Fatal Encounters
By Irv Pliskin
Chapter 6
Steward turned to the people at the table.
“Eliana took a leave of absence. She didn’t leave the firm, she expected to be back and back at work, you know. Before she left, she asked me if I would store some of her valuables for her. She wanted to be sure they were safe. She thought she may be away from her flat for a long time, and she was afraid that someone would break in. She lives in a fairly nice neighborhood, but it is changing, and she didn’t want to loose these things. So, of course, i agreed. It is just a suitcase; I don ‘t know what’s in it, but it may be helpful, wouldn’t you think?”
Timothy brought the large red, stiff sided suitcase into the board room, and put it one the table as Mr. Steward indicated. It was a large Pullman case, an old one. This one had been built well before someone found a way to put wheels on travel cases. It was big, cumbersome, spacious and heavy.
“Thank you, Timothy,” Steward said.
“That’s what she left with me, Inspector,” he said to Murchinson. “You are free to open it and check it out. Poor dear, she won’t want anything in it ever again.”
Murchinson slid the case across the conference table so it rested in front of Hallen and himself. He pushed the knob to open it, but the case was locked.
“It’s locked," he said. “We’ll have to see if we have a master key back at the yard to open this. We’ll have to take it with us. Will that be acceptable, Mr. Steward?”
“Of course. As I said, she won’t ever want anything that might be in there again.”
“We’ll give you a receipt, of course and return it when we’ve finished with it. We’ll also develop an inventory of the contents. In situations like this, it is a normal procedure.”
They spoke for another half hour about Eliana and the sort of person she was. Finally, the policemen stood up, taking the case with them and left. Hallen was eager to go, he wanted to get into the case and see what was there. it was likely, just likely, that it might hold some information that would help him track down the man he now thought of as Carl Rogers.
Once in Murchinson’s car, Hallen took a small folding knife from his pocket, opened a long slender blade and put it in the lock. He twisted a few times and the lock popped open.
“Well, I see you have hidden talents,” Murchinson chuckled.
“Piece of cake, Inspector. Piece of cake. Any good crook can open a case like this one. The baggage handlers do it all the time. Rip off a lot of travelers that way. And now, with the new requirements that we leave our cases unlocked and unsecured, I think the airlines are going to have a rash of complaints about things being stolen even if they weren’t, people being what they are.”
“You could have opened that one back there, you know.”
“Yeah, I could have. But since we have no idea what’s in here, I didn’t think we should share information with those folks, unless we had to. I’m sure they don’t know anything about this guy she went off with, but I wouldn’t want Steward or Morgan to suddenly decide something is too private to look at and give us a hard time.”
“Like what, Jerry? What could that be?”
“Hell, Peter, I don’t know. Maybe she has copies of the company books in there that she is keeping from internal revenue. She could be hiding evidence of some swindle, or perhaps there is a copy of a video she and this guy made together, doing sexy things. Too much to hope for, I think, but it could be there. Why take the chance? Strange things do happen, don’t they?”
“Of course, they do, and you could be right, but I doubt it.”
“Me too, but why take chances?”
Once back at New Scotland yard, they carried the case up to the Inspector’s office and put it down on the long table. The inspector called a clerk with a pad, so they could carefully inventory the contents.
“Do you think we need another witness, Peter?” Hallen asked. “I doesn’t hurt to be really careful.”
“Let’s take a chance,” Murchinson said. “I don’t expect we will have any trouble with any one.”
Hallen nodded his agreement, unsnapped the lock and lifted the case cover. The suitcase was full and neatly packed. There was a shallow layer of clothing, expensive cashmere sweaters, some fine leather gloves, a very expensive evening bag, and a jewelry case that held several pair of gold earring an antique Cameo and some pearls. The string of pearls was antique, judging by the silver clasp.
There were several pieces of Waterford Crystal, carefully wrapped in soft cloth for protection. The clerk recorded every item, and took a picture of it with a well used Nikon camera, so everything was on the record.
At the bottom of the case, there was a large flat item, wrapped in paper and sealed with tape.
