Waves of Murder by J B Raphael Read Free Book Online Page A

it?”
    “It sure is!” the doorman said, “thank you, sir,” and saluted Lorna with an extra flash of the teeth.
    The bar was long, very long, and they sat at the park window end of it and ordered ‘manhattans’ at $15 a time! Once again, Lorna’s cleavage attracted the barman’s gaze, and he also gave her a whiter than white smile, and also an extra shot of whiskey. She said, “Thanks,” to his name badge, Orlando, adding, “you’re very kind.”
    He laughed, and said, “Your accent is beautiful, you’re Brits right?”
    “Right,” said Jon, “just doing the sights.”
    “Right on,” Orlando said, “go up to Harlem, it’s fantastic!” he enthused.
    “Yes,” Jon replied, “we might well do that, thanks for the info,” he added as he paid the bill with an extra $10.
    “Thank yoo-o-o!” Orlando almost shouted as they left the bar.
    “That was an expensive drink,” Lorna said.
    “The casino paid for it, and everything else on this trip, just go with it!” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. He hailed a yellow cab and said,” Take us back to the ‘Queen of the Atlantic’, Pier 90, please.”
    ‘Hi, this is Bruce Willis, whenever I’m in a cab I always put on my seat belt, it’s not nice to die hard, I know. Bye now!’ the recorded voice said, they laughed, but buckled up at the same time. Back at the ship, as they boarded, they saw two New York cops standing at the entrance. They took no notice of the returning couple, Jon took Lorna up to the reception desk and to his horror saw two NYPD detectives talking to the receptionist, and a ship’s officer, who could have been the Captain. The trio then left, and disappeared into a lift. He watched the floor indicator and it stopped at B deck, where Helen had her suite. Soon afterwards a man appeared at the desk carrying a large metal case, forensic, Jon thought. His blood ran cold, but he thought, now Jon, don’t panic, there’s no way you can be linked to this. He watched as the forensic officer also went up to B deck. “Act normally,” he told Lorna, “there was bound to be an investigation, especially for a US citizen,” he explained.
    “Jonathan Weston?” the suited American voice asked, “I’m Lieutenant Novak of the NYPD, can I ask you one or two questions?”
    “Yes, certainly, but what about?” Jon replied.
    “Helen Smithson.”
    “What about her? I only knew her as Helen,” he said.
    “She’s disappeared, presumed dead and her body thrown overboard. That makes it homocide,” he explained.
    “Bloody hell,” Jon exclaimed, “I didn’t really know her, we had a drink and a dance in the nightclub and sat at the roulette wheel for a while, that’s all I know about her. A woman like her, gregarious and friendly, could take up with a number of companions on a ship this size,” he offered.
    “Yeah I suppose so,” the cop agreed, “Okay, we may have to talk again.” As Novak walked away, he said to his partner, “That’s our bastard, but how the fuck do we prove it?” he whispered.
    Jon felt better as Novak left the ship, not realising that he was under suspicion. But the ‘Queen of the Atlantic’ was sailing the next day, so he was almost in the clear, or so he thought. His joyous thoughts were thwarted, when he heard over the ship’s announcer, “Will Jonathan Weston come to the reception desk, please.” He took his time getting there, fearing the worst. At the desk was Lt Novak with a uniformed cop, “Jonathan Weston, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the homocide of Helen Smithson, anything you say can be used in court when it comes to trial, you are not obliged to say anything.”
    “WHAT?” Jon shouted, “ARE YOU CRAZY?” he asked.
    “If you’d like to come with us down town we’ll get this sorted one way or the other.”
    “Can I call my partner?” he asked.
    “No,” said Novak, “the receptionist will tell her that you are at the 30th Precinct, Manhattan South,” he added. The