Chapter Twenty-One
He knocked on Mona’s door.
‘Is she in?’ Rae asked, holding the back of her gown together with a clenched hand.
‘Let’s hope so.’
The door opened.
Mona’s lip curled up. ‘What a nice surprise.’
‘Hello, Mona,’ he said. ‘We’ve come for Sunday lunch.’
‘Is that right?’
He edged closer. ‘Are you going to let us in?’
She pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’
‘Why not?’ Rae chipped in.
‘Because you have a hospital gown on.’
‘I’ve just come from the hospital.’
‘And you didn’t have time to get dressed?’
‘Someone was . . .’
Tom squeezed her arm.
‘Someone was “what”?’
‘. . . Trying to kill me.’
Mona smiled, but her eyes were humourless. ‘Ah! So, you did a stock-take of the available places you could hide from a sniper with a rifle, and you were left with my place?’
His eyes narrowed to slits. ‘It’s on the news, isn’t it?’
‘Of course it’s on the news. It’s not every day that we have snipers shooting through hospital windows at patients in the quaint holiday resort of St Augustine, and a car chase through the town that breaks so many laws and statutes that I think you’ve recorded your place in the Guinness Book of Records.’
‘Are you going to let us in, then?’ His voice sounded desperate.
‘I let you in, the gunman comes round here and shoots up my house, my car, my neighbours’ kids and dogs. No, I don’t think letting you into my house would be a good idea.’
‘We have nowhere else to go,’ Rae said.
‘And that’s my problem how?’
‘You’re a police officer.’
‘It’s Sunday, I’m on a day off.’
‘The gunman is dead,’ Tom said. ‘He was in a car accident, and the car blew up with him inside it.’
‘That might be the case, but I have the feeling he was merely the first of many gunmen coming after you two. You’re trouble, Tom. In fact, you’ve always been trouble. Trouble is your first, middle and last name. And she’s trouble as well . . .’ She pointed at Rae. ‘I let you into my house and I just know I’ll be lucky to get out of it with my life in one piece . . .’
‘Did you know the FBI are operating in your area?’
‘Don’t try and wheedle your way in by lies and half-truths. Somebody would have told me . . .’
He turned as if to go. ‘Okay, if you’re not interested in what’s happening in your own town – we’ll be on our way.’
‘I give you a coffee, you tell me everything you know, and then you find someplace else to get yourself killed?’
‘Sounds like a fair deal.’ He knew that once they were inside, she wouldn’t be so heartless as to throw them to the wolves.
‘And you loan me some clothes?’ Rae said.
Mona laughed a genuine laugh. ‘I’m flattered that you think my clothes would fit your skinny body.’
‘You must have something with elastic in it, or maybe that’s shrunk in the wash.’
She looked at Tom and said, ‘Your friend has no social skills, does she?’
‘She’s young.’
Mona stood to one side and they shuffled past her into the living room.
‘I know how Tom takes his poison. What about you?’ she said to Rae.
‘Just normal coffee with no sugar in it.’
Once she brought the coffees in and they were all sitting down she said, ‘Well?’
He told her everything that he’d told Special Agent Nelson Brock.’
‘And the FBI are operating out of the Cadiz Winery?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe the Captain knows and he just forgot to tell me.’
‘Nobody knows. Who’s to say the Captain isn’t in on it.’
‘No . . . I don’t believe it. Something like that couldn’t happen in America, and certainly not under our noses for over sixty years.’
‘That’s one of the reasons why they’ve got away with it for so long – nobody believes it could ever happen. Well, it is happening. You’ve seen the numbers of children that go missing and are never found – it’s like an epidemic.’
‘You think this is really happening?’
‘They keep trying to kill us,’ Rae said. ‘Well – me anyway. They’ll do anything to stop their dirty little secret from getting out.’
‘Hardly a little secret,’ Tom said.
‘So, now that he’s told you,’ Rae said. ‘Can I get some clothes. I’m sure you don’t want my naked butt on your sofa.’
‘You’re not wearing any pants?’
‘No.’
‘You could have said. I would have covered the material with a sheet of polythene.’ She stood up. ‘You’d better come through, and you start commenting on the clothes in my wardrobe and I’ll kick your skinny butt outta here.’
