“Friday Fiction” Series: Poetic Justice, Chapters Thirteen through Fifteen…
[Note from Steve: I’m having way too much fun writing these British-style mysteries to stop now. This one combines the amateur-detective theme of Irish writer Declan O’Hara paired with the professional-detective theme of Scotland Yard’s DS Margaret Bent. Enjoy.]
Poetic Justice
Copyright 2021, Steven M, Moore
Chapter Thirteen
Declan was echoing Maggie’s thoughts. Am I involved in this mess and completely in the dark about why?
He thought her focus on the Irish Rovers was one alternative, but Archimedes had shown that Babbitt had sent the threatening email. If the PI was kidnapped, how could he do that? And if the Rovers were responsible for everything, why had they made the email appear to be from Babbitt?
An alternative might be that Babbitt wasn’t really kidnapped. Maybe he was a Rover! The Rovers might find the Jamaican useful for that part of their smuggling operation that involved drugs. Could an Irish crime syndicate have Jamaican members? Babbitt worked for Heathrow’s firm, but what if the Rovers also used the PI to monitor the barrister? Had Heathrow double-crossed them in some way, and they ordered Babbitt to get rid of the barrister? Or was something else entirely different going on?
He decided to do some of his own sleuthing. He would start by finding out if Gilby and Babbitt had really gone to Jamaica. He rang Laurie Lancaster, Babbitt’s PA. He explained who he was and how he was peripherally involved in the Met’s case.
“I just heard from Mr. Babbitt, via email,” he told her. “I don’t think he was kidnapped. Maybe that photo was fake. I’m betting he’s still in Jamaica for some reason. You don’t happen to know where he was staying there, do you?”
There was silence in which he heard traffic noise. He also heard her gum-chewing increase as she thought. “I think I saw a brochure on his desk. Let me check. Hold on.” She soon returned. “It’s Secrets Wild Orchard in Montego Bay.”
“Thanks, Laurie. You’re a doll.”
“You sound nice. Come around and say hello sometime, Luv.”
“I will.”
He was amazed at his ability to lie now. Desperation? He might be telling a few more lies in the future. He called Secrets.
He wasn’t surprised that Babbitt wasn’t there. Neither was his “wife.” But their departure date didn’t correspond to their arrival date on that day he’d seen Gilby kidnapped, the same day Babbitt supposedly was also kidnapped. Had they gone somewhere else?
The pleasant island lilt of the clerk continued as she asked him why he was looking for Mr. Babbitt. Maybe she’s more suspicious than Laurie? Declan smiled. She should have asked him that first.
“I’m trying to trace him. I have an important message for him about a sick aunt. His office manager told me where he’d gone.”
“Oh, how sad,” the clerk said in her best English accent. “Let me check if he or the missus left a forwarding address.” She soon returned with her answer. He used a variation of his lie with Laurie and rang off.
Grand Cayman? He called Archimedes.
***
Maggie’s tech-wizard passed Declan off to Raul. He’d sounded overworked, so Declan didn’t mind. Raul was also a tech-wizard. Fortunately Clarissa was in day-care.
Declan was at his favorite pub having a pint and dinner when Raul called. He explained he had a contact in Grand Cayman, at one of the posh hotels there, the Westin.
“Your request presented a bit of a challenge. You owe me a dinner. I like Indian. So does Archie.”
“Done, even if your information doesn’t satisfy. You and Archimedes deserve it.”
“My friend has friends at banks and other hotels there. Here’s the name of the hotel and their bank.” He rattled off the name of another hotel, Kimpton Seafire Resort, and a bank in George Town. “Could those two be trying to avoid some of the king’s taxes?”
“Maybe. I guess Jamaica wouldn’t work for what I’m thinking. I’ll tell you and Archimedes later if my hunch is correct.”
He rang off and took two sips from his glass to settle his thoughts. If his hunch were correct, he still wouldn’t know why he was involved, but he could see Maggie interrogating the two lovebirds to find out.
He stared at his moby. He knew it was time to get Maggie and Ezra involved, assuming they’d listen to his theory. They might think it was only the imagination of a novelist, a writer of mysteries and thrillers. That would be their mistake. With his father and sister and contacts they’d provided, he knew how coppers solved crimes…or failed to do so. His stories, even though they were fiction, were constructed to seem real. He thought they were good and hoped one day that book royalties would become a major source of income. If not, he might have to accept some assignments in war zones to keep the ‘zine editors happy.
