Under the Tower part three (1-3) Read online

  Under the Tower

  Paris Conversion

  Ginny had dreamed of Paris in her teens. The flowers ablaze in ever hue her young mind could imagine. The shining towering iconic structures in photos and on the silver screen. Left bank of the River Seine with painting lining the sidewalks, that stunned the senses. The cafe on the Champs E'llise crowded with chattering couples over wine with cheese and long crusty French bread. Or, Cafe O'lays with sweet dainty pastries. Busy traffic of the strange named streets of a European city. Rushing by the Arc de Triomple and over the Pont des Arts Bridge. Horns differently honking, so foreign to her ears. Yes, Paris a stunning rush of excitement, that fulfilled the desired visions of a young girl. Was not to the Paris Ginny discovered, when she stepped through the noisy electric doors, into the pickup area of the airport. A black SUV awaited them, beside it two agents, who quickly briefed James after curt introductions. She was assaulted by the smell of foul rain and the hues of only gray that left her stunned. Quickly after handshakes Ginny and James hurried into the car, folded themselves into the back seat. Aldo the driver made eye contact in the rear view mirror, he said in broken English, “ Away we go, the rain been pouring down all week and the roads are sloppy mess. Be at hotel maybe hour.” He pulled into the traffic flow, and like the trash in the over flowing gutters the car plowed into the dimness of the Paris morning. Charles De Gaulle International Airport was outside of the main city. The dreariness of the scenery weighted heavily upon Ginny. She sat encased in the corner of the cramped backseat. The fat raindrops hitting the window seemed to slam into her soul, which had been yearning for sunshine. The car plunged through the flooded streets teeming with gray water as they made their way into the heart of the heart of 'the city of lights'. The car finally reached the hotel, where they had dashed through the steady cold rain. As they stepped into the hotel lobby, Ginny's thoughts were of how wet her shoes had become and of how damp was the Paris. The ornament of the hotel, aroused her spirits somewhat. They were already checked in. Upstairs the bellman departed smiling sheepishly with the tip, which Ginny guessed was over the top. Standing uneasily at the window she stared at the blurred avenue below. In the distance its' crown engulfed by dense clouds stood the Eiffel Tower, not a majestic vision in the rain. James gentle touch brought her back from her feelings of gloom. His lips against her ear said, “ I know not the Paris we hoped to share. But into each life a little rain must fall.” She stepped back from him, gave him a side ways glance and in her best French accent said,“you got that right, Sherlock.” They hugged and proceeded to unpack. The mood was solemn, forgotten not the endeavor that for many months had consumed their lives. With detective work one starts small and the value of abilities show your worthiness. Overwhelmed by the last few days, she lay on the bed and James followed suit. They both gazed around at the opulence of the staged room, both sighed. Henri Mattisse' their contact with Interpol had made all the arrangements, which was a big relief. They hadn't needed such a high end place but it was nice all the same. French period stuff from another era, she'd guess 17th century. Ginny took a deep breath and asked James who was staring at some kinda fancy light fixture on the ceiling . “At the airport I didn't catch much of what Matisse' said, please give me a simple bland rundown.” He rose on his elbow , faced her and spoke calmly, “they had some men tag Van Camps' bags and,” he paused chuckled, continued. “Some old spy craft trick I guess, tagged his raincoat, somehow. So spying on him will be twofold, some agents track him with GPS, another team has eyes on him at all times.” They were silent , lost in thought. They both needed sleep like a child who has been sick and needs rest. With the lights off and not much daylight streaming in the window, it seemed like dusk. Ginny glanced at the window, admiring the window-dressing and thought, ' outside that glass lies a Paris devoid of the beauty expected. Only a rain ruined memory of a teenage girl.' Somewhere off in the distance she heard the dull chimes of Notre Dame . James muttered, “ for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.” Ginny laughed for the first time in forever. She replied. “Very astute Sherlock.”

  From somewhere in a dream, Ginny heard murmuring and weeping. Straining to hear, she turned side to side. Training had provided abilities, that others knew not. “ Eyes like an eagle” , her daddy had said. “Police see more than most ,darling. Every detail must be recognized by degrees of importance. Any movement in the shadows, reflections not expected where they occur. When your detecting, you use all your little gray cells. That's what reveals instantly how much danger your facing. One needs to be aware, every moment of every minute of the day. When ya got the badge on, ya a lot of folks last hope. You stand for justice darling. Your daddy was born to be a cop and I'll die being a cop. Ain't no other path for me. So, don't ya fear when I'm on the streets. I protect and serve the people of the great city of New Orleans.” These words she'd heard on her 8th birthday, when her daddy left her in tears at her party, to do his job. Eight short years later, the call would come that her moma never wanted to get. Her remarkable father, “dead in a back alley.' “ Justice, I want justice”, she cried out later that night as she lay head covered by blankets crying herself to sleep. James Wayne had brought forth deliverance and justice. James had unraveled the clues solving the mystery. With her by his side they delivered the shooter to the police, shutting down a group of up and coming mob punks from Philly. Her daddy would have been real proud of his little Ginny girl. Although she'd left the New Orleans P.D. in a cloud of discontent. She hadfound her partner in fighting crime. Together over the years, they had become quite the duo. Some had dismissed them, as married P.I.'s playing some game and thought they should go off into the bayou and have a bunch of babies. Leave the job to the real police. That didn't happen and for their clients as diverse as could be, they were what the doctor ordered. Ginny and James Wayne of Wayne Investigations were there to stay. Deduction specialist of the highest order, Sherlock Holmes would be proud to have their assistance in the dark streets of London, where evil got its' due and justice for all was not a catch phrase.