Tom was left on his own. He stood up, went to the window and peered out. His bright yellow Nitro was sitting right outside like a locator beacon, and it was a wreck. God knows how much it was going to cost this time to put right. The insurance certainly wouldn’t pay out if he told them what had happened. In fact, he’d be lucky if anybody would ever insure him again if he tried to make a claim.
‘What do you think?’ Rae said, twirling round in a baggy blue-patterned dress as if she was on the catwalk. ‘Mona’s got some really nice clothes.’
‘You think so?’ he said.
She pulled a face and stuck her tongue out.
Mona was standing right behind her, so he tried not to laugh. ‘I think it’s a million percent better than a green hospital gown.’
‘With my butt on show to anybody who cared to look?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Thanks, Mona,’ Rae said and hugged her.
‘Yeah. It definitely looks better on you than it ever did on me.’
Rae also had on shorts and a pair of old white trainers. ‘As soon as this is over, I’ll wash everything and give it back to you.’
‘Don’t bother.’
‘Oh! Have you got a tablet?’
‘Nope. Laptop is the best I can do.’
‘Can I use it to access my emails. I’d just received an email in the hospital when that bastard tried to kill me.’
‘Sure. I very rarely use it.’ She disappeared for a while, and then came back with an old heavy laptop.
‘This is an antique, isn’t it?’
Mona held out her hand. ‘If you don’t want to use it . . .’
‘No, I’m sure it’ll do just fine for what I need to do.’
‘I am glad.’
Rae plugged in the laptop and waited while it booted up.
‘So, what’s your next move, Mr Rockford?’ Mona asked him.
The corner of his mouth creased up. ‘I was thinking of lying low here for a couple of days.’
‘Think again. I don’t have any room for two of the FBI’s most wanted.’
Mona’s phone began to ring.
‘That’ll be Gubner.’ She picked up the receiver. ‘Hello, Mason . . . Who else would ring me on a Sunday afternoon to tell me about something that I’ve been watching on the news? . . . No, I’m not coming in. You know my feelings on Tom Gabriel . . . That’s exactly right – a has-been who needs to stop pretending to be a teenager and retire gracefully . . . No, I don’t want you ringing me with updates. I’m sitting here watching it on the news like normal people . . . Yeah, see you in the morning.’ She replaced the receiver.
‘So, that’s what you really think of me?’
‘You heard it directly from the horse’s mouth.’
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ Rae said.
He and Mona stood hunched behind Rae looking at the screen.
‘Have you got a printer?’
‘Yes, but it hasn’t got an ink cartridge in it.’
‘Great. Oh well, you’ll just have to look at what Lillian Taylor has sent me on the computer screen.’ She turned to Tom. ‘Remember she was going to break into a university laboratory over the weekend?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, she got in tonight. Remember the English are eight hours ahead of us.’
‘And?’
‘She put the dry-cleaning tags under a microscope and this what she found.’ She brought up a blow-up of the “1” from the pink tag with the number 1171 on it onto the screen. ‘This is what she says in her email:
As I expected, the answer was hidden in plain sight. Some of the vertical and horizontal strokes on the numbers that comprise the laundry marks contain miniature numbers and letters, which are known as microcode. This raises a number of questions, not least: Who put them there? What do they mean? Here’s what I’ve found:
From the dry-cleaning tags:
5242XN9085
IRY27VX2355605X7D23
2YRS42X4561
I also found microcode on some of the vertical and horizontal strokes from the Rubaiyat code:
8X32505683EX3K
X4423546X28V806X7543822025849345V
We (a friend who is studying cryptology at the same university) think that the X is a separator between words. He (my friend) input the code into a piece of high-level decryption software, but even with the code from the Rubaiyat, there’s not enough of it to identify any patterns.
Do you have any more?
Lillian Taylor
‘We don’t have any more, do we?’
‘Not unless the Rubaiyat itself contains microcode.’
‘Did you find it in my apartment?’
‘Didn’t you hide it?’
‘Why would I?’
‘No, I didn’t find it. The Broken Circle have probably got that as well as everything else of yours.’
‘It’s hardly my fault.’
‘I’m not saying that.’
‘The magnifying glass!’ Rae said.
He nodded. ‘Yes, that’s probably what it was used for.
‘Did he use it for writing or reading the code through?’
‘I guess we’ll never know. What I do know though, is that this microcode probably contains the names of the eleven members of The Broken Circle.’
