Chapter 4
Lori stared out the window of the police car at the crowded streets of London with their red double-decker coaches, beautiful parks, and shops. She smiled at all the mobile phone users. It was a craze all over the world, something she hadn’t seen during her last visit thirty years ago. She thought of the historic theater district just east of the Palace Hotel, where she should have been enjoying a play and, later, lunch, instead of heading to Scotland Yard. She shook her head as a horrid realization seized her: This was not another innocent high school prank Josh conjured up. He was dead, murdered by someone while she was just a few feet away from the bedroom. She could have been shot, too. She covered her face with her hands and cried anew.
The police car turned left onto Dacre Street and stopped before one of the entrances of the station. It was a large, imposing, ultra-modern building made of glass and steel. Looking at it from the tidy, small side street, it seemed an unlikely place for such a building, with a quaint barbershop directly across from it. But Westminster was a bustling part of town, and the building was imposing enough to intimidate Lori.
A stout and serious-looking constable stood by the entrance. He waited for Lori to pull herself together before opening the door and leading her into the station.
Upon entering, Lori surveyed the interior of London’s famous Scotland Yard. The Westminster District police station didn’t look much different than stations in the States. The uniforms of the constables were slightly different, longer, with more buttons, but still black. Most of the constables wore high helmet-type hats and navy blue vests. The well-kept building housed the same inhabitants as most police stations: drunks, prostitutes, parking ticket offenders. Unlike in past days, Lori was now in one alone, instead of with Jerry Brill. Yes, Lori had visited many police headquarters with her late husband, Jerry. She had a great track record regarding the men she picked; first there was seductive, powerful Josh, who turned out to be a womanizer and a swindler, and then there was playful and loving Jerry, an alcoholic.
"What are you doing?" Lori jumped back as a constable grabbed her hand in an effort to fingerprint her. "Stop that! I'm not a criminal." She pulled away, her entire body beginning to shake nervously.
The constable conferred with someone on a phone and then walked her to the back of the station. He led Lori into a small room sparsely furnished with a couple of wooden chairs and an enormous old desk with scrollwork carved in its sturdy mahogany legs. She sat down in one of the uncomfortable straight-back chairs and waited. Presently, the door opened, and a tall, narrow-faced man with a prominent nose entered the room. He wore a long black trench coat over his thin frame, and his gray hair peeked out in small waves from beneath a black knit hat. He leaned an umbrella against the wall, removed his coat and hat, and opened his black leather briefcase after placing it upon the desk.
He offered Lori his hand while saying, “Madam, Detective Chief Inspector Geoffrey Holmes from MIT, at your service.”
Instead of accepting his hand, Lori broke out in nervous laughter. The Chief Inspector gently put his hand on her shoulder. “I pray I haven’t offended you."
Sudden tears now replaced Lori’s laughter. "I just came to London to visit my granddaughter. Since I walked off the plane yesterday, a friend has been murdered and now I've been dragged into the police station to be interrogated by Sherlock Holmes." She pulled a tissue out of the box on his desk and blew her nose.
Geoffrey Holmes stood there stroking his chin pensively before speaking. “Yes, you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. And my name does evoke strange responses, but I assure you I am no relation to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s fictional character. Now then,” Inspector Holmes continued in a more serious tone, “since you are the only witness to the murder of Mister Wheeler, we need to ask you some questions, not interrogate you.”
He sat down on a chair behind the desk facing her. “Could we get you some tea?” he asked as he handed her the container of tissue. He tried to sound less intimidating, to put her at ease. A distraught witness might omit important information while being questioned.
“Coffee would be great,” Lori replied, looking into his face.
“I am certain we could round up some.” He pushed a button on his phone and asked someone named Tuttle to procure some coffee.
“Cream and sugar?” he offered courteously.
“No, black.”
How bland, he thought. He liked to load his cup of tea with cream and two lumps of sugar. Turning towards his briefcase, he pulled out a passport and began reading it.
