by S. Burke
He chose the one facing the direction of the main house; the floor to ceiling windows would afford him a clear view. He unpacked his case and removed the equipment he’d need. Placing it carefully under clothing in a drawer, the remainder he secreted around the room. The Gluck stayed close at all times; he had become accustomed to having it as his constant companion.
Leonard was bringing his mount down early in the morning. Craig checked everything was secure and headed off to bed. The king-sized mattress would be welcome after the stretcher beds he had grown used to in Colombia.
Chapter 20
Sheila sat drinking her coffee and reading the society pages in the papers.
Photographs of her and Damon were featured everywhere, they made a handsome couple. She was described as being his beautiful companion ‘Heiress Sheila Harrington of the Massachusetts Harringtons. The link to the American version of royalty was always handy. Her adoptive parents had been old money with a capital ‘O’. The look on Damon’s face when they’d been snapped on the dance floor was priceless; he was gazing at her with open adoration stamped across his handsome face.
The newspapers were all asking the question ‘Is an engagement in the air?’
Sheila really didn’t care one way or the other. The connection was now public, that was all she needed from him at this point.
She finished her coffee and dressed in jeans and a comfortable blouse, anxious to get back to Heaven’s Gate. She needed to make arrangements for her friends to visit, and soon. She loved the long drive; it settled her and helped her to focus.
Constance greeted her as always, and after the luggage had been carried inside and coffee made, she filled the boss in about the latest arrival.
Sheila briefly checked the log, content that all was above board. Another millionaire, new money no doubt. She disregarded the man, not wanting to waste her time meeting him immediately. She would see him later in the day.
She went upstairs for a refreshing shower, and sat at her laptop for an hour. Satisfied she had caught up with everything, she checked online for any messages in the Washington Chronicle. Yes, there it was. In the obituary column, ‘The family of the late Anthony Mortimer wish to advise that a funeral service will be held on Thursday 20th of this month. The service will be held in Catalina at the Church of the Heavenly Gate. Please do not send flowers. Donate instead to the cancer foundation in his name.’
She smiled. So victim number twenty was a go, even after the debacle of Stuart Alexon. Catalina was a long way, but she had plenty of time to get there. She didn’t like to fly; claustrophobia was always a danger on a plane, so she would go by road.
‘Do not send flowers’ was a warning that she was under surveillance. Did they think her so stupid she didn’t know that? Shaking whoever was tailing her was an exercise she enjoyed thoroughly. The part of the message that said ‘make donations to the cancer foundation’ meant this one would be a clear and open assassination. No need for the team, she could handle this on her own. It had been a long while since she’d had a message like this. Too long.
She smiled happily to herself; she had always preferred to work alone.
Chapter 21
Mike Matheson and Nigel Cantrell sat at a desk together, checking and re-checking the files on all the victims.
A notification that each had taken Arabic as a second language was a false plant, as were the names of the colleges they supposedly attended.
They were having difficulty tracing the only known friend of the first victim. Quentin Hamersley reportedly had been good friends with a woman named Selma Donnelly.
Selma appeared to have left the small town not long after selling his property and her own; everything he had was left to her. Her current whereabouts were unknown and all efforts at tracing her had failed.
“Get someone on this, Mike, if you can. I’d like to talk to this woman.”
“Why her specifically?”
“Quentin Hamersley was the first victim. The gap between his reported date of disappearance and the arrival of the first photograph is almost three months. His company continued to run, his employees handling everything. The company was still viable at the time of his murder. So he had to have set up access to bank accounts and wages. I also want to talk to the staff employed at the time of his death.”
“That’s been done.”
“Yes. I want to do it again.”
“Waste of time, Cantrell. These folks know zilch.”
“Then I will let it go after I speak to them. Forget it. I’ll arrange it myself, although your people may not wish to follow instructions unless they come from you.”
“All right. I’ll get some people on it.”
“Thanks.”
“Mike, I also want to look at the obituaries for all the deceased.”
“What the hell for?”
“To satisfy myself on a small point is all. I’m wondering who attended the memorial services. Often you will find perpetrators attending the funerals of their own victims; you know that without me having to tell you. I want to check the photographs, if any, and the guest books of the attendees, if one was used.”
“I had people at all the services. Most of these poor bastards had nobody to mourn them. I went myself to the first eight. Hamersley was one of the very few that had folks at the service. The others had nobody but my team.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. You reported nothing out of the ordinary in each case. I’m certain you were right.”
“You think the killer attended the funerals?”
“Tell me, were you looking out specifically for a male?”
“Jesus! Hell, yes! Yes, of course we were. I’ll get the files.”
“Good. I don’t want to continue battling you over every point, Mike. Don’t force my hand on this. I have no wish to turn my requests into orders. Understood?”
The man looked ready to argue further. Common sense kicked in, and he grunted an apology as he left the room to access the files on the funerals of each of the victims. The doctor was correct, the teams had been only looking at males at the service and afterwards; females had not seemed of consequence. Not then.
