Murder Across The Ocean

by Charlene Wexler

  “Let’s check those accounts with what we see here,” Jordan said, moving toward the computer screen again. “Could be the same guy. Same build, but is he blond? Who knows?” Jordan blew up the image to better study the figure. “You know what? I think he has a stocking over his face.”

  “It would appear so, but… perhaps that is just the grain of the camera?”

  Jordan raked his hands through his hair, exasperated. “This isn’t enough to go on. And this guy just fucking vanishes into thin air? What the fuck! Sorry.”

  A few men who were also occupying the database room snickered.

  Ignoring Jordan’s outburst, Geoffrey replied, “My men did check everywhere, but I am open to suggestions. Besides, of course, the vanishing into thin air bit.”

  Jordan shook his head. “Holmes, do we have anything? Have we got anything at all regarding the structure of the rooms? We can’t get a good ID from these images. Useless!” Jordan went back to fuming as he shoved the mouse across the desk. “We should have Lori Brill dead to rights. Nothing else makes sense!”

  “No, we can’t get much, I’m afraid, not from what I’m seeing here. The man kept his face well hidden. All we have is a figure, face obscured, gloved hands, gray overcoat. He isn’t even seen entering the room. As for the room itself,” Geoffrey said, rising out of his seat, “we’ll have another look-see.”

  “Let me see the transcript from everyone you questioned that day. We need to go through the interviews systematically to make sure none of the occupants on the floor were connected to Wheeler or had invested in any of his deals. We’re looking for a murderer connected to his Ponzi Scheme, but it could have been anyone—maybe even the boy who brought in the room service breakfast, or a former girlfriend, or boyfriend. Remember, there was no forced entry.”

  Geoffrey and the other men laughed at that.

  “It’s entirely possible,” Geoffrey replied to placate a humorless Jordan. “We…erm…we don’t want to rule out any possibilities.”

  Jordan clenched his jaw and let out a long sigh before speaking. “Mrs. Brill said Wheeler was still in bed watching television when she went into the shower. Someone he trusted came into the room, because Wheeler didn’t attempt to get up. He let him in! He probably turned towards him, or her, and was shot instantly in the face.”

  Holmes resumed stroking his chin. “The feathers about the bed would suggest the mangled pillow was stuffed in Wheeler’s face to prevent a blow back of brain matter when he was shot.”

  “Let’s go over what the old lady said again.”

  Holmes rolled his eyes at Jordan’s lack of decorum. “Well, Lori said the door had been left unlocked, since Josh had ordered breakfast shortly before she went into the shower.”

  “Oh, yeah, the breakfast in bed bit. Boy, what a smooth bastard. Embezzling millions of dollars, then lounging around in bed with an old flame. He was still in bed when the intruder came in. Shot him from a close up position.”

  “Yes, that sounds about right. I’ll get those transcripts to you right away. I talked to forensics. Wheeler was left-handed, and the shot went into his left eye. They have not ruled out suicide, though they believe it would have been difficult lying down."

  Jordan looked up, scowling, his thick dark eyebrows knit tightly together. “Suicide? No way. This guy liked himself too much. I’ve studied his profile. Anyway, the gun would be there if it was suicide. Maybe it’s with Mrs. Brill.”

  “A woman constable searched her at the station.”

  “At the station, not at the hotel?” Jordan asked.

  “The hotel was given a total sweep,” confirmed Holmes.

  Still, the weapon is missing, and there are no other suspects!”

  ***

  Geoffrey Holmes had been on the force since he was twenty, working his way up from a lowly street constable to Chief Inspector of the MIT. Retirement was just around the corner. He really didn’t need a case this involved now. His wife, Eloise, had died of cancer four years ago, and his son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren had migrated to Australia. He knew he was assigned this case because he was even-tempered and a good mediator, something that was vital to London’s Scotland Yard when working with the United States FBI

  While others in the department may have been upset by the intrusion of a Yank, Geoffrey Holmes didn’t mind it. Actually, he was giving the Yank more freedom than he should, but it was an infamous American who had been killed. Arthur Isaacs and Milton Sanders, two Detective Inspectors he had put on the case, had complained earlier about taking orders from Jordan Gould, probably more so because he was only thirty-three and so full of energy and so full of himself while they were veteran old-timers.

