Bad Samaritan

Lyon Bell

Description

In March 1990, 13 works of art, then valued at over $300 million, were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, Massachusetts, by thieves who gained entry posing as police officers. The robbery gained worldwide attention and speculation was rife as to who could have carried out this audacious heist. The robbers were never identified - although the FBI suspected an organised crime syndicate, based in New England. A reward of $10 million for information leading to recovery of the lost masterpieces remains unclaimed. In September 2015, June Harper is kidnapped from Massachusetts General Hospital, where she is personal assistant to Megan Anderson, the chief pharmacist. The investigation is led by FBI special agents Ruth Rowland and Lawrence Brooks. The main problem in identifying the perpetrator is that there is no obvious motive for the abduction - the case becomes even more complicated when June's husband, Ryan, is murdered a few days later. Although separated by 25 years, these three crimes - robbery, kidnap, murder - are linked. But how?

Informations

• Publié par: Brown Dog Books
• Date de parution: 11 décembre 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785453489
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE BAD
SAMARITAN
THE BAD
SAMARITAN
LYON BELL
First published 2018
Copyright © Lyon Bell 2018
The right of Lyon Bell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the copyright holder.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination. Except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published under licence by Brown Dog Books and The Self-Publishing Partnership, 7 Green Park Station, Bath BA1 1JB
www.selfpublishingpartnership.co.uk
ISBN printed book: 978-1-78545-347-2 ISBN e-book: 978-1-78545-348-9
Cover design by Kevin Rylands Internal design by Andrew Easton
Printed and bound in the UK
I dedicate this book to my wife, Pamela.
Thanks to my daughter, Helen Jones, for the cover concept and to my editor, Rebecca Rothwell.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
BOSTON, USA – MARCH, 1990.
It was Sunday night and the room was full of shadows. One of them was moving. It walked towards the entrance to the Dutch Room, paused at the doorway, then took a high step into the next gallery. The trailing leg followed, as if climbing over a fence, to avoid the electronic security beam. The shadow lingered by one of the paintings, before exiting through the opposite doorway and descending a spiral staircase to the floor below. Here the lighting was much brighter. The shadow headed for the lobby, where it vanished into the vast open space.
“One hour, thirty-five minutes, twenty-three seconds – and no penalties.”
Carter raised his eyes from his computer monitor, looked at his fellow guard and shrugged.
“Not bad, Lewis, but my record still stands.”
“Yeah, but I’m getting better all the time. You’ll be buying the donuts next week, for sure.”
“Maybe so. You might get lucky once in a while but the more donuts you eat, the slower you’ll get and I’ll whip your sorry ass again.”
Being a night-time security guard in an art museum did not stretch the mind, even though it was one of the most prestigious art museums in the country. The guards made six tours of the galleries during each shift; logging into several wall-mounted keypads along the way, which monitored their progress. To relieve the tedium, they had devised a game. The aim was simple: to complete their rounds as quickly as possible, without triggering any movement detectors. Each gallery had several detectors at different levels, and all movements were logged by a central computer. They set some basic rules, which included following a specific route. Triggering any of the detectors incurred a time penalty. To make it more interesting, the loser had to buy donuts at the end of the week and the winner got first dibs. Then the slate was wiped clean and the competition started anew.
At first, they pretended it was fun; just a way of killing time. But they were young, male and competitive. Once the testosterone kicked in, all pretence was dropped. Winning was all. As a consequence, they got fitter. Also, they enjoyed their work more and better appreciated each other’s company. Lewis and Carter were 20 and 21 respectively. Lewis had dropped out of Berklee College of Music. Carter was studying fine art at the Massachusetts College of Art and Design. They had been friends for over a year. They played in a local band: the ‘Lost Chords’. Their clothes reflected their lifestyle. They wore scruffy denim jeans, washed-out T-shirts and trainers. Their hair was long and both were bearded. They were of similar height: about six foot.
Lewis had worked at the museum since dropping out of college. Even though the pay was lousy and the work was boring, it suited him just fine. It allowed him to sleep until mid-morning and practise his guitar in the afternoon. He would then grab a bite to eat, smoke a spliff and walk to the museum to start his shift. Initially, he had worked with a retired Boston PD police officer, Patrick Stoner. But after his wife died, Stoner moved to Cape Cod to spend more time with his daughter and grandchildren. Lewis urged Carter to apply for the job, and put in a good word for him with his boss. Carter had been reluctant at first but Lewis had finally persuaded him to apply.