  Something touched her arm, she jerked awake to find James peering into her eyes. In his gentle sky blue eyes she saw what she'd seen in her daddy's eyes, real love. Not story book stuff of roses and glass slippers, but unconditional and unwavering forever love. He smiled and pointed at his watch said, “ honey we got more to do than sleep, time to rise and shine, because evil that lurks in darkness beckons. Our prey is on the prowl.” Ginny shot up from her place of slumber and reached into her purse removed from it the .44, Matisse had supplied and checked the clip. Then pointed at the door and said, “ready whenever ya are babe.” James barreled laughed as he fell back upon the bed, knowing good and well she was a serious player. But, some of the things she did reminded him of a pulp fiction hero. With a big gun ready to take on any foe. He had known within the first few minutes of talking to her, that she was a determined woman. Possessing a desire he hadn't seen in many others. A revelation had hit him in the heart as she poured out her story, that day long ago in his office. He later decided it was that fabled thing you hear of but never guess you'll know, love at first sight. After the many months that it took to unravel her daddy's case, and put the responsible parties in jail, they had fallen into each others arms. With their convictions and determination, dogged style of detection it was made clear they'd found by what means they could share both their passions. Life was completely satisfying. Watching the raindrops run down the picture window, he was back in that alley where P.D. had found her father off Jackson Square. Standing in the foul smelling rain water looking at the ground. Ginny was pointing at a spot. James recalled her stifled words, “Shot him in the back of the head, S.O.B.'s had him
on his knees, probably wanted him to beg for his life or something. They'll regret that, with or without your help. I'll get them, put them under the jail if need be in the ground.” Together they'd done just that. Some were still doing hard time, some pushing up daisies. Her daddy had not been warned off by city players and thugs. He knew the law and enforced it without prejudice. The P.D. in those days had some good old boys, that considered some crimes could be overlooked, if their wallets grew fat. And, if they could enjoy the benefits of serves rendered. Her daddy was cut from a different piece of cloth, old timers would say. Ginny had heard the remark in the days following his death. She'd heard him on the phone just the day before, tell somebody 'the laws the law, they'll get what's coming to them.' Well, that's what happened in the end, for the rest of their days they'll never forget Ginny smiling face as the judge announced their sentences . James would always remember, the satisfaction he had felt standing next to her.

