by Rose Young
As the waiters poured a tasting of the three wines for each guest, Georgi described them, “The glass on your left is from Paumanok Vineyards who have been growing in Long Island since 1983. This red wine has been awarded a prestigious 93 points. The Merlot Tuthills Lane offers intense aromas of crushed blackberries, plum, fig and luxuriously sweet vanilla. It is a complex, full-bodied red with rich, voluminous tannins and multi-layered flavors of black fruits, earth, and sweet spice.” The guests all sniffed, sipped, and murmured their opinions to each other.
With a hand on his hip, their flamboyant host continued, “This next wine is also a Merlot, and you may say, ‘Why Georgi, why two Merlots?’ and my answer is because they are both from Long Island and both are acknowledged by connoisseurs. The suave International man of wine, Mark Oldman, has recommended the Long Island Merlots in his wonderful book, Oldman’s Brave New World of Wine.
Georgi spoke exuberantly. “This next red is produced by Shinn Estate Vineyards of the North Fork of Long Island, and is called 9 Barrels Reserve Merlot. This fine wine exhibits refined tannins with elegant flavors of blackberry and black plum as well as distinct aromas of violet and chocolate. Shinn Estate Vineyards and our next vineyard from Italy are two of the few successfully recognized bio-dynamic growers and winemakers in the world.
“Now, I can tell,” he paused, “that some of you are thinking about a white dessert wine, and I have one for you. It’s from Stefano Belloti Vineyards, in Piedmont, Italy.” Georgi held the wine glass by the stem, “This is C’era Una Volta II Passato, Vino Bianco made with Moscato grapes.”
Taking a long sniff, Georgi waved his hand in a gentle upward motion, encouraging his patrons to follow his lead. “This delicious wine has a sweet full nose, and delicate aromas of raisin, full and dense.” Taking a sip, he elaborated, “You will find rich flavors of figs and honey, yet not too sweet. This wine is delicious with dessert and highly flavored cheeses. Please select your favorite wine to enjoy with dessert.”
Their host extraordinaire sashayed to the bar, and returned to proudly present the Mark Oldman book on wine. “There are many fine books about wine, but my favorites are the ones that are like a great bedtime story. There’s an adventure where you are taken to faraway lands with wine and fine food. This book is full of fanciful prose, and just look at this fine gentleman on the cover!” he pronounced, as his voice rose.
Georgi held the book so everyone could see Mark’s picture. “Ladies, right away you notice him, because he’s dreamy. And look at his Cheshire Cat smile. It’s as if he’s saying, ‘How are you this evening?’ And you say, ‘I’m very well, thank you, now that I found you!’ And then you just stare at each other and have your own internal conversation.” Georgi looked around the table. He knowingly paused and added, “About wine of course! What else?” His guests laughed loudly, delighting in his light-heartedness.
“Now that you have sipped plenty of wine, this is when Vino Veritas which means ‘Wine Truth’ helplessly tumbles out of one’s mouth. May I tell you all a secret?” Georgi requested. Some laughed nervously, while several nodded and said, ‘Yes’.
“Sometimes I find myself in a wine quandary, and I pick up Oldman’s book, with the handsome stare. What should I select for such and such a tasting?’ and somehow or other after a nice little world-wide trip through his book, I have the answer. It’s quite convenient to have on the shelf, ladies. You can pull down his book anytime, whenever you need a friendly smile, and to dream of sipping wine in southern Portugal.” The guests giggled and elbowed each other, as they watched their quirky host in a trance-like stare.
Georgi shook himself awake and said, “You are all welcome to peruse my book collection. And gentlemen, you will find many lovely women wine connoisseurs suggesting food pairings with wine selections. I will mention a few, Karen MacNeil, who has fabulous books, Wine, Food & Friends and her very successful Wine Bible 2nd Edition and Christine Hanna of Hanna Winery & Vineyard, her book is Winemaker Cooks. And of course there are many, many more. Have fun searching for your favorite wine and pairing books for your own world tour.”
His lively guests sipped the wine and devoured the desserts. One of them asked, “Georgi, how did you come to learn so much about wine? You’re not quite 30 are you?”
