by Cook, Alan
She shrugged again. “Maybe get all my girlfriends and have a topless sit-in on the beach.”
An officer unlocked the door and called her name. She got up, wished me good luck, and was gone. I was alone with my problems. I couldn’t find a comfortable position for my ankle and I was hungry.
I should make a plan. Tom Kelly would have to appear and testify against me. If I had a good attorney, we could cross-examine him and put him on the spot. Maybe get him indicted for scamming Grandma at the very least. I felt a little better. That prospect kept me occupied for a while. Then I felt overwhelmed. I was suddenly very tired. I leaned my head against the hard wall in the corner of the cell.
***
“Cynthia Sakai.”
I awoke with a start. Who knew I could sleep in such an uncomfortable position? My neck was stiff. Well, this was it. I was being taken to jail. Grandma would be mortified. I got up, adjusted my crutches, and walked out of the cell. The officer held the door open. Shouldn’t he be holding a gun on me or something?
“Where am I going?”
“Wherever you wish. The charges have been dropped.”
Was this a trick? No, I was getting my purse back from the desk officer who came from the office behind the transparent barrier in the small entryway of the police station. It even had the gun in it. I was signing for my personal items, agreeing everything was present. An officer held the outside door for me. I walked out into the evening, feeling the euphoria of someone who’s just escaped a horrible fate.
The sun had recently set, but I would be able to see it tomorrow instead of being locked away in a dark hole. I had my cell phone. I needed to call Rigo to come and pick me up. I probably wasn’t more than a mile from my motel, but I didn’t think I could walk it.
I saw a familiar looking car parked near the entrance to the police station. A woman got out who also looked familiar. Officer Watson, the stakeout cop. She opened the back door.
“We’ll give you a ride back to your motel.”
As much as I didn’t want to get into a police car again, I thankfully accepted. The unmarked car even had door handles inside. I didn’t feel like a prisoner. Watson’s partner was driving. As we drove away I asked her why I’d been freed.
“Kelly wouldn’t press charges. When the fingerprints on the flashlight were ID’d as yours, we were sent to his house because we’d talked to both of you before. By the way, it looks like you left there in a hurry. You even left your shoes.”
“Do I get them back?”
“Sorry. Evidence. When Kelly heard your name he looked surprised. He hemmed and hawed, and then said you were his cousin and he meant to leave a key for you but forgot. His story didn’t make a lot of sense. He wouldn’t let us into the house. We asked him if you’d taken anything and he said no. He’s obviously hiding something. What we want to know from you is what you found there.”
I wondered how much I should tell them. I decided they knew enough already that it wouldn’t hurt to tell them just about everything. I told how I’d met Kelly using an assumed name and gone to his place. How I’d broken in after he left for work. I told about finding penicillin and reservations to fly to Edinburgh.”
Watson’s partner looked over his shoulder at me as we waited for a traffic light to turn green. “Did you find a gun or cell phone or money or bank statements?”
“No gun, cell phone, or money. His bank statements don’t show any large deposits or withdrawals.”
“We had your gun checked while you were in custody, since it’s the same caliber as the weapon used to murder Jason Boyd. Fortunately for you, it’s not the murder weapon.”
I was shocked. “You thought I killed my cousin?”
Officer Watson said, “We have to cover all the bases. After all, you’re not exactly Miss Model Citizen.”
That was true. “You worked fast.”
“We can work fast when we have to. You and Kelly aren’t really cousins, are you?”
I thought about what Frances had said. “We might be. I gave him a DNA test kit. If he sends it in we may find out for sure.”
***
On Monday I flew home to North Carolina. I wanted to see Grandma, and it was easier to fly to Edinburgh from there than Los Angeles. My ankle was steadily improving, and I returned the crutches to Rigo before I left.
Rigo and I spent a wonderful Sunday together first. He drove us to the desert to see the California poppies in bloom in yellows and oranges, a colorful carpet extending to the horizon, one of the many beautiful sights in a beautiful state. He tried to talk me out of going to Edinburgh. I gave the usual assurances about being careful, but of course he didn’t believe them. We bade each other a tender farewell, as the poet says.
