Waves of Murder

by J B Raphael

  “Yes,” Jon said.

  “The price is 5,000 euros, and that is if we have a good catch on the way,” he explained, “and we won’t tell the police that we took you there.”

  “Okay, you drive a hard bargain, but it will still have to be dollars, I haven’t any euros.”

  “Okay, I’ll work it out in dollars,” the shrewd little bastard said, knowing full well that Jon was on the run, he’d seen his face on a bar’s TV earlier that day. His father and he spoke Italian all the time, which worried Jon, he didn’t trust them but he had no choice, he had to get away from the police and the Russians quickly, in fact, immediately.

  The trawler left within 30 minutes, Guiseppe refused to cast off until he had received$3,000. Jon was shown where he could sleep, a small locker room behind the wheel-house. He found a large gutting knife in there, he slipped it down his trousers. He was told that food would be a hundred extra, and the journey would take 7 or 8 days. He spent most days just sitting in the stern end just sunbathing, apart from 2 days when there was very welcome rain, quite heavy, and he used it as a shower. He had soap and a towel in his case and was able to shave and change his clothes. Laying in the sun on the fourth day his thoughts turned to things evil, the black mist was descending. The two fisherman were going over the side after he’d killed them, he would turn the trawler north into the open sea and set the throttle on ‘full ahead’. His escape would be by an inflatable boat with an outboard engine that was on quick release clamps on the port side, just in front of the net dragging boards. They hadn’t done any fishing by trawl and had only been using throw nets over the starboard side. Guiseppe came to Jon and said they couldn’t go into Palermo harbour as it is for liners and tourist craft only, no fishing boats. They had to go a long way to Trappani and it would cost another 1,000 euros, Jon was angry, but said that he had no choice. Sicily came into sight, tonight would be the night. As night fell he readied himself for the evil deed, the old man was at the wheel and manoeuvered closer to the land, Jon crept up behind him and slit his throat in one smooth and easy stroke. His son was near the stern, folding the throw nets, the engine went quiet and Guiseppe turned to see why and walked forward to the wheelhouse. As he passed Jon he received the kniife deep into his heart, he was dead as he hit the deck. Jon retrieved his money from the father’s pockets. He rigged up a rope from the throttle lever and threw it over the side near the inflatable, after which he released the clamps, it fell into the flat sea, but was held by a single rope. He then jumped the 5 or 6 feet into it, following his case. Grabbing the throttle rope he pulled it gently and heard the satisfying sound of the big diesel engine revving, and the boat went north, accelerating all the time, into the gloom. He watched it disappear into the moonlit night, “nobody takes my money,” he said to the sea, “and lives,” he added, laughing. He revved the outboard and steered to the lights of Palermo, about one and a half miles to the harbour. As he got closer there was a loud explosion behind, out to sea, he guessed that the engine of the trawler had blown up, oh well he thought, all the evidence had gone, he’d even thrown the knife over the side. The harbour lights were getting closer as police and rescue boats rushed past him at very high speed with sirens screaming, good he thought, they won’t notice little me creeping into port. They didn’t, he looked back to see flames leaping into the air for about 100 feet. He tied up the boat at the very end of a jetty and walked towards the bright lights, police and ambulances were lined up on the other side of the quay, as he walked quickly in the gloomy shadows, up some steps into a side street and further on to a main road brightly lit by hotels and shops. He found a nice medium sized 4* hotel just off the main drag, the ‘Mediterranean Palace’ suited his purpose, lots of tourists wandering about.

  Naples

  “Hey, you bum, yeah I’m torkin’ to you, you wanna meet the godfather!” Mary-Lou said, laughing, as she showed Mel the next port of call. “Sicily, the home of the Mafia, are you ready? It’s a three and a half day luxury cruise to Palermo, across the calmest sea in the world with the bluest water,” she said, showing him the brochure, “the boat leaves tomorrow at 5 o’clock, so be on it, punk!” she said, making a gun from two fingers and digging them into his ribs. ‘It’ happened!

