Roses, Wine & Murder: In the City of Steeples

by Rose Young

  The detective was concerned that all they had to go on was a silver sedan and a description given by the scapegoat in custody from the train station.

  Morrison recalled the verbal portrayal, middle-aged man, six-foot-tall, short dark hair, a sharp nose and slightly tan skin. There was a hint of an accent, yet excellent English. He was clean shaven and wore sunglasses, a fine grey suit, white shirt, tie and black leather shoes. Ironically, he looked just like the man describing him.

  Chapter 29

  Georgi drove his PT Cruiser to the bank to withdraw the money with Marco by his side. Stuffing the cash into the green Vinho Verde envelope, he continued to the library.

  The granite library built in 1890 was an architectural gem, a handsome Richardsonian Romanesque style. It was on the corner of Huntington and State Street. Georgi parked in the rear to enter the 1970s’ addition, as ordered by Detective Morrison.

  Squeezing Marco’s arm Georgi requested, “Wish me luck.” Marco assured him, “Don’t worry, the police are watching and they’ll protect you. I’ll wait here with the car running.”

  Georgi trotted up the interior staircase. Navigating through the original grand entry, he arrived at the information desk and asked where the 600 stacks were located. The librarian pointed him in the direction to another level of stairs. Once in position, Georgi scanned through the books and realized they were all about winemaking and vineyards. Who is this guy? He picked the wine section?

  Checking his watch, Georgi picked a location in among the books numbered 641.2. He kissed his green Vinho Verde envelope and placed it carefully. Taking one step away, he stepped back to fuss with it. Obvious but not too obvious, he thought.

  Keeping his eyes downcast, Georgi, the new smooth operator, looked to the sides as he approached the staircase. He saw no one suspicious, so he cautiously descended. Suddenly he spied a book-stacker pushing a cart of books. In his mind, he panicked. She’s heading to my stack! Oh no! She’s going to find the green envelope! Peering at her through the stair balusters, he watched her as she stacked and sorted a few books. She then moved on to the next row.

  Phew, Georgi sighed and pranced down the stairs and out the door to Marco, waiting in the car.

  “That’s done,” Georgi pronounced proudly. “Let’s meet Roxanne at the Washington Street Coffee House.”

  “What? I thought the detective told her to go to the fire station and wait.”

  “Well, she has a mind of her own,” Georgi asserted, smiling like an imp.

  “And so do you,” laughed Marco, shaking Georgi’s shoulder.

  They drove down Huntington Street passing a silver sedan parked in front of the four-cornered granite steeple, of St. Mary’s Star of the Sea. The driver watched Georgi, as altar boys streamed out of the church in their black and white robes. They held the doors open as pallbearers walked a casket out and the mournful congregation followed.

  Taking two quick left-turns around the block, Georgi and Marco met Roxanne inside the coffeehouse. She sat at a table, with a lemon scone, cupping a mug of Earl Grey tea. Above and around her hung local artwork, the owners had created a makeshift gallery in their high-ceilinged lofty space. A small stage for bands was set up for evening gigs in a corner and nearby was a large window-wall along the street. The well-worn hangout had a comfortable vibe for young and old.

  Glad to see them, Roxanne remarked, “Well, you made it!”

  Georgi recounted every nervous detail of placing the money in the library while he drank lemonade and split a sandwich with Marco.

  “It’s the policemen’s job to catch the guy now,” Roxanne posed, “we’ll just wait for a call.” She picked up and waved her cell-phone, “Isn’t it funny how I've hardly used it and now I can't live without it?”

  Georgi smiled, “Welcome to the 21st century Roxanne, you're about 10 years late.” Marco and Georgi chuckled, actually giddy with relief, hoping the whole ordeal would be over with soon.

  As they chatted lightly, Georgi thought he recognized a girl outside the building. He wasn't sure due to the hooded shirt she was wearing. He knew so many people downtown and she looked familiar. She was chatting with someone on the street in a silver sedan. The car sped off quickly. She walked toward the coffeehouse. The tall glass window-wall gave Georgi a full view of her. Entering she placed her order at the counter and pulled down her hood. Georgi gasped.