“Oh,” he squealed, “one should never tell their age. It is always held against you.” The suave sommelier tilted his head downward as his eyes looked up at his guests in a demure pose and winked. Several women nodded in agreement, as he offered a knowing smile. Then holding his finger to his chin, he thought a moment.
“I will tell you another secret. You see, wine is a tradition in my family, my great-great-grandfather, carried to America, grapevine root-stock from Portugal.
Georgi’s story seeded a quiet in the room. “He crossed the root-stock with local American grapes and grew them on the hillside of his small acreage, and bottled his own wine.”
“Eventually, he passed his knowledge and small vineyard to my great-grandfather, who rather preferred being a sailor. This worked to his advantage when prohibition came along. You see, great-grandfather wasn’t much for following the rules.” Georgi paused and looked around the room, “To be quite frank, he was a regular pirate. He had a zeal for hiding booze and wine on ships, in root cellars, caves, anywhere he could. He was a very colorful character…”
“Like you?” a guest interrupted.
“No, not quite like me,” he answered, with a twinkle. He twisted his torso and offered a gallant pose, “Although I did inherit a pinch of the pirate… I am a rogue compared to most,” he chortled. “Can you see it in me?” The guests laughed loudly, as he had given them a quirky vision to behold.
When the clatter of his guests subsided, Georgi resumed, “My family and all the children did what they could during prohibition by making lots of grape jelly to hide the fact that grandfather was making wine. So yes, wine is in my family. As time went on when my mother met my father, he offered to move her to New York City away from the farm and vineyard. She jumped at the chance to be a fashionable lady,” Georgi swayed gracefully.
“When I was young, I was interested in being a wine aficionado. So through family and education, I fell into this wonderful job. And now I ask you, how?” he said raising his voice and his arms, “how could I go wrong? I can be fashionable, talk about wine and eat great food. I love them all!” He clicked his heels, did a cheeky turn, and swished away to replenish their drinks. They all giggled from the wine and Georgi’s drama queen antics.
Quietly, Sam opened the door and he and Roxanne slipped out, unnoticed. Roxanne took Sam’s arm and asked, “Do you think some of his family’s old karma of pirates and bootleggers has come back to bite him?”
Sam chuckled, “I doubt it.” He took in a long breath. “This guy who killed Stockman is a modern day pirate with a grander plan, for sure. It’s the level of risk he’s taking that’s disturbing, and for what reason?”
They crossed Bank Street and peered into the darkened windows of New London’s popular Hygienic Art Gallery. Iron street lamps gently lit the interior. Their artist friend, Troy Zaushny had his work on exhibit. “We’ll have to come back when he’s here,” Roxanne murmured. Sam’s phone rang, unexpectedly.
“Yes?” he asked, “Oh, hello Morrison, what’s happening?” The detective reported, and Sam listened.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it, and so will Roxanne. Thanks for the intel.” Sam ended the call.
“He says they believe the thug is on Long Island. They have an undercover officer to keep an eye on Marissa and her daughter. We should all rest well tonight.”
Chapter 40
Day 5 – 6:30 am
Detective Morrison was finishing his morning shave, while a Van Morrison tune, ‘Into the Mystic’, played in the background. He looked in the mirror and wondered what this day would bring. Maybe a lead will be waiting for me. The reward of $5,000, for information on Stockman, had been posted in the paper.
Morrison
flipped his half-dollar in the air. Dad, I need some of your Irish luck today, he whispered. He pocketed the coin, strapped on his gun, and clipped his badge to his belt.
Arriving at police headquarters at 6:30 am, he found that no leads had come in overnight. The second and third shift police force had targeted the train station, shipping piers and local storefronts surrounding the murders. They had scoured for any new intelligence from the hotel, car rental, barbershop, coffee shops and the Italian restaurant. Most officers this day were on duty for the President’s arrival in the secure area of the Coast Guard Academy.
