by David Evans
Ralph picked up Lothar on the airport perimeter road and headed away from the airport as convoy after convoy of vehicles with flashing sirens headed toward it.
Cutler recovered quickly from the initial shock and knew immediately that Richter had not survived. He quickly scanned the area looking for Hoagie, but there was so much confusion, and dead and injured bodies lying around, he was unable to locate him. Police swarmed the area and removed the rest of the passengers and Cutler.
Cutler waited in the airport at first, then found out which hospital the injured had been transferred to. He went by taxi to each hospital but still had no news on Hoagie. The next morning Cutler received news that shocked and stunned him. Fabienne hacked into the UK police computer, she had accessed the file on the identification of the dead and injured from the tragic flight. All in all, twenty-one souls were lost. Hoagie had been identified by his DNA. Trapped beneath his body was a small child called Omar.
Fabienne unearthed several statements saying that they had seen the young boy fall at the bottom of the stairwell, and a large man had thrown himself over the boy to stop the sprawling, dying mass of humanity from crushing the child underfoot. Hoagie had used his body as a cage to protect Omar.
It had taken over forty passengers to trample over Hoagie before his neck had broken. In all he had seventy-two fractures; Omar had a broken arm from the initial fall.
Cutler felt proud of his agent and upset at the loss of his colleague and employee. A fallen soldier, brave to the end.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nathan Colton was as good as his word; he arrived nine hours after his initial phone call with Tuck. He boarded the first flight out of Nassau and touched down less than an hour later in Miami. Colton rented a Mercedes convertible; he refused to drive anything other than a Mercedes or BMW. He admired the German technology and the extra room in the interior to fit his bulk into.
Robert Stahmer had been correct in his assessment of the two men in the car parked fifty yards down the road from the Hilton residence. They surely did not look like they were there to spread the word of God; but more than likely to be undertaking the devil’s work. Stahmer was relieved by Tuck, who parked a bit further up the street and out of the pair’s line of sight.
Several hours after Stahmer had departed, Nathan Colton knocked lightly on the passenger window and entered the vehicle beside him and passed on greetings and pleasantries. Tuck went on to give him a full briefing on the case and the evidence they had acquired.
“They’ve been there all night in that black Buick, haven’t moved, just watching the house,” Tuck said.
“If they’ve been there all night, they’re up to no good,” Colton said in his rustic Bahamian accent.
“During school hours there are several patrol cars circulating, with vehicle identity cameras operating. Last thing you want,” Tuck stated.
“Makes you think they know the patrol hours. Professional surveillance, possible hit team.”
Just as Colton finished his sentence, Mick Hilton exited the house.
“You’d better go now, Tuck. I think they’re going to take him out with the car.” Colton urged.
Tuck pressed the gas pedal and moved the car towards Mick Hilton. Several seconds later, the target car pulled out and followed Mick Hilton at a short distance.
“The kid has to cross the road at the intersection to get the school bus; look, see the other kids down there? They’re going to nail him when he crosses,” Colton predicted.
Tuck increased the pressure on the gas at the same time the other car accelerated as Mick Hilton began to cross the street. Mick Hilton looked around to see the two cars veering towards him. He had been alerted by the second car continually using its horn to warn him. Mick Hilton froze there for a second.
Tuck’s car was now alongside the Buick, which sped towards the deer trapped in its headlights. The passenger window exploded suddenly as the bullet passed through the glass and embedded itself into Tuck’s headrest.
“These fuckers mean business!” shouted Colton, as tiny shards of glass cut his face.
Tuck side-shunted the vehicle, causing it to change its course slightly. The slight movement in the Buick caused its wheels to scrape along the kerb, and Tuck’s vehicle bounced off and he redirected back at the Buick with more force.
The Buick hit the kerb again, the force flipping it onto the empty sidewalk. Tuck yanked the wheel over to the right and hit the brakes. They stopped two yards ahead of the Hilton boy, and no more than a couple of feet to his side, Mick Hilton stood frozen to the spot in abject fear.
Tuck exited the vehicle and immediately ran over to the Buick as one of the assailants was dragging himself out of the upturned car, gun in hand. Quickly and efficiently, he stamped down on the gunman’s hand and snapped his wrist. He kicked the gun onto the sewer drain edge where it wobbled, then fell in. Tuck punched him once rendering the assailant unconscious.
Colton grabbed the Hilton boy and threw him into the back of his car, Tuck swerved the car back in the direction they had just come from. At the top of the hill Colton exited and closed the door, Tuck pressed down the lock button in case the boy suddenly bolted. He need not have bothered, as Mick Hilton just sat there dumbstruck.
Tuck gave Colton the address of the safe house MIDAS had leased in the area. He followed Tuck back to the address in his Mercedes.
The safe house was a bungalow on the outskirts of Palm Springs.
“Sit,” Tuck barked.
“Are you kidnapping me?”
“Look, kid, just shut up and listen to me. You haven’t been kidnapped; we just saved your life. The two guys in the Buick just tried to kill you,” Tuck informed him.
“But why?” came the stuttered response.
“Don’t be stupid, kid. You know why,” Colton interjected.
