A Taste of Honey

by Tom Benson

  “How much time have I got to come up with something?”

  “A couple of days at the most my friend, but let me know your course of action first. I’ll think it through in my official capacity and let you know how feasible it is.”

  John Kelly stretched out his right hand, and Paul immediately took it.

  The two men nodded to each other, and both thought back at that moment to a handshake when they were so much younger and ready to change the world. It was a time when both of their worlds had been changed by a murderous kidnapper.

  They finished the coffee and walked halfway through Central Park together before parting. A vow of nearly 20 years was about to be put to the test, and more than one career was in the balance.

  *

  Paul Franklin returned to his office and locked the door. He took a pair of white cotton gloves from a desk drawer before he opened the safe and lifted out Harriet Forest’s journal. He then poured himself a large scotch before he sat at his desk with the book. As he read the details before him, he knew he had some serious thinking to do.

  Of one thing, Paul was fairly certain. The journal had been mailed to him from within New York, and he was certain that John Kelly didn’t know of its existence. For a while at least things could stay that way.

  ***

  Chapter 18

  An End or a Beginning?

  .

  Honey had listened to the names that Strickland had used as pseudonyms, and then heard her stepfather’s name as the keeper of Strickland’s list. Her blood ran cold. She turned and glanced at Bert, who nodded imperceptibly, but said nothing.

  Honey looked at Strickland and held up her left hand, palm facing forward. With her right hand, she slipped a folded sheet of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. As usual when handling anything that might end up as evidence, she was wearing gloves.

  “Names,” Honey said. She saw the captive wince, but she was taking a chance, because she knew of at least one fatality.

  It took a few seconds for Strickland to bring himself to talk. He continually had to consider if he would rather serve time in prison or have a horrible lingering death, like some of the victims of this secret group of vigilantes. As he named his victims, Honey looked down the list and felt sickened.

  Honey said, “There are two names on this list with another name in brackets against them.” She looked him in the eye. “Why is that?”

  Strickland was still trying to work out how she’d managed to get the list before even asking about its existence. He couldn’t risk asking, and assumed he’d been stitched up by Morgan, the rogue detective, and his equally corrupt partner.

  He said, “Those two were my first. Their names were Billy and Suzie, and I was their stepfather. Some years ago Billy qualified as a photographer and went on to become a counterfeiter. He changed his name to Mike. His sister changed her name to Kathy. Her brother organized a new identity for her and helped her start up a business with money that he made from his business.”

  “So you destroy people physically and mentally,” Honey said, “and then to give you a bargaining chip for later, you monitor them to see if any of them are doing anything illegal?”

  He lowered his head. “Yes,” he mumbled.

  Honey said, “How many people did you murder?” She looked at the list as if the answer might be there. She squinted at him and resisted the urge to shoot him.

  “Only three,” he said.

  “Only three,” Honey said and her features twisted in the light that shone up from the lamp on the floor. “Only fucking three, you sick bastard.” Honey had seen and heard enough. She turned to go and looked at Bert.

  “Leave him the key,”

  “He deserves a bullet-,”

  “Oh no, he doesn’t,” Honey said. She looked at Strickland once more and resisted the temptation to kick him in the groin. She simply shook her head and walked away.

  Bert bent down and lifted the inspection lamp. As he did, he picked up something from the floor. He threw the small object down onto the pile of huge chain links. It was the sound of metal on metal, but it was bigger than a key. Bert looked at Strickland scrabbling around and then standing up with a rusty hacksaw.

  Bert said, “Have a shit life Strickland, whatever you have left of it.”

  Strickland said, “She said if I admitted everything she’d deliver me to the cops.” He looked at the old hacksaw in his hands and shook his head in disbelief.

  Bert stepped closer, towering over the condemned man and looked down at him. “What can I say,” he said quietly. “She lied, so you’d better get fucking sawing. There are a lot of hungry rats down here.”

  “It would take me days to saw through these links man,” He threw it onto the floor.

  “So look for something softer.” Bert turned and walked away, the lamp in his hand swinging and causing a constantly moving beam of light. He reached the exit where Honey waited. Honey and Bert continued through the exit to the staircase neither looking back nor listening as Strickland screamed, cried and begged for mercy in the darkness below.

  *

  “Thank you for this,” Honey said, “and for all you’ve done.” She lifted the large glass of bourbon and swallowed it in one. It caught her throat, but she swallowed hard, inhaled through her nostrils and nodded to the bartender for another.

  “Keep them coming over here please,” Bert said to the bartender.

  Bert downed his drink and placed the glass on the bar. He indicated the next round with a brief nod, and then looked at Honey, silently assessing her before he spoke.

  “Do you mind if I ask a question about the way the perpetrators were dealt with?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “What was the reasoning behind the stripping of clothes and the way that the individuals were dealt with?”

  “The nakedness is a psychological thing. For the most part it reflects the same humiliation that the deviants submitted their prisoners to, usually stripping them before doing anything else.” She sipped her drink before continuing with her explanation.