  A hard rain hit her face, stinging relentlessly as they stood awaiting the car. It ran off the back of her gift shop hat, and unpleasantly down the inside of the collar of her raincoat. James having been a boy scout, always tried to be prepared. But she wanted boots , hers jogging shoes would soon be wet through and through. While standing at the curb she adjusted her shoulder holster. What little daylight there was had been fading quickly, Van Camp was active. They jumped back to avoid the splash of muck as the black SUV rolled to a stop. With them situated in the back, his eyes eager Matisse smiled at them. The number of conversations were too many to keep count, of theses last few weeks. To finally be look at and talking to him in person was a relief. Because in the pursuit of the killer, they no longer felt alone. Matisse' was estimated 5 feet nothing. Bald with a fringe low on the sides, little round glasses and a small French style mustache. He was pumped up, resisting the urge to talk 90 miles an hour. Matisse gathered himself, looked into the back seat with a big kid like grin. They were aware that he had been after Van Camp for close to 4 years. Since the a womans' body was found. In France in the seaside town of Nice, it was his case. An heiress of some kind, old important money family with political pull. The case was a dead end until James contacted Interpol. It was destined to be an unsolved cold case murder. They had only a shadowy suspect, whom disappeared into thin air. The MO was identical. Romance and thief and murder committed by stranging. It took Matisse', only minutes to response to the e-mail inquiry from Wayne Investigations, New Orleans ,USA. Ginny and James exchanged a look, both had shared the same thought and here he was. As French as could have been expected. He wore a expensive gray suit with black vest, and a gold cigarette case from which he withdrew a slim black smoke. “Do you mind, if I smoke ? It slows down the racing mind,” he said in educated accent free English. They both shook, no. Ginny glanced out the windows at the blurred avenue, unaware of it's name. All structures seemed to blend together into misty hazy mountains on both sides. The multi-colored lights on the facades were a tangle of offense and gloom. Matisse's voice brought Ginny back from her rain induced dreariness. She thought , 'good he's not wasting time with a long drawl out testimonial.' “ Sofia had been a sociologist, she had shunned high society to raise money for a foundation she hoped to start for refugee children in our country. She was raised with all privileges that would be expected with her station in life. Sofia was 31, by some high brow standard an old maid as you Americans say.” He pause licked his lips, gave a look to determine if they were following. Seemed satisfied said, “Sofia made quite a name for herself. Then she met Van Camp by all reports at a fund raising polo match. The kind of thing that's a must on the social schedule. Van Camp was the Boston bean town baron or something, suave on horseback and seemingly had all the right contacts. The happy couple shared trips away from family and friends, so no one really had a chance to be exposed to him. Just another rich American trying to buy his way into society. After a the brief yachting weekend she failed to show up for work. Sister discovered the body same as the others.” Van Camp was in the fancy restaurant of his hotel, the Ritz Carlton. It was where he always stayed. He was with a lovely date and two other couples, all were French. Interpol had learned that Van Camp was fluent in French, Italian and German. The couple seated next to his table were dressed to fit in, they were chatting lightly and listening intently. When they pulled up across the street from the Ritz Carlton, Ginny was caught off guard. She'd been lost in the rain as it cascaded down the car window. They all climbed out, Matisse' pointed toward a small bistro and hurried to the door. Ginny and James followed unaware of what was to come. The picture windows were draped on the inside with dark purple table cloths and a printed sign on the door said 'closed for repairs. ' They were surprised, but weren't surprised. Everything except 8 tables and chairs for at least a dozen special agents was stacked up against the front windows. The two of them, stood and took in the setup. Six of the tables were in a 'L' shaped configuration, upon which was an array of laptops and video monitors. James bumped shoulders with Ginny, pointed at a monitor screen that showed 6 people seating in a restaurant. He said, “got eyes on Van Camps group on the hotel camera.” Ginny to say the least was impressed. Half a dozen similarly black suited special agents, sat engrossed actively in their tasks. Matisse' spoke up from behind them saying, “ we have access to real time video feed from all cameras' on the premises and agents seated next to them. Laptops for the GPS trackers, also some chairs and a table over by the kitchen for food and beverages.” He pointed to an area to the right of his 2 desk work station, which had stacks of printouts and 2 laptops. Ginny and James smiled child like grins, James patted Matisse' on the back . “You've thought of everything , my friend,” he said. Matisse' looked off, toward the front window. Solemnly he replied, “I hope so.” Later as they were seated sipping strong French roast coffee and eating sandwiches of roast beef on real French bread, they were signaled. Matisse who had been tapping away on his keyboard cleared his throat. They looked at him. He said. “ Attempt being made to identify Van Camps' dinner guesses. No travel plans in any system,but he has reservation for rental car.” Matisse' smiled, as Che'did hurried over laid some print out down, handed him a packet and a pack of cigarettes. He looked at James who had been watching him. He said , “ Got your phones, they're loaded as you Americans say.” With that said Matisse' looked away. James walked over picked up the packet, which it turned out contained Interpol associate IDs' and general info on Paris. Ginny thought she heard the bells of Notre Dame toll, she couldn't help smiling when she thought of what James had said earlier in the day. The hour was at hand for the briefing, everyone was wrapping up what they had been working on and taking up positions. Matisse' and his assistance Matthieu Che'did stood in the entrance of the now pitch black kitchen. An austere mood had descended on over all present. Matisse' spoke briefly in French. Then to Ginny and James he said.” Most speak sufficient English, so we shall hold briefing in English.” He glanced at them, smiled. He slowly made eye contact with each and every person. Then said, “Special Agent La Salle will begin.” She was a pale paper thin woman, when she spoke she had a slight German accent. La Salle said, “ Our suspect is 42, was born in 1973 in Boston in the USA. He was left motherless at age 14, when Elizabeth Van Camp was discovered strangled . All aspects of murder match suspects' M.O. . The murder remains unsolved. The suspect was attending a sleep over down the street at a friends' house. All present claim he never left residence. Father, John Van Camp was absentee type parent, separate residences and separate lives. Fathers' businesses include multi-national banking, real estate development. Mother was socially motivated, high society type. M.E. report includes that she have liver damage associated with heavy drinking and drug use. Also, old injures associated with physical abuse, son suspected. After funeral father disassociated with boy, whom entered a string of boarding schools. In records we've found, he had difficulties with female authority figures. Van Camp ended up is Swiss boarding school senior year high school, attended college at Oxford University in Engla
nd.

 

 

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