  The sound made Marco and Roxanne look at him. He grabbed both their arms. He hunched over the table and whispered, “That's the girl! She’s the one who was pushing the book cart in the library. What is she doing in here?” Imagining the worst, he yelped, “Oh my God, my money!”

  Suddenly a group of people from outside raced toward the coffeehouse. The glass wall allowed a clear view of these random, yet odd-looking people.

  “What's going on?” Roxanne asked, “Did a show just let out at the Garde Theater?” Several people pushed through the doors forcefully. They huddled around the young woman, before they escorted her into the hallway that led to the bathrooms.

  “Let's go,” said Georgi pulling Roxanne and Marco. They leapt out of their seats knocking a coffee table, as they ran toward the hallway.

  “That's her!” screeched Georgi flailing his arms. “That's her. Where's my money?” he demanded, fighting his way, trying to pierce the human barrier of the now obvious plain-clothed police.

  “Georgi, back-off,” yelled one officer, “Miss, where is the envelope?” he asked her.

  “I handed it to that man, who just left in the silver sedan,” she protested.

  “You what?” screamed Georgi.

  “Be quiet!” yelled the undercover officer. Georgi fell back onto Marco who caught him.

  “Which way did he go?” the officer asked the girl.

  “Towards Starr Street,” she replied. Immediately, three of the five officers ran out. The officer in charge radioed the news to Detective Morrison.

  Speaking to the young woman, the officer ordered, “Miss, you're coming with us, you have the right to remain silent…” He read her the Miranda rights while hand-cuffing her and taking her to the awaiting unmarked car.

  The remaining officer shot an order at Roxanne, Georgi and Marco, “You three go to the station and report to Detective Morrison, now!”

  “Well,” Georgi said in a huff, while straightening himself and brushing his clothes smooth. “Nothing like trying to cover your butt, by ordering people around,” he retorted. “That was my money you lost!”

  “Shhh! Georgi behave!” Roxanne scolded, “They are on our side, remember that.”

  Georgi turned into a sullen marshmallow, hunched his shoulders and shuffled to the door. Then he expelled a dramatic sigh.

  Chapter 30

  Day 4 – 4:00 pm

  The well-groomed Mr. V followed Mr. Silver’s details to the letter. He arrived at the Long Island Ferry office at 4 pm and asked for the mail, addressed to Johnson Jones.

  Sandy did as Detective Morrison had instructed. She handed the red envelope to the grey-suited deceiver, noticing he was practically identical to the man whom she had encountered in the morning. Sandy watched as he moved to the other side of the room near the tourist brochures. From her vantage point, behind the ticket counter, it seemed he inserted the envelope into his leather satchel.

  Carefully, the body-double Mr. V positioned the satchel, folded the red envelope into a manila one, and discreetly stuffed it inside his jacket. Then he pretended to place the envelope in the satchel. He positioned it over his shoulder and casually walked out the door to his awaiting liaison near the tugboats.

  Sandy alerted the undercover police by hopping up and down in the window. The officers saw her signal and waited for the culprit to approach his car. With great annoyance, Sandy observed Charlie Brass asking the man for a light to his cigarette. The man obliged, presenting the gold, eagle-crested lighter.

  Sandy complained loudly enough for her boss to hear, “Oh Charlie, I told you to quit smoking. Get out of ther
e. The guy’s a murderer, for Pete’s sake.”

  Sandy’s boss yelled from his office, “You did your part. Let the cops do theirs, for God’s sake. This is not a TV show you can choreograph. Haven’t you watched any of the police reality shows?”

  Sandy rolled her eyes wondering if her soulless boss had even a small bone of compassion in his body. Shaking her head, she remembered he didn’t. Sandy continued to watch as the scoundrel outside walked to his silver sedan. Before he entered the car, the undercover police were all over him with guns drawn. They took him down and hand-cuffed him.

  Relief swept through Sandy as she jumped with arms raised in the air, “Yes!” she yelled, as if a goal were scored by her favorite football team. She raced into her boss’ office. “They’ve got him boss, my second capture today!”

