The bodies of Mrs. Matthews and Sam the pool boy were found on the grounds of Amber Hill Manor. With no visible signs of foul play and no witnesses, Alexander Steele had his work cut out for him. Did I mention that the shed was locked from the inside?
The bodies of Mrs. Matthews and Sam the pool boy were found on the grounds of Amber Hill Manor. With no visible signs of foul play and no witnesses, Alexander Steele had his work cut out for him. Did I mention that the shed was locked from the inside?
There was a chill in the air. After twenty minutes he turned up the collar of his windbreaker and walked from the library over to the parkway. Steele sat on the very top step of the Art Museum.
There were no tourists at the famous Philadelphia landmark at four a.m. so he took advantage of the view and the quiet. Replaying the mental pictures in his mind he realized the yellow and white box of sandwich bags seemed out of place among the food wrappers at the victim’s home.
Steele was tired; the number of cases he had taken on over the past year was catching up on him.
The next morning he had overslept but with the much-needed rest came clarity. Right smack in the middle of his shower, it was as if the heavens opened and the angels sang. All the live chess pieces had fallen into place.
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Steele was on the move. He had no problem finding the jewelry shop. Steele peered inside the window of the small shop and witnessed a man and a woman arguing near the back.
The sign on the front door window said closed but since the door was unlocked he let himself in. As Steele entered the shop he didn’t recognize who the woman was but the man with the long black hair in the ponytail was bad news. His name was Nickolas D'Angelo aka Notorious Nick. The shop was in disarray. Draws were left open and the contents of several boxes had been dumped onto the glass counters and floor. The arguing stopped when they saw Steele headed their way. He could see the young lady was upset and had been crying. Nick stood at about 5’ 10”. He was lean and muscular with biceps that bulged through his tight black tee shirt.
Nick turned to Steele and smiled. “Alexander Steele, I always knew one day you would stick your nose into our business affairs. I heard about your little run-in at the cemetery this afternoon.”
Steele hunched his shoulders, “the funeral business is a little slow these days so I thought I’d help them out.”
Nick’s smile vanished faster than an ice sickle in front of a red-hot blowtorch. “That was my cousin, you bastard.” Trailer
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Alexander Steele took the Schuylkill Expressway and headed uptown to CheltenHillsCemetery. It was a quiet spring afternoon at the cemetery where bodies of the dearly departed rested. The one thing you could always count on at cemeteries was peace. On this day that peace would soon erupt into a deadly encounter, an encounter loud enough to almost wake up the dead.
Steele felt uneasy. Something was off. The birds were singing and the sky was blue but there was a chill in the air. A sense that something was not quite right, a sense that has kept him alive through dozens of deadly cases. As he scanned the gravesite for anything that looked out of place Steele couldn’t help notice how nervous the caretaker was as he watched the three gravediggers milling around the new gravesite waiting for the backhoe operator to maneuver the big yellow machine into place. For a brief moment, Steele caught a glimpse of flashing light from behind a tree on the north mound about four hundred feet away. The reflection of the sun bouncing off a watch or maybe eyeglasses from the uninvited guest in the distance.
Steele began making his way toward where he had seen the light flash. When he reached the halfway point a short man in dark clothing bolted from behind a weeping willow and began running away up the grassy mound as fast as he could. Steele was in hot pursuit. When the man with the glasses realized he couldn’t outrun Steele he turned suddenly, pulled out his gun. He fired three shots in Steele’s direction. In one fluid motion Steele dove and rolled behind an old gray, four-foot-high headstone and quickly drew his weapon. He crouched down behind the small wall of granite and carefully peered around the side. He noticed the gunman was still running further up the mound. When the gun-toting attacker stopped at the top of the hill and turned to fire again Steele was ready. He pumped two rounds dead center into the man’s chest causing the assailant to drop his weapon and roll slowly in Steele’s direction. By the time Steele reached his attacker the man was barely alive. Steele held his gun close to his chest. He kneeled next to the man who was bleeding profusely from his wounds.
The dying man now partially covered in leaves took shallow breaths as he slowly moved his head side to side. Steele moved closer to his face, “Who sent you,” he asked.
The man tried to speak but no words came out. Steele tried again, “who do you work for?