While waiting for a clue to emerge, Morrison reviewed the forensic team work of analyzing minute details from the crime scenes. Assistant Detective Peabody was scanning the VCAP (Violent Crimes Appropriation Program) on the Internet, trying to develop and follow any lead. He had entered the killer’s crime profile: extortion, murders and poisons. Wanting to unearth the smallest clue, Morrison needed to make some headway. “Give me something, Peabody.” His order was merely a wishful request. “I'm dying here for a lead.”
Peabody glanced up from the computer screen, “Come on boss, something will come up, I can feel it.”
“I need more than a feeling,” Morrison said pacing the floor in front of Peabody’s desk. “This guy is covering all his tracks. I tell you he’s a pro with a purpose, and subterfuge is his modus operandi. The problem, Jack, is this little city has a half-mile radius of tourist shops and train travelers, cruise ships and historic sites. Then there is the variety of young and old, prim and posh, and many diverse people who live and work here. With a busy day, hundreds of tourists and locals are meandering around the Whale Tale Fountain and downtown proper. We have to home in on this guy. Fine-tune our radar. Someone can go unnoticed but there has to be a clue.”
“You’re right boss,” responded Jack. “Even though we suspect he is in Long Island, any lead will help us. It was easy for him to blend in here. Look, we have sailor’s pubs and fine dining establishments, art and antique stores. And there are those few vacant buildings undergoing refurbishment. It leaves plenty of places for this guy to mix in, meet-up and do business. Then he slips out of here. We thought we had the guy in custody yesterday; otherwise we would have been checking the people boarding that ferry last night.”
Morrison ran his hands through his thick black hair. “If we don’t solve this quickly, and the press catches wind of what has happened, we’ll be on national news. The media is harassing me for information and I only have until tonight before I tell them Charlie Brass is dead.”
Morrison stopped pacing and, like a vulture waiting for meat, he leaned over Jack and his computer. “Jack, the downtown merchants want this wrapped up before it destroys their summer business. Our wonderful Sailfest and City Center organizer was very concerned. And then there was Mr. Platinum Spoon’s wife. You know, the one who lives in that big house by the water? She approached me the other day, pleading that we find the murderer.”
Breaking into an imitation of her abhorrent female tone, Morrison emoted, ‘Detective, I must tell you, downtown is on the verge of a great transformation! It’s a destination for food, wine, theater and the arts. How can we go out at night with a killer on the loose? Please, please catch him! I have guests for the summer and we won’t feel safe!’
Jack gawked over his computer screen at his boss who had just mimicked a woman and her mannerisms. Having never seen him this animated before, he added his opinion, “Boss, this dude is like a nasty cockroach that’s run off into the shadows. We have to start looking under rocks in order to please everyone.”
Morrison acknowledged, “Look, when a popular well-to-do man is found downtown dead in the shrubs, no one wants to hear of it. They just want it to go away. All these deaths are connected to Mitch Stockman and his wife. Why? Who is he? What is the motive? Right now, Mrs. Stockman looks guilty, and her acting like a victim could be her only cover.”
“Boss, let’s see if something comes up on the VCAP. The computer geeks are still searching all the business files on Stockman’s desktop in Long Island. They found nothing obvious on the surface documents, but they are digging deeper. We are waiting on forensic fingerprint and footprint analysis and the medical examiner is doing her thing.”
“That’s it!” Exuberant, Morrison’s hands went into the air, “I’m going to the medical examiner’s office. Maybe the dead have something left to say about this.”
Jack warned, “Boss, she’s the new M.E. out of New Haven, and she’s intense. I met with her for the first time last night, after we delivered Charlie Brass. This lady’s a real stickler for the details. I couldn’t leave until I had told her the whole story of this case. She asked a lot of questions and said it helped her get into the killer’s head so she can look for clues on the deceased that might otherwise be missed. Her name is Dr. Angela Storm and her fascination with death freaks me out!”
Jack’s shoulders shuddered, “I don’t know how she does it, hanging out with dead people. It gives me the willies. You’ll want to have a cup of coffee before you go. You’re going to need it to keep up with her and her creepy acumen of death.”
Morrison smiled knowingly at Jack, “You’re a rookie Peabody. Give yourself a few dozen more bodies and you’ll get past all this shuddering.” He gave the twenty-something a friendly slap on the back, and walked out the door.
