by Alan L. Moss
Her fears proved unfounded. Although he was fifteen years her senior, his looks didn’t show it. His build was muscular and his movements athletic. He was six feet tall and had a full head of brown hair. When he turned to her, his intense blue eyes penetrated her body.
She knew he was exhausted and the pressure of the hearings was getting to him. Perhaps, she could help.
***
A few hours later Michael awoke to her fingers passing lightly over his lips. Then, her lips were on his and she was kissing him, softly at first, then passionately. His clothes were gone and he wasn’t sure where he was, but he knew he was getting aroused.
Michael opened his eyes and saw her over him. She held herself back, her eyes and mouth revealing the passion consuming her. He looked at her large breasts inviting his touch. He held them gently and rubbed his fingers over her dark nipples. She sighed lustily and he was inside her.
He stared into her eyes as they moved together through ever increasing waves of pleasure. Overcome by the intensity of their gratification, finally their lust was satisfied and they held each other, fulfilled but drained and exhausted. They fell asleep in each other’s arms and didn’t move.
***
At ten thirty a ray of sunlight beamed through the patio’s glass doors, intruding on their peacefulness. Michael woke first and couldn’t take his eyes off Stephanie’s beautiful, slender form. As soon as Stephanie woke he was ready for her.
“My God, you’re gorgeous,” he said, with his right hand in her thick hair, gently rubbing her.
“You sure know how to make a native gal feel good in the morning,” she replied, smiling from ear to ear.
“Well, I took ‘Pleasing Native Girls 501’ in grad school,” Michael said with a straight face.
“I’ve always been a big supporter of higher education,” she joked.
Michael had no idea where this came come from or where it might go, but he recognized that for the first time in weeks he felt relieved and confident. He still loved Karen and knew he had waded into dangerous waters, but he was halfway around the world and somehow in a relationship with this incredible woman.
Stephanie moved onto her right side, looking into Michael’s eyes. Her hand found the back of his neck.
“Ever since we met, I knew we would be together. Come closer. Take me back to where you had me last night.”
When Stephanie kissed Michael’s neck chills raced through his body and his mind flashed back to Karen — that was her move. Michael pulled away.
“My God, Stephanie, I don’t know what’s got into me. I love my wife. I know this feels wonderful but it’s wrong.”
Stephanie sat up, pulling the sheet over her breasts.
“Well, sailor, I know what got into me and it felt too right to be wrong.”
Michael moved to the edge of the bed and got up.
“I’m sorry, but I need to get back to the Parrot and Porpoise. The off-Island Committee members arrive later today. I have to get ready for them and finish planning a welcome dinner at the Reed’s on Saturday night.”
Michael could see tears forming in her eyes.
“Okay, but do me a favor,” she said. “After your dinner with the Committee, meet me at Sophia’s for a drink so we can talk this over. Then, if you still feel we shouldn’t be together, so be it.
“Anyway, Sophia’s is a beautiful place.”
PURSUIT
July 2, 2004 – July 6, 2004
CHAPTER 15
APB
July 2, 2004
Beach Haven, Long Beach Island, NJ
When Michael Bloom didn’t return to the beach house on Friday, July second, the LBI Police issued an All-Points Bulletin. In Michael’s favor, the Department was pressed to handle the holiday traffic, a priority that couldn’t be postponed.
On Saturday morning, Chief Warren, Officer Kiley, and state Trooper Kite met with the press, asking for cooperation in finding Michael Bloom. They didn’t reveal any incriminating evidence but did indicate Bloom was a person of interest in the death of his wife, Karen. When asked if Michael Bloom could have met with foul play, the police admitted that was a possibility.
On Sunday morning, the Philadelphia Inquirer carried a page-three story about the mysterious death of Karen Bloom and the disappearance of her husband. The Atlantic City Press and The Newark Star-Ledger featured the story on their front pages. Each of the newspapers printed a copy of Bloom’s driver’s license picture, furnished by the state’s Motor Vehicle Department.
The New York Times offered a story in its New Jersey metro section on the death and disappearance. Unlike the other papers, the Times dug deep into Michael’s background, portraying him as a dedicated public servant forced into early retirement by an unknown ailment. They hinted there might be much more to this story.
On Sunday, the state forensics lab reported that the Blooms’ driveway contained evidence of shavings from the break line and drive train of their doomed vehicle. It was impossible to tell whether that was the location of the tampering or whether the work had been accomplished elsewhere. However, it was difficult to believe Bloom would sabotage the car while it was in his own driveway.
On Monday, a search of Bloom’s hard drive yielded what could be incriminating evidence. At the time Karen Bloom faced death, her husband was searching the Web for pictures of an attractive Samoan woman who happened to be married to a U.S. Congressman. Based on his earlier searches, Bloom seemed obsessed with this woman. While they would have to be cautious, considering the position of the woman’s husband, the investigators would ask New Jersey’s Office of Congressional Liaison to set up an interview.
Questioning Bloom’s neighbors didn’t provide much information. Most occupants were one- or two-week summer renters who hadn’t seen or met him. One family, the Greens, were away, not unusual for year-round residents who traveled north to escape the summer heat and mob of renters.