  “All of them were voyeurs to a certain extent, so watching any sort of activity worked for them, but when they were naked and in the firing line all that happened to them was, they felt defenseless and afraid. Above all, before any of them died they had to experience terror.”

  Bert said, “What about the Carsons and Morgan?”

  “I thought that death was too quick for any of those three. I wanted that couple and Morgan to suffer for as long as possible.” She paused. “Brett and Higgins enjoyed violence, and as far as Sorrenson was concerned, locking him in a Turkish prison would have been preferable.”

  “Are you going to come out of this alright?” Bert asked, lifting his glass.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “When I wake up tomorrow morning, I’ll know where I go from here, but I am grateful for your help and advice.”

  “Hey there,” he replied. “You started out as a client, but I’d like to think that somewhere along the way the lines have blurred, and we could be friends.” He placed a large hand on hers and squeezed gently.

  “I’d like that Bert,” she said. “Honey Wood doesn’t have many friends in her life yet, and I have a feeling she’s going to need some.”

  “To friendships,” he said and they both lifted their freshly charged glasses.

  As they had been able to do from early on in their meetings, they managed to make small talk. It helped to ease up on the serious nature of the business they conducted, but one issue was nagging at Bert.

  He said, “Where did that list come from?”

  “The one that had the victims on it?” she asked. “I’ve been carrying it around for days, but I would never have associated it with Strickland, or worked out that two men had lists until the last 24 hours.”

  Bert sipped his drink, squinted at her, but said nothing. He sensed something peculiar and wasn’t to be disappointed.

  Honey said, “When I discovered the jo
urnal-,”

  “Your sister’s journal?” It was a subtle admission that he knew everything.

  “Yes,” Honey said and looked at him. She wondered how long he’d known. “It was one of those notebooks with a pocket in back. That list was folded and pushed into the pocket. I almost left it, because I thought it might simply be some of Harriet’s friends.”

  “Why didn’t you leave it there if you were going to use the journal against those people?”

  “That separate list wasn’t written in Harriet’s handwriting.” She took a sip of her drink and watched the enlightenment on Bert’s face. I think Harriet must have found it in the house before they imprisoned her. She hid it in her journal. Unfortunately, her journal then became her diary of events in the-,”

  “So,” Bert interrupted, “Strickland’s confession provided you with the missing link. He was supposed to be under arrest by Morgan and Sorrenson, who were themselves part of a ring of sexual predators.” He nodded as the sordid truth cleared in his mind. “They used him by getting him to provide a list of victims. They were then able to lean on him as a contact.”

  “Now,” Honey said, “a copy of that list can be sent to the police who can use it to clear up some mysterious disappearances and deaths.”

  “What about those two people you met, Kathy and Mike?”

  “I’ll blank them out,” she said and smiled. “Those two are reborn and their original personas will remain a mystery. Their original names will continue as Missing Persons. They don’t have any living relatives.”

  “Did you find out who killed your father?”

  Honey almost smiled at how much this man seemed to know, but he had proven such a strong ally, she couldn’t string him along.

  “Detective Frank Perkins, and before you ask, he’s a dead man walking. I also found out that my mother did not die by accident.”

  “Did you get a name?”

  “Yes,” she said, “Detective Sonny Fredericks; another rotten cop. So I now have two of them to take down, however long it takes.”

  “You realize after all this recent publicity that they won’t be easy to find, don’t you?”

  “I’m going to do what you suggested before Bert. There is no point in being cold and calculating if I’m mentally exhausted. I’ll take some time to myself and start afresh-,”

  Bert held up his right hand. “Will you give me a while to work on it? I promise I’ll text you as soon as I’ve got something solid on either of them.”

  “It’s a deal, but I want to get back on the road and finish this.”

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Go on,” she said.

  “By now as you probably know, there will be a US Marshall and his team allocated to this apparent series of incidents. You owe it to yourself to keep a low profile for a while.” He paused and their eyes met. “These guys might evade you for a while Honey, but they are not going to be handing themselves over to the authorities.”

  “What’s your proposal?”

  “I know it will be very hard for you, but leave it with me until we have definite locations. I’ll trace both of the missing men and keep tabs on them until they settle.” He could see he was making his mark. “If you’ll do that, I’ll be on hand with as many resources as I can pull for you.”

  She said, “You must have scored every weekend in college.”

  Bert nodded, and a faint smile played on his lips. He liked this young woman and all she stood for, and he didn’t want to see her taking the fall for a few rotten cops.

  The pair discussed all that was right and wrong with police work and the judiciary around the world. They had two more drinks before walking back to the hotel together. They parted at Honey’s door.

  *

  Friday, June 26th, 2003

  Central Park, New York

  Cindy Holmes stood at the west side of The Lake, looking south across a section of the park. It was a bright and warm morning, and there were plenty of joggers and dog walkers. It was for a very special individual that the police officer’s PA was watching.