“Anytime you want to leave, you’re free to do so, but you’ll be dead within the day, you understand that, kid?” Tuck explained.
Mick Hilton just nodded, hoping this was nothing to do with the incident on-board the Large Pink Boat, but deep down he knew it was.
“We know you were involved in Don Ross’s death. What is more, we have proof from a ring we repossessed with your friend Bernard Rothhelm’s DNA on it,” Tuck qualified.
“Are you the police?” Mick Hilton inquired.
“We are not the police; we work for an organization called MIDAS that investigates suspicious deaths at sea. And Don Ross’s death on the Large Pink Boat was suspicious. Do you know we have statements from an Egyptian couple that saw you beating Don up?” detailed Tuck.
“And your friend knows we know. Guess what Daddy is doing to protect him?” Colton declared.
“Mr Rothhelm, Bernard’s dad, tried to have me killed?” stuttered Mick Hilton.
“He surely did and would have, had not my friend and I stepped in to save you. And as soon as you leave here, he is going to try again; maybe this time when you are with your mom. As I told you, we know you were involved in the killing of Don Ross, but we don’t know if you were dragged into this. We don’t believe you were the principal instigator,” Tuck continued while the blood drained away from Mick Hilton’s face.
“First one to come clean will get the chance to turn state’s evidence and get a much-reduced sentence,” Colton interjected.
“Reduced sentence; that means prison. I can’t go inside!” Hilton began to cry.
“You killed a man; you don’t get to walk away from that, kid. But you will not get the death penalty, and you will be young enough when you get out to still have a family. You may even get a light sentence for cooperating, depends on the state’s attorney.”
“My Mom will go ape,”
“If Rothhelm gets there first, your life is over. Make no mistake that right now his family knows what went on this morning and are already in conference with their attorneys.” Tuck spelled out his options as he turned on a recording device on the table.
“It started as a joke
. Bernie saw this man having a cigarette at the back of the boat. We were the only ones around, ‘because there was some special show going on and nearly everyone was there. Bernie was bored, and we went looking for some fun,” Mick Hilton explained, as both Colton and Tuck listened intently.
“Bernie asked the guy for a smoke and he said to come back in about five years. Bernie picked up a stone ashtray from the table like he was offering it to the guy and then: whack, he hit the guy over the head with it! The guy went down like a sack of potatoes, and Bernie started to kick him. He shouted for me to join in and I kicked him once,” Mick Hilton said quietly, the shame rising up in his voice.
“Bernie told me to get the cigarettes, and as I bent down to get them, the guy’s eyes were wide open. I knew he was dead, and I told Bernie,” Hilton indicated.
“Had you boys been drinking or doing drugs?” Colton asked.
“Couple of beers. Bernie was always on the coke, so I’m pretty sure he had a line or two that night,” Mick Hilton acknowledged.
“How did Bernie lose the ring?”
“He didn’t miss it until the next day. He thought it must have come off when he hit the dead guy with the ashtray. Said it was a bit loose on his finger. We did not go looking for it in case anyone was watching the area.
“My boss has given me the name of a state attorney he knows in the Palm Springs area. We are going to see her, and you are going to tell her exactly what you just said. It’s your only chance,” Tuck told him. “We’ll get in touch with your mother and have her meet us there.”
Once Tuck had contacted Carly Bryce, they were in her plush offices in an hour. She had known Cutler for many years and had hidden away her feelings for him for as long as she could remember. They had had a drunken one-night stand several years earlier; Cutler had unknowingly taken her virginity. It was one night of passion and a lasting memory. She would always secretly wish for a second encounter.
Cutler had told her several months earlier about the Don Ross situation, she had laid out the minimum standards required to put forward a case. When he hit that standard, she would be more than happy to assist them.
Well, the Hilton boy’s evidence more than met the minimum requirements. Cutler was right; Don Ross had been murdered, and as both boys lived in the Palm Springs area, it was up to her to follow the case up.
Carly had to settle some egos in the police department who wanted to arrest Tuck and Colton for fleeing a crime scene but were persuaded that they had no choice but to go. Several of the officers knew Colton and admired and respected the African American for his work several years earlier on a DEA case in the area.
Two hours after Mick Hilton gave his statement to Carly Bryce; Rothhelm Senior, Bernard Rothhelm, and two attorneys from the most prestigious firm in the city turned up at the district attorney’s office wanting to give a statement.
Predictably, they blamed the Hilton boy and went on to describe how Bernard had been terrified of him, and that was why he had not come forward. The attorneys wanted a plea bargain, with no prison time for Bernard, just community service. And Rothhelm foolishly said he would donate a large sum to the local police foundation.
Rothhelm Senior would not get his wish. The interview was stopped inside thirty minutes as two police officers arrived at Carly’s office and arrested Rothhelm Senior on conspiracy to murder. Evidently the driver of the Buick came around in the hospital under armed guard. He had decided that twenty-five years in a high-security prison was not for him, and quickly did a deal to turn state’s evidence and receive only twelve years for his participation.
Rothhelm Senior liked to act as the big gangster but did not have the organization or respect that the likes of the Werner's of this world attract. Money was not enough to sort this out; MIDAS had seen to that.
