Waves of Murder

by J B Raphael

  “Okay,” she said, trying not to display her nerves. Novak asked many questions about Jon and his movements since leaving England, but she was true to Jon’s advice and answered the questions exactly as he had suggested. After about an hour, Novak thanked her for her time, opened the door for her and said goodbye, adding,” I hope you have enjoyed New York City.”

  She returned to their stateroom, and her answers to his questions made him feel better. “Let’s go to the coffee shop,” Jon suggested, as he hugged her for a long time. She started crying as he shushed her to calm her down. She washed, and made up her face and once again she was lovely Lorna again. In the coffee shop Jon attracted one or two glances from passengers that had seen him arrested, but he held his head high as if nothing had ever happened. They thought a little on-board shopping was in order, so arm in arm they strolled slowly along the shopping deck, browsing in the gift shops and the boutiques. Prices were high, guided by the American tourists wallets. Jon received just one or two more glances, but ignored them.

  “Mr Weston, would you please contact the main desk. As soon as possible please.” the speakers asked. “Oh no, not again,” he said to Lorna. They walked quickly to the source of the message, they were given a letter, Jon opened it. It was from the First Officer, ‘Dear Mr Weston, Miss Harper and yourself are requested to leave the ship as you are now persona non grata. Please settle any accounts and go ashore no later than 3pm. You will be escorted to the gangway with your baggage.’ Jon was not aware that the NYPD had requested this course of action. As they had the on-going murder enquiry, the Captain had no choice but to comply as the missing person was a US citizen, and the ship was on US territory. At exactly 3pm Jon and Lorna were at the reception desk with their baggage, the jewellery was retrieved from the safety deposit box and they were ready to go. The ship’s Officers appeared, and a porter to carry their luggage, “Service to the very end,” Jon said to Lorna. Down on the quayside they felt dreadful, but they soon cheered up when Jon said, “Don’t worry Lorns, we’re about 20 grand richer!” At that moment a cab pulled up and unloaded some Americans and their baggage. Lots and lots of it, Jon walked over to the cabbie and said, “Can you take us to a hotel, perhaps near Times Square?”

  “Sure,” the cabbie said, “thanks for the return fare,” and started to load their luggage, “okay, let’s go. My name’s Cliff, 27 years pushing a hack around the greatest city in the world,” he said, as he engaged the gear in the people-carrier type cab, “oh, by the way, it’s $30 fixed fare, okay?” he explained. They stopped at a large tourist hotel just off Times Square in West 45th Street, Jon gave cliff $50, “Gee, thanks!” the cabbie said as he unloaded their bags from the back, “you have a good stay, okay?” he said, getting into the cab.

  They were met by a porter who loaded their baggage on to a trolley and steered them through to the reception area. “Hi, how can I help?” the Hispanic girl asked.

  “We’d like a double room, not too high, for a couple of nights please.”

  “Sure,” the girl said, “may I have your credit card, please?” she asked.

  “No,” said Jon, “I’ll pay cash.”

  “Sure, that’ll be fine, two nights, double room, that’ll be $600 please,” she responded. Jon peeled off six $100 bills from his bundle, and passed it across the marble counter. “Would you fill in these registration cards please.” They both filled them in, and passed them back to ‘Clamenta’, the name on her badge. As Jon had paid cash there was no need to check passports.

  A porter took their bags up to the 10th floor, that was low in a 48 floor building! The room was fairly ‘tourist’ but comfortable, with a king size bed and a TV, air con: and a nice bathroom. Room 1009 should suit for the next two days, Jon now fixed his thinking to selling the diamonds. They were both hungry, Jon asked Clamenta to recommend a restaurant, “Yes,” she said, “if you go out of the other entrance into the next street, you’ll see a Chinese and an Italian, but be quick, they’re fully booked soon by theatre goers.”

  “Thanks,” Jon said.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied, “enjoy your evening.”

  They managed to get a table for two at ‘Gianni’ Italian, it was packed with theatre people grabbing a meal before a show. At exactly 7.30pm the restaurant emptied, leaving just Jon and Lorna. The maitre’d looked at his watch and said, “Are you seeing a show, it’ll soon be curtain time?”

  “Er, no, we only arrived late afternoon.”

