Collins spoke to his boss in Toronto. They had a major lead on the killers and needed to coordinate with the London police as there was strong evidence the Clelland brothers were headed going to London. Both the Toronto and Edmonton Police were fully behind the plans.
After his conversation with Toronto, Collins joined Thorpe in what they were calling the “war room.” where they were on a conference call with Scotland Yard in London. While quite certain the brothers were headed to Britain, the team of detectives had researched all countries containing Hyde Parks. While several cities around the world had parks by that name, none had the view suggested by the tape recording, or an address that fit the lifestyle desired by the Clelland brothers. The mention of friends in the city also steered the police towards London. The departments agreed Scotland Yard would compile a list of all property purchased in the last two years that had any type of view of water in Hyde Park. It was also confirmed Thorpe and Collins would go to London to continue work on the case.
Two weeks later Thorpe and Collins flew to London and met Inspector Henry Baker at the airport. They drove to central London and circled Hyde Park.
“My word,” commented Thorpe, “we do have our work cut out for us, don’t we?”
The Canadian detectives recognized the two large lakes in Hyde Park from maps and photos. The circular body of water at the West End on the large park was in Kensington Gardens. At the other end of the park rested the large curved lake called The Serpentine.
“Looks like we can eliminate about thirty percent of the apartments because they simply aren’t high enough to see the birds on the water.”
“Indeed,” responded Baker, “As well, plenty of these properties have remained in the same families for decades. That will help reduce the list a great deal.”
“Okay, do we have a work area at Scotland Yard?” asked Collins.
“No. The Yard has rented a secure room in a conference centre just off Hyde Park so we’ll be nearby for the investigation.” Baker pointed to a street on the north side of the park.”
“Good, good,” Thorpe agreed.
Baker pulled the car into a garage underneath a business centre on Edgeware Road. Thorpe and Collins were impressed with the work area set up by the Yard. Although his annoyance with electronics had him wincing at the sight of a bank of computers along one wall. Several policemen and policewomen assigned to the case were already busy sorting through the addresses. A large electronic map on the far wall of the room displayed close-ups of all the streets surrounding the park. Each building on the map had an arrow pointing to a box that listed the address colour coded in red, yellow, or green. A key at the top of the map showed that the red coloured apartments were removed as possible residences for the fugitives. The yellow addresses were still under investigation, and the green addresses had either sold in the last year or had some other oddity such as a name that was somewhat similar to the Clellands’ which the investigators felt required checking out.
“Well, I guess it’s time we rolled up our sleeves,” said Collins.
The detectives found three desks in the centre of the room with notebook computers and telephones. Collins reached into his briefcase and pulled out several dog-eared notebooks and piled them on top of the closed computer on the desk. Baker was a young man, full of energy, and clearly a professional policeman. He smiled at Collins and booted up his own computer.
The next two weeks were spent investigating addresses. One lead looked promising. The apartment had been purchased six months previously by someone from Canada using the name Ken O’Toole. He turned out to be a retired physician from Toronto who married a woman from London.
Another apartment was leased two years previously to what the landlord claimed were twin brothers. Baker and Thorpe showed the man pictures of the Clelland brothers, but the tenants were shorter, heavy-set men.
The leads dwindled surprisingly quickly as the real estate in that area did not turn over quickly. After another three dead ends the three detectives bought coffee at a street vendor and sat in the park near the larger of the two lakes. Half a dozen ducks wandered around the table hoping for a food handout. A passing woman pushing a baby carriage startled one of the ducks. It was a rare sunny day in London and the duck flew up towards where the sun was setting at the far end of the park and smoothly settled on the lake. Thorpe’s eyes left the duck and focused on the buildings on the other side of the lake. The sun was edging towards the corner of a building near Bayswater train station.
“Shit, we’ve missed a possibility here.” Thorpe stood up and stared into the distance.
* * *
The first few days of the sail through the Caribbean and across the Atlantic were tiring. Eric was comfortable with the adventure, but was handling most of the work. He noticed Ken was spending a lot of time in deep thought.
“What’s the matter, Ken? We’re free, we’re sailing, and we’re on our way to our new life.”
Ken smiled at his brother. “You’re right, Eric. I guess things have just caught up on me.”
“Why don’t you take the helm for a while?”
“Sure.” Ken eased himself out of his chair and took the position behind the wheel. “Why don’t you get some rest?”
“Good idea. You’re catching on to the nuances of sailing very well.”
“Thanks, bro.”
Eric slipped below deck and flopped down on the bed in the bow of the boat.
Ken put on his sunglasses and studied the worn map that came with the boat. When they left Venezuela, Ken could distinguish the land from the sea on the maps and little else. Early on Ken initiated his plan to learn how to sail when he suggested Eric teach him enough about sailing to allow him to manage while his brother slept, or if he fell ill during the crossing of the Atlantic. Eric was thrilled at the idea of being the one in charge for a change. The shared responsibility would also give him more time to sleep and read. Eric found his brother an avid student and soon felt confident enough to let Ken handle the boat for long stretches through the Caribbean Islands and in the open sea.
Ken followed the path Eric charted on the map which took them between Puerto Rico and the British Virgin Islands, steering well north of St. Kitts and Nevis. The brothers didn’t want to take any chances as they left the comparative tight confines of the Caribbean and ventured into the water of the open Atlantic Ocean.
The trip across the wide open water to their first stop at the Canary Islands meant shift work and alternating four-hour sleeps. Ken continued to learn every facet of sailing and after two more weeks at sea, Ken could handle the entire craft alone, soon tacking and adjusting the sails with ease. Ken never achieved the smoothness his brother displayed at the controls. His justification for his brother’s superior ability was that Eric’s passion for water sports took him to another level. While he liked sailing, Ken gave Eric the impression he had developed a passion for sailing, whereas the reality was that he simply wanted to survive on the boat until they reached a safe destination.
