Waves of Murder

by J B Raphael

  “Good afternoon,” she answered.

  “I’ve some diamonds that belonged to my mother, to sell,” the same red handkerchief was passed through the metal grille.

  She had an enormous magnifying glass and studied the gems carefully, “How much were you wanting for them?” she asked.

  “200,000 euros,” he answered.

  “I see,” she said, “a few minutes please.” She disappeared into a rear office, after about 5 minutes she returned, “170,000 euros is the best I can do,” she said.

  “I’ll have to think just a minute,” he said. He sat and feigned deep thought for two to three minutes, “Okay,” he said, “ will it be cash?”

  “Yes, of course, would you fill in this form while I get the money.”

  He passed the form with its usual lies back to her, and she gave him the poly packs of euros. Once again he was on CCTV in the shop, but he walked back to the main street unaware that he had been photographed a total of 18 times since arriving from England. He was now wealthy, and walked as if he was on air. He was now heading for Germany, he thought it was time to get rid of his beloved SLS. Anything near £65,000 would do, and he’d buy a fast but nondesript car, to carry on his journey to who knows where. Perhaps to Italy, yes that sounded good, the Amalfi coast, beautiful, and he could live the life of luxury.

  Germany

  He would have to drive through the night on one of Europe’s fastest roads to get to Stuttgart, where he thought was the best place to ditch the SLS. After all, it was the home of the Mercedes brand, the place was swimming in them! He certainly had the tool to get there quickly, 200kph in the fast lane would see him there in the early morning.

  Arriving at 5.15am he toured around looking for a decent motel to get cleaned up and have some breakfast. He found the German equivalent of ‘Premier Inns’, parked the car near the entrance, grabbed his case and walked in. “Morgen,” the middle aged man said, from behind the desk. He was obviously the night porter waiting to go off duty.

  “Do you speak English?” Jon asked.

  “Yes,” said the man, smiling, “I used to live in Reading.”

  “Good,” Jon said, “now, this is for you to put in your pocket, I want to shower, change and have some breakfast. Fill in the registration card for me with any name and sign it however you wish,” Jon said as he passed the 100 euro note across the desk, “now, how much is the room?”

  “30 euros,” answered the night porter, “do you want anything else sir?” he asked.

  “Just forget that you ever saw me, okay?”

  “Yes, of course. Would you like the breakfast brought to your room?”

  “Yes, thank you, that’ll be very good,” Jon added.

  The room was adequate, he was just out of the shower when there was a knock on the door, he opened it, “Your breakfast, sir,” the kindly man said, “ and thank you very much, have a good day,” he said, and went down the short corridor.

  Leaving the motel feeling refreshed and clean, he drove around to find a car-wash, the Merc was filthy, fifteen minutes passed and he found a 24 hour autowash that also air-dried the car. He went through in about ten minutes and the SLS looked a lot better. Now to find a good second-hand car dealer, his intention was to acquire a less obtrusive model, grey or black, a car that didn’t draw attention. By 10.30am he had done a deal for £55,000, which bought him a 3.5 litre diesel saloon in dark metallic grey and he received 1,500 euros change. He wasn’t exactly over the moon with the deal, ‘but needs must when the devil drives’ he thought.

  The young lady in the diamond dealers in Amsterdam looked at the computer screen in horror as she read an exact description and saw images , of what she had bought from the tall Englishman. She screamed, “Papa, papa, look! I have done a terrible thing.”

  Mr Hertzman rushed in to the office and looked at the screen at the updated Association ‘stolen’ list, which covered Europe. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing we can do about it now,” he said, “I’ll have to break the pieces down to their separate stones and distribute them around the trade. We’ll lose some profit, but not much,” he said, patting her head softly, “darling, don’t worry, I’ll start the breaking process now.”

  Jon found his new car powerful for it’s engine size, and it quickly built up speed, it was very comfortable and had lots of ‘whistles and bells’. He’d never had a diesel before, he was quite surprised at it’s response and quietness, he’d always thought of them as truckish. He motored on towards Italy, down through Austria, it was a very long journey. He had got rid of the only thing that could incriminate him at the customs check-points at the borders. He was completely bona fide as a business man on his travels to find prestige cars to sell in England.