They opened it carefully, using Hallen’s knife to cut the sealing tape and paper. Inside there was a large flat portfolio. The cover was secured with a string that went around two buttons. Hallen opened it and as he looked inside, he experienced a surge of excitement.
“Look at this, Inspector,” he said. “Look at this. We may have hit Pay Dirt.”
He reached into the portfolio, and one by one removed six red leather covered note books, each closed with a leather strap. “Diaries. I think these are diaries. With luck they will certainly tell us something., dontcha think?
The diaries were dated in chronological order. Hallen flipped through them until he found the last one. It was current, until the time she left for her trip. He felt his excitement rise, as he read the last entry.
“Tomorrow I am leaving for Philadelphia with Carl. I won’t take my diaries with me, I’ll be much too busy in America, I think. But, I’ll try to keep a journal while I am gone. This is so exciting. I'm so excited, I have never felt this way before. about anything or anyone.”
Hallen could feel the excitement growing. This diary might give them some really important clues about “Carl” and where they might have gone together. A possible location would be a real help in looking for the guy.
“Listen to this, Peter. This tells us something.”
He began to read aloud:
“Carl and I had a great day today. We went to the Aviation museums in Duxford, and then because he said his father was buried in the American Aviation Cemetery in Cambridge we went there, too. I am afraid I got carried away. When we went to his father’s grave, at the very far corner of the cemetery, he broke down and wept. I consoled him, and one thing led to another and we made love, right there on the plot. I don’t know what came over me. I’m not like that, but this situation was hypnotic. Later thinking of it, it occurred to me that if Carl was born during the war, or even just after it he would have to be almost sixty years old. I am certain he is younger than that. Sixty-year-old men can’t be all that vigorous. Carl is certainly sexually vigorous. When we came back to London and his hotel, he again made love to me, about three times. I have never been so loved and as a matter of fact, I am a little ashamed of my passion. I am also sore, down there. But it is a pleasant discomfort. Carl can’t be more than fifty, if he is that. That is very strange. I must ask him about it when I get a chance.”
“What do you think of that, Peter? Interesting isn’t it?”
“Certainly, it is. What else does she say?”
“It goes on. What I suggest is that we have the pages Xeroxed and then typed up so we can read them more easily. Her handwriting is pretty good, but it would help if it was in type. Then we can both read it and compare notes and see what we think about it all. What do you think?”
“Good idea. I’ll have the work started now. Let’s concentrate on the last book, and see how she covers the time he and she met and got together. Will that be okay?”
“Certainly will.”
Once the pages had been transcribed and copied, Hallen spent a half hour just comparing the handwritten work with the interpretation and transcription. Thee was no discernable difference. He hadn’t expected any, but regardless, he had the London techs Xerox the hand-written material, too, since he was going to leave the books there at the Yard. He was sure there was nothing different between the transcription and the hand-written copy, but Hallen left nothing to chance. He wanted all bases completely covered.
When all the material was assembled, Hallen told Murchinson that there wasn’t much more he thought he could accomplish in London at the moment, and that he thought he should go home.
Murchinson agreed.
Hallen called US Airways to discover there was a flight leaving in a couple of hours. With the help of the police, he was sure he could make it, so he booked space. Tourist was sold out, so he decided to take Business class, despite the additional cost.
Murchinson got him to Heathrow with time to spare. He checked in and took advantage of early boarding. Although tourist class was full, Business class was not, so he had two side-by-side seats to himself.
He had just opened his briefcase, when he looked up to see a young blond woman and an older man come into the compartment. They argued for a moment about who would sit where.
“Darling,” she simpered, “why don’t you sit in the aisle seat, I like the window.” She was decidedly British.
“Okay, Clarissa darling, if that’s what you want. I think the aisle will be fine, room to stretch out, I guess.”
He was American, sounding as if he came from the Philadelphia area.
“Oh, William," Clarissa said, “you are such a dear. Such a dear man, is it any wonder that we get along so well?”
