Waves of Murder

by J B Raphael

  Palermo

  Mary-Lou and Mel Novak were packing and almost ready to have their luggage collected and taken down to reception, “Well,” said Mary-Lou, “now the long haul home,” she said, sadly.

  “Yep,” Mel agreed, “still it’s been wonderful hasn’t it, hon?” he said, pulling her close and kissing her head. Their flight would take them back to London to take a flight to New York.

  “Yes,” Mary-Lou said, “and exciting.”

  “Yeah,” said Mel looking down, “I wish I’d had the jurisdiction to nail that evil bastard, but he’s gonna get what’s coming to him one day, and I want a front row seat.”

  He heard that Jon had escaped from the hospital after speaking to the Asst Chief Inspector, “He is very clever,” the ACI had said, “ he has the devil on his side.”

  “Yes,” Mel had agreed, “in fact I think the devil is driving him.”

  They arrived at the airport with time to spare, he had somehow become obsessed by every tall blond man, looking at their faces, he even ran over to the check-in desk and grabbed the arm of a man and spun him round to get a better look at his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, I thought you were a friend of mine.” The young fellow was Norwegian and didn’t understand a word of what Mel had said.

  “Honey, will you stop it, you’re making a fool of yourself, if you don’t there’s gonna be trouble, big trouble,” Mary-Lou almost shouted.

  “I’m sorry, you’re right,” he said.

  Tunisia

  Midday on the second day, they sailed past a headland and into calmer waters and followed the coast line on the port side. Ice containers were brought up to the deck from the freezer below, and the freshly gutted fish were sorted and packed ready for the fish market. “How long before we reach land?” Jon asked the younger brother.

  “Five or six hours,” he replied.

  I couldn’t kill all four of them, Jon thought, I’ll have to pay up, after all I didn’t pay for the trip to Palermo. He smiled a wicked smile. He now had the task of selling the diamonds, were there any dealers in Tunis? May be there was a Jewish quarter, after all Arabs and Jews lived side by side in Israel, especially Jerusalem.

  Being a fairly busy tourist destination the hotels were very modern and luxurious, three or four star would do if he could get into one. His first attempt drew a blank, fully booked the young man said, sniffing at Jon’s fishy smell. The same answer came from the next four tries, and then he saw a sign ‘Holiday Apartments’ flashing neon. He walked up the few steps through a glass door to a counter manned by a middle-aged woman. She looked Jon up and down and sniffed. “Do you speak English?” Jon asked.

  “Yes, of course, this is an area of tourism, are you a fisherman?”

  “No,” Jon said, “my boat sank and I was picked up by a fishing boat. I’m sorry if you can smell it, but I have plenty of money to pay for accomodation.” He pulled out a wad of US dollars. “How much for a week in a double apartment?”

  “$500,” she replied, “in advance.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Passport please,” she said. She looked at it and gave it back to him, “thank you,” her attitude had changed when she saw his wedge of money. She also passed him a form to complete, it took 2-3 minutes to fill in, she then passed him an old fashioned key on a label, “apartment 110 on the first floor, front,” she said, smiling for the first time as she took the five $100 bills.

  He climbed the stairs to the first floor and soon found the door to Appt 110, it faced south, it was well appointed and very clean and comfortable, and it had a TV. Good, he said to himself, and immediately switched it on. He watched as he looked around, opening doors and drawers. Looking in the wardrobe, he was reminded that he needed to buy some new clothes. He would first have to get clean and wash what he was wearing. He took everything into the bathroom and ran a bath, nice and hot, he said to himself. He left the clothes to soak after rubbing it all with toilet soap to get rid of the smell of fish. He laid naked on the bed, after taking a shower, watching TV, there was no news or image of him, good he thought, I’m not notorious in North Africa! From here he could travel freely, but he had to sell the jewellery first. His cash balance was still very healthy but he wanted to get rid of the diamonds and turn them in to cash, preferably dollars. He went for a walk, the reason mainly to buy some clothes. In the main tourist trap shopping area, there were some familiar names in fashion. He chose an Yves St Laurent outlet and spent $!,800 on smart casuals, including shoes. He tried to pay in euros but they wouldn’t accept them. Having changed in to one of his outfits in the store, he asked the assistant to get rid of his old stuff and gave him an extra $10, saying “Keep the change!” The young trendy man bowed and thanked him. Further down the street there was a taxi rank, now if anyone knows where I can sell jewellery, the cabbies will. “Do you speak English?” he asked the first driver.

