Entering the interrogation room, Agent Carrington stepped into the heat of the exchange waving a piece of paper like a fan. “Well, Mr. Cromwell, good luck for us, more bad luck for you. The judge happened to be up late tonight. This little document here gives us the right to search your premises. That might motivate you to reevaluate this little charade of a story, change your tale and offer us the truth. That would be very refreshing.”
Turning to the local constable, Cartwright, taking a deep breath, ordered, “Put him back in his cell. That might give him some time to cool off and think things over.”
“We’re only thinking of your welfare, Mr. Cromwell,” agent Carrington added with a pinch of sarcasm.
The jailer escorted George back to his cell as the two agents procured the keys to the police car. “Let’s find out what little Georgey porgy is hiding in that home that some realtor wants so badly.” Both agents let out a harrumph.
Pulling up to the Cromwell home, Agents Cartwright and Carrington, noticing a light on in the kitchen, knocked on the door. Elaine Cromwell, with puffy, reddened eyes, opened the door. She was immediately resigned to the fateful event she had feared when the agents presented her with the search warrant. She stepped back and allowed the agents to enter.
“So, Mrs, Cromwell, you can make this easy or you can make this difficult. We don’t get any pleasure over tearing your house apart, but we will if you won’t cooperate. Finding that package is the objective and we will do whatever it takes to achieve it. Do I make myself clear, Mrs. Cromwell?” Agent Carrington appeared to be making an attempt to play the role of the good cop.
“Yes, I understand,” Elaine feebly responded. “I don’t think you’ll have to tear my home apart. I’ve already done your work for you.” She gestured for the agents to follow her into the kitchen.
“There, on the table in the breakfast nook. I believe that is what you’re after.” Elaine pointed to the table and the recently opened box.
The agents looked at each other with disbelief. This was way too easy. They slowly approached the table. They peered down at the wrappings, the lid of the box was lying next to them. The box was opened exposing the sought after contents. The agents smiled. Two years in the making. Finally, success. They bent down over the box. They gazed at the contents.
Yes, no doubting the contents: the color, the shape, the size, the aroma. It was a box filled with chocolate covered cherries.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lucky arrived at the dive shop beach out of breath from a mixture of anxiety along with expectation. Looking around for the two gentlemen from Senor Frog’s and not seeing them, he walked out onto the shoreline. He thought he saw someone sitting in the sand and that someone appeared to look an awfully lot like his friend Led. Not too surprised. He had expected as much. He realized that Led needed more time to process this afternoon’s tragic happening. Led had a hard surface to him, but soft insides.
“Hey, Led. What you up to out here by yourself? I thought you were in the pursuit of your favorite pastime,” Lucky teased.
“Yeah, yeah, you know that’s usually right, Lucky, but right now I’m trying to figure out something,” Led replied.
“And, that is?”
“Well, you see, when we were diving this afternoon, I thought I saw what I believed to be a sand shark swim by Yolanda’s legs. Now, I’m not so sure for two reasons. One, is that my mask was fogged over and I couldn’t distinguish precise shapes.” He hesitated.
“And, the second reason?” Lucky prompted.
“The second reason is that I found the bullet that killed Marsha.”
“What?” Lucky exclaimed. “Where is it, Led? What did you do with it?”
“I secured it in my dive suit; in a pocket with a zipper. I’m sure it’s still there.” Led was noticeably shaken by recounting the incident.
“So, why are you out here instead of taking the bullet to the police?”
“Because I think that what I thought was a sand shark was actually the rifle that shot the bullet that killed Marsha.” Led stared at Lucky with dead seriousness.
“But, what can you do about that, Led?”
“I’m going to go in after it.”
“Now? At night? Without your dive gear?”
“It wasn’t that deep where we were diving when that happened. I’m sure I can dive down and hold my breath long enough to find it.” Led was pushing the envelope as usual.
“And how will you see down there, Led, did you think of that?” Lucky was always the conservative practical one.
“I brought my seal proof water tight underwater flash light. See, the band fits around my forehead and it allows my hands to remain free to swim and search the bottom. Anyway, there is so much coral down there that I think it will be easy to find it hung up on the coral.” Led had convinced himself that what he wanted to do, he could do.
“OK. But, I just want you to know that there are two desperate characters looking for a package somewhere around here. It’s supposed to be in one of the trash barrels in this area. I’ll keep a lookout for them while you’re making the dives.” Lucky and Led had formed up as a working team on a risky project that neither quite understood the full significance of, yet.
Captain Peggy Hurley sat at her desk with hands and arms in the cathedral form, cogitating. Heavy lies the head of the one who is ultimately responsible for making the decisions. Though Hurley was no stranger to decision making, she would need to possess the wisdom of Solomon with this baby. Not only did she represent Royal Danish cruise lines, she was up against none other than the CIA.
“So, you see, Captain Hurley,” Sanjay Mehta continued, “we may be in a no win situation on this one. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. To say the least, I am extremely unhappy with the situation as it stands at present.” Samantha Simmons sat quiet as a church mouse. Not her usual modus operandi.