He found Maggie’s number in his mobile’s contact list and rang her. It went to voicemail so he left a short message for her: If you’re not too busy, give me a call. I have a theory. Declan.
He knew she might verbally bash him for meddling again, so he was surprised when she walked into the pub.
***
“I’ll have what you have and bangers and mash,” she said, sitting down opposite him. “You’re treating.”
Her way of bashing him? All the same, he smiled. “Good to see you again. Rough day?”
“We talked with an Irish Rover who’s in the nick. If we can believe what he said, the Rovers didn’t kill Heathrow. I don’t know about your threats, though.”
“Archimedes traced the email to Babbitt, remember?” She nodded. “His partner Raul helped me trace Babbitt to Jamaica and Grand Cayman. I don’t think the Rovers killed Heathrow. I think it was Babbitt, maybe with Gilby as an accomplice.”
She mulled that over, her ale arrived, and she downed half of it. “Okay. While this sounds like a plot from one of your novels, go on while I’m eating.” She tucked into her food.
Declan watched her for a moment. She was a dainty eater, but she could tuck away food with enthusiasm. Maybe she skipped lunch?
“Okay, I’ll admit my theory is farfetched. Babbitt worked for Heathrow’s firm from time to time and was sweet on Gilby, and maybe vice versa, unless he was using her. In any case, she found out that Heathrow was aiding the Rovers to launder their illegal proceeds—I’m sure there’ll be records of that—and got Gilby to skim a bit of them, that money winding up in their accounts in Grand Cayman. The Rovers found out and killed Heathrow, thinking he was the culprit. Or maybe Heathrow found out what his employees were doing, so Babbitt killed him. Variations on a theme.”
“My Lord, where do you come up with this stuff? Do you smoke dope?”
He smiled. “It fits the facts.”
“Except for the fact that it doesn’t explain why they warned you to stop meddling.”
“Which I wasn’t doing. You’re obviously aware that I write novels. I try to make my crime stories as real as possible. My lead coppers have been male so far, but that might change.”
She pointed her fork at him. “Don’t you dare. That’s too much reality!”
“Apparently, so was The Calais Connection where I describe a French crime syndicate smuggling goods from France, read EU, to England, after Brexit. Their operation all goes south when an accountant in Dover starts skimming some of the profits.”
“So someone in the Rovers actually reads?”
“No, either Babbitt or Gilby do.”
She almost dropped the fork, remembering the book on Rebecca Gilby’s writing table.
“Declan O’Hara, I think you just solved this case.”
Chapter Fourteen
The hunt for Rebecca Gilby produced no results; the one for Ron Babbitt did. The DGSI stopped him on the French side of the chunnel, and he was extradited back to London. DI Abbott seemed pleased when Bent told him.
“Half the pair is better than none,” he said to Maggie. “Assuming O’Hara’s right, of course. Can you give Babbitt some stick?”
“We have enough on him to put him away at least for a bit. I missed one important clue, sir.”
“Good that you’re honest about it, but what was that?”
“O’Hara’s novel on Gilby’s reading table.”
“Had you read it?”
“No. He’s written several.” She remembered the book at Heathrow’s. “I like to start a series with the first book in the series. When I have time to read. I often don’t.”
“Same here. We’re not paid to read or be literary critics, though. We miss a few things now and then, but usually not for lack of reading. I wouldn’t worry about missing that clue.”
Why is he being so nice to me? “Shall I outline what we have on Babbitt and Gilby?”
“You had enough to go after the pair. And you put Heathrow’s firm in its place, although poor Arthur didn’t deserve what he got. The world still turns, and the Rovers still will be around, especially now with the UK outside the EU. The politicos always seem to make our lives more difficult.”
“I guess you can read the reports at your leisure. When we bring Babbitt in, do you want to do the interrogation?”
“I will if you don’t, but it would be good practice for you and again I don’t really have the time.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know how it goes, though.”
“Please do so. If O’Hara’s theory holds true, we should make him an honorary member of Scotland Yard.”
That’s more like it, she thought as she returned to her desk. Henry reverts back.
***
The next day, Maggie and Ezra entered the interrogation room to confront Ron Babbitt. He had defense present, but not one of Heathrow’s partners. The Met had provided him with a barrister.
They were still looking for Rebecca Gilby.
“We have gone over Arthur Heathrow’s records,” Maggie began, after Ezra listed those present and read the PI’s rights to him for the video recording. “They show what he must have discovered. Did the Rovers order you to kill him? Or did you and Rebecca do that?”
