by Linda Ungar
“I can’t discuss it, but I would appreciate your not saying anything to him if he comes in again. I’d also like you to call me right away if he does. Here’s the number to call,” handing him her card. “And please, keep this conversation to yourself.”
Elizabeth left through the double doors that led into the hotel lobby. She walked across the highly polished marble floor to the ornately carved reception desk. No one else in the lobby seemed to be aware of the opulence around them. “Imagine taking all this for granted!” It seemed inconceivable. One of the people who worked at the reception desk recognized Nigel and the same woman the headwaiter thought he remembered. The rest of the employees she questioned didn’t recognize anyone.
The pretty woman’s name was Karen Miller, a rich American who had extended her stay in one of their suites by several weeks. The concierge said he had become friendly with her during that time. “She was just lovely. She obviously had a lot of money, but treated everyone kindly and with respect. You don’t always see that kind of behavior among the very rich. Sometimes the guests act like we’re their slaves, making all sorts of unreasonable demands at all hours. That was never Mrs. Miller.”
“Mrs. Miller? Somehow I thought she was single, since she was with this man.”
“She was widowed, she told me.”
“Oh.”
“Has anything happened to her? Is that why you’re asking all these questions?”
“I really can’t say anything now. I’d like to talk to the other people here who might have remembered her.”
“You should see Angela Barrett, she’s right over there.”
“It’s funny you should be asking about her,” Angela said. “I was just thinking about her the other day.”
“Why was that?”
“She was so excited one day and said she just had to share her good news or would burst. We had become friendly by then. She was planning to get married to that man you showed me in the picture. She had promised him to keep it a secret, even from her daughter in America, until after the wedding. The reason she told me about their marriage plans is that she wanted to book a week in the same suite she was in now, as a surprise for her future husband’s birthday. He loved London, and she thought it would be romantic to spend the time after they were married in a place that was so important to them during their courtship. His birthday wasn’t until three months after their wedding, but she wanted to make sure she could get the suite she wanted. She made the reservation in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Nigel Craxford, even paid for it in advance. But when that date arrived, they never checked in. I called the cell phone number she had given me, and got a message it was not a working number. It seemed so out of character for her not to let us know if her plans had changed. Anyway, the reservation was for exactly a year ago last week, so I thought about it then. I remembered the date because it’s the same date as my daughter’s birthday. I also remember now that I asked her how she could keep a secret like that from her daughter. I know how close I am with mine, now that she’s past those teenage years. Karen had laughed, and said it was difficult, but thought how exciting it was going to be to come back home and surprise her daughter with her new husband. Her plan was to call her daughter when she checked out of here, and then call her after the wedding to let her know when she’d be coming back home. I hope she’s ok.”
“Thanks for all your cooperation. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else. Here’s my card, call if you hear from Karen Miller or Nigel Craxford.” She also asked Angela Barrett not to discuss this with anyone else.
All the women in the photographs, except Karen, were not very good looking. This would most likely make them more vulnerable to a man like Nigel, especially if he were charming, which she suspected he was. He probably had a talent for spotting weakness. If I could talk to her daughter in America, it might give me some insight into Karen. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find the daughter, since she had gotten Karen’s home address from the hotel. She was confident the Allentown, Pennsylvania police department would be able to give her that information. It would also be useful to see if they could add anything to her inquiry.
Coming home to her cramped flat after being at The King’s Grill and the Raphael was more difficult than usual. The contrast between ‘the good life’ and her life was overwhelming. Her mind raced, “Maybe I’m about to crack open a sensational case that will make me famous. I could have a movie producer interested in making it into a film. Then I’d get rich, quit my job, leave the country, get plastic surgery and have a complete makeover.” Sometimes it was her craziest thoughts that kept her sane.
Of course, Nigel Craxford could turn out to be a completely harmless person, a lonely man looking for love. If that’s the case, I’m just his type. “Yeah, right,” she thought.
She went into her tiny kitchen and reheated some takeout food left over from the night before. Too exhausted to make herself a proper meal, she collapsed onto her sofa and turned on the television. The evening news was just starting. The usual terrible events of the day played out on the screen. “I don’t think I need to see this,” she thought, and was about to change the channel when a picture of a woman came on. The newswoman identified her as forty-eight-year-old Evelyn Wiley. She had died of apparent smoke inhalation, after a fire started by an elderly man in the flat below her had fallen asleep while smoking. The fire department was still investigating. Elizabeth bolted upright on her sofa. Evelyn Wiley was the same woman in the latest photograph that Nigel Craxford had given Hugh Beasley. Could Nigel have had anything to do with the fire, and made it look like an accident? But that seemed odd, the tapestry wasn’t finished yet. Her theory was that he needed to use the tapestry in some way to ensnare his victims. A neighbor of the dead woman was being interviewed, “She was very quiet, kept to herself. As far as I know she never married, and had no family. Poor soul didn’t seem to have much of a life. But what’s really tragic is that she recently won a large amount of money from the national lottery. She didn’t like the publicity she got right after it. I told her no one ever remembers the winners, except relatives looking for a handout. Anyway, she told me only a few days ago that her luck seems to have changed completely and she expected she’d be moving before too long. She didn’t give any details, but it’s the first time I’d seen her look so happy. And now this, poor soul.” The neighbor shook her head sadly. A commercial for a cruise line came on. Stunned, Elizabeth turned off the television.