  A woman of about 30, with long straight red hair came strolling toward the Englishwoman. Instead of walking past, the redhead stopped at a wooden bench and took a seat. She lifted a bottle of flavored water from her bag, took a drink and then unfolded a magazine and started reading.

  Five minutes after the redhead sat down, Cindy approached and sat beside her. At first neither spoke, and then when there were no passers-by within earshot, Cindy turned and offered her hand. The redhead accepted the gesture.

  “Pleased to meet you Cindy,” the redhead said.

  “Pleased to meet you finally,” Cindy said and smiled. “Thank you for agreeing to this Caroline, and I like the wig by the way. You suit the color.”

  “Thank you,” the reporter said. “So what do you have, that you think will interest me?”

  Cindy reached into her purse and produced four sheets of folded A4 paper. She looked up as a runner went past, unfolded the sheets and then handed them to Caroline.

  “There is much more than a story in this,” Cindy said and met Caroline’s gaze. “The lives and jobs of several people are on the line, including my own. This offer will be a one-time opportunity to let you see something that only five other people have seen – including the author.”

  Caroline’s beautiful brown eyes narrowed as she accepted the photocopied sheets. She placed them inside the pages of the magazine she had opened, so that nobody would be aware of what she was reading.

  “Oh my God,” the hard-nosed reporter said as she reached the bottom of the first page. She glanced at Cindy and squinted as she read on. As she reached the bottom of the second page, she started to gag, and then when she started the third page she thrust the magazine and sheets into Cindy’s lap.

  Caroline reached a nearby tree and leaned on the thin trunk as she retched. It took a moment, but she vomited before she could compose herself and return to the bench. She wiped her mouth with a tissue and accepted her bottle of water when Cindy offered it. Caroline sat down again, but was visibly shaken by what she’d read.

  Cindy said, “You might not want to read the fourth page.” She handed it back and watched the woman’s expression.

  Caroline wiped the tears from her eyes with a fresh tissue, and then wiped her mouth before she read the third page again. As she started the fourth page her eyes filled with tears once again. She sniffed and swallowed hard as tears poured down her lovely face. When she finished reading, she handed the sheets back to Cindy and silently nodded her appreciation.

  Caroline said, “How the hell did you come by that sort of information?”

  “I’m not at liberty to tell you that, but those copies represent 16 pages of a secret journal. It was kept by Harriet Forest, one of the two girls who were in the basement at Pinewood.”

  Cindy started to fold the sheets again as she continued. “The journal is with somebody at the highest level of law enforcement, and the complete document is over 60 pages, some of which are far worse than what you’ve just read.”

  The reporter thought she’d seen and heard of some pretty bad issues, but what she’d just read was horrific. Once again, her eyes started to moisten as tears threatened. Her lips parted briefly, but she remained silent.

  Cindy explained an option that Caroline might consider. The reporter listened in silence, watching the police officer’s unbelievable assistant with unwavering eyes. There was something cold and deliberate about this woman who looked like a typical office worker.

  “Thank you,” Caroline said and reached a hand to rest on Cindy’s arm. “You can trust me. Have you got some plan so that we can produce something positive from all of this?”

  Cindy nodded and explained what Caroline could do next to make things work out, and maintain a level of justice, albeit beyond the control of the judiciary.

  Caroline said, “Cindy my friend, you should be a negotiator, not a PA.”

  The two women stoo
d and embraced before going their separate ways.

  *

  1 Police Plaza,

  Lower Manhattan, New York

  Captain Kelly had proved his fearlessness on many occasions, but like many men of his character, he did not enjoy press calls, especially on the steps outside the HQ building. He looked around the crowd, closed his eyes and inhaled. He thought back to earlier in the morning and an unexpected intervention as he prepared a statement for the media vultures.

  Cindy Holmes had prepared two distinctly different press releases for her boss. It was 9:30am when she handed him the two printed sheets and told him to keep them on his person. She had her coat over her arm. As she raised it and slipped her arms into the sleeves, she had stepped into Kelly’s office doorway.

  He was sitting with his reading glasses on, looking at the two sheets of paper she’d just placed on his desk.

  Cindy said, “Sir I have to go out,” she paused. “I’ll call you before you go in front of the media. Please don’t make a choice of which sheet to use until you get my call. Trust me.” With that and her lovely eyes clouded with concern, she left him and strode along the corridor, her heels clicking at a steady pace on the wooden flooring.

  Kelly read the two press releases and then folded them to go in the coat pockets of his uniform. He was placing his complete trust in Sherlock, and not for the first time. He tore up and discarded his attempt at a press statement.

  It was 11am, and the public address was approaching. Kelly’s cell buzzed. It was Cindy, and it took her less than 15 seconds to brief her boss on what to do. He thanked her and hung up before he took the elevator to go down to meet the mob at the door.

  *

  “Good morning everybody,” Captain John Kelly said and paused. He looked at the many faces to his front. A few feet away, in the forefront of the mike-wielding reporters stood Caroline Connelly. She was no longer wearing the red-haired wig from her liaison in Central Park, and her long dark hair rested on her shoulders.