by Bryan Koepke
That same morning Reece cast his favorite fishing rod out toward the rocky shore of the loch. The monofilament floated across the water a good twenty yards before the lure splashed down, breaking the glass-like surface of the water with a “plop.” He reeled with his right hand, bringing the line out of the water and onto the fishing reel, and wiggling the bait under the water trying to entice a fish.
It was nice being out on this big body of water with Marie Rhodes. Once she’d seen that he was preparing for the trip, she insisted he take her along. They’d lucked out with a sunny day, and for him that was as good as it gets. He caught himself staring as Marie bent forward over the bench seat within the boat to unlatch the handle of the tackle box they’d been sharing. Her short green shorts rode up on her rump and brought a smile to his face.
She turned and shot a glance back at him before sitting back down. “I think I’ll try a yellow lure. It seems like the water is kind of stained today. Don’t you agree?”
“Sounds good to me. I had a gold spinner on when I caught that brown trout,” Reece said.
“Shit,” she said. “I’ve got one.”
“I’ll get the net.” Reece watched as she got to her feet and reeled in the line, holding the rod upward. The fish resisted and he heard the drag of the reel spin as it took line back out.
“Sounds like a good-sized fish,” he said, wanting to encourage her.
“It is. Get the net. I want this sucker.”
“I’ve got it. Just bring him up to the side once you tire him out and I’ll get him netted.” She reeled in more line and worked her rod tip toward the side of the boat. The fish resisted again, taking more line off the reel and then it made a nice jump out of the water fifteen feet away.
It was obvious to Reece that she’d fished often, and he was impressed with how she let the fish work against her, and when it seemed to tire, Marie would hold her rod tip upward and reel in more line. The bicep of her well-toned left arm swelled as she held the rod and reeled hard with her right hand.
“Okay, here he comes. I’m bringing him up to the side,” she said.
Reece straddled the bench seat of the aluminum boat and dipped the net into the dark green water, leaving the top six inches out of the water. She moved toward him with the fishing rod. He was focused on the large brown trout as it swam toward the opening in the net guided by Marie’s fishing pole, but he could smell her perfume too.
Reece pulled up with both arms, netting the fish just after its tail passed the opening. He stood there with the fish in the net hanging over the side of the boat and waited for Marie to step back out of the way before bringing the netted fish in and dropping it into the small fishing boat. “Nice fish, Marie.”
“Yeah, I like it when I’m able to catch what I’ve got my eye on,” she said. “I hope you like the taste of trout because this guy is headed for my kitchen stove.”
At the end of their fishing session, Reece picked the fishing rods up from their resting spot on the rail of the fence and walked over to the truck, where Marie was sitting peacefully on the rear tailgate. She wore a pair of blue nylon framed sunglasses and was pulling off one of her ankle-height leather hiking boots while smiling broadly toward him. He liked the way a little dimple came to the corner of her mouth as she struggled to remove the boot.
“You’re one hell of a fisherman, Mr. Culver,” she said as the boot finally pulled from her foot and dropped to the ground.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” he said. Marie’s eyes sparkled in the last rays of sunshine that were making their way toward them from just above the hillside to the west.
Marie came toward him and took the rods from his hand, then turned back toward the SUV, and laid them along the right side. “This has been a great day. I’ve got to get out on the loch more often,” she said. “I live in such a beautiful area. If you lived nearby, we could come fishing all the time.” Then she giggled as if thinking about what she’d just said.
Marie sat back down on the tailgate and ran her right hand through her long hair puffing it up. She stabbed her feet into a pair of sandals and then got up from the rear of the truck. Her long brown hair flowed over both shoulders, and Reece felt like taking her up into his arms and kissing her.
Chapter 26
Ian Drae shook hands with Karl Rhodes and walked him to the door of his office. “I’m glad we see eye to eye on this Karl. Losing Margaret is going to make a big impact around here, but I think Alex can stand in for her while we get that requisition together for a replacement,” Ian said.
