The sixty-two foot yacht "Allmine" was majestically anchored off Kimberley, Australia.
Frank Sfumato (Smokey, to his friends, such as they were) sat near the umbrella table on the fantail eating a breakfast of Eggs Benedict, strawberries, and drinking Dom Perignon, Cuvet. He loved the tiny bubbles that gently rose from the bottom and disappeared at the surface of his champagne glass, almost as if the floating orbs were in competition to get to the top and similar to his buddies from his old childhood neighborhood who would by any means attempt to rise to the top of the pecking order. Versus those Frank despised due to their lazy lack of ingenuity, who still were sitting on the hood of their cars outside the pool hall drinking Schlitz from a bottle in a brown paper bag, and never amounting to anything more in life than the paper bag. In a crystal ashtray next to the champagne glass rested a fresh, unlit, Arturo Fuentes Opus X cigar waiting as every morning to be smoked as dessert.
He was thoroughly relaxed reclining in the Adirondack chair while the warm sea breeze gently ruffled his light, white cotton linen shirt and shorts. The sea was hypnotically calm with hardly a ripple in its surface and even the usual gulls that flew overhead seemed to be taking a respite this morning.
The view from the boat was serene with a contrast between the clear royal blue water and the white froth of surf crashing on the distant island cliff base. Over the rim of Frank's champagne glass and across the table centered on the cliff wall background sat Tina. She was a striking vision with her blue eyes, black shoulder length hair and bare, tanned up lilting large breasts. The only things she wore were a yellow bikini thong and a string of Australian Mabe cultured pearls, which rested gently above her cleavage.
Frank musingly thought, "All those idiots back in the States working the 9 to 5 drudgery when having all this was so easy". Then he laughed to himself, or so he thought. Because Tina turned to him, and with a nasal Bronx twang, asked "Whaaat?" So, he told her, "Ya know, it just doan ged no bedda than this!"
He was right. Just as Frank finished that statement the entire aft deck beneath them blew upward in stiletto-shards of wood and metal spewing fire and smoke, while tearing him in half from the back at the beltline. Pieces began striking the mirror-finish ocean with a steaming hiss. The explosion hurled Tina's big tits flaming in two separate arcing directions.
The view from the cliff through Moru's binoculars witnessed in detail the fragmentation dismemberment of the boat and it's occupants. When the noise dissipated and the stillness returned to the royal blue and oil-stained sea surface, the binocularl enses focused on only floating debris. He was unable to see below the surface and view the string of Mabe pearls spiral into the coral on the ocean bottom.
Moru smiling turned to leave, tossing the triggering device over his right shoulder into the crashing surf below. He was satisfied with the accomplishment, but felt bad about ruining a perfectly good cigar.
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"Damn, this water is blistering!" Frank shouted through his clenched bottom teeth. He'd been in Kyoto on and off for two years now and still wasn't used to the temperature the Japanese kept the spas. "Oh yeah, this is relaxing", Ki had told him on his first scalding soak. "Relaxing", he thought “if you cared to boil like one of those lobsters in a pot at a New York restaurant.
Ki was a concubine arranged as a "housekeeper" by Frank's boss, Carmine Fregosi, during the first trip to Japan which was a fact-finding journey. The relationship between Ki and Frank had flourished to a point in the first six months requiring her presence in his Kyoto apartment on each successive trip.
The Fregosi family sent Frank to Japan to gather information for the Family after it developed an interest in the Japanese and Australian pearl markets. That Family interest began during a "budget" meeting at the Fregosi compound in Yonkers, New York one chilly February evening, to which, it was a two hour drive for Tony Fregosi ( Carmine's younger brother) from Long Island to Yonkers. He was driving the 300 SL at higher than usual speed for the storm that had been sitting on top of them for the past twenty-four hours. The Mercedes sent plumes of rainwater and dead leaves eight feet into the air, splashing onto already saturated lawns and cascading down business establishment windows, where it ran back into the overworked gutters and storm drains. Tony knew how his older brother despised tardiness. But, he also knew Carmine would understand.