“I have no idea who the Rovers are? In fact, you’re talking nonsense.”
“Yet you have an open-ended ticket from Paris to Grand Cayman and money there. I guess a PI does well these days? Is Rebecca waiting for you on that island?”
“I have no idea where Rebecca is. I haven’t seen her since we returned from our holiday in Jamaica.”
“You mean Grand Cayman.” Maggie slid the photo of a restrained Rebecca and Babbitt. The barrister examined it and frowned, sliding it on to Babbitt. “Interesting diversion, the kidnapping. Who hustled Rebecca into that motorcar to make it seem even more real?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She pointed a finger at him. “I think you do, and we have an eyewitness. I have half a mind to set you free so the Irish Rovers can have at you. That would save King Charlie’s justice system a lot of trouble. Of course, we’d hold onto your passport so you couldn’t leave the UK while we finish up our investigation. We’ll let you think about that and confer with your barrister.”
“Think he’s going to break?” Ezra said to Maggie outside the room.
“We can only hold him forty-eight hours, and I’m not sure we can take his passport. Maybe MI5 could.”
“Cor blimey! Let’s not get those blokes involved.”
She smiled. “Not to worry. Thanks to Declan, I think we nearly have this case wrapped up. We have enough to charge both Babbitt and Gilby just for skimming that money, even if it isn’t money due to be laundered by Heathrow. It’s uncanny how Declan imagined this situation in his novel.”
“Let’s get some refreshments while Babbitt stews in his own juices.”
***
When they returned to the interrogation room, Babbitt was ready to cut a deal.
“My client will give you certain information in exchange for a kind word with the Crown Court,” the barrister said. Maggie nodded. “Go ahead, Mr. Babbitt.”
Babbitt placed his palms flat on the table. “First, I don’t know who in the Rovers did Arthur in. It wasn’t me. He sent word to Rebecca that he’d discovered what we’d been doing. He said as long as we returned the money, he’d forgive us. Apparently the Rovers didn’t. You might not ever discover who among them did it, but neither Rebecca nor I did.”
“Okay,” Maggie said. “Good start, if you’re being truthful.”
He smirked. “You’ll never be able to prove otherwise.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, it was all Rebecca’s idea. We’d both had a bad start in life in London slums and tried to hoist ourselves up by our bootstraps. My parents came here when May brought Jamaicans into the country to clean up after the war. Fortunately old Theresa couldn’t kick them out later because they’d obtained their citizenship. Of course, the racist UK still considers us foreigners.”
“Enough of your sad history and politics,” Ezra said. “Get back to the case at hand.”
Babbitt glared at Ezra, but then continued. “She’d decided that neither the Rovers nor the law firm deserved all that money. She schemed about how to get some of it.”
“So she convinced you to help her?” said Maggie. “Don’t tell me you’re grassing on her to take blame away from yourself.”
He shrugged. “We had a relationship even before all that, so I thought her idea was a good one. We polished it a bit, sorting a few details, but it all turned out to be easy. She was in charge of taking the Rovers’ money and laundering it. We transferred it all to Grand Cayman, and then transferred that, minus our cut, into several other private accounts. Eventually that got back to the Rovers, all nicely laundered. The money was mostly from drugs trafficking. Stupid Irishmen finally figured out the beginning amount didn’t match the end.”
“That’s enough to charge the law firm and the Irish Rovers, to my way of thinking.”
“Good luck. It will be hard to track it all. We were at the top of the pyramid. It’s a whole elaborate structure, designed to hide the laundering by Heathrow, no less.”
“With that confession,” said the barrister with a smile, “what will be Ms. Gilby and Mr. Babbitt’s charges?”
“Cooperating in a money-laundering scheme for one. Faking some kidnappings and threatening Mr. O’Hara for two others.” Maggie turned her attention from the barrister back to Babbitt. “So Rebecca panicked as she read Mr. O’Hara’s novel?”
Babbitt shrugged. “She thought that he might see a connection. She planned for him to see her kidnapping but then felt that might not be enough, but, even before that, we went to Grand Cayman after Jamaica to cover our trail. That’s why I also threatened the bastard. After creating our little kidnapping diversion back here, we planned to return to Grand Cayman and then get lost in South America somewhere. I thought we’d made it. Damned Irishmen, both the Rovers and O’Hara.”
“Who helped stage Rebecca’s kidnapping?”
“Fellow from the Rovers. Before they knew what was going on. You plods and the Irishman basically tipped them off, I suppose. Some of them aren’t dumb scrotes.”