“And you’re sure he won’t mind taking on the duties of a secretary?” Karl said.
“No, you know how he is. Anything to get him closer to this office,” Ian said. “In his case it’s all about his perception.”
Karl left the CEO’s office, surprised by the man’s candor. Just then Alex James came walking swiftly down the hallway. Karl stepped out into the hall and nodded at the other man. Alex passed without acknowledging Karl the slightest.
*
Alex James sat opposite on the red couch within the older man’s office.
“What’s got you so riled up?” Ian said after closing the door to his office.
“I don’t think it’s prudent to talk here,” Alex said.
“You don’t, do you? Why would that be?” Ian said.
“Oh, okay then. I don’t know why you saddled me with having to talk to that asshole from Scotland Yard.”
“From what Candice said, it sounds like you handled everything just fine,” Drae said. “Besides if you truly have your eyes set on replacing me someday, you’ll be expected to talk to lots of people. Being the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, like this one, is not for the weak of character, Alex.”
“I get you, but I thought we were going to squeeze Rhodes. I mean, it would have been the perfect time to screw him over,” Alex said, knowing he didn’t need his uncle’s help.
“You sure that’s the right angle to take with this?” Ian said, breaking into a low cough. “Get me my bottle.”
“Your bottle. Where do you keep it? Isn’t it kind of early to be drinking?”
“My god damned oxygen bottle. It’s over near my desk,” Drae said, coughing violently.
Alex walked over to the filing cabinet and pulled out a thermos-sized green oxygen bottle. The older man put on the mask, turned the handle, and began taking breaths.
Ian slowly gained his composure. Alex got up from the couch, walked over to the window, and pulled back the layers of cloth curtain. The sun was partially out and it felt good on his face. He felt the presence of his uncle coming up from behind.
“So you’ve got everything in place,” Ian said.
“I do. All we need is the date.”
“And you’re sure this is the way to go?” Ian said, taking a few more pulls off the oxygen bottle before turning the knob and sitting down in his office chair.
“This is the only way. You saw what happened when John Paulson bet against subprime mortgages,” Alex said.
“I did, but I’m not sure attacking London’s financial markets is the best use of our money.”
Chapter 27
Haisley stood in front of a large window in Karl Rhodes’ luxury apartment, sipping his favorite Earl Grey tea. The dull overcast sky was dotted with several small patches of blue, giving him hope that the sun might come out. His mind was occupied with thoughts about Thomas Billington’s computer. Earlier in the day he’d found a hidden file on the dead man’s computer with GPS coordinates to a location in Scotland. I should check the server logs and his cache too. He took another sip of the tea while staring down at a long line of cars on a London street.
After finishing off the last of the cup, he went back into the room where Rhodes kept his computer, sat down at the desk, and began typing. Haisley brought up a map website and typed in the GPS coordinates he’d jotted down earlier from Billington’s secret file. Up popped what looked like an abandoned RAF airfield. It wa
s a satellite view looking down on the earth. To the south the air base was boarded by thick forest. To the north he spotted what looked like three large hangars surrounded by a residential area filled with houses. South of the houses was a large open field and what looked like a landing strip. To the right of the runway were three more hangars. It was obvious that some of the neighborhood streets were using the original taxiways from the World War II base. Using the zoom feature on the website, he panned in and saw what looked like parts of a second runway running east to west. In front of one of the hangars was a concrete apron that led to the runway. Interesting. I wonder what that place is?
Haisley pulled out his notebook and jotted down a sketch of the airfield. With his pen he drew the location of the hangar with the concrete apron and the names of the streets near it. Zooming in farther, he saw what looked like a fence around the hangar and a little white building at the end of a small road leading up to it. Finally, he wrote down the roads leading from London to the airbase.
Soon he got back into Thomas Billington’s computer. Scrolling through the window with a list of text files, he looked through the sites Billington or his wife had visited during the previous month.