  London

  “Hello, can I speak to Lt Novak please?” There was no real answer, except he heard a female voice shout ‘Mel, phone!’

  “Yeah, Novak here,” the voice said.

  “Hello Lt, it’s CI Lloyd speaking, from London.”

  “Oh, Chief Inspector, I’m sorry, it’s like Armageddon here at the moment, eight killings last night, it’s hell at the 30th Precinct.”

  “Well, I just called to tell you that Weston has disappeared again, a car he was using was sold under the name of Fowler in Stuttgart the day before yesterday. We spoke to Fowler and he said he put the car through a car auction for high-priced prestige cars, he doesn’t know who bought it. The auction firm gave me a name and address, but it was false,” he reported.

  “Okay, chief Inspector,” Novak said, “all I can say is, stick with it and good luck, thanks for the update, goodbye.” The phone went dead.

  “It’s just come home to me,” Vicky said to Lorna, “you were in on these murders, although I didn’t believe it when you told me, you were hoping to get your hands on half of that money at the bank vault, weren’t you?”

  “No, no, you’ve got it wrong, I tried to stop Jon, but he was too strong for me. I thought that he was going to just rob those women,” she pleaded.

  “I want you out of my house, now,” Vicky said.

  “But I’ve nowhere to go,” Lorna cried.

  “Yes you have, to HELL,” Vicky screamed.

  Lorna packed in tears,” how the hell did I get into this?” she said as she humped the case down the stairs. Her heart sank even lower when she saw two uniformed WPC’s with a plain clothes detective, standing in the hall.

  “Lorna Harper?” the detective said, “I have a warrant for your arrest on suspicion of complicity in the murders of two women on the cruise liners Ajaxia and Queen of the Atlantic on dates yet to be determined. You don’t have to say anything, but what you do say you may rely on later in court.” The WPC’s moved forward, one with hand-cuffs and the other to pick up the case.

  “Take that murdering slag away,” Vicky shouted as they put her in to the unmarked police car. She was taken to West End Central police station, she was formally charged and put in a cell. Her wails of sorrow could be heard through two metal doors.

  “Hi, honey,” Mary-Lou’s voice said, “how’s my hunky cop?”

  “Hi, Mary-Lou,” Novak answered.

  “Oh, Mel, you sound realy down, can I do anything to make it better?” she asked.

  “I wish there was, I’m snowed under, eight murders in the city, rapes, muggings, the list is endless. I was still on duty at midnight, and that bastard Weston is still free-legging it in Europe.”

  “Oh, darling,” she said, “I’m so lonely for you, can you find some time for little old me?” she almost begged.

  “Yes, tonight. To hell with it, I’ll tell the Capt I need this evening off and to hell with him!” he said, “I’ll be over at 7.30pm, how’s that?”

  “Wonderful,” she said, “everything will be ready for you, and I mean everything!” She laughed.

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll see you then,” and put down the phone. On the way to Yonkers, his cell phone rang, it was the Captain’s number, he switched it off and shouted
at the windshield “I do have another fucking life, and that’s where I’m going now!!” He started laughing. He stopped at his favourite florist that was just about to close, “The usual please,” he said to the young lady.

  “Of course!” she said, and made up his usual bouquet.

  “Thanks very much,” he said, passing her a $50 bill, “keep the change!” he added.

  “Hello darling,” Mary-Lou said, as she opened the door and kissed his lips passionately.

  “Whoa, you’ll have the neighbours talking!” he said.

  “Aw shucks! They’ve been talking for weeks, who cares!” she said as she pulled him in to continue the passionate welcome. The roses were graciously accepted, as always, “Thank you,” she said, and kissed his cheek.

  The evening went well, with good food but not much to drink, he had to be back at his desk by 8 o’clock in the morning. Although fairly short-lived, their lovemaking was amazing, they slept until six. Mel had spare clothes at the house and looked fresh when they said their goodbyes. Mary-Lou was hopelessly in love with Mel and had a plan for them to be together permanently, she would tell him of it on his next visit.

