New York City Murders

by W. D. Frolick

  “I know we said we’re not going to talk about Kruger,” Kristie said, “so how about we talk about you. I’ve told you my story, now it’s time for you to tell me yours.”

  Buck was reluctant to dredge up all the painful memories from his past, but he couldn’t stall forever. If they were going to continue their relationship, Kristie deserved to know more about him.

  “Okay. I’ll try to make it brief. I was born in Orono, a small town in Maine with a population of around ten thousand. The University of Maine is located there. I graduated from high school at age seventeen. At a graduation party on the Penobscot River, my girlfriend, Doreen Warren, disappeared. We were all drinking, and I was drunk. Doreen and I had a fight, and she stomped off. That was the last time I saw her alive. Although it wasn’t my fault, I felt responsible and blamed myself. The next day, when the police pulled her body from the river, I was completely devastated. Instead of going to university, the day I turned eighteen, against my parents’ wishes, I joined the Marines. I was trained as a sniper, and when the gulf war broke out, I was sent to Kuwait. I was severely wounded and almost died. They shipped me home to recover. I was diagnosed with a severe case of PTSD and spent six months in Bethesda Naval Hospital, after which I obtained an honorable discharge and headed to NYC. I spent about a year hanging out going to sports events, Broadway plays, and other things. I got bored, so I applied to the NYPD, got accepted, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Wow! It sounds as if you went through hell.”

  “It wasn’t the best time in my life. Hell probably would have been better. I don’t like to talk about what happened back then. It brings back too many painful memories.”

  “Okay, I understand. Did it take a long time to get over your PTSD?”

  “Yes, it did, but I don’t know if a person ever completely gets over it.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “My mom was a housewife. She died from ovarian cancer at age fifty-two. My dad had his own accounting business. About five years after my mother died, my father sold his business, retired, and moved to Florida.”

  “Were you and your parents close?”

  “My mom and I were close, but my dad worked all the time, so I guess we weren’t as close as we could’ve been. Actually, I was closer to my Grandpa Woods.”

  “Tell me about your grandfather.”

  “Another time. I’m ready to crash. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

  In bed, Buck kissed Kristie tenderly, igniting a fire inside their bodies. Later, they kissed goodnight, rolled over, and were both sound asleep within a few minutes.

  CHAPTER 33

  The next morning at breakfast, Kristie said, “We’ve been here two weeks, and there’s still no sign of Kruger. We’ve checked five-star hotels, four-star hotels, three-star hotels, no-star hotels, and most bed and breakfast accommodations. Not one person recognized Kruger from the pictures we presented.”

  “It’s frustrating, but I still believe he’s here somewhere. Before we figure out our next move, I think I’d better update the boss.”

  Buck sent Captain Robertson a text message. It read: So far no sign of K. Will keep at it. If not found in one more week will reevaluate at that time. Regards, B.

  After the message was sent, Buck turned to Kristie and said, “It’s time to color outside the lines. We’ve got to put ourselves in Kruger’s shoes and try to think like him.”

  Kristie took a sip of coffee then said, “Maybe Kruger didn’t come to Port Vila. He was on his way here the first time we arrested him, and Kruger admitted when he chartered the plane that he was coming here. This time I think he may have changed his mind and gone someplace else.”

  “That could be true, but my gut tells me Kruger’s here somewhere.”

  “Okay,” Kristie said. “What steps would Kruger take if he was planning on staying here full-time?”

  “I’m sure his first move would be to open up a bank account. But at what bank?”

  “There can’t be that many banks in Port Vila. Let me check.” Kristie pulled out her cell phone and did a Google search. Three names came up. “My search shows three bank names. ANZ, Westpac, and National Bank of Vanuatu. ANZ and Westpac are Australian banks operating in Vanuatu. Only ANZ and National Bank of Vanuatu are in Port Vila. Westpac has only one branch located in Sanma Province.”

  “Well, that narrows the search down considerably,” Buck said. “Now maybe we’re finally making progress.”

  After finishing their breakfast, they drove to the ANZ Bank on Kumul Highway.

  Buck asked to speak with the manager, and a few minutes later, they were escorted into his office. He was a short, black man, heavy-set, in his early fifties. His hair was short and wiry, and his round face produced a friendly smile. “Good morning, my name is Curtis Carpenter, how may I be of service?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Carpenter,” Buck said. He introduced himself and Kristie, using their real names without divulging they were NYPD detectives. After they all shook hands and were seated, Buck said, “We’re looking for a cousin of mine from New York. We were told that he may have come to Port Vila to take up residency. Unfortunately, his mother is very ill, and we’re trying to find him before she passes on. My cousin, Karl Kruger, is a little unstable and paranoid. He has an unfounded belief that he is being pursued by the law. Karl is like a chameleon. He changes his appearance frequently. He is a master of disguise.”

  Buck pulled out three photographs and placed them on the manager’s desk. He pointed to a picture and said, “As you can see, Mr. Carpenter, this is Karl’s normal appearance. The other two pictures show him in different disguises.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean, Mr. Woods. Your cousin certainly is a master of disguise. You would never know these pictures are the same person.”