Craig Lombardi woke before dawn. He left the cabin in the still of the morning and headed the few miles to the large indoor pool at a run. The water was invigorating. He swam a hundred laps, and then did his Tai Chi. He returned to the cabin at a slower pace, and investigated the larder, finding everything he needed, as Constance said he would. He could have gone up to the Lodge for breakfast, but decided against it. He cooked up bacon and eggs, and sat out on the porch eating them and planning his day.
He dressed comfortably, checked his watch and waited. The sun illuminated the skyline and he swept the surrounding area with his high powered binoculars. No movement in the direction of the main house. Then he caught a glimpse of white, and focused in to where Leonard was leading a white stallion down from the stables and making his way with it in this direction. Leonard was mounted on a bay. Maybe the boss lady carried her snobbery over to what staff were permitted to ride.
He went inside, tidied up his room, placed the Gluck in the rear of his waistband and put the long camouflage jacket over it.
Then he went to greet Leonard.
“Mornin’, Len.”
“Hi, Jack. Did you sleep well?”
“Oh, yes. Like the dead, buddy.” Craig walked slowly across to the big stallion. “Steady, my beauty.” He produced the apple from his pocket and offered it to the skittish animal.
Leonard smiled in approval. This one obviously knew horses.
“What’s his name?”
“Ali. He’s a little on the temperamental side if he doesn’t get his own way. He needs a firm hand. I figured you would handle that okay. Was I right? Or would you prefer a quieter mount?”
“Ali, huh? Good name for an Arabian. You were a hundred percent right, Len. This boy and I will get along just fine.”
Leonard smiled. “I thought you might like me
to show you around the place. I can’t do it with all the guests, it gets too busy, but I can spare an hour or two this morning.”
“Thanks, Len. I’ll just grab my stuff.” Craig hurried into the cabin, and wired himself, then exited and mounted the stallion with fluid grace.
“You’ve done this before, I’m thinking?” said Leonard.
“Born to it.”
“It shows. Come, I’ll show you the trails first.”
Craig urged the stallion forward confidently; the horse recognized he had someone on board that knew exactly what to do.
The men moved off as the sun crested the mountain. The birds began their welcoming song and a light breeze wafted up and across the lake. Craig inhaled the fragrances. The view was spectacular. This assignment could prove to be enjoyable.
“So, when does your boss lady get back, Len?”
“She got back late last night, earlier than expected. But you don’t need to go up and meet her, she said not to bother.”
“Shame, I was kinda lookin’ forward to meetin’ her.”
“You’ll have that pleasure soon enough,” was the enigmatic response.
Craig decided to let it go. Leonard seemed relaxed in his company; he wanted to keep it that way and he backed off on the personal questions, for now.
Leonard for his part was enjoying the ride. This Jack Crenshaw was different to the usual breed of men that frequented the place, pleasant and not condescending. Connie appeared to like him as well, which said a lot to Leonard, as she liked no one as a rule.
Sheila stood out on her balcony enjoying the crisp chill of early morning. The weather was close to perfect, and she had the urge to take Kaiser out and let him have a good run.
She buzzed downstairs.
“Yes, Ma’am?’
“Connie? Have Leonard bring Kaiser round front.”
“Leonard isn’t here at the moment, Ma’am.”
“Where is he?”
“A guest asked him to show him the trails, Ma’am.”
“What guest?”
“Mr Crenshaw, Ma’am.”
“The new arrival?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“On horseback?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“What mount?”
“He’s riding Ali, Ma’am.”
“What? He’d better know what he’s doing. Ali has a temperamental streak.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I know. Leonard seemed to think Mr Crenshaw would be fine, Ma’am.”
“Leonard had better be right. Put coffee on, I’ll be down shortly.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Connie was not happy. This bitch was making her angrier every day. Yes, Ma’am, no, Ma’am, drop dead, Ma’am. She grinned to herself. Sure, as if she was likely to ever say that. If her family weren’t in need of the money, she’d happily kill the bitch herself.
She hurried into the kitchen. The cook took a look at her face.
“Shit. Back already, is she?”
“Uh-huh. It wants its coffee.”
“With or without arsenic?”
They dissolved in laughter. The boss had people lined up wanting to do her in.
The object of their deadly thoughts came downstairs, agitated. Ali was one of her favourites; this Crenshaw had better know how to ride.
Sheila drank the coffee down fast and headed to the stables. Kaiser whinnied as she entered, so she stroked his flank and saddled him, taking him out towards the main trail.
She rode for around an hour before she spotted the two men, sitting on a rocky outcrop smoking and laughing like old friends. Ali and the bay were tethered to a tree nearby, contentedly munching on the soft grass.
Dismounting, she led Kaiser over. Ali snickered in recognition.
The men looked up and Leonard stood and quickly came over. “Morning, Ma’am.”
“Leonard.”
