you say that!” Mel said, more laughter!

  They rose from the table, and went into the beautifully furnished lounge area, “Brandy and coffee?” Mary-Lou asked.

  “Er, coffee yes, but brandy no,” he said, “I’ve got to drive back.”

  She went over to an antique drinks cabinet, and poured two very large balloons of brandy and brought one over to him, “You’re not driving anywhere tonight!” she said, smiling.

  Lt Melvyn Novak could not believe what was happening to him. Sure he had had a few successes with women over the years, but his job had dictated his private and public lives. But tonight would be one of his good nights, he was floating on a feeling of well-being.

  “Tell me about the sort of cases you’ve been working on,” she asked.

  “Oh, I don’t really want to talk shop, he said. He rose from his chair, and joined Mary-Lou on the velvet sofa. “I’m so glad we met on the way back from London,” he said, and leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She turned her face, smiling, and cupped his face in her hands kissing him softly on his lips. Once again he started floating, as her hand went to his groin and gently rubbed his, now erect, penis. She stood, taking his hand to follow her in to the bedroom. they quickly undressed each other and fell gently on to the large silk covered bed. Their love making was both gentle and ferocious, neither of them had made love for a long time, and their orgasms were astounding and very vocal.

  Ostend

  Jon emerged from the hotel into the warm sunshine after a large breakfast, he lingered on the steps. The porter waited with him until the car hop brought his car to the door. He tipped both as he got into the Merc, “Antwerp here I come!” he said to no one as he patted the side jacket pocket containing Katti’s diamonds. Anna’s gems were well packed in his suitcase. It wasn’t a long drive, through Ghent and then 20 minutes to Antwerp, the diamond capital of Europe. He accelerated on.

  Chief Inspector Lloyd sat looking at the file that was now labelled ‘The Weston Cruise Murders’, he was scratching his balding head. The bastard has completely disappeared, nothing reported in England or on the Continent. He thought some speculative police work was in order, some good old detective work. He called a meeting with four of his best men, it was decided that they would go to Amsterdam and Antwerp. He would only go to those places to off-load the jewellery. “Hello, I’d like to speak to Lt Novak,” Lloyd said.

  “Hi, Chief Inspector,” Novak said, “how you doing?”

  “Fine thanks, I’m stepping up the search for Weston, in Europe, Holland and Belgium. We will get him, you mark my words my friend, mark my words Novak,” Lloyd said, “we’ve got the police looking for him in the diamond districts of Antwerp and Amsterdam. We’ve also alerted the Dealers Association to report any Englishman trying to sell good high priced stones to dealers,” he reported.

  “Gee Chief Inspector, that sounds great, thanks,” Novak said, “maybe I can talk my Captain into allowing me to come back to London, I’ll try!” he added.

  “I hope so,” Lloyd said, “goodbye.” The phone went dead.

  Antwerp

  Jon parked the Mercedes in the centre square on a two hour meter and walked over to a taxi rank, the driver started his diesel Mercedes as Jon got into the back, “Speak English?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes,” the cabbie said.

  “I want to go to the jewellery district, oh and by the way, do you accept American dollars?”

  “Oh, yes, one dollar is one and a half euros,” he said.

  “Okay, fine, let’s go,” Jon added.

  “This is it,” the driver said, making his calculation on the meter, “the fare is 15 dollars please.”

  “Thanks,” Jon said, giving him a twenty as he got out. He started walking down a narrow, but well kept tree-lined street, just looking from shop to shop taking his time to choose the right one. He finally settled on a small smart looking corner jewellers. Looking in the well-dressed metal barred window, he saw the type of gems and prices he was hoping to sell. He pressed the security button, after a full minute he was allowed to enter. “Good morning,” he said to the grey bearded stereotype man, “do you speak English?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ve got some diamonds to sell,” he pulled out a brown envelope, inside was a red handkerchief containing Anna’s jewellery, he passed it across a normal counter without a glass partition. But the shop was very secure, with an armed guard standing in the corner.

  The gem dealer unwrapped the red handkerchief and put the obligatory eye glass on to his glasses clip. “How much did you want for them?” the dealer asked, without taking his gaze from them.

  “200,000 euros,” Jon replied.

  “I see, wait a few minutes please, I need to check them out on the computer.” the Dealers Association hadn’t got the news to Mr Manheim and he wasn’t aware of anything being wrong. He returned to Jon, and said, “The best I will pay is 185,000 euros.”

  Jon went to a chair by a display counter and sat pretending to think deeply, with his head bowed resting on his hands. After about three minutes he stood up and said to the dealer, “Okay, will that be in cash?”

  “Yes,” the bearded gent said, “a few minutes please,” he added. He returned with poly bags with bank seals.

  Jon counted the amounts after he had filled out the sale form, he gave his home address but used a false name. “Thank you,” he said, as the guard opened the door for him. He didn’t realise that he had been seen on eight different cameras, including the one in the shop, but at the moment they had no significance.

  His cab stopp
ed at the main square, near to where he had parked. He paid the same in dollars, “Sanku,” the driver said, “hef a nice day, sir,” he added. It was then he noticed two gendarmes looking at his SLS, were they just admiring it, or did they have a sinister interest? No, he thought, no radio usage and no note books, just looking and dreaming that they could one day own one like it he decided as he walked towards it. Another 180,000 euros, wow! that’s half a million including what’s in the bank, and about another 200,000 euros for Katti’s lot and about $60,000 in my pocket! Bloody hell! nearly three quarters of a million! who said crime doesn’t pay, and all tax free! He laughed, or was that the devil in him laughing, knowing that he would have his soul one day. He put his foot down on the 500 horses and watched as the three pointed badge rose and the rear tyres screeched round the square ....... silly boy, one of the gendarmes took the English reg: plate and got on the radio to HQ for a name recognition. It was of no consequence to Jon, he’d never registered the Merc in his name. The supposed owner was a Tim Fuller of Hampstead, a fallen hedge fund banker who had sold the car in desperation when needing money. Jon had snapped it up for £65,000, an absolute bargain with only 10,000 miles on the clock.

  Once out on the main road, to Holland and Amsterdam, to sell the rest of his haul.

  Amsterdam

  Once again he found himself asking a cabbie how to get to the diamond district. Looking at the Merc, the cabbie said, “It’s very complicated from here mein herr, you will have to follow me.”

  “No, no,” Jon said, “I’ll park the car and you can take me there, okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” the cabbie said. After about ten minutes they were at a small square, “The area you want is down that street and you will be in the centre, okay?” He passed the cabbie a $20 bill, “Tenk you very much,” the cabbie said, “for another ten I’ll keep an eye on the Mercedes every time I pass, it’s not busy in the afternoons sir!” he said.

  Jon laughed and passed him another $20, laughing he said, “Keep two eyes on it!”

  “Tenk you,” came the reply.

  He walked along the street to the gem centre, not realising he was on camera again. He saw a fairly large shop showing a good display of rings, watches, necklaces, bracelets etc., he pressed the entry button which immediately gave him entry. “Good afternoon,” he said to the pretty young woman behind the metal grid. An armed guard stood in the corner.