“Your name is Laura Brill, not Wheeler, correct?”
Lori answered with a simple yes.
He continued, looking up at her. “Missus Brill, could you tell me how long you’ve known Mister Wheeler, your relationship to him, and how you ended up in his suite at the Palace Hotel?”
“I’m no longer married. I’m a widow.”
“Yes, of course, and you’ve known Mister Wheeler…”
“I’ve known Josh Wheeler since I was fourteen. He took me to my senior prom in 1961.”
She pursed her lips and looked away from the inspector as she recalled the night at the Drake Hotel when she lost her virginity to Josh, Northfield High School’s football hero. Silly, she thought, this man doesn’t want to hear about that kind of teenage stuff. But that Josh Wheeler was still alive in her memory; her mind would not let her identify with the body lying on the hotel bed.
“Really?” he said, straightening up in his chair. He began again to stroke his chin. “We were under the impression you two had just met on the plane.”
“Why would you think that?” Lori asked, surprised that in her emotional state she could summon up feeling offended. What did they think she was, some kind of floozy, picking up strangers on a plane? At her age? These British must really be swingers.
“Pardon our assumption, madam, but this is 2013, after all.” Holmes smiled shyly. “And you say you have known him for over fifty years? This throws new light on the situation.”
Lori mumbled beneath her breath while looking down around the legs of her chair, searching for her purse. Her aggrieved mind was beginning to clear, and she analyzed the situation, remembering the authorities had confiscated her purse and its contents.
"Am I under arrest?"
"No, ma’am. But as the only witness to the murder, we need to hold you for questioning."
Lori straightened up in her seat. “I believe in England I have the same right as I do in America. I want to call my lawyer before answering any more questions.”
“Yes, of course you may make a call.” Inspector Holmes handed her the station phone.
“I will need my cell from my purse. There is no way I can remember phone numbers now.”
Holmes pushed back his chair and left the room, returning a few minutes later with Lori’s mobile phone. “We need your things a little while longer, but you can use it to make a call to your solicitor.”
***
After handing Lori the phone, Holmes walked out of the room to give her some privacy. He welcomed the time to think. This was going to be an international case, not just another run-of-the-mill murder, so, as Chief Inspector, he had been called back to work from his holiday. Too bad they hadn't reached him in time to arrive first at the hotel. It seems the hotel manager was tardy in calling his department; too many people had already tramped through the murder scene.
According to Inspector Sanders, the press had invaded the hotel. Holmes didn't know what to tell them. For sure, the Guardian and the Daily Express would post stories in their papers by this evening. He had better call them and make a statement. Geoffrey had been on holiday only two days when this chaos broke out. Too bad he hadn't gone abroad somewhere.
He wondered, could this petite seventy-year-old actually shoot her lover in the face? She was the only other person in the room. There was no blood on any of her things, or on her. When they find the weapon, the fingerprints will tell. He understood
the woman’s agitation over being fingerprinted and pictured, but it had to be done. Her rights were read, though she’d appeared somewhat overwhelmed at the time. She really did need a solicitor.
***
Alone in the tiny interrogation room, Lori almost punched the button on her phone for her trusted friend and lawyer, Bill Cohn, before it dawned on her that he would be of no help thousands of miles away. She needed a lawyer in London. She knew one, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to call her.
Lori's granddaughter was living with a London solicitor while studying for her Master's Degree at the prestigious London School of Law. Lori had missed this delightful young woman for too long . Her Cate, half Jewish, half Irish, could make her smile, make her laugh, make life worth living. Oh my God, thought Lori. What would she say to Cate when she called her?
Help! I've been arrested for the murder of my ex-lover!
Chapter 5
Joseph lounged in his brown cashmere robe, drinking tea and nibbling on a scone while watching the news on the television. He stretched his full six-foot-plus frame along the length of the couch and ran his hand through his curly brown hair while yawning lazily. It was his morning to relax. No court today, and his first appointment with a client wasn’t until noon.