  “Yes, sir-r-r,” the portly man replied, “we have to learn for our licence, and for the tourists.”

  “Good,” said Jon, “I want to find the area for buying and selling jewellery?”

  “Oh, yes sir-r-r, the Jews in El-Macabi Street, I will take you,” he said, opening the door of his bright green and white Toyota estate car.

  Jon knew he was being ripped off because the meter remained ‘off’ and they had passed the same buildings and statues, twice! But he smiled and thought he’d haggle for a bit of fun when they reached his destination. Turning down a narrow street, he recognised signs in Hebraic writing that he had seen in New York and Antwerp. The cab stopped and the cabbie said, loudly, “El-Macabi Street sir-r-r, $30 plizz.”

  “No,” Jon said, “$20, you went past the large soldier statue twice and you didn’t use the meter, $20 or I report you to the police,” he added.

  “Okay, okay,” came the reply.

  Jon gave him $25 and said, “I suppose that’s what you call free enterprise!” and walked away laughing.

  “Go home yank!” the driver shouted.

  “I’m not a yank, I’m Irish,” Jon said, laughing loudly again. He looked carefully for CCTV cameras, there were none. Good, Tunis is lagging behind in catching felons, but woe betide them when they do, Arabic jails are very nasty, he thought. Walking down one side of the street and then up the other, pretending to be a window shopper, he was accosted by shop owners inviting him in to look at their goods. But he declined their offers with a smile and a ‘no, thank you’, until he was invited into a large well-appointed emporium by a young man wearing the traditional skull cap and prayer tassles hanging below his shirt. “Do you speak English?” he asked.

  “Yes,” came the reply, “I went to school in Golders Green, in London.”

  Two miles from where I lived, Jon thought, but pretended not to know it, “I’m fom Ireland, and I have some diamonds to sell, do you buy jewellery?”

  “Yes, may I see them?” the young man said as he went behind a thick glass secure partition. Jon took out his red handkerchief to reveal Molly’s gems, the necklace, the bracelet, the three rings and the watch, and passed them through the slot. The dealer took at least 20 minutes to eyeglass them. “How much do you want for the lot?” he asked Jon.

  “$200,000,” Jon answered.

  “Mmm.” The man thought, “I’ll have to call in other dealers, I do not make such large purchases, but I have fellow dealers close by that will be very interested in buying part of the lot. It will take about an hour, is that all right?”

  “Yes,” Jon said, and sat on a comfortable chair. Three older dealers entered the shop similarly dressed, with skull caps and prayer tassles. They all went in to a back room. The hour became an hour and a half during which Jon heard the Germanic language spoken fairly loudly.

  “We will give you $180,000,” the younger dealer said.

  Jon sat and pretended to think deeply for a few minutes, stood and said, “$190,000, let’s split the difference, they’re top quality gems, especially the necklace.” The man went back to his colleagues bu
t returned with a $185,000 offer, “Will that be dollars, cash?”

  “Yes, of course,” the man replied. The three other dealers came out, looked at Jon, nodded and smiled. They spoke to the shop’s manager in the foreign tongue. “They will return soon,” the younger man said. After receiving the money, he thanked the dealers and left the shop. He still had Liz Fenner’s diamonds but he would hang on to them as some sort of nest egg!

  Tunis was a very vibrant city, more tourists than he had seen anywhere else, no wonder the taxis were all new, latest models, including Mercedes and BMW’s. Fuels were about half the price of Europe but the taxi drivers were all descendants of Ali Baba’s friends and preyed on tourists like vultures, charging exhorbitant prices to go just short distamces. He thought he would extend his stay at the apartment for at least another week, after all he could well afford it, if not better, but it was comfortable, cellular and very private.