I wonder what that is, RABC. There it is again, two days later. He clicked open Rhodes’ web browser and typed RABC into the search box.
A list of websites came up. Remote Area Border Crossing, a site about canoes; Rural Alberta Business Centres (RABC); and then down near the bottom he saw Royal Ascot Bank Caymans (RABC). Haisley knew that the Cayman Islands had a reputation for offshore banking. He clicked on the bank’s link in the search engine.
What if Billington had found out that someone within Draecon was moving money out of the company to an offshore bank in the Cayman Islands? That could be enough motivation for someone to kill him.
With a few clicks he migrated from Billington’s computer to the cache of Karl Rhodes’ computer. There he found that the man had visited many websites over the past month. The logs went back for the last six months. Starting from the top, he scrolled through the list—car websites, ladies stockings, lingerie, and lots of hits on financial websites in the United States, London, and Asia. Karl Rhodes spent much of his free time on the Internet, probably doing research for his job at Draecon. Well, that and browsing for intimate female gifts.
Just below the link for Jaguar something caught Haisley’s eye: RABC-74847X99847-2384. To an uneducated eye it was just another website, but to Haisley it looked like a numbered account. He continued looking through the log.
There it was again: www.RABC.com. Then farther down the page, past a drugstore link, was a link RABC-74847X99847-2385 at 10:54 on a Saturday night and then RABC-74847X99848-2386 an hour later. Two consecutive numbered bank accounts.
He pulled a small notebook out of the breast pocket of his gray tweed sports coat and wrote down both banking numbers. Then he scrolled up, trying to find the first incidence of acronym. Behind him he heard a thump and then a deep voice.
“Mr. Averton. Are you still here?” Karl Rhodes said, making his way toward the back bedroom. Haisley kept scrolling with the computer mouse wanting to find the first number.
“I’m still here,” he yelled.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Rhodes said.
“Yes, that would be fine. My cup is next to the sink,” Haisley yelled as he located three more numbers in a row from two days before. He heard Karl moving what sounded like pots and pans around in the kitchen. He eyed the computer screen, moving the mouse through what looked like multiple visits by Karl Rhodes to numbered bank accounts in the Cayman Islands.
“How is the computer work coming?” Karl said from just behind Haisley.
Chapter 28
Ian Drae, Draecon International’s aging CEO, sat fully clothed on the edge of his bed, struggling to bend his right knee and remove his sock. He was surprised when the phone rang beside his bed.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Drae, this is Inspector Daren Dixon from Scotland Yard. I was wondering if I could drop by your home and have another chat with you.”
“Look, Dixon, I don’t know why you’re investigating me. What you need to do is find out who’s behind the murder of my employee Margaret Charles.”
“Mr. Drae, I understand your irritation with fielding questions, but this is how we go about solving a homicide. You might know something that will help us. It might seem fruitless to you, but I’ve been doing this a very long time.”
“I highly doubt that harassing me will turn up any clues. I don’t wish to speak further without my attorney present,” Drae said, finally managing to get the sock off. He coughed a few times, spiraling into an unending spasm.
“Sir, are you all right?” Dixon said.
Ian found the box of tissues hidden behind the lamp beside his bed. He blew his nose with a wet honk. “Yes, I’m fine, just a little allergy or something irritating my throat.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Drae. I’m just trying to piece together the events leading up to her death. There’s no need for you to have a lawyer, but if you do want one with you when I come by that’s your prerogative. I must insist I see you,” Dixon said.
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you drop by my office on the seventh floor of Draecon tomorrow at nine o’clock? I can see you then and answer any questions you have,” Drae said.
*
A few hours later, Ian Drae got up from his favorite chair in the den of his palatial home. The walls were fashioned on two sides in dark walnut and held hundreds of hardback books that his wife proudly displayed in the built-in shelves, adding them one by one as she finished reading them. She’d done that right up until the day her heart quit during her morning shower three years earlier.