Suddenly, his girlfriend, Cate, ran out of the bedroom and down the stairs, screaming hysterically.
“Now what?” Joseph asked in a nonchalant manner. He was used to this. Cate went into hysterics over everything. She had probably lost her mobile again. He wondered how someone as intelligent as Cate could be so excitable and careless. He passed it off as being an American trait.
“It’s my grandmother. She called from Scotland Yard!” As she explained, Cate hurriedly pulled on a pair of black, high-heeled leather pumps and straightened out her black knee-length skirt.
“Oh, yes. Wasn’t she due in to visit us sometime this week?” Joseph placed his teacup on a nearby coffee table.
“She’s in London now. She’s in trouble.” Cate buttoned her white silk blouse and tucked it into her skirt. Hoping it would impress upon her boyfriend the seriousness of the matter at hand, she repeated, “She called from Scotland Yard!”
Unaffected, Joseph continued to ask questions. “Isn’t she the one you’ve called your Auntie Mame? The one who picks up strangers, loses things, goes on Indian retreats to the desert, climbs mountains, taught you to drive when you were only twelve, and buys—”
Joseph sarcastically rattled off all the idiosyncrasies Cate loved about her Gram until she cut him off.
“Joseph, listen to me.” She stood over him with her hands on her hips. “My Gram—Lori— is being held at Scotland Yard for questioning about a murder, and she needs us to come down and help her!”
“Really? There’s nothing on the news about it.”
“Joseph!” Cate raked her hands through her blonde bobbed hair, thoroughly exasperated. Cate really hadn't understood her grandmother's story, but she knew Lori needed help.
“All right, Cate, calm yourself. There must be some sort of mix-up. Why, the woman is almost seventy. Look, you’re a solicitor. Go down there and straighten it out.” Joseph picked up a scone and resumed sipping his tea before stretching out once more and turning his attention to the television.
Frustrated, Cate leaned closer to him as he remained reclined and grabbed the scone from his hand before it touched his lips.
“Get dressed and come with me. Now!” Cate shouted. “She needs a lawyer who practices in London.”
In a calm, steady voice, Joseph answered, “Please stop shouting. This is England, not America. We are civil.” Joseph loved pointing out his Englishness to Cate whenever he felt she needed a bit of reprimanding. “I will come with you, but I must dress and then ring my office to cancel some appointments.” He looked down at his robe, which was now covered with cream from the scone, shook his head with annoyance, rose from the couch, and slowly made his way upstairs to their bedroom.
Cate paced back and forth, knowing that nothing she did or said would hurry him. They had first met at court when her class participated in a practice trial, and they had been living together for almost a year. At first, she was charmed by his aristocratic mannerisms, but lately they were driving her crazy. Her proper English boyfriend would go through his morning routine no matter what was happening. Even now, with her grandmother in trouble, she could picture him neatly folding his pajamas, neatly placing them in a drawer, and then picking up her clothes, which were thrown all over the room.
At least his suits, shirts, and ties were all matched together in the closet so he wouldn’t spend time perfecting his outfit.
Up in his bedroom, Joseph behaved exactly as Cate predicted. He knew she wanted him to rush out of the house, leaving everything in disarray. It simply was not in his nature to do that; anyway, he was certain there was no reason to hurry. In for questioning for a murder, indeed. Most likely, Cate’s grandmother was detained as an uninvolved spectator of a traffic accident. Cate had a way of dramatizing everything.
***
Lori waited patiently for Cate’s arrival. She savored her strong black coffee, sipping it slowly. No one at the station tried to question her now that they were aware a junior barrister would represent her, especially one who was the son of a lord. She had calmed down some, and now tried hard to remove the picture of Josh’s dead body from her mind. She was in a state of denial, a survival mechanism she used often as an only child with an unavailable mother.
