Lost Distinction (Jordan James, PI Series)

by Rachel Sharpe

  “Yes.”

  “All right, I am willing to take the case. In order for me to succeed in this task, I need you to be honest and upfront with me, no matter what I ask you.”

  The ambassador scratched his square jaw. “I will, provided it is information pertinent to this situation. You do understand, Miss James, that in my position, I am privy to a great deal of information of both national and international significance.”

  I nodded respectfully. “Of course. The first thing I would like to ask is when was the last time you saw Arthur?”

  The ambassador crossed his burly arms and stared at the fireplace. “I suppose it was last Sunday. Arthur flew into Heathrow where my wife and I met him.”

  “Wait. London?” I glanced at Rick. He shared my surprise. “Why did he fly to London?”

  Mr. Cross didn’t reply. I noticed a pained expression morph his features. He looked grief-stricken. Something told me his thoughts were not on Arthur.

  “Where was Henry?”

  Ambassador Cross turned an ashen shade at the mention of his late son. He quickly regained his composure. “Henry was back at our flat. He wasn’t exactly in a position to go out.”

  Rick sighed behind me but I overlooked the sound. “Sir, people at Crowell Academy were under the impression Arthur would be teaching several summer courses,” I continued. “Why did he suddenly leave the school and fly out to London to meet you?”

  “For a personal favor.”

  “He was doing you a favor or you were doing him a favor?” I pressed.

  The ambassador hesitated. At this, Rick stood up. “Come on, Jordan, let’s go. He obviously doesn’t want help. We’ll try to find Arthur on our own.”

  Before I had a chance to argue, the ambassador exclaimed, “He was doing me a favor. Me, all right? Henry got himself into a great deal of trouble. Owed some shady sod in Aldgate a great deal of money. Suffice it to say, I needed this drug connection of his to dry up but there wasn’t anyone I could send to pay them off without the connection coming back to me. Everyone knows all of my sons except—”

  “Except Arthur,” Rick finished, through gritted teeth. With closed fists, he approached the elder man, heatedly. “You sent Arthur into danger in a foreign country to handle Henry’s drug problem because you didn’t want anyone to realize you were involved? What kind of a father are you?”

  Although rage flickered in Rick’s eyes, I sensed a great sadness and disillusionment hidden behind it. Rick admitted only a day earlier there was a time when the ambassador was a surrogate father and that the Cross family was very important to him. The look in his eyes suggested that that feeling was now gone or fading fast. The ambassador either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the reaction.

  “It’s not a foreign country to Arthur any more than it is to you. Arthur’s spent a great deal of time there, just like you have. And I asked my son for help. He could have refused if he had wanted to.”

  “Refused? No one refuses Gatlin Cross!” Rick exclaimed.

  “You did.”

  “I just refused some Ivy League school you were peddling.”

  “And you refused to let me help pay for it. You also dismissed my suggestion of law school.”

  “I appreciated your concern, but I didn’t need your money then or now, sir.”

  “Yes, well, you’ve made that abundantly clear over the years,” the ambassador scoffed, reaching for his glass.

  “Gentlemen, please. We’re here to discuss Arthur.” At the mention of his cousin, Rick’s expression softened. “All right, Mr. Cross, you said Arthur met you at the airport on Sunday. He flew over to do you a favor. If that is the case, why did he nearly empty out his closet at the Academy?”

  The ambassador blinked. “I have no idea. He might have been planning to stay with us through the summer, but he didn’t say anything to me.”

  “You said this favor it, well, it had something to do with Henry’s drug problem.”

  The ambassador flinched at this blatant mention of an issue he was so used to overlooking. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Is it possible that something went wrong during that exchange?”

  “Quite honestly, that’s what I am afraid of. Arthur is a smart boy and not exactly a pushover,” the ambassador added, glancing at Rick, “but even a strong man could encounter trouble when dealing with certain people.”

  “Why didn’t you have one of your aides do your dirty work?” Rick demanded. “You’ve got plenty of them.”

  I gave Rick a warning look. Frowning, he shut his mouth. “Mr. Cross, please explain to me exactly what Arthur was supposed to do. I want to know every detail.”

  The ambassador narrowed his eyes, but eventually complied. “Arthur was given an agreed upon sum of money. He was supposed to meet a man named Bronx at the London Metropolitan University. He was given more money than Henry owed with the explicit instructions that this was Henry’s final purchase.”

  I nodded, making a mental note to look up the London Metropolitan University online once my phone was charged. “How much money was Arthur given?”

  The ambassador clasped his large hands together and glanced at the fireplace once more. “I’m not really certain that has any bearing on this case.”

  Before Rick had a chance to say a word, I gave the ambassador my sternest look. “Sir, your son is missing. He disappeared in London with, what I’m assuming, is a great deal of money. I believe this is pertinent to the case. How do you expect me to help you when you won’t help me?”

  “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. But, before I disclose the sum, I need to know that this information will never leave this room.”

  “You have my word, sir.”