The next morning, she arrived at her office earlier than usual, eager to be at work even though she couldn’t call America until the afternoon. The phone was already ringing as she reached her desk.
“Officer Higgins,” she said answering her phone.
It was Hugh Beasley. He sounded excited. “I just got into work, and before I could even take off my coat, Neal Crawford called. He cancelled the work on the tapestry, and said he’d stop by to pick it up as soon as he got back to London. His phone number was displayed on my phone. I thought you’d want it.”
“I certainly do. Did you see last night’s news?”
“No, my wife and I went to an early movie.”
“The woman, whose photograph you have now, died yesterday of smoke inhalation. That probably explains why he cancelled his order. I’ll be in to see you a little later today. Will you be available?”
“I’ll be here all day.”
Elizabeth made her call to the Allentown police department. It was easier than she thought to get the information she wanted. Karen Miller had been well known in the town. Her late husband had owned the region’s largest trucking company, and her daughter Lori, a lawyer, was married to Nick Brenner, a successful real estate developer. Karen’s tragic death while on vacation in the UK had been reported in all the local papers. The policeman she was talking to knew a neighbor of Lori’s. That neighbor had told him she was still mourning her mother’s death, and hadn’t been able to return to her law practice yet. The policeman sugge
sted that Elizabeth should go easy with Lori. Elizabeth, not surprised that Karen was dead, thanked him and called Lori Brenner.
“Hello.” A young woman’s voice answered the phone. “May I speak to Lori Brenner.”
“Speaking, who is this?” A baby cried in the background.
“This is Officer Elizabeth Higgins with the London police. I’d like to talk to you about your mother, Karen Miller. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Lori started to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m still very upset over her death.”
“No need to apologize. I’m calling because I’m investigating a man your mother was planning to marry while she was in the UK. From what I’ve been able to learn, she was keeping it a secret from you so she could surprise you when she went back home. Were you aware of any of this?”
Lori had so many doubts about what actually happened to her mother, doubts that no one else shared. Knowing that someone else was looking into the circumstances of her death came as a tremendous relief.
“All I know was that she said she’d met someone, was having fun, but it was nothing serious. I suspected there was more to the story than she was letting on. I was going to go over there to find out what was really happening, but then I learned that I was pregnant and had some complications that prevented me from travelling for a while, so I didn’t have a chance to help her. But you know what else really haunts me? I was the one who insisted that she take this trip. I even gave her a diamond star pendant, told her it would bring her luck. She didn’t want to go. I pushed her into it. If I hadn’t done that I’d still have a mother.” Lori broke down at this point. “She never even got to meet her grandson!” she sobbed. She regained her composure enough to continue. “My mother called me regularly, told me she was checking out of her hotel and would call back in a few days to let me know when she’d be corning home. I was so excited. But then I never heard from her again. A few days after she was supposed to call me and didn’t, I was frantic. I called the hotel, I called the police. I was about to hire a private investigator, when I got a call from a lawyer, Simon Blair. He said he had sad news about my mother. She had died in a boating accident while on her honeymoon. He knew where to reach me because he had drawn up a new will for her while she was in London. Lori spoke nervously, her voice quavering. “Do you think he killed my mother, is that why you’re calling?”
“Why don’t you finish your story,” Elizabeth gently suggested.
“Simon Blair told me that she and this man, Nigel Craxford, had come to him to make out their wills. Simon Blair reassured me that there was nothing sinister about Nigel. “In fact,” he had said, “he wanted to leave everything to your mother, and in my office, he was telling your mother he didn’t want her to change her will. He even asked me to talk her out of it. She was the one who insisted on going through with it. Nigel wanted her to have everything he owned, in case anything happened to him. Even though he knew you had more money than you could ever spend, he said you should be the only one to inherit whatever she had.” The solicitor claimed Nigel was inconsolable after the accident, hardly able to function.” He sent Lori a copy of the will, which was legitimate. His law firm turned out to be an old established one with an excellent reputation. Everything seemed to confirm that it was just a tragic accident, yet Lori could never quite believe it.
“What was your mother like?”
“She was wonderful, loving, kind, generous. The best mother anyone could ever have. She would have made a fabulous grandmother.” Lori started to cry again.
“Was your mother a confident woman, or shy? What was her personality like?”
“She never really appreciated her own worth. She lived in my father’s shadow and had largely retreated from the world. I was afraid she might be naïve about men, since my father was her only boyfriend, and they married so young.”
Elizabeth got the description she was expecting. A rich insecure widow was an easy target. Nigel might have been inconsolable after her death, but still he managed to pull himself together enough to collect his inheritance. In this case, money was a powerful motive, and being alone on the boat was the ideal opportunity. Now she needed evidence. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, do anything without it.