  He looked up at her with a dead pan expression. “Good. Could you put the newspaper’s classifieds desk on the phone? I want to report a job opening for your position, because now you work for the police.” He took a chomp out of his afternoon candy bar, and loudly slurped from his fourth coffee of the day.

  Sandy punched her hand with her fist pretending it was his face. “One these days, boss…it’s going to be to the moon.” He laughed at the Jackie Gleason, Honeymooners reference. Then she added, “You could thank me for cleaning up this mess of murder and mayhem affecting the Ferry’s business. Or maybe the owners should.”

  “I don’t care, I’m retiring soon,” he said with a fake grin. “It’s a lot more fun irritating you.”

  Sandy grumbled and turned away, knowing after 23 years, he was a hopeless ignoramus.

  Chapter 31

  Detective Morrison, now had three accomplices in individual interrogation rooms at police headquarters. Two were men, one apprehended at the train station, and Mr. V who was captured at the ferry terminal, and lastly, the library girl, who had passed Georgi’s Vinho Verde envelope to another man in a silver sedan.

  Assistant Detective, Jack Peabody, was shaking his head in disbelief. Morrison had his hands on his hips and asserted, “Look at these two guys, Jack, they have the same build. They have dark hair, tan skin and are in matching grey Italian suits with the same expensive leather shoes and sunglasses. They’re practically identical!” Pacing in front of his desk, Morrison stopped, scowled, and then grumbled, “This is ridiculous!”

  “Each of them have a hundred dollar bill in their pocket,” he ranted. “And where are the envelopes with the $10,000? I cannot believe the officers were thrown off by a 17-year-old girl. How did she slip out the back of the library, past the pizza restaurant, down that exterior staircase, to the coffeehouse parking lot? Obviously she was far in advance of the officers! Did she have dumb luck?

  “Aargh, do I have to be everywhere? Those officers were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Morrison loosened his tie and glared at Jack. “The girl actually had time to pass off the envelope with Georgi’s money? What a fumble!” He motioned holding out his hands, “We had five Jack, count them five officers on this fricken envelope. Did no one see her?” Morrison slicked his hair with his hands then clenched the ends as if he wanted to strangle someone.

  Jack Peabody had not seen his boss lose his cool like this before, yet he understood the pressure. The local homicides in New London were uncomplicated. Typically, they were related to turf wars, drug crimes, or domestic violence.

  Yet Jack, was well aware of the tale, of his boss’ exceptional work on the infamous arson case in town. Morrison had solved it with Fire Chief Samson. Jack recalled The Day’s newspaper write-up:

  Neighbors called in a sign of smoke coming out of a broken window in the old shoe factory. When the firefighters arrived, the rafters of the building were strung with gasoline-filled balloons. Hunting down the source of smoke, Samson’s crew found smoldering rags, in the nick of time. Had the rags fully ignited and reached the balloons, they would have burst and blown the place sky high, effectively destroying everything. After three weeks of concerted effort, Officer Morrison homed in on a network of hired criminals from New York. It’s the age old story of a defunct factory owner trying to make money off the fire insurance.

  Since the story was in the papers for weeks, it put Morrison in the limelight and led to his promotion to Detective in the department.

  Watching this case evolve with now three men dressed like look-alikes, had Jack wondering, There are so many moving parts and players it feels like a 3D video game with a replicator, punching out clones of this perpetrator. Jack watched his boss pace back and forth and figured common sense would prevail. Morrison would return to his calm and collected self. But suddenly, Jack was jolted by Morrison shouting.

  “Neither of these two lackeys has much to say, except that the guy who hired them looks like them. The last guy already wants to lawyer up, and won’t talk or tell us where that red envelope from the ferry terminal ended up.” Throwing his hands in the air, Morrison strutted down the hall. Like a blood hound on a trail, he stomped toward the command center with Jack following behind.

  Several officers were reviewing digital data illuminated on large screened displays. Video runs were being scanned, VCAP, Violent Crime Apprehension Program data files of the FBI were searched. A wall-sized whiteboard had lists of locations and the common threads of events and murders. Morrison delivered instructions to each group, and walkie-talkies squawked orders to help the teams keep abreast of the situation.