Frances reported to me that Tom had sent his DNA test to the lab immediately. She used her influence to convince the lab to give it a high priority. He wanted to know whether he was a Boyd badly enough to risk any consequences that might result from doing this. I knew it was possible I’d see him in Edinburgh, and I played various scenarios in my head, but if it happened the circumstances would probably require quick thinking on my part.
I called Jason II in Idyllwild and brought him up to date—sort of. I didn’t tell him about breaking into Tom Kelly’s house, but I did say Tom was the name of the scamming suspect and a person of interest to me regarding the murder of Jason III. I told Jason II the theory about Tom wanting to put an end to the Boyd name, and mentioned Tom might be a Boyd, himself. Jason II asked questions about Tom Kelly and Jason IV, and said he’d like to meet this other living Jason. I promised I’d try to keep him alive.
Meanwhile, Frances did what she did best. She figured out how to contact Jason Boyd IV and called him in Edinburgh. She told him about his Boyd cousins in the U.S.—and found out he already knew about them—including the murder of Jason III. That was strange. She didn’t tell him, specifically, that he was in danger—it was too complex a subject to discuss on the phone—but she did say I was flying to Edinburgh and would like to see him.
Frances obtained the email address of Jason IV and passed it on to me. I sent him an email to tell him when I was coming. He replied and said he and his wife would love to see me—this was the first I’d heard he was married—and have me stay with them, but their flat was too small. He recommended a bed and breakfast called Hanover House, not far from them. I made reservations there on the Internet.
Jason IV didn’t say he’d been contacted by Tom Kelly, and I didn’t mention him, either. I was planning to arrive in Edinburgh before Tom, in order to thwart his plans, if they were evil.
Grandma was very happy to see me. So was Audrey. Grandma had several good days while I was there, during which she remembered a lot, and I tried to enjoy them to the fullest extent.
CHAPTER 25
The flight from Newark to Edinburgh was overnight from Thursday to Friday morning. Earlier on Thursday I’d flown from Raleigh/Durham to Newark. Although I’d purchased roomy business class seats, I had trouble sleeping. When we landed at Edinburgh Airport in a drizzle I was tired and jet-lagged because of the five-hour time difference.
My ankle didn’t bother me much. In the week since I’d sprained it, it had improved dramatically. I’d been driving for the past four days. I’d done some walking but no running. I didn’t want to jeopardize the healing process. I’d purchased a new pair of running shoes to replace the ones I’d left at the crime scene.
I went through passport control quickly. The UK system seemed to be a lot more efficient than that in the U.S., which in my recent experience produced long waits and snaking lines. I retrieved my one checked bag, extracted some British pounds from an ATM, and took the Air Link bus to Waverley Railroad Station in downtown Edinburgh. It occurred to me the station was undoubtedly named after the Waverley novels of Sir Walter Scott. There’s a huge and very ugly monument to Sir Walter on Princes Street in Edinburgh.
I wore a daypack and rolled my suitcase during the fifteen-minute walk to H
anover House while trying to protect my map from the elements. I was glad I had my North Face raincoat, given to me by Rigo’s parents when I went to England while still trying to find my identity. The saying in Scotland is, “If it’s not raining now, it will rain soon.” I didn’t have to wait for the soon because the now was in effect. The raincoat also protected me from the chilly air and blustery wind.
However, the locals weren’t protected. Many of them didn’t wear raincoats (a few had umbrellas) and the girls and young ladies wore black tights or black stockings, or in one case pink, patterned stockings, under short skirts, short shorts or…nothing. Everyone was walking much faster than I was, with my bum ankle and suitcase, and squeezing through gaps a snake would avoid. They also jaywalked and dodged the huge double-decker buses constantly going by. I wondered if bus drivers had a quota for pedestrians.