I wish I could figure out a way to get that rude gormless Daren Dixon off my tail. Maybe I should just disappear. Bow out of this and spend the rest of my days on a beach somewhere. Draecon wouldn’t miss me a bit. The board already has their eyes on my replacement.
The bell in the kitchen one story below rang, and he knew the dinner his housekeeper had put into the oven for him before leaving for the day was finished cooking. He’d been savoring the smell of her handy work all evening. Ian took one last sip of his drink. The bourbon burned on its way down. He was relaxing for the first time since Dixon had shown up at the office to investigate the death of Margaret Charles.
After stepping off the last carpeted step he smelled the shepherd’s pie and smiled. I’ve got to pay that woman better. It’s like she reads my mind and knows exactly what I want to eat.
Ian walked around the corner and into the large kitchen. The light on the upper of the two ovens was blinking red and the digital timer was on zero. He took the oven mitt that Edith, his housekeeper, had laid out for him up off of the counter, pulled open the door, and took out the Pyrex dish. Steam rose from it and the smell pleased him greatly.
Drae stared down at his dinner. His stomach growled and he fought against the urge to shove a finger into the top of the crust and pull it out for a taste. Instead he pulled a dinner plate out of the cabinet to the left of the oven, and with a butter knife sawed into the crust in a two by two inch pattern. The old man felt a cough coming and suppressed it as he shoved the knife under the square of food and tried to urge it from the cooking dish to the plate. In doing so his dinner broke apart and after considerable effort he had what looked like a heap of crushed mashed potatoes, and beefy gravy spread across the surface of the plate.
Once settled into his favorite recliner, Ian Drae scooted the wooden folding tray-table back over his legs so that it came up against the edge of the chair. The tray held the plate of shepherd’s pie, a fresh pour of his favorite bourbon, and a smoldering cigar. He’d puffed it earlier while waiting for his dinner to cool, but knew better. His doctors had told him years past that smoking cigars would end his life sooner than he’d planned for. It wasn’t so much the risk of developing cancer, but rather what the inhalation of sm
oke did to his already taxed lungs. He’d told the doctor that he didn’t inhale, that when smoking cigars you just hold the smoke in your mouth.
The first couple of drags pleased him and then that God damned incessant cough came. I’ve got to figure out a way to side step any further questioning from Scotland Yard. I’m a busy man. I’ll have Alex speak to him. Yes, that will work. Let him do it.
Drae brought a fork full of food into his mouth and savored both the heat and flavors. Chewing quickly, he took a second bite and picked up the television controller off a side table. I can’t wait to watch that college football game. Ian savored time like this spent alone in his study watching American sports.
After pressing the green button, the large-screen television mounted on the wall opposite his chair came to life, but it looked odd somehow. There on the screen were two men. It looked like the den of his home. What’s going on here?
Drae watched as he and another man clinked their glasses toasting something. He felt a sense of rage and dread welling up deep inside. Who did this? Taping me, with that guy, in my own house. I can’t have this I…
Ian Drae felt the constriction first in his chest. His face flushed. The bite of shepherd’s pie thick, with mashed potatoes, wedged itself in his mouth. He probed at it with the tip of his tongue, trying to move it to the side, but it wouldn’t budge. It was cutting off his airway. He choked, snorted, making a funny noise.
Drae coughed frantically, sending food chunks spewing outward onto the tray. He reached up to wipe away a sudden wetness on his chest. He reached for the edge of the tray but instead it flipped violently sideways, sending the cut-glass container of bourbon flying. He heard the glass smash onto the hardwood floor somewhere out in front of him between the chair and the television screen. His vision was narrowing. I’ve got to get out of this chair. Get to my feet. The telephone…
Chapter 29
Reece sat across from Marie in the den of her large home. He brought the glass of wine to his lips, savoring its taste. For the first time in several days the ringing in his left ear had completely subsided. I hope it’s gone for good. Wouldn’t that be a treat?