  “Oh, I see, you’re English!” he said.

  “Yes, we’re here to shop and sight-see, er, perhaps you could help. I want to buy a diamond ring for my soon-to-become fiancee, where is the best place to go?” Jon enquired.

  “Well,” the maitre’d said, “if I were you I’d go down to China Town and the Jewish quarter, lots of dealers there, and by the way, congratulations!” and added, “have a drink with the house, what would you like?” Jon thanked him and paid the bill, the brandies went down very well. Back to the hotel, and they decided on an early night.

  No breakfast included, thay went for a walk past the Italian restaurant and soon found a deli serving a full breakfast, which they ordered with coffee and extra toast, “$28 was a bit steep,” Jon said, “but it was a hell of a breakfast.” He saw a yellow cab at the corner of Madison Avenue, and hailed it, he said to the driver, “We want to go to China Town, please.”

  The driver looked strangely at him, he didn’t hear ‘please’ often, “Canal and Mott is the centre, okay?” he said.

  “Yes, whatever you say,” Jon answered. The cab stopped at Canal and Mott, $16 on the meter, Jon gave him an extra $5, saying, “There was no seat belt message!”

  “No,” the driver said, “They get on people’s nerves, especially Bruce Willis!” he said laughing, “and thanks, have a good day!” came out of the window, as he drove away. To the left, he saw shops and restaurants with Chinese signs and writing, to the right he saw Jewish signs, which way? he thought. “Lorna, let’s flip a coin, chink or jew?” Jon asked. The coin spun, left heads, right tails, Jon caught it and looked, “Tails,” he said, “so it’s the Jew’s.” They crossed the street, and walked down through the Jewish quarter, he saw a sign saying ‘Jewellery - Loans and Bought’. He pressed the security buzzer, and after a while was allowed in.

  A bearded man wearing a skull cap, said, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Jon replied, “I’m from England and I want to sell this body chain, it’s very valuable, could you tell me how much I can expect for it?” he asked.

  The man, whose twin brother had the shop in Hatton Garden, placed his eye glass in his clip-on spectacles and studied the stones avidly. After a good ten minutes, he said, “You’re right, it is very valuable, how much do you want for it?”

  “$100,000,” Jon replied.

  “I see. I have to check on it, it will take about five minutes, take a seat,” said the dealer. After three or four minutes another bearded man entered the shop and put a code into a side door, which allowed him into the rear office. Jon could hear voices, but they weren’t speaking English, it sounded like German. The first man appeared and said, “I am going to share any purchase with my neighbour,” he said, pointing to the second man, “we’ll give you $80,000 for it, that’s our only offer, we don’t barter.”

  Jon sat, thinking for about two minutes, then said, “Okay, will that be cash?”

  “Yes,” the man said with a smile, “we only deal in cash.” He went back into the little office with the obligatory see-through glass. He returned with eight plastic Bank of America packs, each containing $10,000, but before he handed over the money he pushed a form through the glass divider, “Please fill in your name and address etc.” Jon gave a completely fictitious address in Bournemouth. They left the shop, but acting naturally, walked up the street arm in arm, not realising that they were on CCTV.

  Lt Novak had spoken to the First Officer about Jonathan’s departure, who told him about the taxi picking them up
at the gangway. CCTV had picked up the index no: of the cab and it was traced to Cliff, who remembered the nice Brits, and told Novak where he had dropped them off.

  Clamenta looked at Novak’s gold NYPD badge, “I’m Lt Novak, NYPD, do you have a Jonathan Weston staying here?” he questioned.

  She checked her computer, “Yes, room 1009,” she answered.

  Novak nodded to his uniformed cop, they took the elevator to the 10th floor, Novak gave a knock of authority, “Police, open the door,” he almost shouted. The door was opened by a scantily dressed Lorna, Novak feasted his eyes, what a pair of tits, he thought! “I’m Lt Novak, NYPD,” he said, showing his ID, “I need to talk to Jonathan Weston,” he announced. Jon appeared from behind the door, also in a state of undress, “Get dressed Mr Weston, I need to question you down town, you’re not being arrested, but if you refuse you’ll be cuffed and taken anyway,” Novak barked.