  Tugging at the collar of his white shirt, he said, “Well, Henry got himself in a bit of a jam, really. No, not a jam–a huge mess. His drug problem was not only destroying his mind and body but my wallet, too. When he finally admitted to me he was using again, it was only after he owed this Bronx character £38,000.”

  Rick’s face turned as white as a New England winter morning when the ambassador revealed this number. “Oh, no.”

  He nodded at Rick somberly. “Oh yes.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but I’m not familiar with British currency. How much is that in American dollars?”

  “In American dollars, my son spent nearly $62,000 on cocaine in three months.”

  I stared at the ambassador, dumbfounded. It was unfathomable to me how anyone could spend that much money in such a short period of time. I, personally, felt guilty whenever I bought myself a new purse. The thought of spending sixty thousand dollars of someone else’s money was unreal. “That’s a lot of money.”

  The ambassador rested his arm against the mantel of the mahogany fireplace. “Yes, it is. And having to pay more just to buy off a drug dealer was appalling.”

  “How much did you pay him?”

  “You’re absolutely certain this is paramount to the investigation?” I nodded. “All right, fine. I gave Arthur £75,000 to insure Henry’s drug connection would dry up. And before you ask, that’s $125,000, give or take.”

  “What made you certain that would work?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, sir, there’s an old saying, ‘There’s no honor among thieves.’ What made you certain paying Bronx extra money would guarantee he wouldn’t sell to Henry anymore?”

  “I wasn’t certain,” the ambassador answered, his voice rising. “I was desperate. While you may think of me as heartless, I do care about my family. I spent inordinate amounts of time and money trying to get Henry better. It didn’t work. And apparently, paying Bronx off didn’t do a bit of good. Henry found some other way to get high.”

  “Do you think it was Bronx again?” A disturbing thought cr
ossed my mind. “Is there, is there any chance Henry didn’t overdose?”

  “You mean was he murdered?”

  I nodded once.

  “He wasn’t murdered, Miss James.” Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Henry’s addiction killed him. Maybe he went back to Bronx. Maybe it was someone else. I’ve always only wanted the best for my children and now, well, there’s nothing I can do for Henry, but Arthur’s still out there, God willing, and I want to do everything in my power to help him.”

  While he said this with absolute certainty, I had my doubts. Arthur was missing and his dead brother had been mixed up in London’s seedy underworld. Plus, there was the threatening note found at Crowell. I couldn’t dismiss murder. Not yet.

  “Have you received anything that suggests Arthur was kidnapped? There is a possibility he simply took off, isn’t there?”

  “No, something happened to him,” Mr. Cross insisted. “Some bobbies on the beat by the Museum of London, nearly a mile away from the university, found his rucksack. He never would have left that behind. We haven’t received a ransom note yet, but I know something happened.”

  I stared at the unlit fireplace, thinking. Arthur had been missing for one week and the last place he was known to have been was at the London Metropolitan University where he was to pay off a drug dealer in London with $125,000 in his pocket. His backpack was located a mile away but there was no word from a kidnapper.

  “Sir, when we landed on Martha’s Vineyard, I noticed your assistant told you something that disturbed you. You looked, well, upset. Did that have something to do with Arthur or Henry?”

  The ambassador smiled grimly. “You are an investigator. Yes, Drew had just received word that Arthur’s rucksack was being held at Scotland Yard. It was a very troubling bit of news, as you can imagine.”

  “If I may ask, what was inside it? Did they find the money?”

  The ambassador crossed his arms. “No, the money was gone. His passport, driver’s license and cell phone weren’t found, either. The only way Scotland Yard knew it was his was because the bag was especially made for him as a graduation gift by his mother and had his name and mailing address inside.”

  “There’s no chance he could have dropped the bag? I mean, I’ve never been to London, but it’s possible he could have lost it in a crowd. Or someone could have stolen it?”

  At this, Rick shook his head, adamantly. “No, Mr. Cross is right. That bag meant a great deal to Arthur. It’s all he carried around when we took our gap year.”

  “Your gap year?”

  Rick nodded, carrying the novel back to the bookshelf. “Yeah, the year after graduation, Arthur and I both took off to travel. We ended up living in London for a bit.”

  “You two didn’t just live in London,” the ambassador corrected. “You boys devoted yourselves to charity work.” He glanced at me. “They spent countless hours helping Westminster Sound, an internationally renowned charity organization that works with inner city children to promote literacy.”

  I stared at Rick with a shocked expression on my face. I knew that he took about a year off school and that was the reason he, although being a few months older than me, graduated college nearly two years later, but he never told me the reason for his decision to postpone his studies. I assumed that it had something to do with helping his mother. Rick blushed beneath my gaze, and his face became almost the same color as his swollen eye.

  “It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” he protested, trying to downplay his kind actions. “It was Arthur’s idea anyway. He felt that we were both very fortunate and should show our gratitude by giving back.”

  “It may have been Arthur’s idea, but you both went,” Mr. Cross replied, quietly. “I was very proud of you both for your hard work. Kathryn and I were both proud.”

