The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I nodded and thought for a moment. "That gold doesn't belong to Tom Jenkins. Let's take this down to the kitchen, remove the gold, wipe it down, and then take the cash."

  Murphy nodded. "Breaking and entering beats grand theft any day, boyo."

  I smiled. "We shouldn't be taking the bags."

  He shrugged. "I doubt anyone will care."

  . . .

  We left six shiny gold ingots on the kitchen counter. We quickly made our way out the back door. I pushed it closed but didn't try to lock it.

  Walking across the garden, I heard a dog start to bark. I looked around and could see one standing on the back porch of the house on Lyons Street. It was snarling at us in the rain and whining when it wasn't barking. I took off running to the gate. Murphy was right behind me. I ran through the river and nearly slipped but managed to make my way to the other side. Once I was at the corner of the other house's wood fence, I stopped to look for Murphy. Turning around, I heard a splash.

  I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Murphy was flailing around in the fast-flowing water, being carried, face-forward, towards the cliff. I dropped the bag I was holding and ran along the edge of the rushing water to see if I could grab him. He was holding tightly to the canvas bag while also trying to get some traction to pull himself out of the stream.

  At just the right moment, he managed, with his right hand, to grab onto the lower limb of a bush that was part of a hedgerow along the cliff side. That kept him from going over. For the moment, at least.

  I waded into the river without being pulled in. As he held on, looking at me with pleading eyes, I carefully moved towards him. I got about five feet away from where he was holding on. His body had turned around completely. His feet had been pulled over the cliff's edge by the current, and were dangling in the air. By pulling up his right leg, he tried to get a foothold on the cliff's edge but with no luck. He tried a second time and his foot slipped off again. On the third try, the shoe on that foot came off and fell down below.

  I suddenly realized that he was trying to do too many things at once. I said, "Let go of the bag, Johnny!"

  He looked at me for a moment as if he was going to try to tell me why he couldn't and why he wouldn't. He frowned and then opened his left hand. The flow of the water held the handle in place against his palm, so he shook his hand a couple of times. On the third shake, the bag broke loose. It righted itself just in time to cascade over the top of the cliff with the rushing flow of the water.

  With a lot of effort, he was able to pull his left hand through the rushing current up over his head and grab onto another branch of the bush.

  I inched closer, trying as hard as I could not to be knocked over by the current. The grass under my shoes, flattened to a slick mass, was hard to walk on. I could feel the water getting higher, moving from my ankles to just below my calves. For a moment, I wondered if the powerful rush of water would pull my trousers right off.

  Just then, a hand grabbed my shirt collar and yanked me back. Another hand violently shoved me on the chest, knocking me on my back, away from both the cliff and the river. I watched as Carter walked over me, leaned down, grabbed Murphy under the shoulders and yanked him out of the river as if he was picking up nothing more than a rag doll. He did it so fast that I almost didn't believe what I'd seen.

  I stood in shock as my husband strode past with Murphy in his arms. Coming back to myself, I ran over to grab the bag I'd dropped, and followed the two of them as Carter carried Murphy to the car in the same way he would carry me to bed when the mood would strike him.

  Chapter 14

  2 George Road

  Saturday, February 26, 1955

  Half past 11 in the morning

  Tom was looking confused and stunned, all at the same time. He ran his thumbs across one of the bound stacks of tens and shook his head. "So this is all that's left?" He looked at me, almost accusingly.

  I shrugged. "I dunno. On Monday you should hire a new lawyer." I smiled. "Solicitor, I mean. And have him do an audit of your trust."

  He nodded and studied the money for a moment. We were all sitting around the dining table. He looked over at Murphy. "I'm glad you let go of the other bag, Mr. Murphy."

  The older man nodded. "Sorry about that, lad."

  Mr. Jenkins looked at the stack of money for a moment. "How much is that?" he asked.

  I said, "About twenty-five thousand."

  Tom looked up at me. "How much was in the other bag?"

  Murphy answered. "About the same."