Tony could see it in his face as Carmine glared at him through the open meeting room door when the housekeeper greeted Tony in the anteroom. She took his saturated overcoat and thought to herself how she would have to change the entryway carpet now that Mr. Fregosi had drained water all over it from his coat and pant cuffs. Tony's Vibram soled wingtips made squeaking sounds on the Italian marble as he crossed the floor to enter the meeting. He moved to his usual chair at the table, leaving wet footprints behind.
He had always favored this seating arrangement. Of course, it was predetermined by you're movement in the Family organizational structure. But, the true reason for his comfort with the seating was his immediate line of sight, directly across from the fireplace, above whose mantle was displayed the portrait of Momma Fregosi, mother and aunt to most of the men at the table. They all dearly missed this sweet woman since her death three years ago and Tony still felt responsible to this day. Momma's favorite housecat was never let out of the house. On that tragic day he'd left the door slightly ajar coming into the house from the backyard to look for his cigar lighter. Tony never noticed the furry little escapee slinking past him.
Momma had a heart attack when learning of the accident involving her favorite house cat "Mew". So many times they had all laughed together at their mother roaming from room to room searching for that cat calling out "Mew...Mew, Mew, Mew....Mew". At times they thought she was the cat. Now the next door neighbor Mr. Hermans had backed his Coupe Deville over the cat as "Mew" crossed the driveway. He was at the entry door explaining and apologizing, giving the cat in a cardboard box to their housekeeper, when the box flew open and "Mew" sprung out clawing at Mr. Hermans face. Momma was so distraught and surprised she collapsed into Carmine's arms. None of the rescue attempts were able to revive her.
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Carmine Fregosi, DON of the Fregosi Family organization called the meeting with intent to manage the funds through other avenues beyond drugs, extortion, arms trading, and prostitution. During the meeting, as a joke to alleviate some of the tension in the room, Tony blurted out, "Why don't we become Italian jewelers?" The string of pearls around the neck of his late mother in the portrait mounted on the wall of the teak paneled room where they were seated had caught his attention. There was no laughter at his outburst only wide eyed fixed stares at each other across the twelve foot refectory table. Stanley Ogarini, the Family Consigliore, broke the immediate silence with" Why be nickel and dime jewelers? Just control the jewelers market".
"Why not control the manufacturing and distribution of the entire trade. Specifically the cultured pearl market where there is possibly more profit since you can get the oysters to manufacture the pearls for you rather than waiting for the oyster to maybe suck up a piece of sand hoping it will start slobbering all over it and make a pearl. Then you have to find the oyster. Also, we could funnel funds from our other businesses through the market like a big laundry room" quietly stated Frank Sfumato, a Fregosi Capo (lieutenant).
Tony's off-hand remark, meant for levity, had sparked a thought provoking debate around the room except for Johnnie Fregosi, Carmine's second nephew and Tony's son. He was deep in thought staring through the layers of hand-rubbed wax applied to the meeting table. Suddenly Johnnie became aware of a noise in a momentary lapse of the conversation which jerked him back from the daydream of his girlfriend Gina straddling over the chaise-lounge he was lying on by the pool. A distinct metallic click he recognized turned him toward the head of the table. Opening his eyes widely, Johnnie encountered the 40 caliber Glock semi-automatic handgun Carmine pointed at him, with the hammer pulled back.
"Johnnie, do I have you're full attention now?" Carmine spewed. "Of course, Uncle", Johnnie stuttered. In fact, the elder Fregosi's nephew didn't flinch in his gaze at the wide dark hole of the Glock's barrel even when he felt the splash on his left hand from the sweat ball that dropped from his forehead and struck the shined table surface. "Good! I always believed this piece settled things better than a judge's gavel", Carmine cackled.