The other man glanced in her direction and back at the view.
Sheila handed the reins to Leonard. “Tether him, and go back to the house. You are needed there.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She walked across to where the other man sat. “Hello, you must be Jack Crenshaw?”
He turned. “Yes, and you are?”
“Sheila Harrington. I own the place.”
“Nice spread.” He made no move to shake her hand. He didn’t move at all.
“How did you enjoy riding Ali?”
“He’s a fine piece of horseflesh. Has a mind of his own, I like that.”
“I’ll be happy to show you the way back to the usual trails, Mr Crenshaw.”
“That’s kind of you. I’m not heading back, not yet. I take it I’m not restricted to where I can hunt or ride?”
“Of course not.”
“Good.”
Sheila Harrington was left standing with nowhere to go with the conversation. She wasn’t accustomed to being ignored. It rattled her.
“I’ll see you then?”
“Possibly. I don’t tend to socialize much, Ms Harrington. I am here to hunt. I like my own company.”
“Fine. Good morning.”
“Yeah, mornin’.”
Sheila spun on her heel, mounted Kaiser and rode off.
Craig smiled. She was intrigued. Step one, accomplished.
She gave the animal its head and rode like a demon back to the house. The horse was stabled and she flung herself inside slamming the large doors as she entered.
Constance heard the sound, and hoped it didn’t mean something had gone wrong with Mr Crenshaw. He was a nice man.
“Connie!”
Connie hurried into the library. “Ma’am?”
“Get my laptop and bring it here, also a bottle of the Merlot, and tell cook I want steak for lunch.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” She hurried off, returning with the laptop, the bottle and crystal glass. She knew better than to pour it; the boss liked to do that for herself. She left her to it and headed in to the kitchen to give cook the order.
Sheila Harrington was perplexed. She wasn’t accustomed to men ignoring the offer of her company; he was probably gay.
She logged on and Googled Jack Crenshaw. The list included several; she tried a few, and then came across it. Well, well, no wonder. The man owned some of the finest horseflesh in Kentucky, and a stud. He owned horses in Hong Kong and Australia. Personal information was scarce, so she’d check later on the secured site.
Craig mounted Ali again and eased him down the trail, stopping at the base and looking at the lake-front. He used the binoculars and scoured the area. He searched for a cabin, something small and well away from the main homestead. The trail seemed as if it had been used fairly recently. He looked for perhaps an hour or more, then remounted and headed back up the way he came. Tomorrow he would go in the opposite direction. Wide circles decreasing inwards each day. If this was the killing field, he’d eventually spot the location.
He returned to the cabin, grabbed what he needed and rode Ali back to the stables. The groom took charge of the horse. He made no effort at conversation, and Craig wondered if the youngster could speak any English. He would have been around fourteen years old. Maybe he was the son or a relative of one of the other workers. It was beginning to look like Sheila was up to her dangerous neck in illegals.
One way to guarantee loyalty, he supposed. No one would say a word about anything that happened here at Heaven’s Gate if they were in the country illegally.
Sheila went upstairs after lunch, and removed the other computer from the large safe in the back of the bookshelf in her room. She punched in the code and began searching the access files. Ah, there you are Mr Jack Crenshaw.
She read the file carefully, looking for anomalies. There were none. He had been arrested once on a minor drinking infringement. Driving while drunk. His license had been temporarily suspended and he’d been fined. No time served. He belonged to a number of gymnasiums across the country, and was a member of several gun clubs. He didn’t like to socia
lize and had been married twice, no children.
The first wife died in childbirth. The second one divorced him for mental cruelty and later remarried.
He was thirty seven years old, with an engineering degree. However, with inherited wealth, he had no need to work. He travelled frequently within the States and only once overseas when he’d visited Hong Kong and Australia, where he purchased some very expensive four-legged toys.
The guy was normal. What was it about him that didn’t feel that way? She would find out. She made the call, and told the listener it was urgent. They would get back to her with everything on Mr Jack Crenshaw, including what brand of toothpaste he used. She could wait; twenty-four hours was usually sufficient for a complete dossier.
Craig wondered if she had run a check on him yet. He hoped so, because if any of his planted information was accessed, he would know for certain there was a leak. This could prove interesting. He’d supervised the set-up of his alias himself.
It was good.
Chapter 22
Mike Matheson paced the room, a half smoked cigarette hanging from his lips. The headache was getting worse, but he had nothing for it here. It was bad enough to make him feel sick to the stomach.
So, he mused, this is what a migraine feels like. Moving his head hurt like hell and his eyes were far too sensitive to have the light on. He swore to himself he would never again speak with derision about anyone who claimed to suffer from migraine headaches. He made it to the bathroom just in time and threw up.
“Jesus!” He found a washcloth and wet it, placing it across the back of his neck. He wasn’t going to make it through the pain of this thing without medication. He wondered if Nigel Cantrell would have anything. He wasn’t a medical doctor, but anything was worth a try.