  The ‘Sicilian Princess’ wasn’t a huge boat, but it had all the facilities of the very big ocean liners. Their large outside cabin was quite luxurious, they unpacked just what they were going to need for the short journey. There were no formal nights so the tuxedo and the long dress stayed packed, just smart-casual, even at dinner time. Mel and Mary-Lou went on to their balcony and sat with pre-dinner drinks. Dinner was typically Italian, but very good, later in the bar Mel once again saw Jonathan Weston’s image on News TV, reporting his sighting on the Isle of Capri. Fuck, thought Mel, he’s just one step ahead all the time, one day my man, one day, he thought. That day would be sooner than he thought, five days in fact, in a chance meeting.

  Palermo

  The trawler had been hit by a cruise liner while speeding on it’s un-manned course, it had exploded and burst into flames as was evident from the shore. Lifeboats had reached the area in 15 minutes along with rescue and fire boats. The liner only suffered superficial damage with a few minor injuries to passengers. The fishing boat, according to an eye witness, had been struck amid ships by the liner’s bow as it cut across the cruiser’s course. The witness also said that he thought he saw someone laying on the deck near the wheelhouse, but he wasn’t sure. The trawler had continued about 30 metres before it exploded and took only a few minutes to sink, taking any evidence of murder with it. Once again the devil had taken care of his ward.

  Jon made himself comfortable in his room, a large double overlooking the interior gardens and pool. He sat on the balcony with an ice cold lager from the mini bar. He had managed to do a ‘package holiday maker’ deal with the hotel by paying for two weeks in advance, in US dollars, nice, he thought, free passage though not exactly 5* travel, but nice! He was enjoying life. Being on the island that’s known for it’s criminal activity, he wondered about Molly’s and Liz’s diamonds, he was sitting on nearly half a million dollars. He would start making enquiries in the morning after hiring another little grey Fiat, his lucky car!

  No Jewish dealers on Sicily, they didn’t exactly get on with the Cosa-Nostra, and preferred mainland Europe, and no Romas, they would not be welcome here. Anyway, Romas would steal the gems, not buy them. He was here for as long as he liked, barring problems, he would take his time finding the right dealer.

  The Sicilian Princess

  The honeymooners were enjoying their sea voyage, neither had done a sea cruise before in such beautiful surroundings. The wonderful calm and azure sea, the luxury of the liner, everything was perfect for their holiday of a lifetime, as Mel said, “We won’t be able to do this again,” as he rubbed his fingers together denoting ‘money’.

  “Oh, will you shut up, you old grouch, we are on our special, once in a lifetime honeymoon, and if you don’t stop it I will withdraw my favours, or I may charge for them, okay Mr Novak?” Mary-Lou said.

  “Okay, okay,” Mel said, and threw $5 across the table, “that’s for tonight!” he said.

  “Five bucks!” Mary-Lou shouted as she snatched the note and tore it into small pieces, “you’re on the couch tonight!” she said, laughing as Mel tried to salvage the $5 bill.

  “Okay, okay,” Mel said, “$10, but it’s cash on delivery,” he added.

  “That’s more like it,” Mary-Lou replied. ‘It’ happened, Mel left $10 on the table.

  Palermo

  Jon (Keiron) mingled among the down-town crowd looking for clues as to how to approach the Sicilian Mafia about the sale of the diamonds, it was proving very difficult. ‘Omerta’ was the rule, ‘silence at all times’, nobody was willing to impart any information, not even the child beggars in the street. His second way of finding a buyer was to wander around the back streets of down-town Palermo, and then it struck him, nothing opens a mouth li
ke the sight of a wad of American dollars. Bribery was probably high on the agenda of running this town. He walked into a junk type, antique sort of shop and showed the middle-aged man his least valuable ring, “Inglese?”

  “Si signore.”

  The man looked at the ring that Jon offered, saying, “I want to sell this ring.”

  The Sicilian took a magnifying glass out of the drawer in his desk and scrutinised the jewel. He gave it back to Jon and said, “No signore, it’s not for me, it’s beyond my money.”

  “Who would buy it from me?” Jon asked.

  “I don’t know signore, goodbye,” he said and stood staring into Jon’s eyes with a cold glare that sent a sort of shiver down his spine.