Maggie couldn’t say that about Gilby and Babbitt. But where is Rebecca?
Chapter Fifteen
Rebecca Gilby noticed that the air was clear enough to see the distant Alps. She thought she might visit them next on her way to Poland and her mum’s little village. Friendly relatives would welcome her and her money there, she’d rent or buy a little flat, and then spend time sorting her life and future. Austria was the long way around, though, so she might stay there a while. She’d liked England’s Lake District, having gone there on holiday with Arthur once. She thought Austria had one too, on the other side of those Alpes.
Ron had been a good lover, but he’d also been stupid and malleable. An emotional person, he couldn’t focus and analyze things coldly like she could. She could and would use men like that—she’d done that with Arthur Heathrow.
If she could, she’d pat herself on the back. Her stepfather had said she’d never amount to anything as he thrashed her, often after beating her mum. She raised her glass to the Alps, but the toast was really for her mother. Mum, I struck a blow for downtrodden females everywhere.
She was a bit sad about ditching Ron, though. It might be hard to find another lover like him. In fact, it might be impossible to find one in her mum’s Polish village; she’d always said that she’d never go back because it was full of gossiping bullies. Rebecca decided she might only stay there a while.
She forgot the Alps when one of the workers tending the vineyard moved along in her direction, retying vines and bending to pull weeds. She could tell he was intensely dedicated to his task, stopping to analyze each vine’s situation. Would he be as intense in bed? Or maybe I’ll just admire his arse instead?
She was now free to do whatever she wanted. Free to forget Ron, Arthur, and the Irish Rovers…all the men she’d duped.
If O’Reilly only knew why the law firm had failed him!
***
After bidding adieu to Archimedes and Raul, Declan shut the door and then turned. Maggie was already contemplating the dirty dinner plates, glasses, and take-away cartons still emitting the seasoned aromas of Indian food.
“That went well,” he said. “I owed those two blokes. They were a great help. And we celebrated your promotion too.”
“I just wish Raul would quit Google and come to work for us. They’d be one hell of a crime-fighting duo.” She thought a moment, finding her way through her tippler’s fog. “Yes, it was quite a lovely night as long as you forget about their need to Facetime with Clarissa and her babysitter. Thanks for the copy of The Calais Connection. Maybe I can understand our case better. Or Archimedes can explain it all to me.'”
“I’m just happy they got a babysitter. Who knows if Clarissa’d have liked Indian food again tonight? She has a way of expressing displeasure in a loud fashion.”
“Just a normal child, I suspect. I was thinking of my poor mum all the time. Imagine. Five!”
“I’ll sort the clutter tomorrow. Fancy a night cap before I call a taxi for you? Or cuppa’?”
“No. It’ll take weeks for me to work off this dinner’s calories, not to mention your Jameson. That packs a punch. I need to ask a favor of you.” She waved a palm over her face as if to brush cobwebs away. “I’m really knackered. Could I sleep on your couch? I can help clean up that disaster zone tomorrow as a way to pay for my stay.”
He approached her and used an index finger to wipe a bit of tikka masala sauce from her cheek. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch. I have a double bed.”
Her only answer was a kiss…a long one that left him breathless.
***
Notes, Disclaimers and Acknowledgements
Like the novella “The Phantom Harvester,” that’s a spinoff from the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” series, this novella is a spinoff from the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series (which in turn was a spinoff from “Chen and Castilblanco”). Of course, Maggie and Declan are completely different characters, so I’m only counting Esther and the detectives’ cameos to justify calling the two novellas spinoffs. Like the novels in the series themselves, they’re independent stories. As four acknowledgements, I’d like to thank all those authors in the UK and US and elsewhere (I’ve reviewed at least one from Australia) who write British-style mysteries. They not only kept me going during the Covid pandemic–my wonderful spouse did too!–but they inspired me to write these stories and influenced the last few “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” novels–and inspiration always comes from my wife as well.
***
Comments are always welcome.
More than Human: The Mensa Contagion. Apocalypse and first contact are two ubiquitous sci-fi themes. I like to stir conventional themes and plots up a bit, though. Here first contact comes via an ET virus that kills at first (an apparent apocalypse that’s worse than Covid) but benignly creates Homo sapiens, version 2.0. What do these new humans do? They colonize Mars and later meet the makers of the virus, in a manner of speaking (this isn’t your normal first contact). You’ll have some fun with this one, and, like many sci-fi novels, it will make you think about possible futures. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold.
Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas.