Chapter 41
Traveling along Broad Street, Morrison drove to the edge of town near the Waterford city line. He pulled up to a non-descript, one-story brick building with 12 parking spots. He approached the familiar unassuming entrance, and paused by the door. To his surprise, a new plaque had been installed. It read:
Let conversation cease, let laughter flee, this is the place death delights to be, to help the living.
Medical Examiner motto: 1960 Gutter & Norris, New York
Morrison exhaled and uttered, “I need all the help I can get, and if death delights in it, so be it.”
He was buzzed in the door by the medical assistant who then led him to the examining room. He saw, standing over three dead bodies, an average-sized woman completely covered in full medical regalia: a white lab coat over blue scrubs, wearing gloves, a breathing mask, safety glasses and a hair cap.
Morrison approached her saying, “Dr. Storm, I am Detective Dan Morrison. My assistant, Detective Peabody, told me he has informed you of the details of this case.”
With no formalities Dr. Storm answered, “Yes detective, you’re just in time. I have something for you.” She snapped off her latex gloves and pushed the surgical mask down under her chin. Her safety glasses stayed in place as she approached a stainless-steel counter, lifted a plastic baggie and handed it to the detective. In it was a small square receipt. He looked at it closely.
Surprised he said, “It’s a vineyard receipt from Ledyard. Where did you find this?”
“It was in Mitch Stockman’s inside pocket of his jacket, crammed into a corner as if something had pushed down on it.”
Morrison murmured, “Well I’ll be damned…” then he grinned.
“Dr. Storm, I don’t know you, but you just made me very happy. I needed this break.”
She lifted her safety glasses and flashed her golden brown eyes and a wide smile. “Glad to be of service, Detective Morrison. You bring me the goods,” she pointed to Mitch Stockman, J.J. and Charlie Brass on the examining tables, “and I’ll find you the killer’s mood, method and motive if I can.”
Taken aback Morrison asked, “What do you mean mood?”
“Well,” she said, “the killer, in this case, has no mood. He is swift and decisive. He is on a mission. I believe he is a professional.”
“Well, I’m impressed so far, but why do you think so?” he asked. He knew Jack had informed her of the goose chase they had been on through the streets of New London, but this was a quick conclusion on her part.
“Well, I am cheating a little,” she admitted.
Morrison looked at her s
ideways, thinking she certainly had his full, professional attention. Otherwise, he could not distinguish her from any other female in her medical gear with a tight hair bun, and scrubs which gave no definition to her form. So while he gazed into her golden brown eyes, she had his interest.
“What I mean,” she said seriously, “is the fact that I am considering not just Mr. Stockman, but also young Johnson Jones and Mr. Brass. They were all quick deaths. Fast action that broke their necks so quickly they were dead in an instant. Not everyone knows how to do that. In my 15 years of work in New Haven, I have not seen such a determination to kill.
The murders I see, are usually messy due to passionate feelings of anger, lust or disgust. These three murders are quick and clean. He’s not using a gun or knife. Johnson Jones has no defensive bruising or signs of struggle, so he was caught off guard. Although I do see deep bruising and muscle strain on Mr. Stockman which indicates he struggled initially, probably surprising the killer with a few quick moves of his own. But once this lethal machine had the upper hand, it was over quickly for Stockman. And for the killer, the moment of final superiority was pushing the poisonous plant into the victim’s mouth. If there was a small chance of life left, Mr. Stockman and Mr. Brass would have died from the poisoning.”
“Detective, this is a warrior act, signifying he has won.” She took a breath and eyed the detective. He was handsome enough, dark eyes, groomed dark hair, slightly tan, in good shape and strong hands. He must be from here, she thought, he looks comfortable, a well-worn, get it done type of guy. That’s good. I can work with that.
Morrison was considering all she said and was about to comment when she added, “Yet this act, detective, can also be considered a brazen, yet subtle announcement. It may be a purposeful threat or taunt. He is basically saying, Don’t mess with me.” She paused and pointed to the bodies.