  Tom smiled. "Well, then. Maybe it's not as bad as it seems. The last I saw, the trust had nearly a hundred thousand."

  I smiled but wondered about that, so I said, "First things first, kid. Go get another solicitor on Monday."

  He nodded. "Will you come with me, Mr. Williams?" He looked over at his father who smiled wanly. "I don't think my dad is up to going out." He paused and blushed a little. "You wouldn't mind if Mr. Williams came with me, would you, Dad?"

  Mr. Jenkins shook his head. "Of course not, Tom."

  I took in a deep breath. "I'm afraid I can't go with you, Tom. We need to leave the country tomorrow."

  "Why's that?" he asked.

  I briefly explained what Hargrove had said earlier.

  Mr. Jenkins nodded slowly. "He's right. You don't want to get involved in that mess."

  I looked over at Captain O'Reilly. "What about you two?"

  He shrugged. "Still haven't heard back from Hong Kong. I guess we'll be heading home with you."

  . . .

  I hung up the phone.

  "Well?" asked Carter. He was looking out the kitchen window. The rain had finally stopped.

  "Any blue sky?" I asked.

  "Not yet. What'd they say?"

  I sighed. "Next flight to San Francisco is on Tuesday. Otherwise, we can go the opposite direction. To London."

  Carter shook his head. "I doubt we'll be let in."

  I nodded. "The next to the last stop was Zurich. I bet Pan American flies there."

  Carter sighed. "How long is that?"

  "Leave Sunday, arrive London on Wednesday."

  "Damn, son."

  "I know."

  We stood there, looking at each other for a long moment. He walked over, a grin widening on his face.

  "Carter Woodrow Wilson Jones," I said.

  He stood over me and lifted my chin with his left hand. "What?" he asked as he kissed me.

  "Nothing," I replied as I kissed him back.

  Right then, Captain O'Reilly walked into the kitchen. He stopped and laughed. "Sorry to interrupt, but you have a visitor, Mr. Williams."

  I reluctantly pulled back from Carter and adjusted myself. "Who is it?"

  "Chief Inspector Hargrove."

  Carter asked, "Here?"

  O'Reilly nodded. "And he's in his civilian clothes."

  Carter and I followed the captain to the living room. Hargrove was standing by the front door, looking serious.

  "Chief Inspector. Good to see you." I extended my hand.

  He shook it. "While I'm off duty, it's Bill." He grinned for a moment.

  "Call me Nick."

  Carter stuck out his hand. "And call me Carter."

  "What brings you here?" I asked.

  "I heard you called for me at the station this morning."

  I nodded. "Mr. Jenkins showed up."

  Bill nodded. "Is he here?"

  "He's in the back bedroom, lying down. I'm not sure how long he'll last. He can only drink water at this point."

  "How about a doctor?"

  "He doesn't want one."

  Bill nodded and looked at me for a moment. "I understand two men were seen breaking into the Kenworthy house earlier this morning. One of them nearly went over the cliff." He looked up at Carter. "A big blond man was said to have rescued him. Either of you know anything about that?"

  I shook my head. "Can't say as I do."

  Carter said, "Me, neither."

  Bill nodded. "
I figured as much. You know, it's an interesting thing. When there's a break-in, you usually expect for something to be missing. In this case, however, the thieves seem to have left six gold ingots behind on the kitchen counter. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, either?"

  I shrugged and didn't say anything.

  Bill laughed. "Well, I have a feeling this might just remain a mystery."

  I smiled. "Sounds like it. How about a beer at the pub down the street?"

  Bill smiled his thousand-watt smile. "That'd be grand, but I'm off. Now that the rain has stopped, I have some things I need to do around the house. I just wanted to pop by to say goodbye and to thank you for your help." He offered his hand.

  We both shook and then I asked, "Any reason you're on suspension?"

  He shrugged and sighed. "A lot of reasons but nothing substantial."

  "What happened?" asked Carter.

