by KJ Kalis
“Coppers just arrived. How much do you want to bet they are there for our journalist?”
“I thought you said our only job tonight was to get the message to her? I didn’t realize we were going to be sitting here watching.”
“Yeah, well unlike you, I like to make sure the job gets finished.” David picked up his phone and made a quick call.
A woman’s voice picked up. “Yes?”
“Ma’am, the message has been delivered.”
There was a pause, “Thank you.”
“One more thing. The police have just arrived at the hotel.”
“To be expected. Keep me posted.”
The call ended before David could say anything else. He knew that phone conversations were kept to a minimum for good reason. There was more and more listening technology that allowed everyone from the government to the police to their enemies to listen to what they were doing. His boss was shrewd. She had them change out their phones every week whether they were working on a job or not.
David tried to stretch in his seat as much as he could. He couldn’t figure out how cabbies managed to sit on the uncomfortable upholstery that fitted out the cab. Maybe it was just this cab, but it seemed that the springs were sticking up right through the seats, poking into his backside. A dull ache was running from his back down his legs. After he got paid, he’d call up that cute massage therapist, Carrie, and schedule a time. He needed a little rest and relaxation.
Not that the bosses treated him badly. In fact, working for this family had been the best job of his career. They were fair, slow to make decisions, and hired the best people they could find.
David had gone up in the foster system in England. He got moved from family to family with astounding regularity, sometimes even before he’d had a chance to unpack his bag. The families did the best they could, but David just wasn’t the school type. He had a lot more in common with the kids that hung out on the streets and on the corners. Once he became a teenager, he began running with a couple of other boys who worked for a money-laundering front. He didn’t do any more than run a few errands, but he did get to watch and see what the life was like. Now, thirty years later, he had stashed away enough money in an offshore account that he could literally go anywhere he wanted to. And, he was nothing more than a low-level member of the organization. He shook his head. It was hard to imagine how much money the bosses probably had. It had to be hundreds of millions of dollars, even billions. David only knew about one small portion of their business, and nothing more, but he knew there was more to it.
One day, David had been walking through one of the warehouses that the family owned and had heard a couple of the brothers talking about interests they had in Las Vegas, Milan, and Moscow. David paused for one second, listening, and then realized he better keep moving. He didn’t want anyone to know that he had heard anything at all. His mind started to race. He only knew about their interests in England, and then even those were only the ones that were in the London area. If the brothers were talking about other cities around the world, the family business was much bigger than he thought it was.
Out of the corner of his eye, David saw something else approach the hotel. A blue sedan, four doors, an older model, pulled right up to the front entrance and stopped, completely ignoring the valet. He saw a man with black hair wearing a navy-blue windbreaker with yellow letters emblazoned on the back. The letters read CTC. “Scotland Yard,” he mumbled.
“What did you say?” Sam asked.
David shook his head. Sam was useless, “Go back to sleep. It was nothing.”
“Okay, let me know if you need anything. Other than that, I’m gonna take a nap.”
David didn’t say anything. It was no use. Any words he would have said to Sam would have been a waste of his breath. David watched as the man walked in the front door of the hotel, wondering who he was and how he was linked to Kat Beckman. When he had gotten the orders to deliver a message, he hadn’t been told anything about earlier surveillance. He guessed that the bosses already knew about this fellow from the CTC. He couldn’t be sure though, so he pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture before the man disappeared into the hotel. “Now, what are you up to?” he whispered to no one in particular.
David didn’t have to wait long for his answer. A few minutes later, the two police officers, Kat, the man with the CTC jacket, and a small gray-haired man with a wiry beard left the hotel. David picked up his phone, “Ma’am?”
“Yes?” The voice responded without any emotion.
“We’ve had a development. They are leaving with Scotland Yard.” It was hard to describe a situation when you really weren’t supposed to use the phone for long.
“Follow them.” The line went dead.
26
A sense of relief flooded over Kat once they pulled away from the hotel. She was with Henry. She glanced behind her. No cab. Just knowing that she was with a group of other people who could protect her helped the fear to subside. She picked up her phone and texted Van. “I’m with Henry. We are all moving to his house.”
A text came back right away. “All of you?”
Kat tapped lightly on her phone sending a reply. “Yes. Me, Henry, Eli.”
“Okay.”
Kat leaned back against the upholstered seat in Henry’s car, taking deep breaths. She couldn’t afford to get overly excited. Not now. Not after she’d finally gotten control of the PTSD that had haunted her for years after her time in Afghanistan. Just thinking about it brought back some of the images from that day -- the smell of the Humvee, the sound of the explosion, the feeling of the heavy transport rocking and tipping on its side, the searing pain in her wrist and TJ’s strong hands as he pulled her out and to safety. That one experience had created a hairpin turn in her life. She ended up in a military hospital healing, at least physically. The mental part had taken much longer, more than a decade. Even now, she wasn’t sure she was fully healed. She might not ever be.
Kat pushed those memories away. “Henry?” She saw him glance into the rearview mirror.
“Kat?”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, “Just as we left the hotel, I spotted a cab sitting across the street.”
