New York City Murders

by W. D. Frolick

  “I’m not an idiot, Goldie. Yeah, I know where Toronto is. A few years ago I went there for a weekend to watch the Yankees play the Blue Jays at the Rogers Centre. After the game, having consumed several beers, I dared to go to the top of the CN Tower. And even though I have a fear of heights, I did the edge walk. I was scared as hell, but it was fucking amazing. I had a great weekend. And you’re right, Canadians are decent people. Maybe too decent.”

  White chuckled. “You’re a hell of a lot braver than I am. You wouldn’t catch me doing the edge walk. One other thing, Mr. Goodfellow, you’re gonna have to learn to say eh a lot.”

  Kruger laughed. “Yeah, I know. When I talked with Canadians during my ball game weekend, every second sentence ended in eh.”

  “We Americans are just as bad. We say huh a lot,” Billy said.

  White handed Kruger two pages. “Here’s your background information, memorize it.”

  Kruger scanned the data and saw that he was a retired stockbroker who had made a fortune on the Canadian and U.S. stock markets. His current address was a condominium building overlooking Lake Ontario in downtown Toronto. His father, Gary Goodfellow, had been a lawyer specializing in wills and real estate, while his mother, Betty, sold houses for a new home builder. Ten years ago Betty and Gary Goodfellow drowned in a boating accident on Lake Simcoe. Thomas, their only child, was thirty-eight at the time of his parents’ tragic death.

  Billy went to the hall closet and brought back a large, black leather suitcase and a shopping bag. On the outside of the suitcase, there was a sticker of a Canadian flag. He lifted the suitcase onto the kitchen table and opened it. “I’m letting you have this special suitcase for your trip. I stuck on a Canadian flag. This will make it obvious that you’re from Canada.” White pulled out a pocket knife and wedged the blade along the side and pulled up, exposing a false bottom. “You can hide your extra cash in here.” Next, he dumped the contents of the shopping bag onto the table. “I went out and bought you some summer clothes and personal items.”

  Kruger sorted through the items. There were three short-sleeved golf shirts, two pairs of cargo shorts, a pair of sandals, and a pair of white sneakers, a pair of blue jeans along with socks, underwear, and three handkerchiefs. He opened a compact travel bag containing a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, razor blades, scissors, a nail file, nail clippers, and shaving cream.

  “Holy shit, Goldie, you’ve thought of everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thanks, brother.”

  “You’re welcome. Now let’s make you into Thomas Goodfellow.”

  An hour later, with a little help from Billy, Kruger looked nothing like his former self. He looked slightly older. His head was shaved completely bald, and a natural-looking fake gray beard covered his face. Kruger’s clear contact lenses were replaced with lenses that changed his blue eyes to dark brown. When he viewed himself in the mirror, he could hardly believe his own eyes. He looked exactly like the picture on the ID Billy’s man had created for him.

  “Well, Thomas, what do you think?” White asked.

  “I like it, Goldie. The cops will never recognize me. Thanks for all your help. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

  “No problem, brother. Your ship leaves in two days, and soon you’ll be a free man. How does it feel?”

  Kruger grinned and hugged White. “Goldie, my man, it feels great. I can’t wait until I’m sitting on a beach soaking up rays with a cold drink in my hand.”

  “And a beautiful woman by your side. I envy you, Kruger. You’re a lucky son of a bitch. Just don’t forget to wire me my share of the ransom money when you get there.”

  “Don’t worry, brother, that will be my first priority,” Kruger said.

  “It had better be. It wouldn’t be wise to double-cross a fellow brother, Kruger. You don’t want to add me to the list of people who will be looking for you.”

  “I would never do that, Goldie. As I said, I’ll wire you the money as soon as I get there.”

  Two days later, at six in the morning, White drove Kruger to the Port of New York. He was hustled aboard a massive cargo ship and into a small cabin that was sparsely furnished with a double bed, a wingback chair, a coffee table, and a three piece bathroom.