Lori walked into the restroom and rinsed her face with cold water at the sink. When she looked up at her image in the mirror, she became frightened. Her eyes were red from crying, and she had never retrieved her makeup case, so all her wrinkles and blotches were visible on her pale skin. She was frozen to the spot until a lady constable entered the restroom and asked if she was all right. She stared at the constable, thinking, How could I possibly be all right after what I just went through?
“Yes, of course,” Lori replied. She walked back to her seat in Inspector Holmes’ office and waited. She was determined to be calm for Cate, even though her pulse still raced.
When Cate walked in with Joseph, Lori’s face lit up, and so did the faces of the policemen in the station. Her Cate had a way of turning heads wherever she went. She was a very attractive girl, but that wasn’t the main reason; it was the energy she brought with her.
Cate ran over to Lori and wrapped her arms around her, almost lifting her off the floor.
“Oh, Gram, it’s so good to see you. I was so worried you may have been hurt. What on earth happened? Whatever it is, Joseph will take care of this nonsense,” she announced loudly enough for all to hear as she waved her hands in an effort to push aside the problem.
Lori reflected on Cate’s statement, I was worried you may be hurt. Suddenly taut with fear, she realized she could have been murdered also had she been in bed with Josh, instead of in the shower. She trembled at the thought and sat back down on the chair to compose herself. She need not alarm her granddaughter.
They hadn’t seen each other in two years. Cate had tried to Skype and Face time her grandmother, but Lori wasn’t current enough with electronics to try it. Now she was surprised to see how much older than her twenty-six years Cate looked. Maybe it was the professional suit and high pumps. Lori was accustomed to seeing her granddaughter in jeans. Cate’s hair, normally long, thick, and honey blonde, now looked to be a darker shade of blonde and cut in a short bob style. But the sparkle in her blue eyes and the broad smile on her face hadn’t changed; they definitely belonged to the same lovely girl Lori knew.
Cate brought Joseph forward and introduced him to her grandmother. Lori relaxed slightly, thankful that the two of them were with her. She couldn’t help thinking, What if I were here alone?
Joseph bowed slightly as he took Lori’s hand. “Mrs. Brill, I am so sorry that you have been brought here. There must be a mistake.” He then disappeared into the office of the superintendent of the MIT.
Cate sat down near her grandmother and squeezed her hand affectionately. They barely had time to discuss matters before Joseph emerged from the office and approached them. “Well, I guess the situation is a little more involved than I first realized, but I do have your release and most of the contents of your purse. They are keeping your suitcase and, I’m afraid, holding your passport a while. You will need to give Inspector Holmes an initial signed statement and answer a few additional questions. You must understand at this time you are the only witness they have.”
He didn’t mention that she was also the only suspect they had, or that he was really worried about his father’s re-action when this situation spread across the news.
Lori and Joseph went back into Inspector Holmes office where Lori described the murder scene and answered some more questions about her relationship with Josh Wheeler. When she shook violently and burst into tears, Joseph asked for her release until another time when she’d recovered from the shock. Taking Lori by the arm, Joseph said, “Come, let’s get out of here.”
Inspector Holmes stood up and smiled down at her with compassionate eyes. “Get some rest. You’ve had quite an experience.”
Hearing sincerity in his voice, Lori felt a rush of warmth envelop her. She left Scotland Yard with a sense of relief and, following Cate’s lead, settled into Joseph’s black Bentley.
Joseph turned towards her. “Mrs. Brill—“
Lori stopped him in mid-sentence. “I’m Lori to you, not Mrs. Brill. What can I call you for short? You must have a nickname like Joe. Joseph sounds so formal.”
Cate winced slightly at this, for she knew Joseph despised cutesy names. He believed one was born with a title and should respect it. It took him a few months to finally stop calling Cate Catherine.
Joseph hesitated. “Actually…everyone calls me Joseph. We never use nicknames in my family.”
“That’s only for the servants in the high and mighty Lunt household,” Cate said with a smirk.
Murder Across The Ocean Page 2