“That’s pretty common for a hotel, Kat.”
“That’s not what I mean, Henry. I think it might’ve been the same cab that dropped me off.”
“Kat, the cabs all look the same in England. Are you sure?”
Kat thought for a second. Was she sure? Henry was right, the cabs did all look the same. It was dark, and the cab had been parked in a shadow. She shook her head slightly, pursing her lips. She couldn’t be sure. Henry was right. There was no way to know if it was the same cab or not. “I don’t know. I thought it was, but maybe I was wrong.”
Eli turned halfway around, “Are you okay, Kat? That had to be quite the scare.”
“Yes,” she sighed. “I’m fine. I’m just glad to get out of that hotel.”
Henry glanced once again in the rearview mirror. “You don’t have good luck in hotels, do you?” He had a half-smile on his face.
Kat wasn’t sure she appreciated the reminder. The last time she had worked with Henry, they had ended up going back to the States on a military transport. An assassin who was linked to a terrorist organization got into Kat’s room and nearly strangled her with a garrote. Only Tyrant, the police dog that had belonged to Henry’s ex-wife, had saved her. Without Tyrant, she’d be dead. Kat didn’t say anything.
“Too soon, Kat?” Henry said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Kat was upset, but she wasn’t going to let Henry know that. The car bumped over a set of railroad tracks and then made a sharp turn down a side street. The rows of houses were glued together like townhomes were back home. Henry slowed the car and then made a sharp left turn between parked cars onto a narrow driveway. He pulled into the back and parked. The police cruiser parked behind them and blocked the driveway. “We’re here. Home swe
et home.”
As the three of them got out of the car, the two police officers joined them. Kat walked to the back of Henry’s car and lifted her suitcase out, setting it down on the driveway. She watched as Eli leaned over and lifted his suitcase out. It was the old-fashioned kind, one from before most suitcases had added wheels and handles that allowed them to be pulled. Eli’s was burgundy, a flat rectangle with thick straps crossing over the zipper.
“Here, Eli. Let me get that for you.” Henry reached over and took Eli’s suitcase and walked to the back door. The police officers were in tow, “All right, you two. I’m going to unlock this and get the lights on. One of you stay here with Kat and Eli and the other one can come inside with me and clear the house. I just want to make sure there aren’t any surprises.”
The female officer followed Henry into the house. The male officer stood with Kat and Eli. A moment later, Kat heard Henry’s voice call from the inside of the house, “All right! We’re clear.”
Kat tugged on the handle of her bag, tilting it over, the wheels clattering just a little bit on Henry’s cobblestone driveway. As she gave it a pull forward, she glanced to her right, just beyond where the police car was parked. A black cab, just like the one that had driven to the hotel, passed by. She sucked in her breath, noticing the driver had a flat cap just like the driver that had warned her to stay away, “Henry!”
Henry darted out of the house, his hair flopping across his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
“The cab! I think the cab followed us. They just passed.”
“Are you sure? Are you quite sure?”
With all the trauma Kat had experienced, she had a hard time trusting her own instincts. He was right, she couldn’t be sure. There were a million black cabs in the London area and just because the driver had on a flat cap didn’t mean it was the same person. But for some reason, she thought it was him. A cold sweat collected on the back of her neck. Her gut told her they had been followed. But why? Who would be so threatened by them looking at the artwork that had been shipped? Questions flooded her mind. She felt a lump form in her throat. She swallowed hard as she walked into Henry’s house.
Though it looked small from the outside, Henry’s house was quite spacious. She went up three steps into a kitchen area that was connected to the family room and a dinette. There was a stack of magazines on the kitchen counter, a plate and a cup that looked like it had been from breakfast. While the house certainly wasn’t clean and neat, it was homey. Just being there made her feel better.
“Well, welcome,” Henry said. “It isn’t much, but it’s home. I’ve got two bedrooms upstairs. Kat, you and Eli can each take one of those…”
Kat interrupted. “If it’s all the same with you, I’d rather sleep on the couch. I’d feel more comfortable there.” Henry didn’t ask her why. She was glad for that because she wasn’t sure she could have explained it.
Eli sighed, “I’ll take my things upstairs.”
Henry raised his eyebrows, “And after you do, come back downstairs. I’m going to make a pot of tea.”
Eli offered a weak smile, “I could use a one after all the excitement.”
Kat pushed her suitcase into the corner of the room next to a bookcase and another pile of magazines. Kat had never seen a house with so many. “Henry? What’s with all the magazines?”
“Oh, that.” Henry tilted his head. “I like to collect things. I read magazines about antiques and other objects. It’s become quite the obsession.”
“I can tell,” she said. “What kind of things do you like to collect?”
“Old toy trains, cars, tools. You know, guy things.”
Kat nodded but didn’t say anything. It made sense given Henry’s life. He was single and divorced, with no one to really care for. Even the dog that he had shared a life with now lived at Kat’s house. With the number of hours Kat guessed he worked, collecting things made sense. They didn’t require any care or time that he couldn’t give. Kat glanced around the rest of the house. It was nicely decorated, though worn. The couch was a beige plaid, suspended over a red and green Oriental style carpet. A wide wooden coffee table sat in the middle flanked by two armchairs. A large-screen television was mounted on the wall. Kat could imagine Henry, after a long day at work, putting his feet up on the table and watching soccer, or as he would call it, football.