  The Ocean Wave, with a length of 400 meters and a breadth of 59 meters was one of the largest cargo carriers in the world. Owned by a U.S. conglomerate, it flew the American flag and was en route to Sydney, Australia with scheduled stops along the way. One of those stops was Port Vila, Vanuatu. For his cooperation, the captain was paid twenty-five thousand dollars in cash. He didn’t know who Kruger was and he didn’t give a damn as long as he received his money up front.

  CHAPTER 29

  For the first five days, the sea remained relatively calm. The Gravol pills Kruger took seemed to be working. Periodically, he would leave his cabin and take a walk to enjoy the bright sunshine and the fresh ocean air. However, on day six things changed. The sky turned black and ominous, and rain, driven by a howling wind, began to fall so hard you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. The gigantic ship was tossed around like a toy by waves that were thirty feet high. They were experiencing the tail end of an early season category-four hurricane. Ironically, the storm was given the name Carl. Spelled with a “C,” not a “K.” Kruger wondered if the squall was an omen of things to come.

  During the two-day storm, Kruger stayed in his cabin, spending most of his time talking to Ralph on the big white phone. The Gravol pills did nothing to stem his nausea. Kruger tried to eat, but nothing stayed down. He drank a lot of water, trying to stay hydrated. By the time the ocean calmed down, he was weak and lightheaded. It took him almost a week to begin to feel normal again.

  Twenty-five torturous days after leaving New York City, the ship finally docked in Port Vila. As per regulations, the captain had emailed Vanuatu customs with the ETA and required information about the passenger who would be deboarding, allowing them time to have an officer available when the ship docked.

  Kruger’s legs were rubbery. Still feeling the motion of the rolling sea, he staggered down the gangplank with one hand, carrying his suitcase and the other gripping the railing. When he planted his feet on solid ground, he vowed to never go on another ship as long as he lived. A customs officer was waiting for him. Kruger presented his passport and waited, sweat dripping from his armpits.

  “Canadian, eh,” the officer said with a smile. “Welcome to Vanuatu, Mr. Goodfellow. We don’t get many Canadian or American visitors. Probably because of the distance. Most of our tourists come from nearby countries like Australia or New Zealand. Are you here on business or pleasure?”

  “Pleasure. I’m on vacation.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yes. I just broke up with my lady friend and needed to get away for a while, clear my head, and relax. A friend recommended I come here.”

  “Sorry to hear about your breakup. Your friend gave you good advice. I’m sure you’ll find it very relaxing here in our beautiful country.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “I’m curious, Mr. Goodfellow, why did you choose to travel by cargo ship? Most people fly here.”

  “As a boy, I was always fascinated by the sea. I wanted to become a pirate and search for Blackbeard’s buried treasure. I thought traveling on a cargo ship would be a unique experience, and it was. Unfortunately, we encountered the tail end of a category-four hurricane, and I found out that my stomach and the sea don’t get along. When I go back home, I’m definitely going to fly. I’m never going on another ship as long as I live.”

  The customs officer smiled. “Sounds like a good idea. To tell the truth, you don’t look too good.”

  Kruger grinned. “I feel green around the gills.”

  The officer laughed. “Green around the gills. I’ve never heard that one before.” He handed Kruger his passport. “Would yo
u please open your suitcase, Mr. Goodfellow.”

  This was the moment that Kruger had been dreading. He picked up his suitcase and placed it on the small table. Trying to stay calm, he opened it and held his breath.

  The customs officer looked under Kruger’s clothing and checked his toiletry bag. Not finding anything unusual, he closed and zipped up the suitcase.

  “You may go now. Enjoy your vacation, Mr. Goodfellow.”

  “Thank you, I’m sure I will.”

  As he slowly walked away, Kruger breathed a massive sigh of relief. He thought, Thank God the officer didn’t find the false bottom in the suitcase containing over fifty-thousand dollars in cash. Billy was right, being a Canadian has its advantages. The customs officer was friendly and welcoming.