  Sanders, nearing fifty, had been in the computer room during the discussion between Holmes and Jordan. He’d watched Jordan stalk out of the room in a huff after the comment about the missing weapon. Now Sanders pushed his rimless glasses down from his forehead and addressed Geoffrey. “That chap is hard to…hard to understand, with that New York accent and his fast mode of speech.”

  “And your nasally words and constant repetition is very annoying, very annoying,” Jordan announced mockingly as he re-entered the computer room, startling Sanders, who quickly turned away.

  Geoffrey smiled and shook his head. Like Eisenhower working with Montgomery! he said to himself.

  Chapter 9

  Lori, Joseph, and Cate left the station, slid into the Bentley, took a few turns through the bustling town, and made their way around the traffic circle. Within minutes, they were home in the quiet suburb of Mayfair.

  While driving, Joseph turned to Lori and said, “You don’t have to co-operate with the investigation. You are not under arrest. We need to think about this. We need to speak with my father. He will know what to do.” Joseph tried to comfort Lori. He realized this could not be easy for an elderly woman, so far away from home, to have to deal with a murder investigation, especially the murder of someone close to her. In times like these, people needed to be aware of the facts in order to not go overboard with needless worry.

  Cate joined the conversation, addressing her boyfriend. “I think my grandmother should tell them to get lost. I don’t trust that Jordan Gould. What a bastard! Did you see how he treated her? He doesn’t care if he exposes her to danger! I don’t trust him, Joseph,” she said as she angrily crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Cate, for heaven’s sake, calm down,” Joseph said. “You very well know the type. He’s just an American, different culture. He’s only doing what Americans do. They tend to be trigger-happy when we British address things and situations in a more cautious manner.”

  “Is my grandmother a thing or a situation? There you go again, making excuses, bringing up the American argument again. Need I remind you, Joseph, that I, too—”

  “No, Cate, you needn’t,” Joseph replied, turning and scowling at Cate.

  Cate fumed silently throughout the short trip, while Lori looked out the window, ignoring their spat. She shifted her body nervously before she spoke.

  “I think I need to cooperate because I need protection. According to that young FBI agent, someone may be after me for something I don’t have, or because they may believe I saw the murderer. I guess I am lucky to be alive.” Lori leaned her head back against the seat, pressing her hand against her forehead in an effort to control a migraine that was forming.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, each deep in thought. Joseph hadn’t realized how deep Cate’s love for Lori was until now, or he would not have suggested to Cate that Lori stay at a hotel. That argument still hung in the air, coupled with his mistake of generalizing Americans.

  When they arrived at the flat, Lori ate a quick turkey sandwich and then retired to her bedroom. She'd had enough excitement for her first three days in London. She declined Cate's invitation to join them for dinner and stayed holed up in the room for that evening and the next day.

  ***

  The stairs creaked from the
quick bounce of heeled boots. Lori turned over and looked at the bright digital numbers on the clock—10:00 A.M. It did sound like Cate's footsteps, but Cate should be at school, she thought. The bedroom door slammed open. Tigger, arriving ahead of Cate, jumped on the bed and gently pawed Lori.

  “Gram, you need to get out of the house and moving again,” said Cate from the doorway. “I’ve left you alone for three days. I’ve taken the day off and planned a day of shopping and sightseeing with you. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Lori had been the one to encourage Cate to speak out and be independent, something she wished she had been. She knew Cate would not take no for an answer, so she would try to move out of the house for her granddaughter's sake. Lori had pulled herself back together thirty years ago for her son’s sake after her young daughter died of cancer; she would try to do the same for her granddaughter. Actually, half of her died with her daughter Julie; the other half was walking a tightrope now. A much older tightrope, too.