  Italy

  Jon arrived in Italy a day and a half after leaving Stuttgart. Keeping up a steady pace, the diesel engine hummed along nicely at 150kph with the fuel gauge hardly moving, a damn good car, he thought, but not a match on his SLS. His journey had taken him through Austria and Slovenia, he’d slept in the car at car parks in service areas, breakfasting and washing in the main building. He’d done this so as not to be seen on his way to Italy by any motel cameras. He now thought of himself as the master of disappearance! Once across the Italian border, he set the sat nav for Venice, he would settle there for a couple of weeks, rest up and re-charge his batteries.

  St Petersburg

  The memorial service for Anna was attended by nearly 200 people at the Cathedral adjacent to the Hermitage Palace. Her family were in deep mourning, so much more than usual as there had been no funeral. To just disappear whilst on holiday was beyond belief, and her ex-husband and sons knew that she would have had her best jewellery with her. They had warned her against taking it, but she had insisted, “I want to look my very best,” she had said as she went through the departure gate at the airport, on her way to Heathrow. After the service a group of ten black-suited men stood together discussing how they would investigate her demise. They would send special detectives to England, there would be no expense spared, no stone unturned until the murderer was caught and dealt with as only they knew how, it would be very slow and painful. Vasili Kashnosky, Anna’s ex-husband, was the leader of the group, and pledged one million dollars to the cause, and said, “He must be found and punished, and suffer until he begs to be killed.”

  Venice

  Jon rented a villa away from the main city. It was a quiet area, mostly residential, his neighbours were mostly middle class, his car drew no attention, but he did. A young girl, about 25 years old living almost next door seemed to be there every time he went to his car or just went out for a walk to the mini market. She always smiled, and said, “Buongiorno,” to which he replied in English, “Good morning.”

  “Oh, you are from England.”

  “Yes,” Jon said, “taking a holiday.”

  “That’s nice,” she said, in almost perfect English, “my name is Monica Ambezi.”

  “Hello,” Jon said, “ my name is Chris Sutton,” he lied.

  “I work at the mini market which my father owns, if you wish I can deliver your provisions every day,” she said.

  “No, it’s very kind of you, but I like to walk around to see all the Italian foods, perhaps in the future, yes?”

  “Yes,” she said, “it’ll be my pleasure!” She walked off down the little hill, moving her rear sexily. Jon thought, that might be some fun, but it’s a bit on the door-step, best left alone!

  Jon’s face was now being shown on television in England as a dangerous killer who preyed on wealthy women, the presenter on ‘Crimewatch’ said. ‘He is wanted for at least two murders on cruise boats the Ajaxia, and the Queen of the Atlantic, and he steals the victim’s jewellery before disposing of their bodies in the sea. The hunt for him will also be in mainland Europe as he is believed to have fled the country’. Jon had no idea of this broadcast, and carried on with his holiday. He hadn’t noticed the satellite dish above the mini market. Monica was sitting at the cash desk during a quiet period, idly looking at the TV set, she grabbed the remote control and started to flick through the channels. As Jon’s face appeared a woman came to the till, by the time she turned back to the TV the image had gone. Jon laid on his bed watching television idly, not understanding what he was watching. His blood turned to ice water when he saw his face on the screen, the text was in English, with subtitles, “Fucking hell,” he shouted, “I’ve got to get out of here.” He started packing, just throwing everything into one case and a bin bag. But one slightly lucky item on the TV said that the police were looking for a very distinctive Mercedes Sports car in white, FOW10R. His new car was dark grey and definitely not sporty, but he had to get going, and he had to disguise himself, hair colour, grow a beard and moustache. He called in at a pharmacy further on down the street from the mini market, Monica was sitting at the cash desk. “I thought you worked in the market,” Jon said.

  “Yes, my father owns this pharmacy as well!” Jon laughed, but only bought a tooth brush, best not to let her see that he bought hair dye. “Thank you,” she said, “see you later, yes?”