“And, Sanjay, you say that you are in possession of the container which the alleged smugglers were attempting to hand over to their contacts on the island? I’m thinking that I feel very uneasy about that fact. Can you explain why you didn’t turn the evidence over to the CIA as soon as you retrieved it from that trash barrel or whatever it was?” Captain Hurley was visibly irritated. She didn’t appreciate that she was in a compromised position...an accomplice to withholding evidence in a criminal case.
“Exactly why I brought Miss Simmons in on this meeting, Captain. We need a witness who is both objective and a professional reporter. I asked her to bring along her camera and recording device as well so that everything we say and do here will stand up to any official inquiry.”
Samantha fiddled with her camera and pen as she juggled the position in her seat when she heard the Chief Inspector’s real reason for why he had invited her in on this meeting. It was to help cover his a??, well, his backside. She felt a bit miffed in the first instance, but then, modifying her perception, she felt respected as a professional. Yes, she would do the right thing and, also, the pragmatic thing; a rare case when both right and pragmatic went hand-in-hand.
“So, that’s the reason for my invitation to this meeting, Chief Inspector? I could have guessed that I would be used for some purpose. In this case, I’m pleased that you have taken me into your trust. I’ve been recording the meeting up to this point. Now, what is it that you want me to photograph?” Samantha felt better now that she had an opportunity to verbalize her feelings.
“Captain Hurley, Miss Simmons, I think that once you see what is in this container, you will understand why I didn’t hand it over to the CIA or any police official.” Sanjay very ceremoniously took the container out of his side pocket and set it on the Captain’s desk. The Captain, reflexively thrust back in her chair as if the box would explode. Samantha stood up and approached, though somewhat warily; her camera ready in hand.
“My apologies, Ladies. I didn’t mean to startle you. Of course, I wouldn’t bring anything that might have the possibility of harming you in any way into this
meeting.” Sanjay then proceeded to unwrap the package. All eyes were glued to the process, just in case.
First the wrapper came undone, then Sanjay lifted the box calmly out of the wrapper. He set the box on the desk top away from the wrappings. “Miss Simmons, please take pictures of this entire process. I want this process documented minutely for the authorities.”
Sanjay then expelled a loud breath of air, betraying his stress, and put his hand on the lid of the box. With the thumb and index finger of his right hand, he ever so gently lifted the top of the container. Samantha took several pictures documenting every moment of action. The lid was raised and the onlookers leaned over as if they were about to peer into the sarcophagus of King Tut.
There appeared very little variation of expression on the three faces, though Sanjay’s facial features belied more that look of satisfaction, than of surprise. All three were mesmerized with wonder over a box of chocolate covered cherries.
Fortunately for Led, the heavens blessed him with a crystal clear night sky and a supermoon, as our nearest celestial neighbor is termed when the earth’s rocky satellite passes the closest to our planet. He climbed up onto an outcropping slab of rock close to the water’s edge which offered him a dry spot to stash his clothes as he changed into his swimming gear and wrapped the search light strap around his forehead. Led was especially careful to neatly fold his DATING CONSULTANT T-shirt.
With those tasks accomplished, he slowly sloshed into the warm Caribbean waters at the place he best could reckon that he and Yolanda had been diving earlier. Turning his head this way and that, Led honed in on the exact area into which he wanted to attempt his dive. He realized that it was a large body of water and he surely didn’t have infinite energy to dive and search the rest of the night. Satisfied with his calculations, Led said a little prayer and dived in.
Meanwhile, Lucky had wandered off in search of his two gentlemen of Verona, as he whimsically thought of them. The yellow crime scene tape had done its job, for the most part. It didn’t seem that anyone other than Led had trespassed, so far. As he approached the dive shop proper, he heard the scraping of metal against the hard walking surface...maybe the trash removal crew?
With his back against the wall, Lucky slid step by tiny step to the corner of the building. Only the insects were providing background cover up noise, making Lucky’s approach quite daring. If it proved not to be the island’s trash crew, there was only one other explanation of whom might be producing the sounds...and he didn’t relish being discovered by the bar drinking couple.
“There’s nothing but garbage in this damn can,” whispered Not-Down-That-Road of the pair. “All I’m finding are sticky popsicle sticks and melted candy with ants crawling all over them. Ouch, that blasted ant just bit me.”
“Quiet! Keep looking. Dump out the whole mess and we’ll both take a look through it,” ordered Not-A-Dimwit.
Lucky went back and forth between fearing for his safety and wanting to laugh at the pair’s ridiculous Tweeledum and Tweedledumber routine. Fear won out, he bit his tongue.
“That’s all of it and there ain’t a freaking package. I know I threw it in here. I can’t figure this out. The garbage guys obviously weren’t here, yet the package is missing. How does that work out?” Not-Down-That-Road was totally defeated.
“Packages just don’t disappear, you fool. There’s got to be an explanation. Someone must have been watching you; following you; on to you, somehow,” Not-A-Dimwit remarked.
“Maybe the cops already searched the area and found it. Maybe it was that nosy cruise cop, Mehta. I know he had his nose stuck into the investigation. He was at the dinner with the Captain. Probably trying to piece together all the loose ends, as he sees it.” The proverbial light went one. Not-A Dimwit felt that he was onto the only rational answer...that meddling Chief Inspector Sanjay Mehta was behind the package missing from the trash can.