Mona interrupted. ‘If that’s true, then it’s no wonder they want to kill you.’
Tom sat down again. ‘Well, without any more code, it doesn’t look as though we’ll ever find out who they were.’
‘I suppose I’d better arrest you two then,’ Mona said.
‘Arrest us!’ Rae said. ‘What for?’
‘Well, if the killers are dead – as you say, then you’re the only ones who can tell the authorities what happened.’
‘Have you been listening to what I’ve been telling you?’
‘What, so you think you can just go back home and forget today ever happened?’
Tom screwed his face up. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do now, but being arrested isn’t part of the plan.’
‘You’ll be safer in custody.’
‘Oh, you mean like Senator Raeburn and Doc Ratchet?’
‘That won’t happen.’
‘Damn right, because we won’t be in custody.’
‘Well, you can’t stay here. And you need to move that yellow wreck from outside the front of my house. It’s like a neon sign that says: Here I am! Come and get me.’
‘Yes, I agree with you on that. You’re sure we can’t stay here?’
‘Positive. If I don’t take you in . . . I think we both know how that’ll look to the Captain.’
‘Can I borrow your cell, Mona?’ Rae asked.
She went into the kitchen, came back and handed it to her. ‘You’ll be wanting to borrow my rabbit next.’
Tom raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t know you had a rabbit, Mona.’
Rae and Mona gave each a knowing look.
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Tom Gabriel.’
Rae keyed something into Mona’s cell and pressed it to her ear.
‘Who are you calling?’ Tom asked her.
‘That paperboy has left three messages for me to call him.’ She dialled the number.
‘It’s Butterfly. If all you’re after is . . . And you followed her? . . . Interesting. Okay, I’ll come up there . . .’ She looked at the clock on the wall – it was three-thirty. ‘Let’s say six o’clock . . . Where? Mojo’s Tacos at six o’clock. I’ll see you there then.’
She ended the call.
‘What?’ Tom said.
‘Ronnie Paterson – the paperboy – said that a woman has left two bunches of flowers at the place Samuel Kopec was killed.’
‘And?’
‘And he followed her home.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mmmm! Maybe he wasn’t at Porpoise Point just to meet with the FBI.’
‘You think he might have met this woman as well?’
‘Why is she leaving flowers at the place he got murdered? Okay, let’s leave Mona to enjoy the rest of her Sunday afternoon.’ He stood up and hugged her. ‘Thanks for your help, Mona.’
‘I still think you’d be safer in custody.’
‘We can’t rot in custody for the rest of our lives. Sooner or later these people would get to us.’
‘You’ll move the wreck?’
‘Yes. I’ll dump it somewhere, and we’ll catch the bus like normal people. Have you got a bag, or something similar for Rae.’
‘What do I need a bag for?’ Rae asked. ‘I’ve got nothing with me.’
‘There are two items in the Nitro that we probably need to take with us.’
‘Two items! Oh, you mean . . . ?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t even want to know,’ Mona said as she followed them to the door.
Rae gave Mona a hug. ‘Thanks, Mona.’
‘Yeah.’
They ran to the Nitro, climbed in and set off towards Route 1 and the Vilano Causeway over Hospital Creek and the Tolomato River.
He parked the Nitro in a multi-storey car park on East San Carlos Avenue, and then they caught the bus to Vilano Beach.
‘Mona’s dress suits you,’ he said as they walked up the beach arm-in-arm carrying their shoes.
The sun was probably at about eighteen minutes past the hour, but was noticeably sinking towards the sea. The sand scrunched between their toes as the waves washed over their bare feet and splashed up their legs. Seagulls were screeching and diving, and they watched as a blue heron entered the water like the spear of Achilles and came out with a fish in its beak.
‘It’s lovely here,’ Rae said. ‘Maybe we should both retire.’
He squeezed her forearm. ‘I have the feeling it’s a bit too late for that.’
Eventually, they reached Mojo’s Tacos at five to six and decided to sit outside in the evening sun.
Ronnie Paterson was waiting for them, riding up and down the boardwalk on a skateboard.
‘You drive people crazy doing that, you know?’ Tom said with a frown etched on his face.
‘Yeah – I know. Who are you?’
‘Police. I’m here to arrest you. Anything you say . . .’