***
Harriet Singer loved her new job with United Airlines. She was stationed at the Newark airport and was friendly and efficient. Given the apprehension many passengers felt about flying, she took great satisfaction in how she checked them in and verified their reservations.
It was Sunday morning, Harriet’s day off, and she lounged with her husband in the family room, watching the news and reading the New York Times. Just as she turned to the story about Karen and Michael Bloom, the local TV newscast reported the same story. This double exposure penetrated her memory and suddenly she recalled Bloom and his flight to Hawaii.
“Andy, you know the guy they’re looking for in his wife’s death?”
“Yeah, I read the article in the paper,” her husband answered, not looking up from the sports pages.
“Well, I think I checked him through to Hawaii, either Thursday or Friday.”
Looking at his wife, Andy expressed skepticism.
“With all the people you check through, how would you remember him?”
“I remember thinking it was unusual that he used a passport as his ID, instead of his driver’s license. Although the picture on the passport was a middle-aged man with graying brown hair, it didn’t really look that much like him. I asked for a credit card and he had one with the same name — I think it was Green — but I still wondered about him.”
“Aren’t you supposed to call a supervisor over and let them deal with such cases?”
“Yes, but he seemed so nice and he walked with a cane. I thought we’d be persecuting this poor guy for nothing, so I let him go.”
Her husband picked up his cup of coffee from an end table.
“You do what you want, but if I were you, I’d keep quiet about it. First of all, odds are it’s not the same guy, but whether it is or not, you’re going to have to explain why you didn’t follow procedures. Such an admission, so soon after you got this job, may not be a wise career move.”
Saying nothing, Harriet turned back to the article on Bloom and contemplated her next move.
C
HAPTER 16
BACK IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC
July 2, 2004
Honolulu, Hawaii
Michael Bloom sat on a chair in Honolulu’s International Airport bent over in an uneasy sleep. Physical and mental stress left his mind and body incapable of catching up with the seriousness of his predicament and the success of his escape.
Eighteen hours ago, Michael was resting peacefully in the beach house he and Karen shared since retirement. Then, one telephone call transformed his life. One minute he was a devoted husband grieving for his lost love, the next an accused murderer fleeing from the police.
Now, he was halfway around the globe, attempting to solve the puzzle that would lead to Karen’s killer. Michael was certain the first piece of information would come from Sammy Finn.
On the flight from Los Angeles to Honolulu Michael tried to convince himself that breaking the mystery surrounding Samoa’s 2001 hearings and finding Karen’s killer weren’t that different than the work he performed for thirty years. As an economist, he would identify a problem, research relevant issues, collect and analyze pertinent data, draw conclusions, and develop recom-mendations. He would use this same model to unravel Karen’s murder.
Michael conceded he was without specific training in hiding from the police or chasing a killer. On the other hand, with no preparation, he escaped from New Jersey’s finest. If he confronted Karen’s murderer, he would rely on instinct, intelligence, and indignation to survive and get his revenge.
The nightmares and stress were taking their toll as evidenced during his sporadic airport nap. He rose from his chair and tried to walk. With glazed eyes, he moved in an unwitting stupor until he bumped into a man rushing to make his flight. Then, out of the haze, he returned to his chair, avoiding the eyes of those who witnessed his abnormal behavior.
Within minutes, an attendant announced Michael’s flight to Molokai. He picked-up his suitcase and got in line with the other passengers. They filed past the attendant, providing her with their boarding passes. They walked outside into the sun, which refused to give up any of its mid-morning intensity.
The turbo-prop waited on the runway, propellers silent. Michael made his way to seat three-A. The flight was half-empty and the pilot told the passengers they would be off as soon as he received clearance.
Most of the fifteen or so on the plane were young people. Several were couples on their honeymoons. Two middle-aged couples, a few single ladies, and Michael filled out the passenger list.
After a few more minutes, the propellers coughed and began their spin, which carried them down the runway and lifted the plane over the beautiful waters of the South Pacific. About three years ago and six hours to the west, Michael Bloom’s decline began. Now, back in the South Pacific, he would fight back.
While he had to keep moving to stay ahead of his pursuers, Michael decided to take one day to sleep and plan for his confrontation with Sammy. Then, he would be ready.
***
Michael opened the magazine in the plane’s seat pockets. It billed Molokai as a Hawaiian Island like no other. It’s far removed from the daily hustle and bustle and exudes a rustic charm born in its secluded beaches and friendly faces. Visitors are advised to catch up on daydreams and live in nature’s splendor in a romantic place for newlyweds or a restful location for those seeking a peaceful retreat.
After an uneventful, twenty-five-minute flight, the plane landed and taxied to the terminal building, which resembled a bus station. Arriving luggage was piled outside the terminal. Michael picked up his suitcase and shared a cab with one of the honeymoon couples heading to Maunaloa Lodge. The couple sat in the back seat getting an early start on a stimulating honeymoon. Michael sat in front looking out the window.
When the cabbie asked him about his plans, Michael didn’t respond, pretending he didn’t hear. The cabbie returned his focus to the road, with intermittent peeks at the foreplay in the rearview mirror.
