“To see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle,” declared Matt, round shouldered, and sitting on the edge of the bed only in his underwear.
“That’s an Orwell quote if I remember correctly,” replied Audrey, sliding across the bed wearing her panties and Bristol City sweatshirt to massage his shoulders.
“Orwell sure knew what he was talking about.” His shoulders moved with the rhythm of her fingers digging in. “Boy! That feels good!” he crooned.
Audrey and Matt had temporarily moved out of their apartment to a room on the third floor of the La Cuoco Hotel on the outskirts of town. A slice of a room, painted in an unexciting off-white, it contained all the cramped necessities expected of a last minute after midnight arrival. The window faced onto the parking lot below with a pull curtain at either end. Two chairs sat in front of the open space of the window with a 2-head steel shade floor lamp between them and fronted by a round table with well-used magazines scattered on it. The queen-size bed, and dresser with a television on it took up the rest of the space. Except, that is, for their bulging suitcases whose opened contents had already spilled onto the dark chocolate colored carpeted floor in front of their door.
“I read the papers I copied,” she said, massaging his shoulders deeper. “You’re quite tight back here.”
“I thought you would have read them. Hey! Take it easy!” And he shuffled away from her.
“Any idea what you’re going to do?” Audrey asked. “Here! Come on back. I’ll be gentler you poor boy.” And she kissed his neck and shoulders. “Better now?”
“Well…I guess so,” he beamed.
“I know that look Matthew Bigsley,” she grinned. She pushed her hand out like a stop sign at him while she hopped on her knees away from him. “There are more important issues that must be discussed.”
“More important?” he groaned.
“Get your predator pose turned the other way. I mean it!”
“Okay,” he mumbled disappointedly, and returned to sitting at the edge of the bed.
She began to massage his shoulders again. “I noted that Stuart placed an asterisk beside Alexander Stoffer’s name, then drew a line from it to Archibald Hendley. Do you think that he had evidence that Stoffer murdered Hendley?”
“All I know at the moment for sure is that the dates associated with their business trips coincided with the murders of the young girls. Also, somehow the girls’ first names are related to the Book of Leviticus. How that has to do with this case, I don’t know,” he sighed. He sat quietly for a moment before beginning again. “Let’s assume that Hendley was the innocent one and somehow discovered that Stoffer had committed the murders and decided to blackmail him.”
“Is that the scenario you’re going with then?” she asked.
“It seems the one that makes most sense,” he replied. “But I can’t help but think there’s something else.”
“You’re back to what is in front of your nose, but you just can’t see it. Here… lie on the bed and I’ll do your back.” Once he did what she requested, she straddled him and began to massage his back. “So, what’s your theory on who murdered Sir Reginald?”
“I hate to say, but I think it was the boy, Alan.”
Audrey stopped her osteopathic procedure. “How old is he?”
“I think twelve,” Matt replied, glancing back at her. “Why?”
“Do you honestly believe that a twelve-year-old is capable of cold-blooded murder?” she challenged.
“In this case, unfortunately, I do,” he sighed. “But I think he had an accomplice.”
“Any idea who?” She stopped her massage again and stared down at him intently.
“There are three. Sir Reginald’s nurse Elaine Thornbury who was having a sexual liaison with Richard Sweeney—Sir Reginald’s cousin; Isobella van der Helsing—Sir Reginald’s sister; and Nadia Price who was once a mistress of Sir Reginald’s and who is the wife of the late Archibald Hendley.”
Slowly, Audrey returned to kneading his back.
“Here’s something else I found interesting. About the chauffeur—Mark Dale,” Matt added. “He was a sniper for C company, 2 Royal Anglican. Never really thought about it until now.” He rolled over and sat up.
“Do you think…”
“He shot Stuart and tried to kill us?” Matt shrugged. “Maybe. My instincts say most likely. And that makes him a bigger player than I credited him with.” He hopped off the bed and went to his valise beside one of the chairs, opened it and returned with a thick manila envelope and a clipped sheath of other papers. “How Stuart got a hold of this Engel Report is beyond me,” he said, holding up the envelope. It itemizes an egregious fraud by the Bahn-Kart Corporation. Our copy in this envelope and the original we handed over to acting Police Commissioner Philip Forsythe are the only evidence of it.”
“How do you know?” Audrey asked, with a puzzled expression, taking the envelope into her hands.
“Because the author of that two-year investigative report was killed in a hit and run one month before Sir Reginald was murdered. And for some unknown reason fell into my purview.”
Audrey opened the envelope and let the document slip out enough for her to see the name of its author. “Rodney M. Steiger,” she mumbled under her breath. “Now I remember. He was interviewed by some reporter on the telly. Big story about to break. It was even in the newspapers. Then nothing.”
“The Engel Research Group circled the wagons and closed-up tighter than a clam shell after his death. Said they knew nothing about the research Doctor Steiger was doing on the Bahn-Kart Corporation,” added Matt.
Audrey spilled the document onto the bed and peeled back the cover-page and read aloud the opening statement: “Today, we reveal the findings of our two-year investigation into the Bahn-Kart Corporation (hereafter referred to as the B-K Corporation) presenting evidence that the B-K Corporation has engaged in a brazen stock manipulation and accounting fraud scheme.”
There was a long silence as the two stared at the opening sentence in the hefty document.
“Do you trust Philip? Disregard the reason for your marital breakup. I mean do you trust him to do the right thing with this document?” asked Matt.
She looked at him long and hard. “I’ve always known him to take care of number one. If this document advances him to wherever it is he wants to be, then he’ll use it to his advantage.”
“I want to show you something else,” Matt said, pulling out the information on the Bahn-Kart Corporation. He turned the pages until he got to the Board of Directors. “Here,” he pointed out. “Arnold Ridge. This position was originally his father’s. Then voila! It belonged to Arnold. Remember, his dad died under mysterious circumstances. But here’s the surprise.” His finger slid further down the list.
“Antonnio and Marie Fattori?!” Audrey interjected.
“I’m willing to bet that the majority if not all on this list either belong to or are somehow connected to the Ordo Templi Orientis and I believe Sir Reginald was the Master of the Temple.”
“Have you ever thought that the new Head is not a Master but a Mistress?” Audrey wondered.
“Hmm…Honestly, I haven’t. But come to think about it, it is a possibility.” He sighed. “This case is like an onion. You peel away one layer and there’s another underneath.” Matt stopped his discourse and peered at Audrey. “What’s wrong?”
Audrey was slowly rubbing her baby bump and drawing in deep breaths. “Bluntly, I’m scared! For you, me, and Junior! And you should be too! Your butting heads against some pretty powerful people who won’t hesitate to put us in their crosshairs to get all of this back and shut it down for good.”
Matt was speechless. He knew she was right. And that they were now playing a very dangerous game. Keep your enemies close his mind recited. It’s easier to slip in the knife. But the only problem with that reasoning, he had to keep in mind it was a two-way street. He reached out and touched her baby bump. Whoever they were he knew they could now take something of worth from him in exchange. Mentally, he committed even more to exposing them into the light of day before that happened.