  Rick stared at him for several moments, speechless. Finally, he ran his fingers through his hair and nodded at me. “We were talking about Arthur’s rucksack. Again, I agree that Arthur would never have let that bag out of his sight.”

  I was startled by everything new I was learning about Rick that weekend, but knew this was not the time to address it. I grabbed my hair, which I had left down all evening, and tied it up in a makeshift ponytail. Loose tresses fell upon my shoulders. “So, Mr. Cross, who actually knows that Arthur is missing?”

  The ambassador narrowed his eyes, staring past me at the framed Monet-style masterpiece on the wall above the fireplace. “Let’s see, you and Richard, Kathryn, the children and their spouses, and my assistants, Drew and Devin. That should be everyone.”

  “No other staff members know?” I pressed.

  Across from me, Rick covered his mouth as he yawned. An antique clock upon the mantel announced that it was four in the morning.

  Gatlin Cross pressed his lips together. “All of my employees have signed confidentiality agreements upon hire, but the grapevine is a vicious mistress. I’m sure most of the help know by now. Kathryn and I rarely come home and our return was sudden. Also, the fact that everyone else is here and the fact that Richard is, too, suggests something is amiss.”

  “You don’t think any of them could be involved in his disappearance, do you?”

  “Absolutely not. Most of these people have worked for me for years. In fact, several of them had parents who worked for my parents. We trust them implicitly. None of them would wish to harm my children.”

  My mind flashed to the news article about Francine Harris and the threatening message scrolled across it. I momentarily considered asking the ambassador about her, but quickly stopped myself. Arthur disappeared in London and Francine Harris was in New York. However, it appeared that the letter had been mailed to Arthur from Whitechapel. “Mr. Cross, is Arthur seeing anyone right now? Or has he recently broken up with anyone?”

  He furrowed his brow curiously, glancing at Rick. “No, as far as I know, Arthur has never had a serious relationship. He’s painfully shy around women.”

  Rick gave him a dubious look, but said nothing.

  “Well, is there anyone he might have gone to see in London or anywhere in Europe?” I asked. “Does he have a lot of friends there?”

  “Friends? Yes, I would say Arthur has a handful of acquaintances still in the area, but even if he were going to see a friend, he wouldn’t have left the rucksack. And he always keeps his cell phone charged and on him at all times.”

  I considered all the information I had just acquired. I recalled the small image of Arthur I saw on Crowell Academy’s website as well as the pictures from his personal photo album. Rick said he had been a troubled child, desperate for his busy and ambitious father’s attention, often resorting to acting out as a way to obtain some of it.

  As he grew up, that quiet anger subsided and he became actively altruistic, hoping to give back to those who helped him when he was most in need. His longing for paternal approval shifted to a hunger to aid others and he avoided the people closest to him who had at one time sent him away instead of dealing with his issues. Exactly what issues he had, I still didn’t know, but I had every intention of finding out.

  Despite reservations about his family, Arthur agreed to help his brother, altering his summer plans for that reason. Now, his brother was dead and Arthur had been missing for a week. Although his father claimed to be concerned, he did not want anything to jeopardize his image. It explained why he called Rick and asked for this favor.

  If for no other reason, I would have taken the case for Rick. It was clear not only by his asking me for a favor, but also because he brought me to stay with a family he obviously wanted to avoid, that Arthur meant a lot to him. Still, I had never been to London. Or solved a missing person’s case. Or taken on such a personal one. This is probably a bad idea, I thought. I realized the ambassador and Rick were staring at me.

  I took a dee
p breath and eyed the ambassador again. “Sir, I want to help you find Arthur, but considering the circumstance of his disappearance, perhaps you might want to check with Scotland Yard, or maybe a British investigator? They may be of great help in this situation.”

  The ambassador shook his head so hard I feared he might give himself whiplash. “No, absolutely not. I do not want to involve the authorities or any outsiders. That must be a last resort. If Arthur did just wander off for some reason, I don’t want to deal with the inquiries that will inevitably arise following public knowledge of his reappearance, especially considering Henry”—he swallowed hard—“And if something did happen to him,” he said, flinching as he uttered those words, “well, let’s not go there unless we have to.”

  “Well, then, sir, the only way I can investigate this case any further is if I go to London.”

  I don’t know exactly how I expected the ambassador to respond to this statement. Since it was four in the morning, I myself did not fully realize the impact of my remark. He stared at me for a moment. Without a word, he crossed the room and stopped at the Chippendale desk and picked up an old-fashioned rotary phone. He dialed a number with one fluid motion and waited for someone to pick up the late-night call. “Yes, I need three tickets to Heathrow. Now. Well, as soon as possible. What? Yes, that’s fine. Goodbye.”

  He placed the phone back in its cradle. Turning to me, he said, “We’re flying out of Barnstable Municipal in one hour. I assume that you want Richard to come along as well. Since you’ve never been.”

  “We’re leaving now?”