Then, setting the Glock on the table next to his cigar ashtray and returning the hammer to its safe resting position with the barrel slightly pointed in his nephew’s direction, or so Johnnie thought, Carmine addressed the Consigliore. "Stanley, is this a do-able project?" "Well, Stanley replied, we'd certainly need some extensive research and probably should start by pooling whatever resources we may have in this arena to make that kind of decision". Realizing the enormity of the undertaking he remarked under his breath with great concern, half to Carmine and half to himself, "I'll look into it".
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Today was unlike most days. The sea was rough and gray as the waves reflected the stormy cumulus cloud cover. Walking the white sand shoreline Lee could feel a fine powdered deposit on her face as the wind evaporated the sea spray blowing across the white froth crashing against the rock outcroppings and the ten foot breakers farther out. She walked the beach most days for calming inspiration inbetween intense sessions of concentration.
Lee Hodgman had been an independent artist for most of her forty-six years and lived alone not far from this beach in a small two room bungalow above the bluff. One of the rooms she used as a study for her many styles of creation which she sold periodically. That was, when she was able to part with what she envisioned as her children. Those creations were in high demand particularly in the United States and supplying that demand over the years had made her quite wealthy.
Her last walk on this beach three days ago had been in beautiful, warm, calm weather. But today Lee had to brace herself against the blustery wind gusts racing at her down the beach since the change in the high pressure system moved over the coast. The temperature was chilly and even though she felt the bite of the wind, she worked up a mild sweat in her layered clothing and the exertion of walking in sand against the wind.
She visually combed the beach in front of her for unusual items the sea occasionally deposited in the flotsam line where the incoming tide stopped then receded. Some of these items she used in a rare sculpture like the conch shells she painted and signed. These brought Lee a fair price assisting her to complete construction on the walls and ceiling of the bungalow art room where she needed more ambient light.
This morning there appeared more than the usual deposit of broken shells and driftwood in the break line. Here she found a piece of aluminum rail, there a four foot by two foot piece of plastic. " That mound in the sand may be of use", she thought, and rushed to try and discover what it might be before the next wave crashed over it pulling it back, never to be seen again.
Lee was slightly short of breath from the her last cigarette and sudden exertion to get to the sand covered lump with two small crabs residing on top just as the next wave smothered it. She thought it was gone as the water disappeared, but could still make out a form in the bubbly frothiness as the sea drug back its cloying fingers.
Not only did she feel the salt clinging to her moist face but she could taste the salty mucous in the back of her throat as the nausea rose realizing what the sea had now revealed as the sea washed the crabs and sand from the object now at her feet. It was not a large kelp bulb as she believed it would be but a severed, partially burned women's breast.
Lee fell to her knees as her breakfast, prefaced by her quivering salty throat, deposited itself forcefully into the sand next to the crab-chewed remains of the breast. The next sea wave claimed the breakfast deposit but not the lump of flesh and Lee had to turn her head before retching again. Taking a deep breath cleared her head and moist eyes as she turned her gaze in the other direction. But forty yards down the beach lay what appeared to be the fully clothed body of a man that wasn't there when she first spied the sandy lump. Her original vantage point next to the sandy lump created the optical illusion that the man was intact. But, as Lee moved a little closer she could truly see that the body from the waist down to the feet was on the beach, feet pointing toward the Kimberley cliffs while the upward torso was seaward and ten feet further down the beach. The arms moving in and out with the rush and draw of each wave. Lee's nausea welled again, though not as strong since she had nothing left to offer as chum to the ocean creatures. Nor, was she interested in continuing this sickly ritual by examining the obviously bisected cadaver attempting to backstroke itself off the beach.
Lee rose from her soaked knees, turned away from the body and the severed breast, and ran to the safety of her light and airy bungalow to telephone the authorities. As she ran, what she believed later were two selfish thoughts occurred to her. One, "could I ever walk this beach again?” And two, "What artful creation could come of this obvious tragedy?"!