Rae elbowed him. ‘Take no notice of him. He’s the ex-policeman I was telling you about.’
‘You look hot.’
‘Thank you. Should we eat first, and then you can take us to where this woman lives.’
‘Sure thing. I’d much rather eat tacos than the rubbish my mum makes me eat.’
‘That’d be healthy food?’ Tom said.
‘Yeah. It’s rubbish.’
‘I can vouch for that.’
The waitress came up to the table, filled up Tom’s mug with coffee, but Rae and Ronnie asked for a Pepsi each.
Thinking that it might be his last meal, he ordered two of the shredded beef and salad tacos, two Mexican chicken tacos, two black bean tacos, two flaming beef tacos, two chilli-rubbed baby back rib tacos, two . . .’
‘Hey, I’ll order my own,’ Rae said.
‘And me,’ Ronnie agreed.
He took a swallow of coffee. ‘Those are for me.’
Rae gave a laugh. ‘You’re a pig.’
The food arrived. They pounced on it like famished vultures, ate their fill and belched in appreciation.
‘You’ll have to push me in a barrow,’ Tom said.
‘You’re a pig,’ Rae said.
‘I think we’ve established that already.’
He paid, and they followed Ronnie across the Coastal Highway, up Gardner Avenue to an apartment block on the corner of 2nd Street and Surfside Avenue.
‘Number 17,’ Ronnie said.
‘You stay here,’ Tom said.
‘But . . .’
Rae squeezed his shoulder. ‘Just in case.’
‘In case of what?’
‘Trouble.’
They walked up the stairs to the first floor, found Number 17 and knocked. The name, typed on a piece of card in the nameplate was: Julia Monreal.
The door opened.
A pregnant Spanish-looking woman in her mid-thirties with long black hair and a flat nose said, ‘Yes?’
Tom showed his ID card. ‘Tom Gabriel. I’m a private investigator.’ He indicated Rae. ‘And this is Butterfly Raeburn from the St Augustine Record.’
‘I’ve been reading the serialisation – very interesting. What happened to today’s report?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘What do you want?’
‘To talk to you about Samuel Kopec.’
She paled significantly. ‘I don’t know anyone by that name.’
‘Please,’ Rae said. ‘You’re our last hope. We know about the flowers you’ve been leaving on the beach at the place where he died.’
She began crying.
Rae put an arm around the woman’s shoulders and led her inside.
Tom followed them in and shut the door.
Once they were sitting in the living room, Julia Monreal said, ‘He told me never to say that I knew him to anyone.’
Rae comforted her. ‘I promise you, whatever you say to us will go no further.’
‘There’s nothing I can tell you.’
‘Is it his child?’
‘Yes. If it’s a boy we’re . . .’ She began crying again. ‘There’s no “we” anymore, is there?’
‘What will you call him if it’s a boy?’
‘Juan, and if it’s a girl – Maria.’
‘They’re lovely names. Did he tell you what he did?’
‘No. He said it was better that I never knew what he did, or where he went. He wanted to keep me and the baby separate from his work. On that last night, he said that he was trying to make a better life for us, but he never came home again.’
‘He never mentioned the people he worked for or with?’
‘No. He wouldn’t ever talk about his work.’
‘Did you ever see any of the people he worked with?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Did anyone ever come here and pick him up?’
‘No.’
‘Did he leave anything here with you?’
‘No. Wait . . . there might be something. ’
Tom could see that Rae was making progress and left her to it.
Julia stood up, and Rae followed her out.
They came back after a few minutes.
Rae was carrying a thin A5 hard-covered notebook and she nodded at Tom. ‘I’ll make sure you get this back,’ she said to Julia.
‘What for? I don’t want it.’
Tom spoke for the first time. ‘If that notebook contains what I think it does, then someone was planning to pay a lot of money for it. If that does prove to be the case, I’ll make sure they pay the money to you.’
‘That would help. It’s what Samuel was trying to do, wasn’t it – make a better life for me and the baby?’
He nodded. ‘I believe so.’
They made their way out of the apartment block.
Ronnie was still waiting for them.
‘Thanks a lot, Ronnie,’ Tom said.
‘You’re welcome, Mister.’
Before they could start walking back, a black SUV with smoked windows pulled up beside them.
The passenger window came down and Agent Marita Hansen said, ‘Get in the back, Mr Gabriel.’