  Detective Morrison expelled, “Find Charlie Brass! I want him here ASAP. He was the last one in contact with the guy at the ferry terminal.”

  Chapter 32

  Meanwhile, Georgi, Roxanne and Marco were escorted into the board room at police headquarters. Marissa Stockman and her lawyer were sitting there.

  Marissa asked Georgi, “What are you doing here?”

  “Me! What are you doing here?” Georgi countered.

  “I'm trying to save my daughter's life,” she implored.

  “What are you talking about? Georgi asked, dumbfounded.

  “The man who murdered Mitch threatened to kill Vanessa. He blackmailed me into sending him $10,000. He had me put a name on the envelope, which happened to be the kid who was murdered yesterday, Johnson Jones.”

  “Oh, my God!” Georgi, Roxanne and Marco exclaimed in unison.

  “The guy blackmailed me too,” Georgi asserted. “He threatened to kill me, and told me to put $10,000 in an envelope.” Biting his nails, he then wailed emphatically, “This is insane!”

  “Why is he involving you?” Marissa asked, perplexed.

  “I don’t know! He had me place the envelope of money at the library for four o'clock.”

  Marissa offered, “But the detective set him up to get my envelope at four o'clock, from the ferry office.”

  Since both looked confused, Roxanne took the opportunity to interrupt and jumped into the conversation, “I'm Georgi’s friend, Roxanne. I’m sorry to say, I found your husband, God rest his soul. Please let me help you figure this out,” she offered, truly hoping she could help.

  Marissa became anguished, moving her hands to her face and then to her heart, “Oh my God, I can’t take much more of this.” Attorney Blum broke professional protocol and put his hand on her shoulder to console her.

  Roxanne softly resumed “So if this guy blackmailed you both, how can he be in two places at once, unless he has people working for him?” Mumbling out loud, she added, “This is far more complex than I would have guessed.”

  “He must have people working for him,” murmured Marco who was now sitting next to Georgi trying to keep him from biting his nails down to the quick.

  Attorney Blum strained to comfort Marissa by stating the obvious, “I believe that's why we are here. The detective not only wants to keep you all safe, but also complete the capture of this villain and his cohorts.”

  “This is so complicated, Marissa,” Georgi sympathized, “I didn't know he was trying to harm you more than he already has. I'm so sorry. All of this within a
week… it’s too much.”

  “But that's just it,” reflected Roxanne, “what happened before Mitch died? What created this chain of events?” Pausing in thought, she decided to reveal more.

  “Mrs. Stockman, after I found your husband, I was mugged that day by someone who took my small waist-pack off of me and knocked me down to the ground. Later, when the police drove me to my house, there was a hoodlum trying to break in. That very evening Georgi was beaten by a thug who asked him what I found at the garden site. It may be that they were all the same person, or maybe not.”

  Roxanne beseeched her, “Marissa, what would warrant all of this activity and drive this brute to kill your husband? What was Mitch involved in that could have caused all these events?”

  “I don't know,” Marissa pleaded for understanding. Wringing her hands, tears streamed down her porcelain-like face. “Mitch had an ideal life. He mingled with wine connoisseurs, visited local vineyards and helped a few wineries financially. I can’t imagine why this happened, can you, Georgi?” Marissa’s cool exterior had completely cracked. The years of personal perfection and tight emotional control gave way to a deluge of grief.

  Listening to her, Georgi’s eyes welled up and with a sweet acknowledgement of their mutual affection for Mitch, they reached out to each other and grasped hands without a word.

  Trying to excuse her recent attitude of indifference, Marissa explained somewhat meekly, “I'm so sorry I've been distant, Georgi. I just let Mitch have his space with his business, and he did the same for me. This summer we each pledged to relax and spend time together. It would be like a second honeymoon. We were so looking forward to it.” She gently patted her tears with a tissue and continued, “We were to resume our regular schedules in September. It seemed like the perfect plan.”