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The coffee was cold, oily, acidic, and the donut was not only stale but left white powdered sugar everywhere including his black tie. It may have been his obsessive-compulsiveness to neatness and order, but even brushing the sugar’s residue from his chin didn’t change the feeling that it still showed. Certainly, everyone would detect the microscopic spots on his tie.
William Creighton’s intense attention to detail had elevated his career to the rank of Inspector in the Western Australia Police force. He had one of the highest percentages in the department for case resolution. But, the intensity and long hours of dedication had spoiled many relationships, including a marriage.
“Can the breakfast pool get something other than powdered sugar donuts!” he snapped.
“We bought those because you had problems with the jelly-filled ones ”, replied Constable Tom Morris. “Might I suggest a napkin Inspector? Especially for you’re chin”, Morris retorted in a monotone. There was nothing on Creighton’s chin but he knew it would bug-the-crap out of the Inspector to think there was. “By the way, we’ve just received a telephone call from a lady in the Kimbereleys reporting a dead body and body parts washed up on the beach.”
“Alright, anything else she noticed in the area?”, Creighton replied whle continuously rubbing his chin with his handkerchief.
“She found a large piece of plastic and an aluminum rail”, Morris stated.
“I see. Do we have anyone out there yet?” Creighton asked him.
“No sir, a local car should be there in about ten minutes” Morris coughed over his donut.
“ Ok, alert the Coast Guard search and rescue about the information. Tell them there’s possibly a downed craft of some sort and have them coordinate with the local car to cordon off the area until we get there”, Creighton said, as he wrote something in his pocket notebook.
“Yes sir”, grinned Morris as he turned to complete the task. But not before asking Creighton, “What’s that on your tie?”.
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Creighton didn’t immediately notice their arrival at the coastline. He’d been busy working on the report of his current case involving the murder of a prostitute in the coastal town named Broome. Morris drove them to the Kimberelys while he worked. Creighton believed just staring out the window at the passing countryside was wasted time.
He realized they’d arrived when Morris came to a jerking halt too quickly setting the emergency brake. Looking up from his report files he knew it had been a long time since they had travelled to this part of their jurisdiction. He’d forgotten how beautiful the area was and could see why the witness he was to interview built her home here.
They had parked next to the local car on a mixture of gravel and broken seahells. He faintly noticed the change in sound the automobile tires made transitioning from the asphalt road to the private drive which took them up to the dwelling. A well kept bungalow style home, light in color, with a cinnamon terracota roof and many hand-planted shrubs, flowers, and bushes around the perimeter. All sporting multicolored blooms.
Exiting the vehicle, Creighton and Morris, shells crunching under their feet, walked to the front of the home where they climbed up two steps onto a well maintained but weathered cedar deck. The platform spanned the entire front of the bungalow. To the right, the house was mainly deck to roof construction of dual-paned glass. In front of them on the deck were two wicker fan-back chairs with a small glass table in between. Turning to their left was the view that could be seen from the entire deck and the living room beyond the glass windows. The bungalow sat on the curve of a bluff. The cliff-face continued to curve out away from the house revealing the beach down below and the bay coursing to the open sea beyond.
Creighton could see a Coast Guard cutter in the middle of the bay accompanied by two Zodiac style rafts. All were rolling side to side, up and down in the gray white-capped waves. He could tell by the Zodiacs pattterns there was an obvious search taking place. And, at the head of the sandy path leading to the beach stood two W.A.P officers.
Standing with the officers was a woman in her middle to late fourties dressed in hiking shoes, tan pants, and a blue turtleneck which showed above the collar of her dark green, zippered fleece jacket. Her salt and pepper collar length hair whipped about her face blown by the increasing wind gusts rising over the cliff edge. One of the officers turned toward Creighton who nodded his head quickly backward beckoning the officer to him.
When the officer approached Creighton he said, “Good morning Inspector”.
“Constable”, Creighton replied authoritatively. “What do we have here?”
“The lady over there is our witness who called. She’s the homeowner here, a”, flipping a page in his notebook, “Lee Hodgman”.
“THE Lee Hodgman,” Creighton asked.