  No luck there, these people seem to be under a cloud of extreme fear. He walked out of the shop thinking that perhaps Sicily wasn’t the place for plying his trade, but not to worry, he thought, I’ve got plenty of money, about a quarter of a million he reckoned. The diamonds will be my pension, he hoped, but would they? The devil had the answer.

  The Sicilian Princess

  The cruise liner docked at the quayside at Palermo an hour ahead of schedule, at 8 o’clock on Sunday morning. Breakfast was served at a leisurely pace and the honeymooners had time to do some last minute packing and have a last stroll around the promenade deck. “So, how have you enjoyed our honeymoon so far?” Mary-Lou asked Mel.

  “It’s been fabulous,” he said and kissed her cheek, “but,” he added, “ we’ve still got another ten days to go before we fly home.”

  “Yeah,” Mary-Lou replied, “and it will be fabulous, hey, look,” she said, looking out of the balcony window, there’s a cruise boat just sitting at anchor,” she said.

  Mel went to have a look, “It’s bows are damaged,” he said, “it’s been in some kind of collision.” There were salvage boats and tugs around the bow of the ship checking the damage. Hundreds of passengers on deck were enjoying the extra day at sea in the sunshine, watching the action. A TV news boat was also on the scene.

  Keiron (Jon) sat in the hotel bar watching the commentary knowing full well that he’d been the instigator of an event that would cost somebody millions of euros. He kept watching to see if he was still front page news, he wasn’t, but then again this was Sicily TV. Good, he thought, the mainland stations might be different, but he was in Palermo. Had he become yesterday’s news? He hoped so.

  The Novak’s cruise liner docked at midday, the hotel’s bus was waiting to take them to the 5* ‘Majestic Hotel’, it had a new facade but the actual building was art deco, “Beautiful!” Mary-Lou said. Their baggage was taken from the bus to reception by a young man that “should be in the movies!” so Mary-Lou said.

  “Yeah,” Mel said, “so was Lassie and the Three Stooges!” They laughed.

  “But he is very dishy,” she added. He gave the ‘movie star’ $10 for taking the bags to their double room which faced the sea, and being on a hill he could see the stricken cruise liner almost on the horizon.

  Little did Mel know that he was only 300 metres away from Jon Weston, the closest he had been for almost two years. His hotel was in the next block. Would their paths cross?

  Capri

  Mikhail and his men had turned the island upside down, no stone had been un-turned, no bribe un-bribed and no threat un-threatened, but Keiron had once again, been one step ahead. Satan, his mentor, was working well for him.

  “Mikhail,” Vasili screamed into the phone, “come back, you are fucking useless.” He had contacted some ‘friends’ in Sicily and the Italian mainland that owed him one or two favours, “And tell those idiots with you that they will suffer for their stupidity,” he added, “I have made other arrangements with people down there that know what they’re doing, they’ll find the bastard and deliver him to me. I don’t care how long it takes or how much it costs,” he continued screaming, then the phone went dead.

  Palermo

  Sightseeing was the order of the day for the honeymooners. The main road led to the town centre, about a ten minute stroll, they admired the architecture above the ground floors that had been converted to shops and restaurants. The small statues and gargoyles added a strange quality that they hadn’t seen before, on a corner property above a coffee shop there were three small gargoyles, “There you are,” Mel said, “the Three Stooges, Larry, Mo and Shep!” he pointed out to Mary-Lou.

  “You are crazy,” she replied, but they still laughed.

  The square in the centre was beautiful, with lots of amazingly coloured flowers everywhere and a huge central fountain. Over in one corner was an enormous spread of tables and chairs belonging to ‘La Casanova Ristorante’ with a huge statue of the 18th century lothario as a centre piece. Many people were seated at tables and at one, sat Jon, just surveying the overall scene. The last time he had seen Mel Novak the Lieutenant was wearing a tie and dark suit, so he didn’t recognise the American tourist wearing a light shirt, small brimmed sun hat and cream chino-style trousers. Neither did Mel Novak recognise the blond Scandinavian looking guy sitting at a table not two metres away. As Mel and Mary-Lou sat down, one of the many aproned waiters wiped their table, and said, “Si signora and signore, can I help you?”

  “Two cappuccinos, please,” Mary-Lou said.