  Yes, thought Lori to herself, you’ve always been a good actress, pretending your husband wasn’t an alcoholic, pretending nothing ever bothered you, making believe you were living a happily-ever-after life.

  “I’ll try.” she answered as she pushed herself out of bed and into the bathroom. It took her longer than usually to brush her teeth, shower, and dress. She finally walked downstairs where a warm breakfast awaited her. She lowered herself onto one of the high-backed chairs and tried to enjoy the tasty cheese omelet Cate made for her. But she’d had no appetite since the murder and simply played with her food, while in record time, Cate cleaned up the kitchen dishes, fed the cat, grabbed two raincoats, and told her grandmother to get going.

  Lori waited outside near the colorful flowerbeds that adorned the front of the complex as Cate pulled Joseph’s black Bentley out of the attached garage. Lori hesitated as she started to enter the passenger’s door on the right side instead of the left. She would never be able to drive in England, but Cate wasn’t having any trouble. She whipped the car out of the driveway while Lori was still buckling her seatbelt and sinking into the soft, warm, luxury of the leather cushion.

  Turning towards Lori, Cate laughed. “If the tushy warmer is too hot, let me know.”

  “Just right,” Lori answered, glancing out the window.

  The morning had been gray and foggy, but now the sun was peeking through the clouds, and the sounds of tractors and the smell of fresh cut grass were in the air. The trusted umbrella, a trademark for anyone living in England, lay in the back seat. Mayfair was such a lovely, pretty little village with its perfect white stone English cottages surrounded by colorful clusters of daisies, lilies, and chrysanthemums circling small garden ponds. The English had a way with gardens, Lori thought to herself.

  “Everything in England is so… so…” She searched for the right words.

  Cate supplied them as they headed east toward Victoria Embankment/A3211 to drive along the Thames River to their first destination: the Tower of London.

  “Tidy and proper, and sometimes it drives me crazy.”

  Lori smiled to herself. Like her grandmother, Cate possessed the soul of a gypsy, and sometimes, a mouth like Lori’s late mother-in-law. Cate is beginning to sound like London is no longer presenting a challenge to her, and my Cate needs tumult. Well here I am! Lori grinned.

  “I thought we would visit the Tower of London, go see the Crown Jewels, though you have almost as much jewelry, and then do some shopping and an easy lunch. What do you say to that?”

  Lori nodded. So far this visit had concentrated on her. She needed to try to put Josh out of her mind for the day, and concentrate on her granddaughter's life and plans.

  “Tell me about Joseph, honey.”

  Without even turning her head, in a matter-of-fact voice, Cate answered, “Joseph is wonderful. He’s handsome, smart, rich, compassionate, a barrister with a good job, ties to the Royal Family, and he wants to marry me.”

  “I hear a ‘but’ in there, and a lack of a very important concept. Do you love him, Cate?”

  Cate turned towards Lori. "Gram, were you in love with Papa Jerry, or were you always in love with Wheeler and sorry that you let him get away?"

  Lori took a moment to think before answering. "Cate, love is an emotion we can't control. When we are very young we sometimes mix it up with infatuation. I was infatuated with Josh, but in love with your Papa. You didn't answer my question about Joseph."

  “I'm not sure about Joseph. Anyway, he belongs to a different country, another religion, and another world.”

  “Elaborate.”

  “I would have to live in England, away from all my family and friends, deal with his stepmother, who thinks she’s God., and reject my Jewish ancestry.”

  “Why on earth would you have to?” Lori asked again, “Do you love him?”

  “Yes, I think so. He is so good to me, but there are so many problems.”

  Lori thought, Like Fiddler on the Roof: a bird and a fish could love each other, but where would they live? She shook her head, thinking, The younger ones never know how lucky they are or what problems really are.

  “Honey, I can’t tell you what to do, but if you love each other, those things can be worked out. Look at your mom and dad. They are from different religions, and they compromised.”