  “My cousin may have opened an account with your bank recently. Perhaps within the past few weeks. He may also be using a false name and forged documents. Do any of these pictures look familiar? Please keep in mind that he may be wearing a new disguise.”

  “To tell you the truth, Mr. Woods, none of these pictures look like anyone who has opened an account with us recently. Sorry, but I don’t think I can help you.”

  “Okay, Mr. Carpenter, thank you for your time. If my cousin shows up, please call me immediately.” Buck gave the manager his cell phone number.

  Back in the car, Kristie said, “I like how you made up the story about your paranoid cousin. That’s what I call thinking on your feet.”

  Buck smiled. “You liked that, did you? We’ll use the same story at the National Bank of Vanuatu.”

  They didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes after arriving at the National Bank, they were ushered into the office of the manager. The man sitting at the desk glanced up and smiled. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties. He had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, a slim, clean-shaven face and a long, straight nose. When he stood, he looked to be around six feet three inches tall. He came around his desk and stuck out his hand. “Good afternoon, I’m Claude Richard,” he said, speaking with a distinct Australian accent.

  “Good day, Mr. Richard, my name is Buck Woods, and this my lady friend, Kristie Karlsson.”

  After shaking hands, Richard said, “I’m pleased to meet you both. Please take a seat. How can I help you?”

  Buck brought out the pictures of Kruger. He placed them in front of Richard and repeated the same story he had told Curtis Carpenter at ANZ Bank.

  After studying the pictures carefully, Richard looked up and said, “In some ways, your cousin resembles a man who opened up two accounts with us recently. You said he is from New York City, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Buck said.

  “As I recall the man who opened the accounts was from Canada. Toronto, if I remember correctly.”

  “Do you recall what the man looked like?
” Kristie asked.

  “Why, yes. The man was a few inches shorter than me. His head was shaved, and he had a gray beard. He looked to be in his late fifties.”

  “Do you remember the color of his eyes?” Buck asked.

  Richard thought for a few seconds. “I think they were brown. Actually, dark brown.”

  “Did he talk like we do?” asked Kristie.

  “Yes. The man sounded similar to you. Canadians I’ve dealt with over the years use the word eh a lot when they speak, but I don’t recall him using it at all. I found that a bit unusual.”

  “If he is Buck’s cousin, he wouldn’t have a Canadian accent. He would speak more like a New Yorker,” Kristie said.

  “You could be right.”

  “I believe my cousin Karl was interested in purchasing property in your country. Did this Canadian fellow express any interest in real estate?” Buck asked.

  “Yes, he did. He asked me if buying real estate in Vanuatu was a good idea. I told him it would be a wise decision. I even gave him a brochure containing information for nonresidents that would assist him in purchasing a home.”

  “Do you remember the man’s name?” Buck asked.

  Richard laughed. “Of course I do. How could I forget? He was a nice fellow. His name was Goodfellow––Thomas Goodfellow.

  “My cousin is rich. He came into a large inheritance from a wealthy uncle. Did he deposit a substantial amount of money with your bank?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Woods, but I cannot divulge the financial information of our clients. I can only say that I was very pleased with Mr. Goodfellow’s deposit.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Richard, we appreciate you taking time from your busy day to speak with us,” Buck said.

  “No, problem, mate. Good luck. I hope you find your cousin.”

  On their way back to the resort, Kristie grinned. “By the way, what’s this about me being your lady friend?”

  “Sorry about that. That’s the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment.”

  “Goodfellow is the same name the receptionist at our resort mentioned. Do you think Kruger is Goodfellow?” Kristie asked.

  “If he is Goodfellow, a good fellow he is not. He should’ve called himself Badfellow instead.”

  Amused, Kristie smiled. “You’ve got that right,” she said. “It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

  They both had a good laugh, releasing tension and frustration.

  “Based on what Mr. Richard said, if Kruger is Goodfellow, the reason we can’t find him in any of the resorts is that he’s bought and is living in a house,” Kristie said.

  “I bet you’re right. Let’s go visit real estate offices in the morning and see what we can find out.”

  Before going out to dinner, they decided to have a drink on the patio. Buck had made a pitcher of margaritas, and as they sipped their cocktails, neither of them spoke. Lying on a chaise lounge, Bucks eyes closed, and within a minute he had drifted off. Kristie sat staring out at the ocean, her thoughts on Kruger.

  Kristie let Buick sleep for an hour before shaking him awake.

  “Buck, it’s time to go eat.”

  Still half asleep, Buck mumbled, “What?

  “It’s time to go for dinner.”

  “Okay. I’m starved. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Back in New York, Billy White was extremely agitated. He stood gazing out the living room window of his newly acquired condo. His eyes were fixed on the reflection of the sun on the murky water of the polluted Hudson River. Every day for the past few weeks he had checked his bank account. So far, Kruger had not deposited his half of the ransom money. It looked like he had been double-crossed, even after he had warned Kruger. There had better be a damn good reason––like Kruger was dead. If he weren’t dead now, he soon would be. Kruger had one more week. If the money weren’t in his account by then, he would have to take a little trip to Port Vila. He’d find Kruger and force him to transfer all the money before killing that slimy bastard. You couldn’t trust anyone these days––not even a fellow White Skulls brother. Having purchased the condo for two million dollars, his bank account was almost empty. White had been counting on the twelve and a half million.