“Yes sir, she’s a local artist”.
“Actually, Constable she’s world-renowned artist. I own a couple of her paintings myself! Has anyone been down to the scene?”.
“No sir. We wanted to preserve the site. She tells us there’s not only a body in the surf, but a severed women’s breast on the beach. Through the binoculars the body looks like a male. I can’t see the body part and we’re afraid it may have washed back out Inspector”.
Creighton replied, “ I see. Alright, Crime Lab is shortly to arrive. Let’s get down there and retrieve the part if possible. But don’t go near the body. The breast was possibly pushed to shore by the waves. The male could have been killed where he lays and I don’t want the area disturbed for the lab boys. On you’re way down ask Ms. Hodgman to come here, please”.
“Yes Inspector”, the Constable said. As he turned to go to the crime scene he pulled a pair of blue latex examination gloves from his coat pocket.
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“Good morning Ma’m”, Creighton greeted Lee as she approached then shook his outstretched hand. “She must be freezing”, he thought after touching her frozen hand. “I’m Inspector William Creighton and this is Constable Tom Morris. We’re from the Western Australia Police department and we’d like to ask you some questions about this morning. First of all I must tell you how much I admire you’re work”.
“Thank you”, Lee returned.
”I have two of you’re paintings in my home”. Creighton boasted. ““The Hollow and a copy of “Father’s Dream”. They’re very inspiring.”
“Again, Thank you “, Lee blushed. “But you should know the piece you have, “Father’s Dream” isn’t a copy. I only painted one”.
“Then I consider myself twice as inspired”. gleamed Creighton. “But to today’s business. Is it Ms. or Mrs. Hodgman?”.
“I’m not married Inspector. Please just Lee is fine”.
“Thank you....Lee.... Tell me what happened here this morning please”.
“Let’s go inside and get out of this wind first”, She said turning snd opening the sliding glass door.
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Creighton followed Lee Hodgman through the open doorway into her home. The living room was bone white in color and the natural light was almost glaring at this time of day pouring through the kitchen window. The only separation between the kitchen and the living room, beside the very comfortable looking overstuffed reddish-tan leather furniture, was a rounded corner archway arcing like a rainbow from one far wall to other at the opposite end.
He was awestruck by the numerous and varied amount of artwork decorating the rooms. She caught him staring at one particular piece and remarked, “Yes, that’s not one of mine. I’ve always loved Elvis Presley. And owning an Elvis on velvet just seemed right”, she smiled. “Please sit down”.
The chair was as comfortable as it looked. And, the cup of coffee she served him was as much a creation as her artwork compared to the sewer swill Morris had poured for him earlier this morning back at headquarters.
Lee related to Inspector Creighton all that had transpired during her walk on the beach. Up to their meeting on the deck out front. Beside the obviously routine questions he had asked her he queried her with...”Did you see anything out of the ordinary on the bluff or beach recently?”
“No, absolutely nothing. It can be fairly isolated here. That’s one of the attractions”, Lee told him.
“When was the last time you left the area?”, Creighton asked furrowing his brow slightly.
“About three days ago. I went to Broome for groceries, mail, and art supplies. I had lunch at the hotel then returned home about five that afternoon. Nothing had changed.”, Lee recalled.
Creighton heard more vehicles arriving on the drive. “Must be lab technicians”, he told her. “I should meet them. Thank you for the hospitality and answering my questions. You have a beautful home. I may have to meet with you again if there are more questions that arise, Lee”.
“I’ll keep fresh coffee on hand Inspector”, she smiled
Creighton shook her hand again. He thought about having her call him Bill, but believed it would be professionally inappropriate until after the case was investigated. “I still have her paintings at home”, he thought silently as he let himself out through the sliding glass door. He was snapped back to the moment as a lab technician shouted over the increasing wind, “INSPECTOR CREIGHTON”........
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**To be continued
if you you would care to see more of this ongoing story send a quick email to:
pearls@hvsm.com