They sat down and buckled up. As soon as the flight attendant came by the young blond woman asked for two blankets. “I get chilly in an airplane,” she told the attendant. “I like to be comfortable.”
“We certainly want you to be comfortable,“ the flight attendant said, and she handed her two good sized blankets. “Would you like a cocktail or a snack?”
Hallen ordered a drink and a snack, picked up his papers and began to reread Eliana’s diary.
As the plane moved from the gate, the pert blond covered herself with the blankets, and did the same for her traveling companion. She put the arm rests between the seats up, and within the limits of the seat belts moved as close to her companion as she could. She put her head on his shoulder and whispered loudly into his ear...”isn’t this great darling?”
Once she was sure they were both securely tucked in to the blankets, and completely covered, she slipped her hand to his crotch, unzipped the zipper on his pants and took out his member. Within seconds, it was erect and throbbing. “Just relax darling,” she whispered. “I have some tissues here and you can do whatever is comfortable. Isn’t this nice? I promise you it will be a fun trip.”
He stiffened slightly, as she administered to him, and then he slipped his hand down the waistband of her slacks and was soon fingering her essence as well.
“So long as we can have fun like this,” she said, “flying isn’t such a bore.” And then with a little smirk she added, “when they put on the movie and I can comfortably put my head in your lap, then we will really have fun.”
She licked her lips, put her head on his shoulder and stroked him with a skill developed by experience.
Once they were at altitude, and the fasten seat belt light had been turned off, Hallen got up to go to the small bathroom in the front of the airplane.
Coming back to his seat he looked at the couple in front of him, and it was obvious to his trained eye that the man was in the throes of something like an orgasm.
“Pretty brazen,’ he thought. “Jesus, that’s pretty brazen. That’s some hot girl the fellow is traveling with. She seems to be inaugurating it all. Couldn’t be a wife. No wife I know would act like that. Not even on a horny Honeymoon.” He smiled at his observation. ‘From what I’m reading in that diary, Carl would certainly encourage a situation like that.”
As soon as the plane landed, and they got their luggage, Carl went to the Hertz counter and rented a Lincoln Town Car for the trip to the Poconos. He paid for it with a credit card using the driver’s license he held in the name of William Posten. They left the airport and were on route 95 headed toward the Expressway, Carl said, “they call the road we are going on the Surekill.”
“What?” she asked.
”What do they call this road?”
“Not this one, the one we are going to turn on in a moment. They call it the Surekill.”
“Why do they do that? That’s a funny name.”
”Well, it is really called the Schuylkill, named after the river out there. But, this road is so hard to drive, and so dangerous, we call it the Surekill. If we are lucky we might get off it alive.” He chuckled.
“Oh,Pooh,” she said. “You’re making fun of me.”
“No, that’s the truth, that’s what they call it.”
He was about to give her a travel lecture, tell her about the things they saw. The Art Museum and Boat House Row, but Clarissa released her seat belt and scooted over the leather seats so she would be sitting closer to him.
“This is a great car,” she said. “It must be real expensive to rent one of these. Do you have one at home like it?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have two of them and a Jaguar, too. I like the Jag the best, it is sporty as hell.”
“Coo,” she said, “so are you, Lovey, so are you.”
He grinned in pleasure for a moment, and then when she reached over to his pants, and zipped them down, he grimaced a bit. He almost groaned, “Oh Christ, not again”...but his ego came to the fore, and he pulled in his stomach as she pulled out his member and began to fondle it. She looked up at him after a second and said. “I knew there was something different. You’re driving on the wrong side of the road.”
“No, I’m not. Here we drive on this side of the road, you drive on the other.”
“Is it hard to drive on this side of the road? I wonder if I'll be able to do that.”
“Not too bad. You’ll be okay...” and in his thoughts he said to himself. If you manage to survive that long. You’re too dumb to let live. Too damn dumb.
By this time they were on the North East extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike, Clarissa had taken advantage of the width of the front seat, and was lying with her head in Carl’s lap. Suddenly she leaned over and took him in her mouth again. He could feel her tongue exploring, probing and running up and down his shaft.