  “Si, signora,” said the waiter, and scooted off to get their order. They just chatted about the ambiance and beauty of the surroundings.

  Jon (Keiron) put his arm in the air denoting to a waiter that he wanted to pay his bill, but the waiter virtually ignored him, “I don’t know,” he said in Mel’s direction, “he doesn’t seem to want my money,” he laughed.

  Mel’s spine went rigid, and his blood ran cold. “You’ve gone a funny colour,” his wife said.

  “Shush,” Mel said, “er, sorry, but I need to hear that guy speak again.” He turned away from ‘Keiron’ so as not to raise his suspicions.

  The waiter finally came over to ‘Keiron’s’ table, “Sorry, signore, we are very busy today, there are lots of tourists off of the cruise boat that came in yesterday.”

  “Oh, really,” Keiron said.

  “Si, signore, mostly Americanos.”

  “Yes,” Keiron said, “they certainly like to see the world,” he added, smiling at Mary-Lou. He stood up and walked away towards the main square, Mel still had the grey colour even through his suntan.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Mary-Lou asked.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just that I thought I recognised that guy from the case I was on in London, before we met,” he explained. He called over the waiter and asked, “The man that was sitting at that table, does he come here every day?” as he asked he put 10 euros in his hand.

  “Si signore, every day at 11 o’clock and sits for about an hour with two mocha coffees,” the waiter answered.

  “Thank you,” Mel said. He now had to explain to Mary-Lou what it was all about. They sat for an hour with more cappuccinos and Italian liqueurs. After he had told her the whole story she sat there wide-eyed and with her mouth open.

  “You mean to tell me that the guy sitting just six feet away, was a murderer of women on cruise ships for their jewellery and then just casually threw their bodies overboard?” she asked.

  “That’s about it,” Mel replied, “I need to find the nearest police station.”

  “Yeah,” Mary-Lou said, “let’s get that bastard behind bars.”

  Across the square they saw a policeman just wandering around on walk-about patrol. “Do you speak English?” Mel asked the tall young cop.

  “Si, signore, I am tourist corps of the Polizia,” he replied.

  “Good,” Mel said, “where is your headquarters?”

  “It’s just over at the end of the square to the left, as it meets the main road,” he answered.

  “Thank you,” Mel said, “thank you very much,” leaving the policeman looking puzzled and scratching the back of his neck. They walked up the marble steps through the large open wooden doors up to the reception
officer, a short stout man with a chubby face. “Do you speak English?” Mel asked.

  “Si signore, this is a tourist area,” he responded.

  Mel showed his ID and badge, “I am Lieutenant Novak of the New York State police, is it possible to speak to your Chief Inspector?” Mel asked.

  “Si, signore,” the man said and picked up the telephone, he spoke Italian for about a minute then put down the phone, “he will be here in a minute or so, please take a seat,” he said.

  He was a silver haired man of about 55, fairly tall and smartly dressed, “Lt Novak,” he said, “welcome to Sicily, how can I help you?” Mel explained the whole case to the Chief Inspector. “Are you sure he’s the same man, this person in the square today?”

  “Oh yes,” Mel said, “I interrogated him for hours in New York, it’s him, definitely.”

  “Well,” the CI said, “be here at 10 o’clock in the morning.”

  Mel didn’t sleep well, on his mind was how they would capture Jon Weston, would he be surrounded at the table by armed police, or would the Police Chief give Mel a gun to perform the arrest? He and Mary-Lou just cuddled, ‘it’ didn’t happen.

  Breakfast was in silence, Mary-Lou could see that Mel was on the planet justice, it was one of the reasons she had fallen for him, his ardent sense of right and wrong. Today could be the culmination of a lot of hard work by the NYPD and Scotland Yard, Mel hoped. At ten on the dot, the Novaks walked into Police Headquarters to meet the Chief Inspector. They waited for about 20 minutes before the Chief arrived, “I’m sorry, but the operation’s been cancelled, orders from the Commissario, something to do with the safety of the public. He may be carrying a gun himself, I will try to arrange something soon, how long are you here for?” he asked.

  “For as long as it takes, we have an open ticket back to London,” Mel replied.

  “Good,” the Chief Inspector said, and arranged to contact them at the hotel in a day or two.