Elizabeth made an appointment to question Simon Blair.
He graciously made time for her, and patiently repeated the same details he had gone over with Lori.
“In fact,” he said, “Nigel called me a few days later about another matter I was handling for him, and during that conversation I learned why it was so important for him to leave Karen everything he had. He said that many years ago, he had been married and had a young daughter. They were all on a trip to Italy, in Sienna, and while he was driving, a drunk driver lost control of his car and crashed into them. Both his wife and daughter were killed. He was grief stricken, not only were they dead, but he felt responsible because he was at the wheel. Even though it had been almost eighteen years, he said he still felt guilty. It made him feel better to take care of Karen any way he could. If you could have spoken with him after the boating accident, you would have realized the pain he was in. He was barely able to speak or function. He said it happened while they were on their honeymoon. What made the accident even more devastating for him was that he’d bought the boat as a surprise for Karen. He said she wasn’t familiar with the boat, got up during the night and tripped on some rope that was lying on deck. He thinks she probably tripped when the boat pitched in the rough seas. He asked me to let Karen’s daughter know what had happened since he couldn’t bear to make such a horrible call. This isn’t the behavior of a cold-blooded killer. The man was beyond distraught, I assure you.”
Elizabeth thanked Simon Blair for his seeing her, especially at such short notice.
“I hope I was able to clear things up for you.”
“The information you gave me was very helpful. Thank you again.”
Evelyn Wiley’s death bought a little time before Craxford would find another victim. Further investigation into the fire proved it was accidental. But the fact that Evelyn Wiley had come into money shortly before she died convinced Elizabeth that Nigel’s interest in her was purely monetary. Her instinct told that her that he was a killer. She was certain he’d soon be on the prowl for another victim. He worked fast, so she would have to work faster.
“I’ll put a stop to you, you bastard.” she thought, determined to get this ruthless man before he killed again.
Elizabeth enjoyed working with Judge Connelly. Sarah Connelly had come up the hard way. Graduating first in her law school class, she was too talented and too forceful to be held back by anyone. Elizabeth looked around the office as she waited for the judge to finish a phone call. Sunbeams streaming through the windows picked out dust motes dancing in the air, and shone on a silver gavel that rested on her desk. It had been a gift from her husband when she was first appointed to the bench. She kept it highly polished, never wanting to tarnish the law. Her massive wooden desk was generally strewn with empty coffee cups, open law books and files for the proceedings scheduled for the coming weeks. She worked as hard now as when she had first come on the bench, taking her responsibilities to uphold the law and seek justice with unwavering determination. Even those who didn’t like the results of her rulings, knew they had gotten a fair hearing.
Besides telling Judge Connelly about Nigel’s odd behavior involving the tapestry, his alias and past criminal record, Elizabeth reported her conversation with Lori Brenner.
“After talking to Lori Brenner, I thought it was important to speak with Simon Blair. He told me that Nigel Craxford called him before the accident about another matter he was handling. Craxford then let him know why he wanted to make Karen Miller his beneficiary. He claimed to have been married before, and that his wife and child were killed by a drunk driver in Italy. I couldn’t find any records of that accident. He also claimed that rough seas probably contributed to Karen Miller’s death. I checked the weather reports f
or conditions that night. There was a light wind and the sea was calm. I’ve got proof he’s a liar. Now I’ve got to prove he’s a killer.”
Elizabeth left Judge Connelly’s chambers with the court’s permission to monitor Craxford’s credit card and tap his phone.
“It shouldn’t be hard to keep tabs on him. He’ll be out of circulation soon. I just hope it’s soon enough.”
Nigel finished unpacking and dressing for dinner. Starting the hunt for new conquests always gave him a rush. He didn’t need money anymore, but did need the thrill of seducing his victims. Inheriting their money after he killed them was his way of keeping score. Even at boarding school, no one ever caught on to his schemes. The only exception was when he was arrested for scamming a pensioner. He had been sloppy then, but had since perfected his technique. He had no remorse for taking lives. “Pathetic cows,” he called his victims, except Karen. He thought she had just been a naïve fool. He thought no one was his equal, and that he was superior to anyone he had ever met. Born in the winter of his father’s life, he was like a winter sun, all brilliance and no warmth. He looked casually elegant in his perfectly tailored clothing. Wearing a pale blue shirt, dark blue blazer and gray wool trousers, he admired his reflection in the stateroom mirror. The shirt complimented his ice blue eyes. He had yet to meet the woman who was immune to his deadly combination of looks and charm. This cruise was the perfect vehicle for him, an exclusive holiday for adults only. In all probability, lonely rich women would outnumber the men on board. This was almost going to be too easy. After investing his time with that dreadfully dull Evelyn Wiley and having it ‘all go up in smoke’ (he found that phrase amusing) he felt entitled to an easy conquest. One last look in the mirror, then ‘show time.’