  When Buck and Kristie returned from dinner, Kristie picked up the phone book and checked the yellow pages. There were a lot more real estate brokers than she had anticipated.

  “First thing in the morning, I’ll bring the phone book, and we can make inquiries at real estate offices. For now, let’s assume that Thomas Goodfellow is Kruger. Maybe someone knows if he purchased a house recently. It’s a long shot, but we really don’t have any other options,” Kristie said. “It’s gonna take a lot of legwork, but if we find Kruger, it’ll be worth it.”

  “In the meantime,” Buck said as he motioned for Kristie to join him in bed, “I’ve got an option I’d like you to consider.”

  The next morning they called on four real estate companies without any luck. After a quick lunch, their first stop was First National Real Estate.

  “We would like to speak to the manager, please,” Buck said to the receptionist.

  “That would be Mr. Harvey. Let me buzz him. And who should I say is calling?”

  “Tell him, Buck Woods and Kristie Karlsson.”

  Harvey appeared a few minutes later. “Good afternoon, I’m the manager, Pete Harvey, how can I help you?”

  “I’m Buck Woods, and this is Kristie Karlsson.”

  They shook hands, and Pete Harvey said, “Please follow me.”

  Harvey looked to be in his mid-thirties. He was just under six feet in height, with a clean-shaven face, green eyes, and short brown hair.

  Once everyone was seated, Harvey asked, “Are you folks looking to purchase real estate?”

  “No,” Buck said. “We’re actually looking for my cousin. We believe he may have purchased real estate through your company in the past few weeks.” Buck went on to tell the same story he had told the bankers.

  “So you think your cousin is using the name Thomas Goodfellow and has a Canadian passport?”

  “Yes, we do,” said Buck.

  “I recall one of my top agents, Shelly Saunders, telling me she sold a property to a Canadian named Goodfellow recently.”

  “Do you recall the address?” Kristie asked.

  “Not off the top of my head, but I can find out for you. Actually, I believe Shelly is in her office. Let me buzz her.”

  Two minutes later, Shelly Saunders appeared in the doorway.

  “Shelly, I’d like you to meet Buck Woods and Kristie…I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your last name.”

  “Karlsson,” Kristie said.

  “Oh, yes. Kristie Karlsson,” he repeated.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Shelly said as she sat down.

  Buck told Shelly Saunders the same story.

  Shelly didn’t know what to make of the paranoid cousin who wore disguises because he thought he was being pursued by the law. Was his real name Karl Kruger? It all seemed crazy. They must have the wrong man. It couldn’t be Thomas Goodfellow, the man she had slept with in a moment of weakness. Come to think of it, there was something weird about him. What person who was supposedly born and raised in Canada wouldn’t know where Winnipeg was located? Maybe she should warn him. No. She wasn’t planning on seeing him again.

  “What was the address of the property that Mr. Goodfellow purchased?” Harvey asked.

  Shelly was deep in thought and didn’t seem to hear the question.

  “Shelly!” Harvey barked.

  Startled, Shelly said, “I’m…I’m sorry. What was the question?”

  “The address. What is the address of the property Mr. Goodfellow purchased?”

  “Oh. It’s 1833 Devils Point Road.”

  Harvey wrote the address on a piece of paper an
d handed it to Buck. “Do you know how to get there?”

  “No problem,” Buck said. “Our rental car has a GPS. Thank you. You’ve both been very helpful.”

  Buck programmed the address into the car’s GPS and started the engine.

  “Before we go, may I make a suggestion?” Kristie asked.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Since we don’t have any weapons, I think we should tread lightly. If Goodfelow turns out to be Kruger, he may have a pistol. He might have bought a gun from some low-life criminal when he got to Port Vila.”

  “Good point. You’re probably right. It would be impossible to apprehend Kruger with our bare hands if he has a gun. Maybe we should make some discreet inquiries to see if we can buy a couple of pistols. But we don’t have time for that now. Let’s go stake out the house and see if we can get a look at Thomas Goodfellow. Once we see him, we should be able to determine if he really is Kruger in disguise. Kruger’s height and size won’t change, even if he’s wearing a disguise, and I don’t think he will change his arrogant strut.”

  All was quiet when they got to the address on Devils Point Road. Buck backed the car into an overgrown laneway on the opposite side of the road about a half block from the house. The laneway looked unused. The car was far enough from the main road, making it hard to spot. They got out and cautiously made their way to the property. Hiding behind some shrubs, they viewed a white Honda SUV parked in front of the house in the circular driveway.

  A few minutes later, a man wearing a Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap, a white T-shirt, beige cargo shorts, and black sandals came out of the house and headed toward the vehicle. If this was Thomas Goodfellow, he looked similar to Kruger in size and height. However, he was missing the gray beard that bank manager Claude Richard had mentioned. He walked identical to Kruger, head held high, looking straight ahead. Buck was sure the man was Kruger.

  As the SUV drove away, Kristie asked, “Should we follow him?”