After fifteen minutes, the cab pulled under the resort’s portico. Michael, with no reservation, made his way to the check-in desk. A heavyset Hawaiian lady, all smiles, greeted him.
“Welcome to Maunaloa Lodge. May I have your name?”
Michael hoped he was awake enough to pull this off. He assumed reports of Karen’s murder and the police interest in him would not be a major story in Molokai, but he couldn’t be sure.
“How are you? I’m Jim Green. I have no reservation but was assured by phone you’d have some vacancies.”
The clerk examined Michael more closely. The man standing before her looked tired and stressed. He didn’t fit the profile of the wealthy clientele who frequented the lodge.
“Well, sir, we do have a few vacancies and would be glad to serve you. How long would you be staying with us?”
Michael knew his treatment by the hotel staff would be proportional to their perception of his wealth.
“I’ll be staying at least a week. My firm just completed intense merger talks and I promised myself I’d veg out to relieve the tension. I’d like a suite with an ocean view, if that’s possible.”
The clerk’s motivation grew significantly.
“Of course, sir. How will you be paying?”
Michael pulled Jim Green’s American Express card from his wallet and handed it to the clerk. She ran it through and Michael Bloom, a.k.a. Jim Green, was in.
As a bellhop showed him to his suite, Michael contemplated his reliance on the Green credit card. Certainly, he was grateful to have it, but was aware of potential difficulties. For the card to continue to work, Jim’s account had to be current and Michael’s purchases could not exceed expected totals.
While Michael knew American Express set no firm limit on most purchases, if a transaction greatly exceeded normal bounds, a credit officer would verify that everything was in order before providing approval. Also, if Jim used his old card in Boston while Michael used the new card in the South Pacific, that would raise an alarm. Both cards would be deactivated until appropriate inquiries could be made.
Finally, Jim and his wife were due to return to Long Beach Island by mid-August. Initially, they would realize their fugitive neighbor took their Buick and for some reason disposed of the mail. Once they opened their next American Express bill, the jig would be up. That would explain why Michael seized their mail and would provide his location. Michael would have to finish his quest by then, or locate another source of funds and move on.
Michael and the bellhop arrived at the suite’s door. With Michael’s bag in hand, the attendant opened the door and went through his obligatory discourse about the resort’s top of the line accommodations. After tipping the bellhop twenty dollars, Michael watched the young man walk down the hall. Then, he pulled the shades, stripped, and crawled under the sheets, oblivious to his surroundings.
***
Michael awoke fourteen hours later, more confused than refreshed. He pulled up the shades, once more admiring the beauty of the South Pacific. He walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, bemoaning the face that looked back at him.
His life defied belief. Even considering the tragedy of the past few years, his new circumstances proved difficult to comprehend. His face projected fatigue and trauma. He looked like a beaten-down old man.
Opening his suitcase, Michael recalled that his first priority in packing was to maintain the pretense that he hadn’t left town. As a result, he had few of the toiletries and clothes he needed, especially if he were to look the part of a wealthy businessman on holiday. Some serious shopping would be required.
He showered and put on the shorts and shirt he wore for his flight. On opening the door to his suite, a copy of the Molokai Dispatch rested on the carpet outside his room. Michael snatched it up and went back inside, searching for any mention of his fugitive status. Under national news, a twelve-line AP article summarized the story. Mercifully, no picture accompanied the text.
Michael located The Shops at Maunaloa Lodge along one side of the hote
l. These were high-end establishments — a men’s haberdashery, a ladies’ boutique, a pharmacy that specialized in cosmetics, an art and gift shop, the spa and salon, and the unique Jewel Gallery of Sammy Finn.
It was close to noon before Michael finished assembling a wardrobe and suitable toiletries. Then, he looked in Sammy’s window, pretending to survey the jewelry. Instead, he focused on Sammy. In Samoa, the tall, scruffy redhead dressed in jeans and a soiled shirt. Now, he looked clean-shaven, outfitted in immaculately pressed linen slacks, and a pale yellow dress shirt with diamond-eyed turtle cufflinks.
Michael returned to his room and changed into fresh clothes. The confrontation with Sammy would have to wait until tomorrow. Today, Michael would eat sumptuous meals at the lodge restaurant, spend four hours at the pool, and visit the spa.
At the salon, they trimmed his mostly white beard and altered his hair style from a left part to no part, combed straight back, and he had a manicure. He was beginning to look the part, even resembling Jim Green’s passport photo.
Michael walked the beach after dinner. He looked at the thousands of stars lighting the heavens. Was Karen there? Did she forgive him for the pigheadedness that took her life? Was she helping him to avenge her death or was she laughing, waiting for him to stumble to his own violent end? Or was she just gone, only a precious memory in his heart?
CHAPTER 17
CONFRONTATION
July 4, 2004
Honolulu, Hawaii
The next day, July fourth, Michael prepared for his encounter with Sammy Finn. Michael wondered how long it would take for Sammy to recognize him. No doubt he would have read about Karen’s death and Michael’s troubles with the law.