He smiled. ‘Hello, Agent Hansen. All of us?’
‘Not the boy.’
Rae said to Ronnie, ‘Thanks for letting me know about the woman, and I’ll bring you the knife as soon as I can.’
‘You gonna be all right?’
‘Yes. These people are the FBI. We’ll be fine.’
They watched Ronnie disappear.
‘Have you been following us, Agent Hansen?’
‘It wasn’t hard.’
Aftermath
Special Agent Nelson Brock held his hand out towards Rae. ‘I’ll take that, Miss Raeburn.’
They were in the wine cellar at the Cadiz Winery.
She pressed it to her stomach and flinched. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘We have people who will find the microcode in the writing, and then decrypt what it says.’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘We’re the FBI, we know everything.’
‘And yet . . . I’m the one with the microcode.’
‘Give him the book,’ Tom said to her. ‘Even if we find out what the microcode says, what are we going to do with it?’
‘We could . . .’
‘More children are being taken as you’re standing here arguing about a stupid book.’
She handed Brock the notebook, and he passed it to a tall man with thick curly black hair and thick-rimmed glasses.
‘Were you going to pay Samuel Kopec for that information?’ Tom asked Brock.
‘It depends whether it’s the information we were looking for.’
‘He was risking everything to make a better life for his girlfriend and their child – can you give her the money?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Can we go now?’ Rae said.
The corner of Brock’s mouth creased upwards. ‘Go where? I’m not an expert in these matters, but I have the feeling that there are people out there who want to kill you.’
Rae looked at Tom, who shrugged.
‘How long will it take you to extract the information from the notebook?’ Tom asked.
‘I’m sure there are mathematical formulas that could be used to calculate a figure, Mr Gabriel, but I have better things to do with my time than work it out.’
‘So, we just wait.’
‘Seems like a plan to me.’
***
Monday, October 15
It was three in the morning when Special Agent Nelson Brock had the information he needed. Decrypting the microcode relied on possession of the Rubaiyat. As long as they had that – decryption wasn’t difficult.
Including Maurice Stern, Jim Brodie, Ronald Dixon and Herbert Gerhart, there were eleven names revealed in the microcode. The other seven were: Adam Kapernick, Julius Morton, Mathew Buzaglio, Denard Rocca, Robert Standback, Denis Pryke and Keith Brogan. Kapernick was high up in the stock exchange; Pryke was the head of an international pharmaceutical company; Brogan was a deputy police chief. All the others were pillars of their communities.
There was frenzied activity.
‘What’s going on?’ Rae asked.
‘We need to take them all at the same time. It will be no good taking them into custody one at a time. Evidence would be destroyed, some of them would go underground, they would make contingency plans, hide behind a wall of lawyers and so forth. We have to make sure we do this right first time round, because we’ll get no second chance.’
‘What about Rosalind Winter?’ Tom asked.
‘We’ll offer her a deal. She’ll co-operate to save herself.’
‘Talking about self-preservation,’ Rae said. ‘What about us?’
‘You receive the gratitude of the FBI for your invaluable assistance, and can return home and get on with your lives. The Broken Circle will be too busy trying to save themselves without thinking about killing you two.’
‘And the story?’
‘Ah yes – the story. You are after-all an investigative journalist, aren’t you, Miss Raeburn?’
She smiled. ‘I guess I am.’
‘You can print the story, but no names, place names or specific details – keep it general.’
‘Will you be able to find the children?’ Tom said. ‘That is, after all, why I began all of this.’
‘The one thing about a global business, Tom, is that records need to be kept. Rosalind Winter will have records, and there will be more records in other places. It will take a long time to unravel everything and put the pieces back together again, but I’m in this for the long haul. You see, my eight year-old son was taken three years ago. I’m not going to stop until I find him, and make every one of these sick bastards pay. Yes, we’ll find the children – I promise you.’
While the FBI agents were busy coordinating the arrest of all those involved, not just in America, but all over the world, Tom and Rae found a dark corner to get some sleep in.
‘That’s it then,’ Rae said.
‘Seems to be.’
‘I’ll write a story that will give parents some hope that they might one day see their children again.’
‘That would be good.’
Sally Stackhouse appeared.
‘Hello, Mister.’
‘Hello, Sally.’
‘I’ve come to say goodbye.’
‘Are you going?’