She heard rattling from the kitchen. The water started to run. As she glanced up, she saw Henry putting water into an electric kettle. Out of the cabinet, he pulled three mismatched mugs, a few packets of sugar and some bags of tea. “You are still using your electric kettle?”
Henry looked up at her, “And how would you suggest that I heat up water for tea?”
“How about the microwave?”
He frowned, “Are you crazy? That would make the tea foul!”
Kat smiled. Teasing Henry always lightened her mood. The last time she was in London they had gotten into a few scuffles, but by the end of it, she had developed a great respect for Henry and for the work that he did. She hoped he felt the same about her. “Henry?”
“Yes, love?”
“Where’s the bathroom?”
Henry didn’t say anything, he just pointed on the other side of the kitchen. Kat walked over, stopping to notice some pictures that were hung on the wall, pictures of his ex-wife Bev, their dog, and Henry standing on the edge of what looked to be the Grand Canyon. “Did you go to the Grand Canyon, Henry?”
“Yeah. I went about ten years ago. Hiked part of the southern rim. It’s quite magnificent.”
Kat nodded and headed into the bathroom. As she closed the door behind her, she flipped on the light switch, noticing the yellow-flowered wallpaper. She guessed that it had been put up by whoever had owned the house before Henry had bought it. It certainly wasn’t Henry’s style, but it was Henry's style to just leave it up. She stood at the sink for a moment and splashed water on her face. It had been a long day. From the other room, she could hear the tea kettle whistle. She took a deep breath, holding a soft cloth to her face. She knew they didn’t have all the information they needed in order to solve Hailey’s murder. Her mind drifted to Carson Martino. She wondered if he had come up with any other leads or if he felt as frustrated as she did. Only time would tell whether they could solve the murder or not. What she knew now was there was a threat against them and they needed a break before something terrible happened.
27
By the time Carson got back to the office, it was mid-afternoon, the sun hanging high over a steamy Savannah summer day. Carson decided to stop back at the police station after picking up a new lunch. He parked the unmarked cruiser in his usual spot, tossing the curry he had ordered in the closest trash bin. He left the windows cracked on the sedan. Whoever drove it next probably wouldn’t want to smell spoiled curry during their shift.
He rubbed his neck as he walked into the police station, trying to massage some of the tension out of the muscles. His head was pounding, probably from gritting his teeth. This case just might be the death of him, he thought. He felt like he was running in circles. He needed to somehow connect the parts they had found, but he had no idea how.
“How’s your day going?” Ginny stood in the doorway of his office, her hand resting on the doorframe.
Carson set a brown bag down on his desk, pulled his chair out and sat down, shaking his head. “Not good.”
“What did you get for your second lunch?” Ginny said, sitting at his desk again.
“Burger.”
“Had to trash the curry?” Ginny grinned. Police officers were used to eating partial meals or no meals at all, depending on when calls came in. Emergencies didn’t wait for meals.
Carson flattened the brown bag, setting a burger and fries on top of it. “Yep. The car smelled horrible by the time I got back to it.” Carson picked up a french fry and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. He looked at Ginny. No matter what happened around the department, she always seemed to be in a good mood, flitti
ng from office to office. There were two kinds of police officers, Carson knew, those who wore the job as though the badge was pinned to their skin and those who hung on to it loosely. He was part of the former. Ginny was part of the latter. There were days he wished that he could let go of the things that he saw and the things he had to do, but that just wasn’t the case. It wasn’t his personality.
“How’s the case going?” Ginny asked, reaching over and taking one of his french fries.
Carson tried not to be annoyed that she was eating his lunch. It was just Ginny, he told himself, “There are too many moving pieces,” he sighed. “This case isn’t linear at all.”
Ginny reached for another french fry, staring at it for a moment before shoving it in her mouth. “What do you mean?”
Carson shook his head, setting down his burger and wiping his fingers on a brown napkin. He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of the iced tea that he ordered with his lunch. “This has me running in circles. The cases where it’s a simple line between the inciting event and the crime are much easier to solve.”
“Can’t see the connections yet?” Ginny said.
Carson shook his head. The more he talked about it the more frustrated he got, “No. It’s driving me crazy.” He stood up from the desk and started pacing, his lunch getting cold. He didn’t care. “So, I’ve got a college art student who gets stabbed by a ten-year-old, that I can’t interview thoroughly because he’s got a high-priced attorney that his foster mom couldn’t possibly afford. Add to that a psychiatrist who was beaten and dumped in front of the hospital who then ends up getting shot. Add to that a pile of miscellaneous art that gets stolen from the art student’s apartment, which is too nice for her to be able to afford and ends up in England.” He sighed, staring at the back wall of his office.
“Yep. That’s a lot,” Ginny said, crossing her legs and brushing her hands off on her pants. “What happened to the journalist that was trailing you?”