“Come on, man. It’ll be a gas. It may not pay much but it’s easy money. It’ll keep you in booze, weed and strings – and you’ll be able to afford a decent guitar. What’ve you got to lose?”
In the event, the interview proved easier than either had imagined. Carter had two major advantages over the other four applicants: he did not have a criminal record and, crucially, was the only one to turn up. Even so, getting the job boosted his confidence and put a spring in his step. They had been working together for about two months when our story begins.
Lewis walked around the desk and headed towards a small kitchen at the rear of the lobby. He looked over his shoulder towards his colleague and said, “Fancy a coffee?”
“Good idea, man. My throat is dry.”
“You should cut down on the booze. It dries you out, man. Might affect your vocals.”
“Who are you? My mother?”
“I’m too pretty to be your mother.”
“Damn right, and your tits are bigger.”
Lewis returned a short while later with two steaming mugs, which he had ‘borrowed’ from the museum shop. Each mug depicted a masterpiece on display in the galleries above them. Both were by Rembrandt: The Storm on the Sea of Galilee and A Lady and Gentleman in Black.
Before taking the job, Lewis had never visited an art gallery. He thought such activities were only for the rich and idle. But during the past few months, he had developed some appreciation of the works he guarded. He loved the seascapes. They reminded him of his childhood. His father had been a fisherman, lost at sea during a storm. They had never found the body. So the ‘Storm’ mug was his. He put the other on the desk next to Carter, who was staring at one of the security monitors.
“Look at this, man. Something’s kicking off outside.”
Lewis took a sip of coffee, then stooped to peer at the screen. He could see two men grappling on the sidewalk. One threw a punch, then tripped the other man and started aiming kicks to his body. A third man appeared from the shadows and joined in the kicking. Carter thumped the table.
“Hey! Two against one, man. That’s not right. Should we call the cops?”
Before Lewis could reply, the man on the ground got to his feet and ran to the side entrance of the museum. He started banging on the door and shouting. They could see him clearly on the monitor but could not hear what he was saying. Then he noticed the grille and the button beneath it. He stabbed at the button, and his voice crackled through the speaker behind the reception desk.
“You gotta let me in. They’re gonna to kill me. Help me, please!” The guards looked at each other. Carter spoke first.
“What should we do, man? He sounds real scared.”
It was accepted that Lewis, though younger, had seniority because he had worked at the museum longer. He looked thoughtful as he watched the screen.
“I don’t know, man. We’re not supposed to let anyone enter the building after hours. It’s in the manual. This could be a set-up. How come he got free so easily? One minute he’s on the ground getting the shit kicked out of him, the next minute he’s banging on our door. And where are the other two guys? Something’s not right.”
Lewis walked to the side door and stood looking at it, trying to decide what to do. He could hear heavy breathing, then three loud thuds, followed by a few crackles from the intercom. Then the stranger spoke.
“Is anybody there? You gotta let me in!”
Lewis moved closer to the door, pressed a button and spoke into the microphone.
“I can’t do that, man. We’re not supposed to let anyone in after hours. I could lose my job.”
“What the fuck? I don’t give a damn about your job. They’re gonna kill me! Come on, man. Let me in.” There was a slight pause, then he added, “I’ll give you 20 dollars.” Lewis hesitated. He could sure use 20 dollars but there was something about the man that worried him.
“Tell you what, man, I’ll call the cops for you. They’ll be here in five minutes.”
“No need for that. I don’t want no beef with the cops. Look, I’ll give you 50 dollars.”
“Can’t do it, man. I’m calling the cops.” The stranger kicked the door in frustration, and said, “Fuck you, man! Fuck you!”
On the monitor, Carter watched the man run back towards the road. Lewis ran to the lobby and dialled 911. He explained the reason for the call and gave his name and number. The police dispatcher congratulated Lewis for doing the right thing. She confirmed that officers would respond within ten minutes. He then stood behind Carter to check what was happening in the street. The man was standing at the kerb, looking up and down the road. There was no sign of his assailants. A large sedan pulled up. The man yanked open the front passenger door and jumped in. Two other men emerged from the shadows and got into the rear seats. The sedan pulled away from the kerb and headed towards the Fenway.
“God da