Foot and vehicle traffic subsided when I turned off the main drag onto Windsor Street, with its residences and small hotels. I found Hanover House near the end of the street, lugged my suitcase up the steps of the stone building, and found myself in front of a large green door, flanked by pillars.
Jasmin, the middle-aged landlady, let me in with a ready smile and dark hair that was tightly curled. She showed me to a spacious room where I crashed for an hour before venturing out to explore the city. I didn’t visit Edinburgh Castle, leaving that for another day when I wasn’t tired and when my ankle, which was somewhat swollen, felt better. I did take a look at Sir Walter Scott’s memorial, having read several of his books, but didn’t try to climb it, which one can do for a fee.
I took another nap in the afternoon and ate an Italian dinner. After returning to the B&B again, I read a Robert Crais mystery after not being able to stomach British television game shows even sillier than American game shows, and finally dropped off to sleep.
***
The next morning I was feeling human again, especially after a cooked-to-order breakfast by Jasmin, who could make eggs any way one wished. It was Saturday and I knew Jason had the day off. As a precaution, I called him on my cell phone and received an enthusiastic, “Come on over,” with directions for the ten-minute walk.
It turned out the Boyd flat was below ground level. I had to descend concrete steps from the sidewalk to a small patio one could look down on from the street. It wasn’t raining but I wondered how the rainwater that fell straight into this hole in the ground drained out. A ring of the bell brought a young man to the door who looked surprisingly like Jason II, tall and robust, with blue eyes and reddish hair. It was obvious they were related.
“Cynthia. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
His accent was musical and easy to understand. He was so exuberant I had to give him a hug. He ushered me into the flat. I immediately found out one reason for their space problem as the squawk of an unhappy baby filled the air. Jason laughed.
“That’s Timothy, the newest addition to the family. Named after my late and lamented brother.” He became sober for a moment, but then he cheered up again. “Come and meet my better half—or perhaps I should say my better two-thirds.”
He led the way from the small living room into a bedroom where a pretty young woman sat in a rocking chair nursing the baby. It was a peaceful, domestic scene with a quiet beauty that made me wonder if I would ever do anything similar.
“Sarah, this is my cousin, Cynthia. Cynthia, this is Sarah, my wife of two years and now the proud mother of a bouncing boy. Bouncing, crying, drooling, vomiting, shitting, all the things babies do. If he keeps doing them we may return him before the warranty expires.”
Sarah, a petite blond with blue eyes that matched Jason’s, and I said hello, and then she admonished Jason.
“Don’t talk like that about poor Timothy or Cynthia will think you’re serious.”
“Oh, I’m completely serious,” Jason said, although the twinkle in his eyes belied his words. “Do you mind if Cynthia and I step out for a walk? That way we won’t be bothering you, and since the sun is actually threatening to show its face I’d like to get a breath of fresh air.”
“Aren’t you even going to offer Cynthia a cup of tea first?”
I intervened, saying I’d just had breakfast, and breakfast included tea. I didn’t mention it was herbal tea. We went up the stairs to the sidewalk, and I said it must be fun to have an underground dwelling. Jason made a face at that and immediately starting walking at a faster pace than I could maintain. I told him about my recovering sprained ankle, and he slowed down. He started expounding in a jocular manner on the sights, including the local architecture, mostly consisting of a continuous string of attached buildings. When we’d gone half a block his tone changed.
“I somehow got the impression from talking to Frances and from your emails that your visit here isn’t entirely recreational in nature. I gathered it might have something to do with Timothy and Cousin Jason, who, as I understand it, fell off a rooftop in Los Angeles, and not by accident. If that’s true, I thought it wise that we have our initial discussion outside the hearing of Sarah, who’s frightened out of her mind that someone is lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce on me and young Timothy.”
I was surprised. “You’re very perceptive. I actually came to give you a warning.”
“In that case, may I suggest we go to a pub not far from here where we can talk, undisturbed.”