  "I suppose it was inevitable. I was made Chief a little too quickly. There've been others who have grumbled about that ever since. Seems like I was caught relying on an unlicensed private investigator for assistance with police matters" He winked at me. "And I've been cavorting with known homosexuals. But it isn't just that."

  "How so?" I asked.

  "I'm tired of the politics in the force. And I don't like what the rank and file are being allowed to get away with. And it's not just the trumped-up vagrancy and lewdness charges. It's a number of other things. Besides, there's more money to be made in private investigation." He winked at me again. "Or that's what I'm told."

  I said, "We could always open an office in Australia if you're interested."

  He nodded. "I might be at that." He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to me.

  I looked at it. It had his address and phone number. I put it in my pocket and said, "I'll have Mike Robertson, our company president, get in touch. He might even come visit."

  Hargrove nodded. "Sounds good. I'll look forward to hearing from him."

  "Look after Tom, will you?"

  He smiled. "I'll do that and for sure. I think I'm about to have quite a bit of time on my hands."

  "If you could recommend a solicitor for him, that would be good. He's going to need someone to audit his trust."

  "I know just the man. Tell him I'll stop by on Monday morning." He looked between the two of us. "I trust you'll both be long gone by then."

  "If we can figure that out."

  Hargrove grinned. "I have no worries on that account. None whatsoever."

  . . .

  We'd just finished a lunch that Murphy somehow scraped together when there was a familiar banging on the door. Without saying a word, Carter stood and walked around to open it.

  "Is he here?"

  Tom quickly stood. "Bobby?"

  "Tommy?"

  The two of them met in the living room. Bobby jumped into Tom's arms and began to smother him with kisses. The rest of us stood and began to clear the table.

  As Murphy and I walked into the kitchen, I asked, "How's Mr. Jenkins?"

  "Not good, I'm afraid. We need to call a doctor whether the fool thinks he needs one or not."

  I nodded, walked over, and picked up the phone.

  . . .

  We were all sitting in the living room when the doctor arrived. Bobby, who'd been in Tom's lap, jumped up and ran down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

  "Dr. Mason?" I asked.

  He nodded.

  Without looking at Tom, I said, "He's in the back."

  As we walked into the kitchen, I stopped and asked, "You're the family doctor?"

  He nodded. He had a brown beard, stood about six feet even, had bright blue eyes, and was probably right around 50. Wearing a light suit, he was also carrying a medical bag.

  "Yes. Was that young Tom I saw in the lounge?"

  I nodded.

  "So, he's back from America? No more trouble with the police?"

  "Not at the moment." I had no idea what the doctor knew.

  "Good. You're Nick Williams, correct?"

  "Yes." I offered my hand which he shook earnestly.

  "Pleasure. Your foundation in America is doing some good work helping polio victims. And I heard about Mr. Jones's donation to Queen Mary Hospital in Hong Kong. Good men, the both of you."

  "Thank you, Doctor. Did you know Mr. Jenkins before he left?"

  "No. I wasn't living here then. That was before I started my practice. I only met Mrs. Jenkins and young Tom in 1947. I understand Mr. Jenkins was declared legally dead in 1949."

  I nodded. "He might have told Tom but he hasn't said where he's been since Singapore."

  The doctor sighed. "There's no telling. Those are some stories that will make the hairs on your neck stand on end. What can you tell me before I go in?"

  "He's been hiding out downstairs for at least four days that I know of. We knew he was here but he only showed himself this morning. He will only drink water but I haven't seen him go relieve himself all morning. Of course, I haven't been around the whole time. He was up and about earlier but he's been in bed for at least the last three hours."

  "Skin color?"

  "I assume it was normal for someone living outside a lot. Didn't looked jaundiced to me."

  "You're a private investigator. Anything else you notice?"

  I nodded. "I think he held on long enough to say goodbye to Tom."

  "Quite likely." With that, he turned, walked across the kitchen, and knocked on the door. Receiving no answer, he walked in, and said, "Mr. Jenkins? I'm Doctor Bernard Mason. My friends call me Bernie. Can I take a look at you?"