She looked up,
“You like that, Dearie? Is this okay? You’re not gonna lose control of the car are you?. I hope not. I can control what’s happening here.”
And she could, and did. She deftly went back to her labors.
This bitch is far too much, Carl thought. Far too much. I never thought I would get to the point where screwing turned me off, but Jesus Christ, now it does. She gives great head, and she’s a pretty good lay, too. It’s too bad she’s so stupid she can’t realize that I want her to keep her hands and her mouth to herself. But I can’t tell her. I gotta be the big man, I guess.
She sat back up after a while, and said. “This is a big country, isn’t it? After this much time, we would have been almost across England, driving as fast as we are. How far have we come?”
“Oh, about 50 miles.” he said.
“Do we have far to go?”
“About another hour or so. Why?”
“I need the loo,” she said. “I need it pretty bad.”
“Well, you could pee there, since it isn’t my car.”
“You're kidding? Do you want me to? Are you into kinky too? Oh, you're kidding.
He shook his head, “Yes, I’m kidding. Hang on, babe, there’s a rest stop about ten miles up the road.
“Good," she said, "I may even make it. If I can’t I’ll take you up on it.”
“You do, and you’ll clean it up. I’m not that kinky.”
They pulled into the large rest stop, and he got as close to the door as he could. She raced to the ladies room. A little while later, she came out looking much refreshed.
Carl was waiting in the large reception room of he rest stop.
“Want something to eat he asked?”
She said, no, and then reconsidered. “I would like some of that ice cream.” And then she saw the gift shop and said, “Can I go look in there? “
“Sure,” he said, “take your time.”
She browsed and looked at all of the souvenir junk in the store. Tourist trap stuff. She selected a few imprinted souvenirs, which he bought without complaint.
The got back in the car, Clarissa eating a large chocolate ice cream cone and carrying the little souvenirs she had bought. Back on the road, her mouth cold with the ice cream, she slid across the seat again, and reached for Carl.
He stopped her hand, and pushed it away.
“What’s the matter, Luv? Don’t you like me anymore?”
“Well, I like you fine, but I’m a little sore. I don’t think I can manage it again right now.”
“Sore, Luv? Sore? Would you like me to kiss it and make it better. I'd be happy to. My mouth is ice cream cold, and that would be good for what ails it.”
“Not now,” he snarled. “Later. Damn it, later.”
She was surprised at his tone. But she slid back to her seat and put on the seat belt. He looked over, she was pouting just a little.
“Listen,” he said, mollifying his tone. “A little later, okay. A guy can only handle so much...and babe you are a hell of a lot to handle.”
She smiled. “Coo,” she said. “Okay, later. There was promise in her voice. I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m full of expectation.” But in his mind he said, Jesus Christ, don’t you know when to stop? How much can a guy take?
Two and a half hours after leaving Philadelphia, Carl slowed the fast moving car, and turned to the right on the dirt road that ran almost three quarters of mile up to his mountain top log cabin.
At this point, Clarissa was sitting up, looking around at the countryside.
“Where are we, Luv?" she asked. “What is this place? Where are we?”
“We’re where I told you we were going. We’re up at my Pocono mountain home. This is the driveway up to the place.”
She was truly amazed as the car wove through the serpentine driveway, through tall trees to the top. When he dove into the parking area in front and she saw the huge house, she was amazed.
“This is yours?”
“Yep, it is.”
“You live here all alone?”
“Some of the time,” he said. “Sometimes I have guests like you.”
“I wager they like it here,” she said.
“You wager right. I promise you most of my guests find this place to be out of this world. Right out of this world.”
To be continued in Chapter 7 - February, 2007.
Irv Pliskin is a retired advertising agency owner. He is a combat veteran of World War II and an Ex Prisoner of War of the Germans. Married, with three kids, and four grandchildren he devotes his time to writing flash fiction. He hopes, that someday, he may become the Grandma Moses of flash fiction. He lives with his wife of 58 years in Cherry Hill, NJ. Contact Irv.
