Chapter 12

16. January 2010 by admin.

Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11

The night was cold.  The temperatures went below the freezing point for the first time that year, and with the wind chill the temperatures were so low, that most people decided to stay indoors.  The forecast suggested snow, but the sky was clear and starry.  Down at the marina Michael Moore was getting dressed.  The event called for business attire, and so Michael was putting on his dead father-in-law’s suit.  Miraculously, the old man measured pretty close, and had a more than reasonable taste in clothes.  A single needle stitched light blue shirt, a dark blue double breasted pinstriped Brooks Brothers suit, and a conservative red Armani tie was a combination Michael Moore wore on very few occasions, if any.  The fact that the sleeves were half inch long, the pants quarter inch short didn’t bother him at all.  In fact, he wasn’t even aware of it.  Barbara told him to stand up straight, which eliminated the sleeve problem, and lowered his belt line a tiny bit to overcome the pants.  The trick was successful, and probably would be until the next time Michael would resume his natural posture and lift his pants.  Finally, the slick pair of Giorgio Brutini shoes which must have been the most comfortable shoes he’s ever worn.  Michael looked at himself in the mirror and thought he would easily blend in.  Barbara, though, made a face.  She almost ripped the Casio digital watch off his left hand.  “That would have given you away in a split second.  A rookie detective on his first day would see you from a mile away” she said.  But she calmed down right away remembering that her husband wasn’t exactly Mr. Fashion or Mr. Brand Name.

The watch was replaced by a Patek Philippe dug out of the boat’s safe deposit box.  Beatrice Mitchell entered the room and immediately started sobbing.  It was clear that seeing another man wearing her dead husband’s clothes took her by surprise.  They never spoke about it, but it was clear that Mrs. Mitchell, who married her best friend in the whole world, never got used to the fact that he was no longer around.  She missed him every day and every night.  She never got used to sleeping alone, to eating alone, to being alone.  It all came back to her when she saw Michael wearing his clothes.

Michael, for the first time ever, walked over to his mother-in-law, touched both her shoulders, and brought her to his chest.  He whispered in her ear that he knew he was a jerk all these years, and that if they all get out of this situation safely, he would do everything to make things better.  Mrs. Mitchell looked up, and with tears still in her eyes, she asked him to be careful, and to stay out of harm’s way.  She kissed him on the cheek, and said with a shred of humor: “you might want to dress up more often, Mike, you actually look good”.

Barbara was standing in the corner, watching the exchange, thinking how happy she was to see two of the most important figures in her life come around.  She always knew it would happen, but why the hell did it take so long.  And why was there a need for a crisis to make it all happen.  But she let those thoughts dissipate knowing that she had other things to do at the moment.

Looking at Michael, Barbara realized that he was looking too much like himself.  After all, Michael Moore was not a stranger to many.  He was an accomplished scientist; he published papers, and lectured in conventions and symposiums.  Indeed, the clothes would be far from matching his public persona, but the face needed to be changed.  Barbara remembered that she read once in a Jeffery Deaver book that eyebrows were the most noticeable feature of the face and that changing them would achieve the most radical change in any face.  She took for cotton puffs out of her mother’s bathroom and stuck them deep in Michael’s mouth between the top back molars and the gums, she tweezed his eyebrows to make them thinner and slightly more curved, and she glued a narrow moustache used in last year’s Halloween party on his upper lip.  As a last touch, she made his eyebrows slightly lighter, and used an unnoticeable amount of blush powder throughout his face.  The result was nothing short of staggering.  Indeed, seeing Michael at this point would probably trigger the feeling of familiarity in people who see him every day.  To complete strangers, he would look like a distinguished scientist, who obviously made a name and probably some money to himself.

They had to agree on entry, exit and extraction protocols.  Michael was given an untraceable no SIM pre-paid cellular phone to use.  She had another.  She started to talk, Michael was listening intently.  She was the more practical of the two of them.  He always trusted her, and he was going to again, this time with his life.

Barbara’s plan was simple.  She would drop him off in front of the convention center and park in a side street near by.  As soon as he gets in, he would text a message to her to indicate he was in position.  He would not draw any attention at all.  All he needed, she said and he agreed, was to understand two things.  The first and obvious was to see how involved he was in the murder investigation.  The second and not so obvious was to see who was going to speak for his friend Arthur Lewis.  When she mentioned Art’s name she made a face.  Michael asked for the meaning of the face and was answered that their long lasting friendship never contributed anything to him.  She said that Arthur was a bottom feeder who fed off of Michael’s research and reputation.  She would go on further but they both understood that the time and place were wrong and the fact that the man was dead implied that the friendship and professional relationship was over as well.  A mental not was taken by both to discuss this topic again when the time was right.

Barbara said and Michael agreed that when he had the information he needed, he would text another message asking for a pickup and then he would quietly leave the convention center.  She repeated the last instruction and he agreed again, indicating some impatience.  Last before they left was a short discussion with Beatrice Mitchell, who assured them that she wouldn’t let anyone on board, and that she would leave the marina at any sign of trouble.  “Don’t worry” she said, “everyone here knows me here, yet nobody knows this boat.  We will be safe”.  The couple left the boat and went ashore.  Michael was dropped off in front of the convention center.  Barbara parked not too far.  Right in front of her an unmarked car had stopped, a nice looking man with a good suit left the car and walked over in the direction of the convention center.  “Good evening Madam”, he said, and continued walking before she had a chance to respond.  Good manners in Boston, she thought, is this the same Boston we’re living in?

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