  I stood there and waited for Jenkins to reply but I knew there wouldn't be one. I could smell it.

  . . .

  The men in their white coats were back. It was the same two who'd taken away Tom's mother. Using the same stretcher, they carried away his father. Tom stood in the living room and watched in shock as they slowly walked by.

  Bobby was sitting on the sofa, looking up at Tom with a worried frown. Once the men were gone, Dr. Mason said, "Tom, I don't think you'll be hearing from the police about this. It's quite obvious what happened. Your dad wanted to see you one last time. And he did." Putting his hand on Tom's arm, he said, "You'll have some decisions to make and I'll help as much as I can but I know you can rely on your friend, Robert here, to get through this. And, when you do, my lad, I'd suggest maybe you should go back to San Francisco for a while. Close up this house. It'll be here when you get back."

  Tom nodded mutely. Bobby stood up, walked over to the doctor, and extended his hand. "Thanks, Doc. I always knew you were a good'un."

  Dr. Mason smiled. "Be good to each other, boys."

  Looking at me, Dr. Mason said, "Mr. Williams? Mr. Jones? Will you follow me outside?"

  Carter, who'd been standing in the door to the sunroom nodded. We both followed the doctor down the stairs and into the bright sunshine. The sky was clear. There was a wonderful breeze blowing in from the ocean. Except for the puddles of water, it was almost as if it had never rained at all.

  We followed him to his car. It was an older Holden that looked like something out of the 30s. He opened the back door and put his bag inside. Closing the door, he turned and looked at us. "You have to get the two of them out of here."

  Carter asked, "Why?"

  "The reason Tom left in the first place is that he got hauled in before the magistrate. He and Bobby had been caught at the Bondi Pavilion. All they were doing was holding hands. But when the constable went after them, Bobby ran off. He's on the run, as far as I know. Tom, meanwhile, was told to leave the country or face time in jail. I don't know why that was the punishment. Seems a bit odd to me. But there it is." He sighed and crossed his arms. Looking out at the ocean, he continued, "I know it's not much better in America right now but, at least in a place like San Francisco, and with the right friends, I'd say the two of them are as safe as they could be. Unless, of course, they went somewhere like France where no one
really cares about these things."

  "What about you?" I asked.

  The doctor grinned. "I'm just an average fellow who loves his wife and likes to see everyone get a fair shake. I'm a doctor. But I was also in a Jap prison camp. Once you've been through that..." He shook his head.

  "Mr. Jenkins said the same thing this morning."

  The doctor nodded. "It changed everything. How I see the world now is so much different from how I saw it before the war. I used to be cynical and laugh at anyone who cared too much about anything. Now, I know what's precious. What's important. And that's love." He sighed. "There's nothing more important." Looking up at Carter, he said, "But I don't have to tell you that, Mr. Jones, do I?"

  Carter smiled. "No."

  "What makes you say that?" I asked.

  The doctor put his hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. "You can't see the way he looks at you when you're looking at someone else. But I know that look. I saw it upstairs as you were talking to your friends and he was watching you. It's how I look at my wife when she's chatting with her friends at a party or talking to the parish priest. I'm in love with her in a way now that I couldn't understand before I left."

  I looked up at Carter. He smiled at me and nodded.

  . . .

  As we walked inside the door of the house, I heard someone crying. In the living room, Tom was finally letting it out, which was good. He was stretched out on the sofa with his head in Bobby's lap. The anguish was hard to watch. Carter and I slowly walked into the kitchen where we found Murphy and O'Reilly sitting at the table, not saying anything.

  I asked, "Any coffee?"

  Murphy stood and walked around to the stove. "I'll make some, Nick."

  I said, "Thanks."

  Carter was looking out the window. I walked over and leaned against him. "Whatcha lookin' at?" I asked.

  "The ocean."

  "We still haven't gone to the beach."

  He put his arm around me. "And I don't think we will."

  From the table, O'Reilly said, "You could go right now, if you want. Johnny and me will look after the lads."

  I turned around and said, "No. We have some decisions to make and things to do."