‘They said I have to.’
‘Because we’ll find the children?’
‘Yeah. Of course, some of them are here with me, but most of them will be found.’
‘We did our best, and that’s all anybody could ask of us.’
‘Still, I would liked to have stayed around for a bit longer, but they said I’d just get into trouble, and I guess they’re right.’
‘You’ll get into trouble wherever you are, Sally.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Thanks for helping.’
‘Have a good life, Mister.’
‘Goodbye, Sally.’
And she was gone.
‘Has Sally gone?’ Rae said.
‘Yes. Those children that can be found, will be. There was no reason for her to stay.’
‘Will she be all right?’
‘Of course. Cassie wouldn’t let anything happen to Sally Stackhouse.’
‘What about us? What’s going to happen to us?’
‘We’re going to go to sleep.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘I know.’
***
At nine o’clock he rang Mary Lou and told her to forget about carrying out any research on Alpine Dry Cleaning, Maurice Stern or Tony Dreyfus.
‘Why’s that?’
‘The case is closed.’
‘That’s probably a good job, because you have four other clients who want to employ you. Do you want to know what they’re about now?’
‘No, I’ll come in later. We’ll discuss them then.’
‘Okay.’
Next, he rang Laura.
‘Are you psychic as well?’ she asked.
‘I have many talents.’
‘I’ve just got off the phone with my art friend.’
‘I called to say don’t bother – the case is being resolved as we speak.’
‘You don’t want to know who bought the loupe then?’
‘Let me guess – Maurice Stern?’
‘Your psychic powers have deserted you.’
He guessed it would be one of the other men in The Broken Circle. ‘Surprise me?’
‘Max Lindros.’
‘You have surprised me – that’s not a name I know.’
‘Are we done?’
‘We’re done. Thanks for all your help, Laura.’
‘You’re welcome.’
He found Brock. ‘Ever heard of Max Lindros?’
‘The federal judge. He’s issuing all our arrest and search warrants.’
‘He’s one of them.’
‘No – we have eleven names.’
‘He’s one of them. He bought the magnifying glass that Rae found inside the slippers that Samuel Kopec had in his suitcase – He’s one of them.’
Brock’s face drained of blood. ‘Shit!’ He hurried off to stop a disaster happening.
Thirty minutes later Brock returned. ‘Just in time. Another five minutes and he’d have warned the others.’
‘I thought you said there was eleven,’ Tom said.
‘They must have increased the membership to twelve.’
‘Maybe thirteen, fourteen . . . twenty,’ Rae suggested. ‘What about one in each State?’
Brock half-smiled. ‘That’s not funny.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be.’
‘Remember, there’s still a hell of a lot we don’t know about their organisation, but we’ll find out. Now that we have the members of The Broken Circle, it’ll only be a matter of time before we know everything there is to know about them.’
‘Let’s hope so, Brock,’ Tom said.
***
It wasn’t until twelve o’clock that the FBI drove them to the multi-storey car park on East San Carlos Avenue to collect the wreck of his Nitro.
‘Do you want me to come up with you?’ he said, when they reached Rae’s apartment.
‘Are you going to hold my hand for the rest of my life?’
‘I was thinking more of helping you to sort the place out.’
‘Oh! No, I’ll see you soon. And don’t forget you have that computer course at the Flagler Community Centre between two and six.’
‘I can’t . . .’
‘After I went out of my way to arrange a place on the course for you – you’d better go.’
‘I suppose I could . . .’
‘I’ll call you later and you can give me a full report of how it went.’
After telling Mary Lou he wouldn’t be in today, he phoned Barbara Harrison and said he’d come round later to explain what appeared to have happened to her husband. Then, he drove back to the hotel, grabbed a shower, three coffees, a change of clothes and made it to the Community Centre just in time.
‘That’ll be fifty dollars, Mr Gabriel,’ Gwenda Fox said with her hand outstretched.
Tom’s face creased up like a rotting avocado. ‘Fifty bucks! I hope it’s going to be worth it.’
‘I’m sure that if you embrace the idea of all this new technology, you’ll get as much out of it as you want to.’
‘A coffee, please.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘Coffee’s very bad for you. We have Darjeeling or Earl’s Grey tea.’
‘I don’t like tea.’
‘I see, you’re one of those people.’
‘One of what people?’