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Excerpt from The Deadly Ring Chapter 1 Fatal Encounter
As the two sat sipping hot coffee in front of the big screen Stan pulled up an image of the main branch of the Philadelphia Library on Vine Street just off the Parkway. He put down his cup and began tapping on the black keyboard.
“The police picked up a guy around two a.m. on the steps of the library the same night your friend from the Vatican was supposed to be there. His estimated age was between 62 and 70. No ID. Died from a heart attack. This could be your guy.”
Steele stared at the picture of the building on the screen. He noticed the gray security camera’s mounted on the corners of the building. “Stan, can you hack into the library's security system?
Stan quipped, “Is the Pope Catholic?”
By the time Steele was about to pour his third cup of hot, strong, Arabian coffee Stan put down the keyboard, clapped his hands as he rose slightly from the sofa. “Yes! I still got it bro.”
Steele and Stan watched quietly as a balding, grey-haired man sat nervously on the library steps. It was a clear night. The grainy footage was in black and white. It was like watching a silent movie from the forties. The only difference was the clock timer clicking down the seconds and minutes in the bottom left-hand corner. 11:45, the man got up and walked out of the camera’s view. 11:50 he returns and waits until 11:57 when he is approached by a man in dark clothing with his back turned to the camera. A brief conversation takes place then some completely unexpected catches Steele by surprise. A sudden flash of light appears near the second man’s hand and the older balding man lurched backward and falls onto the steps like a rag doll. Seeming unfazed by the motionless man the attacker looks around then quickly rummages through the old mans pockets before running off into the night.
Steele rose from his seat, “Stan, stop the tape!”
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Once the men entered Steele’s house, Julius showed Steele a photo of a gold ring sitting on top of a white sheet of paper the size of a 3x5 card. There was a phone number written in the bottom left corner. At the top of the picture in the background was a copy of the Philadelphia Inquirer dated last week.
After giving him a few moments to examine the image, he asked, “Mr. Steele, are you familiar with this ring?”
Steele nodded that he was not. Julius paused then spoke in a somber voice, “this is the Anello Piscatorio, the Ring of the Fishermen,” he explained. “To be more precise, this ring belonged to Pope John Paul I. A new gold ring is cast with each new pope’s Latin name inscribed in raised letters around the upper rim. John Paul’s papacy ended abruptly in September 1978 after serving only 33 days. There are those among us who suspect foul play.
The ring is also used as a seal, a notary of sorts. It is a potent symbol. If it were to fall into the wrong hands, the damage to the Papacy could be significant. If word of this ever got out….” Julius DiBona slowly shook his head.
“Under normal circumstances for obvious reasons, the Camerlengo crushes the ring in the presence of other Cardinals.”
Steele pointed to the picture. “Who sent you the photo, and how much is he asking for the ring?”
DiBona hunched his shoulders; “I don’t know who or where he is. When I called the number on the photo, the man on the phone didn’t want to give his name. He said his life was in danger because of the ring. All he would tell me is that he brought it from a man name Nickolas D’Angelo.”
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Steele staked out a secluded spot about a block from the yacht and watched through his night vision glasses. “Damn, six guards,” he muttered to himself. Getting aboard the boat would be damn near impossible. He would have to intercept Dr. D’s deadly drug before it reached the ship. ‘Who was the turncoat? The doctor was not going to just stroll onto the ship and spray the chemicals on the drugs so he must have someone working on the inside, a traitor.’
Steele took photos of all the men as they milled about the boat. By the time he was finished the man himself had finally made an appearance. Fat Daddy had lived up to his name.
Wearing a single gold earring, a gold chain, and sky blue shirt with plants to match the Drug Lord easily tipped the scales at 300 pounds. His clothes fluttered in the salty, night, breeze as he puffed on his fat cigar. Fat Daddy turned as he heard the footsteps of a trim muscular man in his thirties approaching from inside the boat. The man dressed in black wore a tight-fitting short-sleeved shirt and long pants.
It took a few seconds for the face to register but the man in black was named Ramon. Steele had caught a lucky break. Ramon used to work for Trench. Steele was sure that he was the man on the inside. As Steele anticipated the fat man could hardly wait to get to the casino, he made a beeline to the poker table but for the moment Steele was not concerned about Fat Daddy’s whereabouts. He knew that Ramon would lead him to Dr. D and the poison they were going to use to taint the cocaine.
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