  Pulling his suitcase behind him, Kruger spotted a parked taxi. He waved, and the driver started the engine and pulled up beside him. After his luggage was placed in the trunk, Kruger slid onto the back seat.

  “Where to, sir?”

  “Please take me to the best five-star hotel located on the ocean.”

  “Yes, sir. I know just the place.”

  Twenty minutes later, the car pulled up in front of the Eratap Beach Resort. The driver jumped out, opened the trunk, grabbed Kruger’s suitcase, and followed him through the front entrance. At the reception desk, Kruger paid the driver with U.S. dollars and gave him a generous tip. The man, overjoyed to receive U.S. currency, smiled, thanked Kruger and left.

  “Welcome to the Eratap Beach Resort,” the pretty receptionist said with a warm smile.

  “Thank you,” Kruger said returning her smile.

  Kruger chose a luxurious one bedroom villa with a private pool, steps away from a white sandy beach.

  After Kruger showed his passport and signed in, the receptionist said, “It’s nice to have you with us, Mr. Goodfellow. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure I will.”

  A bellhop appeared, picked up Kruger’s suitcase, and escorted him to his unit.

  After the smiling bellhop left with a twenty-dollar U.S. tip, Kruger unpacked and put on his bathing suit. He poured himself a double Scotch from the bottle he had brought with him, threw in a few ice cubes, and stepped out onto the patio. Exhausted, he dropped down in a lounge chair and stared out at the sparkling blue water of the Pacific Ocean. A relieved smile crossed his face. He took a sip from his drink and said, “I’ve finally made it. This is as close to heaven as it gets.”

  CHAPTER 30

  A month after Kruger’s escape, Commissioner Gowan made a tough decision. He pulled the plug on the search for Kruger. He canceled the twenty-four-hour surveillance at airports and all other departure stations and terminals. Working with limited manpower and tight budgets, the NYPD couldn’t afford to keep paying overtime. Kruger was either in hiding, or he had eluded their dragnet and had somehow left the country.

  Captain Robertson called Buck and Kristie into her office shortly after she received the news from the commissioner. When Buck and Kristie found out the search for Kruger had been terminated, they were disappointed. They understood the commissioner’s decision, but they were far from wanting to give up their own search.

  “So,” Buck asked, “where do we go from here?”

  “Nowhere,” replied the captain. “For now, you’ll have to forget about Kruger and get back to normal.”

  “If we could only go to Vanuatu, I know we’ll find him there,” Buck said.

  “You may be right. Number one: we can’t afford to send you there with the tight budget we’re on. Number two: how would you bring him back? Number three: there’s no extradition treaty with that country.”

  “I’ve got some money saved. Buck and I could take a leave of absence and go there on our own,” Kristie said.

  “I admire your enthusiasm, Detective Karlsson. That all sounds good on the surface, but even if you found Kruger, you still couldn’t bring him back legally, since there’s no extradition treaty with Vanuatu.”

  Captain Robertson’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “Good day, Mr. Mayor, how are you today?”

  “Not good, Captain. I just heard the news from the commissioner that the search for Kruger has been canceled.”

  “That’s correct, Mr. Mayor.”

  “That’s disappointing. I really want to catch that maniac. It’s personal now after what Kruger and his friends did to my Charlotte. She hasn’t been the same since she came home. She won’t go anywhere, even though I’ve assigned two bodyguards to protect her. Charlotte is still extremely traumatized. She sees a psychiatrist, but so far there has been very little progress. Most nights the poor dear wakes up screaming from nightmares.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Getting back to Kruger, do you have any idea where he could be hiding?”

  “Detective Woods feels strongly that somehow Kruger has managed to leave the country and is hiding in Port Vila, Vanuatu. He and Detective Karlsson would like to go there and bring Kruger back. However, we can’t afford to send them, and besides, we don’t have an extradition treaty with Vanuatu.”

  The mayor didn’t say a word for several seconds. His wheels were turning. Finally, he said, “I’ve got an idea. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

  After hanging up, Captain Robertson turned to Buck and Kristie. “That was Mayor Chandler. He’s disappointed that the search for Kruger has been abandoned. He said he has an idea and will call me back.”