‘The type who are determined to be the sour face at every party they go to. People have come here to enjoy themselves and to learn what technology can offer them. I suggest you sit down, Mr Gabriel and embrace the moment.’
He didn’t like the biscuits they were offering either.
‘Sit over there,’ Gwenda Fox said. ‘Mrs MacDowell will look after you.’
She guided him to a circular table with four more women on it. ‘Mrs MacDowell, can you look after Mr Gabriel, he seems to think he’s not going to have a good time.’
‘Leave him to me, Gwenda dear, we’ll make sure he enjoys himself.’ She grabbed Tom’s arm. ‘Come and sit down . . . ?’
‘Tom.’
‘Come and sit down next to me, Tom.’ She patted the seat of a chair.
He sat down. ‘I don’t think . . .’
‘You don’t need to think, Tom. Let me introduce you to the ladies in your harem. That young lady with the white hair, glasses and nice smile is Ann McLarty; the one over there who looks like Lauren Bacall is Bea Wright; then there’s Beanie Durstan with the beanie on because she’s having chemotherapy; and last but not least is Lauren Appleby with the ridiculously long earrings, the tattoo and the ring in her nose – don’t ask.’
‘Good afternoon ladies, I’m Thomas Gabriel.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ a young black woman in front of a projection screen said. ‘My name is Kelly Veater and I’m here to bring you into the twenty-first century.’
***
‘Well?’ Rae asked.
He was sitting on the sofa reading Caribbean Fire by Rick Murcer when his mobile jangled. He’d visited Barbara Harrison on his way back to the hotel and told her what her husband had been up to and that he was now probably dead. He had arranged check-ups for later in the month at the doctors and with Mr Rosen at the dentist, and he was taking Mona out for meal to Los Rancheros in the old town next Tuesday night – his life was back on track.
‘I have five proposals of marriage.’
‘That’s not why you went there.’
‘When you’re as good looking as I am these things happen.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Definitely.’
‘So, did you learn anything?’
‘Oh yes! I learned to stay clear of the Flagler Community Centre.’
‘About technology?’
‘A bit. I might buy a tablet.’
‘Be still my beating heart.’
‘Anyway, enough about my troubles. What about you?’
‘I called in a locksmith and had deadbolts put in.’
‘Is Franchetti paying?’
‘Damned right.’
‘What about the mess?’
‘Not so much of a mess now.’
‘Did you find your tablet or cell?’
‘No. I’ve had to cancel everything, set up new accounts and generally erase my online footprint. I also emailed Lillian Taylor and thanked her for her help. I paid her by electronic transfer, but you now need to pay me two thousand dollars.’
‘Me?’
‘I think we’ll have sit down and discuss how much was down to me, and how much was down to you. Mr Franchetti needs to get his hand in his pocket.’
‘Okay. We’ll meet tomorrow for lunch. Twelve-thirty at the Black Molly Grill again.’
‘I’ll check my appointment schedule.’
‘Right, I’ve got to go, ciao.’
‘Ciao! I wish you’d stop speaking in a foreign language . . .’ but she had already gone.
***
Tuesday October 16
Mary Lou had transformed the office. There were desks, chairs, whiteboards, pin boards, filing cabinets, a coffee percolator, a fridge . . .
‘This is brilliant.’
‘I agree,’ Mary Lou said. ‘Also, we’re on the internet, I’ve paid the licence fees to access public records, criminal histories, licence plates and so forth. You want to know anything, you ask me.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Thank you, Mary Lou, would be a good start.’
‘Thank you, Mary Lou.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘So, who are these four clients you’ve got for me?’
‘Six.’
‘Six?
The phone rang.
‘Tom Gabriel Investigations,’ Mary Lou said. ‘Just one moment, Sir.
She held out the phone. ‘Giuseppe Montelbano.’
He pulled a face, but took the phone anyway.
‘Tom Gabriel.’
‘It’s Giuseppe, Mister Gabriel.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘From Staten Island – the hot dog stand.’
‘Oh yes. What can I do for you, Giuseppe?’
‘Remember Horty?’
‘I remember her . . . and Hank.’
‘Hank’s here with me now, but Horty’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Giuseppe.’
‘She was murdered.’
‘Who would . . . ?’
‘The police don’t have a clue. Between you and me they’re not interested in finding her killer.’