  Jon had thought this could happen and had put the bulk of the cash and the remaining diamonds in the hotel’s safe. “I’ve told you everything I know, “Jon said, coolly, as he dressed.

  “We just want to get a few more details, and for you to make a written ststement,” Novak replied.

  Jon was kept at Precinct 30 for six hours, but managed to keep to his story. Outside in the corridor Novak admitted to Colletti that there was, finally, no evidence to keep him in custody any longer. “Okay,” the Captain said, “let him go,” then added, “what about the girl, does she know anything?”

  “No,” Novak said, “I questioned her on the ship, if he murdered Mrs Smithson he did it alone. The girl was never present in the bar, nightclub or casino, according to witnesses.”

  When Jon got back to the hotel, Lorna was drunk and had been crying, the mini-bar had been well used. “Can we go home?” she slurred.

  “Yes,” Jon said,” now we need to sleep.” At 8am they awoke, Lorna had a hangover, but was still adamant that they left immediately. Jon agreed and said, “We’ll pack, get some coffee and go to JFK to see if we can get a flight later today. BA is the best bet,” he suggested. Jon and Lorna checked out, he retrieved the cash and the remaining diamonds.

  Coveniently, there was a cab rank just outside the main entrance of the hotel, a cabby at the front got out of his cab when he saw the luggage, and opened the large boot of the yellow checker, “Where to?” he asked in a Brooklyn, gravelled accent.

  “JFK, please, BA terminal,” replied Jon, ‘$50 fixed fare’ he was told. “Fine,” said Jon, “ let’s go.” They were soon across the Brooklyn Bridge and into Queens and JFK airport. The luggage unloaded, Jon gave the driver an extra $10.

  “Have a good flight, and thanks,” came the gutteral voice.

  At the desk of BA they were booked in for the night flight to Heathrow, leaving at 7.30 pm. Jon paid for an upgrade, being over 6ft tall he wanted the leg room, the tourist class seats were too cramped. It was only when they were in their seats that Jon gave a sigh of relief. The six and a half hour flight went pleasantly, dinner was served at 8.30pm and they had time to get some sleep. Jon had given the jewellery to Lorna to wear. Necklace, three rings, and a bracelet, all of which were covered by clothing. This was just in case their luggage was searched at Heathrow.

  “Lt Novak, there’s something here I think you should see,” the cop from the precinct office said.

  “What is it?” Novak asked.

  “It’s a CCTV tape from the diamond district, I came across it yesterday when back-tracking on the screens,” the officer said. They went into his office and the cop started the machine, it showed Jon and Lorna leaving Levin’s shop and walking down the street.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he exploded. He remembered the croupier in the casino describing Mrs Smithson as, the ‘diamond lady’. He grabbed a squad car and drove with blues and sirens, he was mad at himself for being so stupid.

  He showed his badge through the door, after pressing the security buzzer. It immediately opened, the Jewish dealer said, “How can I help you, sir?”

  “Did you buy any diamonds from a tall Englishman, yesterday?”

  “Yes, I did,” Levin replied.

  “Let me see them,” Novak demanded.

  Mr Levin produced a velvet bag, and poured 100 stones on to a scales dish, “They were set on a white gold chain,” the dealer said, “but I want to sell the stones seperately.”

  “Did you check the trade and insurance computer?” asked Novak.

  “Sure, I wouldn’t buy a bean without checking religiously,” the dealer replied.

  “Okay, thanks a lot, and good shabas,” he added, it was late Friday.

  “Thank you,” Levin answered, “and good shabas to you,” he smiled through his beard.

  On his way back to the precinct house he thought, you schmuck, you let him slide through your fingers. What next, what next? went raging through his mind, extradition? not enough fucking evidence, the Brits wouldn’t wear it. But there must be some way I can nail that murdering bastard. All these thoughts were going through his fuddled brain, this was going to be a long haul, but one day, Jonathan Weston, I will crucify you, he promised himself. Almost two years were to pass before he saw justice.

  The 747 landed at Heathrow, exactly on time, they walked through customs without any hiccups, Lorna managed to keep her cool, wearing $100,000 worth of diamonds. They had to get to Southampton to retrieve the Golf, Jon approached the black cab booking desk, “How much to Southampton docks, please?” he asked the pleasant, grey-haired man.