  Yonkers & New Rochelle

  The town was still smarting over the disappearance of Liz Fenner. Ben Schwartz, the car cleaner, walked into the Sherrif’s office and handed in the key to Liz Fenner’s house. The junior officer called Mel Novak to the front desk, “Will you be able to attend the coroner’s inquest? as there is no body he just wants to establish, by witnesses, who exactly Liz Fenner was.”

  “Yes, sure,” said Ben. Being a law student, this would be of the utmost interest to him.

  “Mrs Fenner’s family, what there is of it, will be there, okay?” Mel said, “oh, and by the way, you’re the only one now that knows the gate entry code, what is it please?”

  “6969,” Ben replied, not knowing why Mel smiled.

  “Thanks Mr Schwartz, we’ll be in touch.” As he walked out Mel and the junior officer laughed loudly, “6969,” they almost shouted, “Hey, shut up,” Mel said, “ the poor lady is dead.”

  The Inquest

  Liz Fenner’s sister Paula was present, but her only interest was the will that Liz may have left. She had flown in from Los Angeles after being informed by the NYPD which had taken a lot of trouble placing national newspaper ads. She had contacted Capt Colletti and learned about the inquest. She was introduced to Mel Novak by the coroner’s assistant, “Well,” she said, “have you got anywhere in finding her murderer?”

  “No,” Mel replied, “but he is being sought all over Europe, TV images, newspaper pictures etc., he was recently shot by the Sicilian mafia in Palermo, but escaped from the hospital. No one knows where he is now.”

  “I see,” she said, “Who is Elizabeth’s attorney?” she asked.

  “Rackman Davis of Manhattan,” Mel replied, “There will be a representative at the inquest. But I must tell you that there will be a statutory waiting period of two years before her will can be implemented, because there wasn’t a body.”

  “WHAT?” she shouted, “that’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s the law,” Mel answered.

  “I WANT THE ADDRESS OF THIS RACKMAN DAVIS,” she shouted.

  “I’m a policeman, lady, I’m not allowed to give out such information,” he lied, as he didn’t like the woman or her attitude.

  “I’M GOING TO SEE YOUR SUPERIOR AT NYPD,” she shouted again

  “That’s your privilege,” Mel said and turned away from her and left the building. He could have helped her a lot more as his wife, Mary-Lou, ran the local office of Rackman Davis.

  Over dinner at home, he told Mary-Lou about Liz Fenner’s sister, “It’ll probably come home to roost at my office,” she said, “your superior in New York City will tell her the same,” she added.

  “And then she’ll probably go to see the Governor at State Capital,” he laughed, “ she’s only interested in getting her manicured hands on Liz’s fortune,” he said.

  The proceedings were short-lived and only lasted about 30 minutes, Liz’s sister was present with an attorney who tried to get some sort of injunction to have the will reading brought forward, but the coroner ruled against it and quoted the law.

  “I WANT TO LODGE AN APPEAL,” she stood up and shouted. Her attorney urged her to sit down and told her that an appeal could cost her up to $100,000, win or lose. She went quiet and started to cry silently. This lady was desperate, but nobody knew why. But the truth was that she was the lover of Liz’s husband before he married her, and she was convinced that the legacy should be hers. She needed it badly, when she heard that Liz was missing, believed dead, she inwardly rejoiced and had dollar signs in her minds eye. Her younger lover had left her, taking half the assets of their boutique’s business and gone off with a younger woman ..... and she was heading for bankruptcy.

  Tunis

  Satan’s protegee felt the black mist descending as he sat watching passengers from a cruise ship walking towards the main town. He noticed one in particular, tall, elegant and very well dressed, he would follow this woman and get to know her if he could. She had a nice way of walking, perhaps she was an ex-model. She did some window shopping and waved off shop keepers who invited her into their shops. She eventually went into a small square and sat at a table in the corner of a coffee shop. A waitress asked her what her choice was, she ordered. Jon sat at a table about 10 metres away and pretended to just watch passers-by, he did, however, notice her looking his way and he gave her a cheeky smile and she smiled back. After about ten minutes he stood and walked over to her table and introduced himself, “Hello, I’m Keiron Pearce,” he said.

  “Hello, I’m Agneta Garner, from Sweden, and you’re from Ireland, right?” she said.