‘I don’t see what you expect . . .’
‘She helped you when you needed it, Mr Gabriel. Now, she needs your help.’
‘You’re right, Giuseppe. Give me your number.’ He wrote it down on a pad that Mary Lou pushed in front of him. ‘I’m on my way.’
He phoned Detective Gerry McCullough at the 122nd Precinct.
‘It’s the guy with no sense of humour.’
‘I remember – face like a burst football.’
‘That’s the one. Are you still up for a meal?’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow night.’
‘I can probably find something to wear by then.’
‘Got a home address?’
He wrote down the address she gave him.
‘Pick you up about seven?’
‘I’m getting hungry already.’
‘I’ll leave you to choose the place.’
‘You bet.’
He put the phone down. He’d go to the airport straight after lunch with Rae.
Mary Lou said, ‘We need more people.’
‘Employ two more. Give them each three of the six cases and let’s see how they do.’
‘And you’re going to Staten Island again?’
‘So it would seem.’
####
Acknowledgement is made of the Somerton Man Case, the details of which were used as the backdrop for this story. Also, my thanks and admiration go to GC at: http://tamamshud.blogspot.co.uk/
who found the microcode.
####
Follow Tom and Rae’s further exploits in:
Souls of the Dead
(Tom Gabriel 3)
Due out in 2015
####
About the Author
Tim Ellis was born in the bowels of Hammersmith Hospital, London, on a dark and stormy night, and now lives in Cheshire with his wife and three Shitzus. In-between, he joined the Royal Army Medical Corps at eighteen and completed twenty-two years service, leaving in 1993 having achieved the rank of Warrant Officer Class 1 (Regimental Sergeant Major). Since then, he settled in Essex, and worked in secondary education as a senior financial manager, in higher education as an associate lecturer/tutor at Lincoln and Anglia Ruskin Universities, and as a consultant for the National College of School Leadership. His final job, before retiring to write fiction full time in 2009, was as Head and teacher of Behavioural Sciences (Psychology/Sociology) in a secondary school. He has a PhD and an MBA in Educational Management, and an MA in Education.
Discover other titles by Tim Ellis at http://timellis.weebly.com/
Also, come and say hello on his FB Fanpage:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Tim-Ellis/160147187372482
####
Genghis Khan
Warrior: Path of Destiny
Warrior: Scourge of the Steppe
The Knowledge of Time
Second Civilisation
Orc Quest
Book I: Prophecy
Harte & KP
Solomon’s Key
Parish & Richards
A Life for a Life
The Wages of Sin
The Flesh is Weak
The Shadow of Death
His Wrath is Come
The Breath of Life
The Dead Know Not
Be Not Afraid
The House of Mourning
Through a Glass Darkly
A Lamb to the Slaughter
Silent in the Grave
In the Twinkling of an Eye
Quigg
The Twelve Murders of Christmas
Body 13
The Graves at Angel Brook
The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf
The Terror at Grisly Park
The Haunting of Bleeding Heart Yard
The Enigma of Apocalypse Heights (Novella)
Tom Gabriel
Footprints of the Dead
Whispers of the Dead
Stone & Randall
Jacob’s Ladder
The Gordian Knot
Josiah Dark
Dark Christmas (Novella)
Inigo & Tig
As You Sow, So Shall You Reap (Novella)
Cyrus Kane
An Ill Wind (Novella)
Collected Short Stories/Poetry/Anthologies/Non-fiction
Untended Treasures
Where do you want to go today?
Winter of my Heart (Poetry)
With Love Project – The Occupier
The Killing Sands (Anthology)
Raga Man (Short Story)
The Writer’s A-Z of Body Language (Non-fiction)
Summer of my Soul (Poetry)
Also planned for 2014/2015:
Mortis Obscura: Scavenger of Souls (Farthing & Trask 1)
The Timekeeper's Apprentice
A Time to Kill (Parish & Richards 14)
Deceit is in the Heart (Parish & Richards 15)
Orc Quest Book II: The Last Human
The Sword of Damocles (Stone & Randall 3)
The Song of Solomon (Harte & KP 2)
Dark Matter (Josiah Dark 2)
The Corpse at Highgate Cemetery (Quigg 8)
Chains of Illusion (Cyrus Kane 2)
Souls of the Dead (Tom Gabriel 3)