“Let’s get the hell out of here before some patrol cop finds us here,” Not-Down-That-Road suggested.
“Well, one of us is getting out of here...and it’ll be me.” Suddenly producing a pistol, not-a-dimwit pointed the gun directly at not-down-that-road’s chest and fired one murderous shot. Randy Barrow dropped to the dive shop deck faster than a falling star streaks down toward the earth.
“That will teach you to foul up my plans, Randy Barrow. You knew just a little too much about this operation. You thought yourself so smart with my help when we planned the blackmail scheme with Marsha. I know you enjoyed the bed action; that was obvious on the tape. But, now, I think this proves who the real dimwit is, wouldn't you agree?" Randy Barrow would have nothing to offer in reply...ever.
Lucky was literally paralyzed both bodily and mentally; he couldn’t make a decision how to act or what move to make next. He was now a witness to a second cold blooded murder. First as an unsuspecting observer from a pool deck at the Cromwells, now he was hiding behind a building in an off limits crime scene. This would not go over very well with the Bishop; not a career enhancing move for a clergyman, or any human being, for that matter.
The next moment mercifully provided Lucky with a little breathing room. He heard the shooter make his way off the dive shop deck and away from the area. Whew, what a break. Lucky had been so uptight that he had forgotten to breathe. Lucky gulped down a huge breath of air. Looking this way and that...no way in particular, really, with his heart racing, he thought, now what?
And, the answer, accompanied by the sound of splashing water, blasted into his ears...
Led was screaming out at the top of his lungs, “I found it!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Two boxes of chocolate covered cherries? That’s the extent of evidence in our case?” Agents Cartwright and Carrington stood over the table examining the captured boxes that were supposed to be filled with the so called smuggled proprietary hi tec.
“And, another murder; all over two boxes of candy? It doesn’t make sense. It’s maddening,” Cartwright added insult to injury with his observation.
“Well,” Mehta responded, “this breaks the first rule of evidence gathering, doesn’t it? I mean, the evidence is supposed to somehow be relevant to the case being investigated. I’m not sure how chocolate covered cherries fulfills that requirement unless we have a severe case of island drug addicts hooked on chocolate. What’s the going price for a pound of chocolates on the street these days? Or maybe it’s the cherries inside?”
Sanjay maintained a serious façade while he relished really sticking it to the agents. Why not? They were CIA agents, trained to be the top spy investigators in the U. S. A. They had been outsmarted by someone and that someone was on his ship. But, who? This was the real question. Find the perp or perps behind this slight of hand trick and you’ll find the real goods attempting to be smuggled. Mehta knew there had been a double-double cross. The harmless contents in the boxes proved that...as well as murder. There was some serious do-do coming down with this case.
“Funny man,” Carrington said with a glare. “Obviously, we need to dust these boxes for fingerprints and send the contents to our lab for a complete analysis.”
All of this was taking place in the Caribbean Star in the Chief Inspector’s office Sunday mid-morning. There was only a couple of hours before the ship weighed anchor and sailed away from Grand Cayman.
Sanjay knew that the long evening before had produced a plethora of clues. It was just going to take some serious sleuthing on his part to put the disparate pieces together. He would also need some help. He was anxious to move the agents out of his office. He had received a text message from Father Lucky that he and Led had a startling bit of evidence to hand over. Sanjay was holding this information close to the vest as he didn’t want any more of the “expertise” from the agents further messing up the investigation.
“You’ll have time to take the evidence over to the island before we sail away,” Sanjay offered. There doesn’t seem to be much more that we can do until we have some results
from the lab and the coroner. Then, we can continue our search for the real boxes and their owners.” Mehta hoped that his suggestion would get the agents out of his hair for a couple of hours, anyway. He really wanted to meet with Father Lucky and Led and find out what they had discovered.
“When we’re over there, we’ll check with the coroner’s office and see if they have anything to offer us. I doubt it; a small island coroner’s probably a retired veterinarian,” Cartwright was the only who laughed at his own inappropriate joke.
“The coroner might have more to offer than we realize. I have a strange feeling that there is a who’s-double-crossing-who going on here. Let’s none of us close the door on any possibility. We’re looking for the key that opens up that aha moment of clarity for us.” Motivated by Mehta’s urging, the agents set off for the tender boat shuttle to the island. They were filled with great expectation about their visit to the coroner’s office and what they might find out from the autopsies. Little did they expect the surprise in store awaiting them.
Lucky set the cabin phone back into its cradle. “That was the Chief Inspector, Led. He said that he was available for our conference in is office anytime now.” Abruptly, Lucky looked detached from present time and space. He felt filled with dread. “I’m having feelings of déjà vu about this present messy affair,” Lucky spoke out this last sentence more to himself than to anyone else in particular. He was remembering his and Led’s first run in with the Chief Inspector on a previous cruise. That cruise proved to be filled with all sorts of mayhem. He wondered if it was bad luck for the three of them to be on the same ship at the same time.
Cruise to Critique (Lucky & Led Cruise Ship Mystery Series Book 5) Page 12