“I was beginning to wonder whether there were any pubs here, or are there only Italian restaurants?”
Jason chuckled. “Even the pubs serve pizza. We have a big Italian influence. Dean Martin is our national hero.”
If he could joke, he must not be too worried. We followed my route from yesterday in reverse back to the center of town. I was wearing jeans and my rain top, primarily to protect against the chill since it wasn’t actually raining, but I certainly wasn’t too warm. When we passed a young lady with black stockings and a very short skirt, I made a comment about her. Jason gave a wry smile.
“Sarah thinks some of these girls are sluts, now that she’s a mama. However, it wasn’t that long ago and she was dressing in a similar fashion, so it’s all in your point of view.”
I asked Jason what he did.
“I’m in import-export with a rather large company that trades all over the world.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It will be more so when they let me travel to some of the countries we’re trading with. I think that might happen soon. I’ve always wanted to see the world. What about you?”
“When people ask me what I do, I usually tell them I’m retired.”
“I thought the retirement age was going up in the States, not dropping.”
“Of course, there’s a story behind it. You see, I’m an amnesiac.” Since Jason was a cousin, I didn’t mind telling him my background. I briefly recited how I lost and then regained my identity. He was enthralled.
We walked through a short alley to the Guilford Arms, which did indeed look like a traditional British pub, with its long bar and dark wood interior. We found a table in a secluded corner and Jason ordered a pint of something from the waitress. I wasn’t ready for anything alcoholic so early in the day, so I ordered hot tea, even though I’d declined it earlier.
When we were alone I decided it was time to start our discussion. “Have you been contacted by a Thomas Kelly from Los Angeles?”
Jason shook his head. “I can’t say I have. The name doesn’t set off any fireworks in my brain.”
“He’s flying to Edinburgh today. Or rather, he’s arriving here today. It’s an overnight flight. I believe he’s going to attempt to contact you. He may even be planning to kill you.”
I already knew I could be blunt with Jason. I also wanted to get his attention. He didn’t overreact to this statement. He considered it seriously for a few seconds before he spoke.
“Why do you say that?”
“I need to give you some background.”
Jason knew we were cousins, but he didn’t know exactly how
. I explained we were related through Grandma’s side of the family. I told him about Grandma being scammed, and that I suspected Tom Kelly. I talked about Tom’s interest in the Boyd family tree, and that he might hold resentment against the Boyds. Although I couldn’t prove it, I said it was possible he’d killed our cousin, Jason III, in Los Angeles.
Jason IV, who had impressed me with his sharpness, tried to take it all in.
“This Kelly perpetrated a scam on your grandmother, partly because she was descended from Boyds. He must have known she had some money, also.”
“I was big news when I recovered my identity. The only living relative I knew about when I did was Grandma, so her name was in the news, also. I inherited money from my parents. Tom called Grandma’s house and talked to her. He discovered she had dementia, and that he could actually impersonate my dead brother, Michael, and she’d believe him. Anyway, he got ten thousand dollars from her before we stopped him. I’m sure it’s him, but I haven’t been able to come up with any proof admissible in court.”
“Let’s talk about the murder victims. Both young, both with the Boyd name.”
“Exactly. Although it gets strange here, because I don’t think Tom Kelly has ever been to Northern Ireland.”
“Putting that aside for the moment. Does that mean I’m next? And then young Timothy?”
It was best to get it on the table. “Timothy is the next generation of Boyds.”
“A frightening thought. I’m glad we’re here and not speaking in front of Sarah. But let me give you a different point of view.”
“Please do.”
“Timothy—my brother—lived near Belfast, which is where Boyds have lived for many generations. He was a brilliant boy, but he didn’t like to apply himself. He attended University but dropped out. He must have had an interest in genealogy, because he discovered we had a cousin Jason living in Los Angeles. He started corresponding with him by email and by some kind of communications system through the Internet.”
“This is fascinating. Jason’s grandfather, also named Jason, told me he didn’t know about your branch of the family.”
