Richard did. Make him die alone Carl, make him …’ She trembled, suddenly fearful as she gripped his arm.
Carl recoiled in horror. ‘Sarah, is he in the vault in the library?’
‘Yes.’
The last part of the story was difficult for Carl to tell because he saw it all. One of the security cameras in the library was focused directly on the vault and the sofa in front of it. Before destroying the tape he had watched it from the moment Sarah and Capritzo arrived until … ‘God help me, I could have saved him even then.’
In one of the filing cabinets was a jeweled casket. Inside was the wealth of Europe appropriated by the Nazis and given as payment to Charles Develin for services rendered. Carl would forever remember the image of Sarah sitting on the back of the sofa, her bare feet sticking out from under the hem of her gown. She was laughing as she positioned a diamond tiara, then a string of pearls then finally a solid gold bracelet shot with silver. ‘There, how do I look?’
‘Like a queen,’ Capritzo pronounced, smiling broadly. She smiled back.
Then Capritzo turned away and walked into the vault.
Carl was shocked to realize that it was the one and only time he had seen Capritzo smile or show any emotion whatsoever and, as the image solidified in his mind, the resemblance to his brother Yusuf Sarquazi was unmistakable. Tears welled up.
‘She had to do it Jack. Capritzo would have killed her and the child and …’
‘Enough Carl, I’ve heard enough,’ Jack said as he sprang from the sofa to comfort his friend.
Jack backed away from the grave.
‘Out maneuvered then murdered by a woman and a pregnant one at that. It must have pissed you off something awful Capritzo because I have to tell you that Abran finally managed to contact your brother and Yusuf was on his way here to kill you himself. It’s too bad for Sarah’s sake that it didn’t turn out that way.’
7
Gazpacho soup, assorted bread rolls, cold cuts and salad; the last meal Sarah would enjoy in the dining room at Cavendish Hall for at least a year and a day. Next to her sat Sarquazi’s lawyer Kevin Brosner. He would be accompanying her back to Morocco on board Sarquazi’s ship the Sorrento. Across the table sat Carl and Jack, side by side. The chair at the head of the table was of course vacant except for the memories of Richard Develin and Yusuf Sarquazi.
Carl and Jack waited for Sarah to be seated first, assisted by Brosner. She glanced briefly in the direction of the empty chair. An unmistakable flicker of heartache caressed her face but it was a brief visit. Grief, she had learned was a personal journey; the memories belonged just to her and no one else and she knew she would have to work through the pain and the loss day by day, night by night until it ceased hurting and she would reach a plateau where she could celebrate the brief time she had enjoyed with two extraordinary men. She was looking forward to that day.
‘Jean was right,’ Carl thought as he watched Sarah, ‘she misses them both which probably explains why she seldom eats in the formal dining room, preferring instead her apartment or the Conservatory, sharing her meal with that damn bird Oliver. How strange is that?’
But, considering what she had been through, strange just doesn’t cut it, does it Carl?
She was razor thin, her skin pale and delicate almost as if touching her even gently would leave a bruise.
‘Delicate but strong; please God I hope so, considering.’
Carl noticed that she wore only two rings on her left hand: Sarquazi’s diamond solitaire and Richard’s simple gold band. Carl wondered if Sarah thought about Alan Rose very often. Somehow he doubted it.
He had called Alan at his townhouse but there was no answer. It was early in the morning in Boston so he was probably on his way to work; caught in traffic. When he told Jack this in a brief aside, Jack just nodded his head hiding in a gesture sudden alarm.
8
Neil Perry liked to arrive at work early. It was another beautiful September morning with a promise of light cloud, gentle breezes and a temperature which would top seventy-five – perfect. He eased his car into the parking spot reserved for him in the basement garage of the Boston PD, grabbed his briefcase then road the elevator to the fifth floor. It was just pass seven in the morning and the department was, as usual, quiet at that hour. He liked that because it gave him time to sort through the night’s events and there was always something interesting. Boston rarely disappointed him. Perry could count on at least one homicide and that was what Neil Perry did: solve homicides.
‘Right, so who got shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, strangled or whatever overnight?’
‘Christ, that’s not nice,’ Perry thought as he looked over the preliminary report. ‘Robbery is one thing but to cut the victim’s throat ear to ear, nearly decapitating him; why the hell do that?’
He wandered into the staff kitchen intent upon making a cup of instant coffee. ‘Cause of death – exsanguination: a bleed out, big time.’
It would be all over in less than a minute Neil plus the victim was hit in the back of the head so he was probably unconscious when it happened; didn’t feel a thing. Doesn’t that give you the soft fuzzies to think that this fucking murderer cared enough to …
Come on Neil, he didn’t care one bit truth be told and in your heart of hearts you know it. Be honest, it’s just like at the slaughter house where they stun the animals first to make it easier so you can stick you soft fuzzies where the sun don’t shine.
‘Christ, it’s still not nice.’
Murder never is Neil.
He stirred the milk and sugar into his coffee and thought. ‘Thirty year old white male, six feet tall with an athletic build found near his car in a parking lot by Security at ten p.m. His wallet was missing but the keys to his car were found dangling from the door lock.
‘How strange is that? Why didn’t the perp take the car?’
Further thought was impossible as the day staff arrived full of greetings and conversation; mostly about last night’s baseball game and a rehash of New York Yankee outfielder Dave Winfield’s accidental killing of a seagull the week before.
‘You know the police charged him with cruelty to animals don’t you? It was an accident for crying out loud.’
‘Norm, give it a rest. Nobody gives a damn about Winfield or his stupid seagull.’
*****
‘Why this way?’ Neil thought as he walked back to his office. ‘What happened to good old-fashioned murder like stabbed through the heart or shot in the stomach? Or, conversely shot through the heart or stabbed in the stomach or, while we’re at it how about a strangulation or blunt-force trauma to the head causing