  “I hope so, just going to have a look at the canals and the Bridge of Sighs.”

  She sighed as he left the shop. Driving in to the city, he was able to pick up what he needed at a large supermarket, plus a large brimmed straw fedora hat to cover his face until his facial hair had grown. Fucking CCTV was everywhere, his intention was to go south, perhaps TV reception was different. He sped on down to Rimini on the coastal main road, only about three hours away at a steady pace. He rubbed his chin, ‘come on you bastard, grow!’ he shouted at the windscreen. He was fortunate to find a small hotel in this holiday resort where he could get lost! He went straight to his room, he kept his head down and wore his fedora low as he signed the register. Because of his passport he had to give his real name. He immediately switched on the TV to see if his face was broadcast, he watched a news programme for about half an hour, but nothing. Good, he thought, and went into the bathroom to change his hair colour to almost blond, and as soon as it grew he would give his beard the same treatment. He would lay very low and avoid any CCTV cameras, especially in the streets. He was lucky, Rimini didn’t seem to have any, they were only used in expensive shops and stores which he avoided like the plague.

  After nearly a week, his moustache and beard had grown to almost the required length for dyeing. He had spent very little time in the main area of the hotel, only sticking to his room and keeping his head down and his fedora covering his face. He could not believe his luck when he saw his old face on the TV with the name ‘Giancola Westoni’, thanks Italian TV, for being crap! he thought. He felt safe in Rimini, with beard and moustache growing longer by the day, he had the task of dyeing the extra growth, but that only took a few minutes.

  New York

  “Hi Chief Inspector, it’s Mel Novak,” the Lt said to C I Lloyd on the phone, “any news on Weston?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” the C I replied, “as far as we know he’s still in Holland somewhere, as soon as we’re updated I’ll call you immediately, but at the moment he has completely gone to ground. We really don’t know where he is, sorry,” he said.

  “Okay, Chief Inspector, thanks anyway,” Novak said, and hung up. With all his New York cases, Weston was still Novak’s obsession.

  St Petersburg

  Vasili Kashnosky had set up quite a comprehensive web of agents to cover Holland, Belgium and Germany, with large cash bonuses. Belgium had only come up with the news that he had gone to Germany as his SLS Merc had been seen
for sale in Stuttgart, and he was now driving a black 350 diesel saloon, but they didn’t know where he was going. Germany, Austria France, they had no idea. Vasili upped the reward to 2 million dollars. “I want his balls in a dish, on my desk,” he shouted, and banged the top of his Louis XIV desk, “and fucking SOON,” he yelled.

  Moscow

  Katti’s brothers Georki and Adriof were glad to have their sister home safe and sound. She and her mother bonded at the sumptuous villa in the best part of Moscow which housed all the billionaires in that part of Russia. The houses were high walled and security gated with 24hr armed guards and ferocious dogs. In Moscow you were very rich, or almost on the breadline so the rich had to protect themselves in the most stringent ways. It was common for a would-be burglar’s body to be found in the street the next day having bled to death from dog mauling or gun shot wounds. The police did very little investigation as they knew that they would get nowhere, as the residents had the authorities where they wanted them, in their pockets, corruption was rife. Katti’s brothers were also joining the race to catch Jonathan Weston. They also wanted his mutilated body on a slab and had sent their own agents to central Europe to find him. They were very powerful ‘mafia’ types, and had dozens of ruthless men in their employ. Her father’s death was bad, her loss of diamonds was bad, but their loss of face and reputation was the main reason to catch him. To restore their place at the top of the tree of organised crime.

  Rimini

  Jon was enjoying his new identity and look, he now looked like a young blond Viking. His moustache was full, well across his upper lip, and his beard at least 4” long, it was a complete transformation. The old Jonathan Weston had gone, but now he had to get a new name and passport, how? he wondered. Rimini wasn’t the place, he needed to be in a large city where the ‘underworld’ could be found. Rome was the place, he thought, after all the Romans were the most corrupt people ever, they almost invented corruption. He checked out of the hotel and started his long journey across Italy to Rome, two days at a steady pace should do it.