  “£140, fixed fare.”

  “Will the driver take US dollars?” Jon asked

  “Just a moment, I’ll ask him,” the dispatcher said. “799” a voice crackled over the radio. “Gentleman and lady to go to Southampton docks, will you accept US dollars?” he asked. “Roger, $200, fixed rate,” the cockney voice said. “Roger 799, ready to go.”

  They pushed their trolley out to the taxi pick-up point, a short cabbie jumped out of the black cab, and smiling, said, “Southampton?”

  “Yes, please,” Jon said.

  The bags loaded, they set off towards the south coast. The journey on the M25 and M3 was slow, traffic was heavy, even for early Saturday morning. Road repairs, an accident, it all took time, but there was no real hurry. The ship hadn’t arrived so the parking office girl was surprised to see them so early. Jon explained that they flew back from New York as Lorna had been very ill with sea-sickness. “I see,” she said. Jon gave her his ticket, and she called on the radio for the Golf to be brought from the pound. Once they were on their way back to London they both felt better, and Jon reminded Lorna that they were richer by at least £200,000. They both yippee’d, but at the back of Jon’s mind was the fact that two beautiful women were dead because of him.

  They went directly to Vicky’s house, she was out, no white Audi, but Jon did notice one thing, a ‘For Sale’ board at the front of the house. He called his sister to find out what was happening, “I’m on my way home, I’ll be ten minutes and I’ll explain everything.”

  “The bastards left me for his fucking receptionist, it’s been going on for ages. The house is in his name, but I’ll fight that, still the marriage is dead, I wouldn’t want to stay here anyway. But I want half, plus a large maintenance cheque every month.” Jon then introduced Lorna to Vicky, “Oh, I’m so sorry, and rude, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

  “I need the Golf for a few more days,” Jon said.

  “Keep it,” Vicky said, “it’s a gift, I can only drive one at a time,” she added.

  “Thanks, thanks very much,” and he kissed her cheek, “we’ll see you again soon,” he said, “get a good nights sleep and stay off the bottle!”

  “You can stay here if you wish,” she offered. They looked at each other and nodded agreement and thanked Vicky.

  “I’ll get the bags from the car,” Jon said.

  “Good, I could do with some company,” Vicky replied.

  The two women got on well, talking about fashio
n etc., and Lorna told Vicky about New York,” Jon took me to the top of the Empire State Building and showed me Kong Kong’s claw marks!” she said, with a wink.

  “Yes,” said Vicky, “our father got me with that one when I was a teenager, the trouble is, I believed it!” They laughed. Jon just sat with a drink, half listening and thinking about selling the rest of the diamonds. He left early the next morning, telling Lorna he’d be back at lunchtime. Driving down to Hatton Garden he put on a baseball cap so that no CCTV could see his face. He had already dirtied the number plates on the Golf. He went slowly along the street and picked out a large dealer, but kept his eye as to where the cameras were situated and was happy to see that the dealer was in a sort of blind spot. He removed his cap and pressed the buzzer, he was allowed in and went to the ‘For Sale’ window. “Good morning,” a young bearded man said.

  “Good morning,” Jon said, “I have some jewellery for sale, they were my mother’s. Could you assay them and make me an offer?” He passed the rings and the bracelet through the gap in thick glass window. In the car he had spread glue on his fingertips to spoil any prints, gladly it had dried quickly. The young man took the gems into a larger than normal office that had no two-way window, and looked at them through a large desk-mounted magnifying glass. He then started to check on the computer, this process took longer than usual, Jon started to worry, but this was unfounded.

  “I’ve got good news, the stones, rings and bracelet are worth £100,000, I’m prepared to pay you £80,000, what do you say?”

  Jon, not wanting to seem too eager, stood thinking for a while, “Could you make it a bit more? mother owed that on a second mortgage,” he lied.

  “No, I’m sorry, that’s my one and only offer,” the young man said.

  “Okay,” said Jon, “it’s a deal.” He was passed the obligatory form through the window, he completed it and pushed it back through the glass.

  “I won’t be a minute,” the young man said. He returned with eight plastic bags, each containing £10,000.