Several days later, and about two-hundred miles from the Canary Islands, Ken was once again at the helm as he watched Eric sleep on the makeshift hammock they made in the bow of the boat.
The chart that Ken studied flapped in the soft breeze flowing from Brazil toward the British Isles far to the north. Each shift ended with a GPS reading and a notation on the chart showing their progress towards their next stop. Ken estimated they had one and a half more days before reaching the Canary Islands. He anticipated he would spot land after he completed three more shifts. He studied the layout of the boat for the hundredth time. The wheel to steer the boat was in the cockpit at the rear of the craft, facing the low door leading to the cabin below. To the left and right in the back of the boat the area was an open seating area, sometimes used as a bed in warm weather. Behind the wheel an old dinghy was securely tied to the back of the boat. Strapped to the front of the dinghy were two weather beaten paddles, suitable, but only just, for maneuvering the small rubber craft. Ken had tapped the wood on the paddles and found the top one sound while the lower one was rotting. While removing the dinghy required untying several weathered lines the paddles were held in place with rubber ties. Ken had tested them several times and determined that with the removal of the tie on the left that held down its head the top paddle would easily slip out from the other rubber strap.
An hour later, Ken woke Eric.
“Time already, bro?”
“‘Fraid so. You have time to grab a bite to eat first. You looked tired and I somehow found some energy, so I gave you an extra hour’s sleep.”
Just hearing that he slept for five hours seemed to perk Eric up. “Thanks, you’re all right.”
“Nothing to it.”
Eric made some instant coffee and winced at the taste. He opened a can of fruit cocktail and devoured it. Twenty minutes later he relieved Ken who went below and climbed into the bow bed. Despite what he said to Eric he wasn’t full of energy. He had slept little during his last few breaks. Again he tossed and turned for twenty minutes before climbing out of bed and pouring himself a large drink from the one bottle of rum they purchased in Venezuela. Ten minutes later Ken slept fitfully.
Ken’s eyes flashed open. Had he heard a ship’s horn? They had seen some ships at sea, but only from a great distance. This horn sounded very close.
The second blare of the horn startled him to the point where he sat up quickly and banged his head on the low roof of the boat. Eric laughed as he leaned into the doorway of the cabin holding the emergency foghorn. “Time to get up, Ken. Your kind brother returned the favour. You’ve slept for five hours.”
Ken felt like he had slept for five minutes, his pulse still racing from the shock of his wake up call. “Oh, okay, thanks, Eric. I’ll just wake up and grab a bite to eat. I’ll be up in ten minutes.”
“All right. But you’re missing a great sunset.”
The darkness closed in around the boat like a shroud as Ken carried a cup of bad coffee up the four steps that led out of the cabin of the boat.
“Anything dramatic happen while I slept, Eric?”
“Hell, no. Not a ship in sight.”
“Good. Why don’t you get some sleep?” Ken looked at the weather vane at the top of the boat and at the softly rolling seas. “The conditions are perfect for fishing. I’ll see if I can catch us some fresh food while I steer the boat.”
“Sure, Ken. You’ve been trying for weeks without a bite. We’ll be in the Canaries in a day or so and we can buy some fish from a market there.”
“It tastes better if you catch it yourself.”
Eric was surprised to hear that. He’d never known Ken to be an avid fisherman, he decided the discovery of the old fishing gear in the boat was helping Ken develop a new interest.
Eric went to sleep below while Ken fed the line through the eyes of the fishing rod and set it beside him. The sun had completely set in the west, the light on the water was an echo of the stars and moon above. Ken checked the GPS and confirmed they were on course. The second hand on Ken’s watch seemed to barely move. Ken secured the wheel and glanced into the cabin to make sure Eric was sound asleep before he put his plan into action.
After another thirty minutes later, Ken reached under the seat and pulled out a short piece of chain. Once again he glanced into the cabin where Eric was still fast asleep. Ken removed the rubber tie from the wide end of the oar and made sure the oar was sitting so it easily came out of the other rubber tie. Then he fastened the chain to the fishing line and dropped it into the ocean. The rod bent over and the reel sang as line shot out. As Ken tightened the drag, the line stopped releasing and the rod bent over under the tension. After he set the handle of the rod in a rod holder on the side of the sailboat he positioned himself back behind the steering wheel, near the dinghy. Only a small flashlight illuminated the deck as Ken calmed himself in preparation for the next step in his plan. Sweat poured off his brow and he wiped his face with a towel.
“Eric, I need your help. Eric!”
Eric stumbled out of the cabin, tripping over a rope on the floor. “Christ, Ken, What’s up?”
Ken pretended to be struggling with the fishing rod. “I’ve got a friggin huge fish on the line.”
“Ah, you probably have bottom.”
“Right Eric, I have three thousand feet of line on,” Ken said sarcastically. “Can you please give me a hand?”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve been fighting if for thirty minutes. It came to the surface twice and then shot straight down each time.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I can’t do both things at once any more. Here, can you fight it for a while?” Ken handed Eric the rod.
Eric struggled with the weight on the end of the line. “Christ, how much does this thing weigh?”
Eric moves closer to the edge of the boat and Ken gripped the handle of the wooden oar and pulled it from the behind the rubber strap. Holding the oar like a baseball bat Ken swung forward with all his strength, hitting Eric in the back of the head. Eric and the rod tumbled overboard, landing with a loud splash, and disappearing into the darkness.
Ken fell back onto the plastic bench surrounding the deck of the boat, his heart racing. He dropped his head as tears filled his eyes as he realized that he was now alone in the world.