  “What do you think he has in mind?” Kristie asked.

  “I don’t have a clue,” the captain said.

  Fifteen minutes went by without hearing from Mayor Chandler. Just as Buck and Kristie stood to head back to the squad room, Captain Robertson’s phone rang. It was the mayor. She motioned for the detectives to sit back down.

  “Hello again, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Sorry it took so long,” Chandler said. “I just got off the phone with Commissioner Gowan. I outlined my idea, and he reluctantly agreed to go along. Here’s the plan. I’ll make my Gulfstream, two pilots, and a flight attendant available to fly your detectives to Port Vila. My crew will wait as long as needed. This will be considered a covert operation code-named EXTRACTION. If Kruger is found, your detectives will kidnap him and bring him back for trial. If, after a reasonable time, Kruger is not found, your detectives can return whenever they see fit. My crew has been informed of the plan and have been sworn to secrecy.”

  Not expecting to hear what she had just heard, Captain Robertson was temporarily at a loss for words. Finally, she said, “The idea doesn’t sound too legal to me.”

  “That’s why it has to be a covert operation.”

  “Let me bounce your plan off my detectives, and I’ll call you right back.”

  “Okay, but the sooner we get things in motion, the better.”

  After the captain had hung up, she explained the plan to Buck and Kristie.

  “Hell, yes. I want to go,” Buck said enthusiastically.

  “Count me in.” Kristie beamed.

  After calling the mayor back, they worked out the details. The plane was scheduled to take off from Westchester Airport in White Plains at 6:00 a.m. the following morning.

  “I think you two had better take the rest of the day off. Go home and pack and get a good night’s sleep. The mayor is sending his limo to pick you up outside your condo building at 4:30 a.m. Since you can’t take your guns with you, I’ll leave it up to you to get creative once you get to Port Vila. You’ll be there as private citizens. It’s up to you to come up with an appropriate cover story. Should you get caught trying to get Kruger out of the country, you’re on your own. We will deny any knowledge of your mission. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Buck said.

  “Absolutely clear, Captain,” Kristie agreed.

  Buck jok
ed, “It sounds to me that our mission is like the movie Mission Impossible.”

  Captain Robertson smiled. “It may very well be an impossible mission, Buck, but we’re all counting on you and Kristie to make the mission possible. Catch Kruger and bring him home. Good luck and be careful. And don’t forget your passports. I hope to see you soon.”

  At 4:30 a.m. a white Cadillac limousine pulled up at the front entrance. The chauffeur, a monster of a man, got out and placed Buck and Kristie’s luggage into the trunk.

  “Good morning, sir. I’m James, but everyone calls me Slam. Mr. Chandler asked me to give this to you.” He handed Buck a large, bulging white envelope.

  James “Slam” Duncan was a retired wrestler. He had won several WWE championships and was recently inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame. Duncan was an African-American who stood six-foot-seven and weighed in at 300 pounds. He had muscles on his muscles and looked like he could rip you apart by just looking at you.

  “Thank you, James, or should I say Slam,” Buck said.

  “Slam will do just fine.”

  He held the back door open, and they got in.

  Kristie leaned over and whispered, “I only thought chauffeurs were called James in the movies.”

  Buck smiled and whispered back, “Apparently not. Do you recognize him?”

  “No. Should I?”

  Continuing to whisper, Buck said, “He’s James ‘Slam’ Duncan, a retired wrestler. He got his nickname from the way he would pick up his opponent and viciously slam him down.”

  “I’ve never been a wrestling fan. It sounds too violent for me.”

  “Most of the time they’re just acting. Putting on a show. But I guess accidents do happen.”

  The early morning traffic was still light. The drive to the airport took only forty minutes.

  The pilot and co-pilot greeted them as they boarded the plane.

  “Welcome aboard, I’m your pilot, Matt Barker, and this is co-pilot, George Hawkins.”