  “Not really, Gram. Mom gave in and raised me Jewish, even though her parents were devastated. You know Mom never converted. She kept going to church while she tried to celebrate Jewish holidays with us, which really left me confused. You’re the one who made me aware of my Jewish heritage.”

  Lori hesitated before speaking, not sure of what her response should be. Then she decided to give her granddaughter an honest response.

  “You’re right. We left you confused. After my Julie died, I was so mad at God, I quit observing. As for your father, he talked Judaism, but he didn’t practice it beyond insisting that your mother not take you to church.” They drove in silence along the river, making their short trip to the Tower.

  Yes, Lori thought, there are problems, but not insurmountable ones. She thought about her own mother-in-law. It would be hard to find another as possessive and crazy as Shelly had been. Then she realized there had been no mention of Joseph’s real mother. She wondered, were his parents divorced, or did his mother die?

  “Cate, what happened to Joseph’s mother?”

  “She died when Joseph was seven. She wasn’t English. She was German and, according to his stepmother, Lady Elizabeth, she came from the servant class. He never really talks about her. She had a crazy upbringing, came from a poor family.”

  “How did Joseph’s father end up marrying her? One would think back then he would have been required to marry in his class.”

  “I’m not really sure of the details, but Joseph’s father met her while he was on business in Germany. They had a whirlwind romance and married against his family’s blessings. Seven years later, she and Joseph’s baby sister died in an automobile accident. It happened many years ago when Joseph was an infant. He is very stoic and wouldn’t talk about it. He reminds me of my mom who won’t talk about anything emotional.”

  Lori shuddered as she thought of Lord Lunt and Joseph losing two family members in an accident. Lori knew what it was like to lose a child. Her own daughter Julie had struggled with leukemia for over three years. Lori only came back to life when Cate was born. Memories of a time when she, her husband Jerry, and their best friends, Jim and Adele, drove through the narrow roads of the English countryside in an eighteen-passenger Hertz van made her smile. What fun they had, laughing all the way. They were all gone now, much too young. Jerry drank himself to death; Jim had a quick heart attack, and Adele, her best friend for life, died of breast cancer.

  And now Josh.

  Josh had been the golden boy of Chicago’s North Shore in the early 1960s: football captain, prom king, smart, and handsome. How proud she had been when he made her his girlfriend and took her to her own prom. Everyon
e expected him to be successful. She had expected him to be hers forever, even though Adele and her father had warned her about not trusting him.

  She was having a hard time keeping Josh in the present. It was as though someone else was murdered, and Josh, her seventeen-year-old sweetheart, was still alive.

  “We’re moving from Upper Thames to Lower Thames, Gram, so we’ll be there any minute,” Cate announced, acting like a tour guide as they drove on. “There’s the London Bridge! It’s only about a twenty-minute drive. See the Tower Bridge? Everything seems so close to each other,” Cate said and then laughed. “Probably because you could drive so damn fast here, it takes no time at all to reach your destination.”

  Lori grew excited to see the Tower Bridge against a bright, clear morning sky. There sat the mighty bridge with its massive network of light blue suspension cables and two expansive, blue and white walkways that stretched high above the bridge, connecting its impressive gray towers. The bascules of the bridge directly beneath the walkways were up, admitting a few boats to traverse the Thames River.

  “I heard they closed the walkways many years ago because it attracted a less than desirable population to do its covert business there,” Lori offered slyly.

  “Uh, oh, what kind of business, Gram?” Cate asked, knowing her grandmother loved details of a salacious sort.

  “Oh, the usual kind of business most people need privacy to conduct—prostitution and thievery.”

  “Where do you get this stuff?” Cate laughed and shook her head. “If you really want to see something naughty, take a look over there.” Cate stretched her arm across Lori and pointed northeast. “See that greenish glass building? You can’t miss it.”

  “Yes! Oh, that wasn’t there last time I visited.” Lori gazed at the large, modern glass building, seemingly striped black and green, and oddly shaped like a giant bullet or a pickle.