Page 33 of Go First
“Part of his USP.What crook would steal millions of dollars and not spend it?To plenty of people, that’s proof enough of his innocence.However…”
O’Malley held up a finger.He flipped his laptop open and typed a search term.Images came up: a picture-perfect island with white sand and azure sea.Coconut palms and lush green hills, cradling a long, low building that was mostly made of windows.
“Kini-Koro.Ten minutes by seaplane from the largest of the Solomon Islands. Briefly part of the German empire.Then British.Annexed by Japan during World War Two, an Australian protectorate for three decades afterwards.When the Solomons became independent in 1978, the new government auctioned off a number of uninhabited islands to raise cash.K-K went through various pairs of hands, until webelieveMurray purchased it, via a string of dummy corporations and foundations, in 2015.The house was completed in late 2017, and he visits the Solomons twice a year.An intercept by the Solomons equivalent of the FBI has captured a couple of conversations in which he’s discussed his retirement and what he calls his ‘next big birthday’.Given his current age, fifty seven, we think he’d been planning to get out of the game in three years’ time.”
“The Solomon Islands have their own FBI?”
“Trust me, they need it.The Pacific is far from peaceful.”
“Someone like that,” Kate mused, almost to herself.“Do you think he started out with good intentions?Then he realised how much money he could make, and he just lost the way?”
“It’s possible,” O’Malley said.“Money has a way of poisoning things.But you’d do best talking to Dr Philips about that; she’s studied him close-up for a number of years, though she’s less interested in the fraud aspect, more in the toxic impact on traditional belief systems.It was what made her ditch missionary work.”
Kate looked again at Harper’s desk.The carved verses glared back, hard and unyielding.Zechariah.Ezekiel.Condemnation in steel.
Midnight deaths.Ritual precision.Tongues taken, scripture left behind.
Somebody out there believed they were delivering judgment.And Kate knew, with a cold certainty, that further judgment was coming.
+ + + + +
A long day followed.Pulling together CCTV feeds from the building and the surrounding area, in an attempt to spot the killer en route or departing.Efforts to contact Angela Philips, which were equally fruitless.Interviews with Harper’s sizeable staff, who like his producer, LaRonne Roberts, seemed stunned that a man so apparently good could have met with an end so thoroughly evil.
In between all of these solid, patient, obligatory steps, they endured a long wait for the autopsy, which revealed much the same information as the one performed on Pastor Whitfield.A muscle relaxant and a strong sedative had been deployed, once again by means of a barely-visible injection behind the left ear.There was no doubt that they were dealing with one killer, who had a precise, finely honed m.o., considerable skill with a very sharp, possibly surgical instrument, and a solid knowledge of the Bible.
They reached a point, as every investigation must, when they could do no more for the day.They were weary and crumpled, they smelt of sweat and coffee, fatigue and frustration.Marcus gave Kate a ride back to her mother’s, and they spoke little on the journey, Kate resting her forehead against cool glass of the passenger window, watching a little trickle of rain as it forked and descended like some ancient river system.
“Their silver and gold shall not be able to deliver them in the day of the wrath of the Lord,” said Kate suddenly.
“That’s what I always say,” Marcus quipped.“What’s that, one of the Bible verses?”
She nodded.“Ezekiel 7:19.The other one’s much shorter.‘Though shalt not live, for thou speakest lies in the name of the Lord’.”
“The quotes are all kind of the same: harsh judgement for lying, money can’t save you.”
“But two very different victims.”
“Are they, though?Aren’t the differences just little details?I mean, they ripped people off in different ways, but at the end of the day…”
“They still just ripped people off.And called it the opposite of what it was.They called it good.They said it was what God wanted.”She sighed.“I don’t know.I feel as if IgetPastor Whitfield, a hundred percent.There’ve been dozens of Whitfields, huckster-preachers dipping into the collection money, not practicing what they preach.It’s practically a cliché.But Murray Harper?He wasn’t married, didn’t have a girlfriend even.A workaholic.What was he planning to do on his private island?What did he need all that money for?”
“That’s true of a lot of very rich people, though.They don’t need more money, but they can’t stop making it. There’ll be something in his background.Great poverty, or… who was that guy we put away last year, the Armenian?”
“Manoukian?”
“Him.Under communism, he grew up like a little prince.Houses, servants, cars, holiday visas… everything he wanted.Then his old man fell out of favour with the Party bosses and they lost everything overnight. If that happens to you, you’ll be terrified it could happen again. So you devote yourself to stashing the cash away.Long after you stop needing it.You can’t help yourself.It’s in your DNA.Harper same as Manoukian.People call those kinds of guys driven, ambitious, tenacious, hard-working.Really they’re trapped.Which doesn’t mean I feel sympathy for them.I’m just saying.”
The streets were quiet, sodium lamps casting dull pools of light across the tarmac.When they pulled up outside the short row of townhouses, the front path lay in shadow.The bulbs in the low garden lights had long since burned out, and Kate had been promising to replace them since she’d first moved in with her mom.
“Walk me up?”she asked as she unclipped her seatbelt.“The lights are still out.”
Marcus smirked.“What, Agent Valentine scared of the dark?”
“Just being practical,” she said, climbing out.“Besides, if I trip and break my ankle, you’ll be writing all the reports solo tomorrow.”
That settled it.He fell in step beside her as they headed up the path, their voices low in the cool night air.It smelt of damp leaves and bonfires; she remembered being excited by this combination as a kid, its promise of trick or treating and then Christmas.
“So,” Kate said, “tomorrow.First thing we need is Angela Philips.If she blew the whistle on Harper, she’ll have more to tell us.”