It would probably be years of court cases and appeals before Rothhelm Senior was finally sentenced; however, Bernard Rothhelm was not in the same situation.
Carly Bryce restarted the interview with Bernard Rothhelm and only one attorney as the other scuttled off, following the shackled Rothhelm Senior.
“Young man, we don’t believe a word you’re saying. We have a full statement from Mick Hilton as to your involvement. We also have the DNA of Don Ross on a ring owned by you and found on the ship, not to mention statements from the Yacoubs, who saw you. We are now contacting them to bring them back to the States to formally identify you. In short, we have you; all the evidence points to you. Hilton will be going to prison, but not nearly as long as you are. I’m afraid you’ll not be going anywhere for a very long time,” avowed Carly.
Bernard Rothhelm was completely dumbstruck for the first time in his life.
“Do something!” he commanded his attorney.
“We need some time, Miss Bryce, if you would,” requested his attorney.
Carly Bryce returned to the interview room after a ten-minute break.
“Given his tender age, Miss Bryce, what is your best offer?” requested the attorney.
“Full confession, manslaughter, fifteen to twenty years, first five in a youth offender’s correctional facility,” Carly stated.
“I can’t do fifteen years in prison!” Bernard Rothhelm spoke several octaves higher than normal.
“You’ll be doing forty years to life if we go to court. You’ll be retired before you see daylight if you don’t agree to this in the next five minutes,” asserted Carly.
The attorney nodded his agreement.
“What are you doing?” young Rothhelm screeched.
“We were taken on to give you the best advice. My best advice is to make the deal. Your father may not like it, but he has his own problems now, and they have a rock-solid case that even I can’t get you out of,” the attorney declared.
Carly eventually got through to Tuck Walters, who had returned to the office in Everglade City.
“Hi, Tuck, Carly Bryce from the DA’s office. I’ve been trying to get in touch with Cutler but can’t seem to reach him with the news.”
“He’s over in the UK doing some business at the moment, Miss Bryce.”
“Well, I was hoping to give him the good news, but I’m sure you can relay it to him. We got them both; Hilton, and more importantly Rothhelm, who has now admitted to his part. Congratulations on giving us a rock solid case, Tuck,” Carly confirmed happily.
As soon as he finished the conversation, he hung up the phone and went in search of Cheryl. Tuck discovered her on the back porch, sitting in the rocking chair with her laptop on her knee. She had been booking the hotels and travel for Robert Stahmer and Ghislaine.
“We got them, Cheryl,” Tuck said, with a big, boyish grin.
Cheryl looked up, startled. “Got who?”
“We got Don’s killers. Both boys have admitted their guilt, and they are staring at long stretches inside. You were right, Cheryl, it was Hilton and Rothhelm,” he stated.
The laptop was sent heavenwards as she jumped up out of the rocking chair.
“We really got them?” she pleaded.
“We really got them, honey,” Tuck replied lovingly.
She fell into his arms, and the years of anguish poured forth as she cried and cried and did not stop sobbing in Tuck’s arms for over an hour.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sebastian had wanted to leave Seattle. He had been sent home after the Port Stanley authorities in the Falklands could not come up with enough evidence to hold him any longer. He had been excluded from leaving the Falklands for over a month. The desire to leave was greater than his constant desire to kill, and he abstained during that period.
He had long ago run out of body hair, and if he were to fulfill the overwhelming desire that was with him day and night, it would be too dangerous to pursue his needs in his home city. He needed to be back traveling the world.
At first Sebastian was shocked to find he had been allocated to re-join Classical Canta Libra in Genoa. He had never done a double stint on the same ship; generally the
y rotated him around the fleet. Sebastian was sure the crew members would know he was under investigation. He hoped that may of the crew had been rotated or on leave.
Sebastian was unaware how much pressure the board of directors had been under to resolve what had occurred in the lifeboat. The bad press and television coverage from the families of the deceased were affecting bookings, and this would lead to a loss of profit and stability of the company—and board members. Most crew members, and the team of artists and musicians, had either been rotated back to the ship, or remained and had leave deferred until after the investigation.
The board had their own security team and investigators, but had taken advice to bring in a set of specialists to avoid accusations of a cover-up. They knew and accepted the risks this would bring, as the investigation would be out of their control. But regardless of the outcome, it had to be better than the negative press they now found themselves exposed to.
After several weeks of identifying potential investigators, Robert Stahmer’s name had been put forward by Sean Wright, the director of marketing, who in a previous life had worked for Scotland Yard as head of public relations. He knew that Stahmer now worked for a company called MIDAS, a company the board had never heard of before. But investigations into the managing director, Max Cutler, all came back with glowing reports and reliable recommendations.
Initial contact had been made by Sean Wright through the MIDAS Geneva office, and details had been passed on by Fabienne Asper to Cutler.
The board agreed to Cutler’s request that all employees and contractors who had been on the ship at that time would be available in the same location for an interview. They set about revising holidays, rest periods and ship allocations to bring the entire crew back again to the Classical Canta Libra. Only two were missing; one had died of cirrhosis the week before, and the other had been injured in a car crash and was unable to fly.