  “That’s right, from Dublin, how could you tell?” They both laughed, her smile lit up the sombre sun-less corner they were in. “Why don’t we go over to another table that’s in the sun?” he suggested.

  “I’m afraid I can’t at the moment, this is my day of shade as I call it, I’ve had too much sun in the last few days, best to be careful,” she explained.

  “Oh, I see, er yes, the rays in this part of the world are very powerful,” he answered as he sat down, “how long is your ship in Tunis for?”

  “Three days,” she replied, “I’m hoping to buy some leather goods, I’ve heard it’s very good here and not too expensive. In Sweden it’s outrageously costly, and I want to possibly set up a source of supply for my shops in Stockholm and Malmo,” she said.

  “Well then, perhaps I can help you carry your bags?” he laughed.

  “Yes,” she said, “that would be nice, and helpful!”

  “And you’ll need me to deal with taxi drivers, they’re outrageously expensive too, to tourists,” he added.

  “Are you a gigolo?” Agneta asked with a saucy giggle.

  “Jesus, bless you!” he said, wanting to sound very Irish, “No! I’m a car dealer from London taking a long holiday in southern Europe and north Africa,” he said, “do I appear to be a gigolo?” he laughed.

  “Yes, you’re tall, smart and very handsome. I will be happy for you to accompany me and help me with my shopping,” she smiled a ‘perfect teeth’ smile.

  Jon paid the bill and they walked off to where the main shopping area was. Leather shops were abundant, and shopkeepers were busy trying to get them inside their emporiums, ‘yes beautiful lady, we have the best leather garments in Tunis’ seemed to be the chat up line, but Jon smiled and said ‘not today, thank you’ while Agneta felt the quality of the goods hanging outside.

  “The soft quality is very good,” she said, “and about a third of the price of Sweden. I will buy about 5 or 6 jackets and trousers to take home, they are very trendy now and make good profits. But to make big money I need a constant supply,” she said, “I hope to get a big stock for the winter.” She found a shop and manufacturer, she presented her card and asked if he spoke English.

  “Yes, of course, we have to for the tourists, also French and German,” he said.

  “Good, I want some samples of your make to take back to Sweden, but I want very good prices,” she almost demanded. A deal was struck, and Agneta now had her source of supply at agreed p
rices, she would confirm the agreement by email as soon as she got back home. “We will now go back to the ship and I will buy you lunch,” she said.

  “No,” Jon said, “I won’t be allowed to board the boat.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said, “is that because you might stow away?”

  “Possibly, I don’t know,” he admitted, “let’s find a restaurant and have a lunch of local food,” he said. A very nice looking restaurant was in the square where they first met. Agneta was a lucky lady, no jewellery, her attraction was her beauty and personality plus a lot of sexuality.

  After their lunch they took a slow walk back to the ship, when they reached the gangway with all the packages, Agneta showed her wristband and keycard, “Can my friend come aboard?” she asked.

  “No, I’m sorry, it’s company policy about non-cruisers boarding the ship,” the huge security guard said.

  “Don’t worry,” Jon said, “perhaps we can meet later for dinner, Tunis is full of good eateries,” he added.

  “Yes, that’ll be nice, shall we say, here at 7 o’clock?”

  “Yes, that’ll be terrific.” Jon moved quickly, he booked out of his apartment, bought a suitcase and booked in to the 5* Tunisian Palace Hotel. His plan was to take her there for dinner, and then seduce her.

  Seven o’clock soon came round, Jon had booked a double luxury room overlooking some beautiful gardens, the scent of the plants and flowers would add to the seduction scene. When she walked down the gangway Jon’s chest started to pump, she looked fabulous in a yellow and black knee-length dress with a discreet split up the right thigh. She was also wearing a beautiful pearl and diamond necklace, if real, about $50,000 worth, plus diamond rings with fair-sized stones, and a diamond encrusted watch. Oh dear, he thought, as the black mist started to descend. “Hey,” she said (Hello in Swedish) as she looked at him in his YSL jacket and slacks, “you look very handsome,” she said, and kissed him on both cheeks but being careful not to spoil her lipgloss!