THE CASEBOOK OF GEEZA VERMIES
Although I kind of knew it would be a waste of time I went and talked to the policeman posted on the door, telling him we were friends of Ollie’s who had just arrived and were due to stop in the villa for a couple of nights. Even though I offered him Ollie’s number out in Mombassa the gendarme was having none of it. More frustrating was the fact that I couldn’t get any vibes out of the place either. There had been too many policemen, forensic chappies and all that lot - it was just a blur.
They were pulling out all the stops, the cops. Apparently they like their celebs down here and Ollie was a big favourite - even more so now, having just won another big race. They loved winners, this little circle of society and made sure they were well looked after, so they had been all over the place like a swarm of Locusts, leaving absolutely nothing undisturbed.
That they loved the high society was brought home to me even more as I walked dejectedly back towards Elliot in the car. Passing the policeman’s vehicle, I glanced inside and on the driver’s seat was a copy of the local rag Le Côte. There on the front page was some story about a boat (or bateau) that was leaving tomorrow (demain), chocka-bloc full of celebrities of one description or another. It was some sort of highly publicised, exclusive yacht trip, with a proportion of the costs of passage going to charity - I only found that out later. My French isn’t that good.
Two of the third-rate celebrities that were due to be on board had been photographed to help publicise the event and their faces were displayed full length up the left hand side of the page. As I glanced down I noticed something which brought my Denubari’s words back into my mind with a jolt.
Dominating their faces were dark, conspicuous shapes, black facial decorations which throbbed in perfect synchronicity with my now racing pulse. The glowing swirls that surrounded their eyes matched exactly the ones which had adorned my beautiful Malika.
“Look into my eyes, and the eyes of others. It is there that you will find what you are looking for.”
That was it! I knew where he was headed! He was getting on this boat! Ha ha! I told Elliot what I’d learned as I buckled up and we drove away.
The next day…
He’s a cunning cat, this Professor. I’d like to know what exactly it is that he’s up to, but as yet I haven’t got the foggiest. Apart from the fact that it has definitely got something to do with Scottish money I just don’t know. He travelled all the way out to Kenya, manipulated his way into the rally by poisoning someone and then committed GBH, just for a key to a house containing about a fiver’s worth of useless coins.
I’m sure that stunt with the bikers back in London was all down to him somehow too. I’m positive, but I cannot think why. What is so damned important about Scottish money?
We managed to grab a bed each at one of those large roadside motels, but neither of us got much sleep. We were both pretty het up and excitable, trying to come up with some sort of plan to grab the guy in the morning. Besides, we were checking out at four a.m. anyway, to be sure to be at the docks on time. We both agreed that we were only going to get one chance to collar Humphries, if we were lucky, so we couldn’t afford to miss that boat.
We reached the seafront early to check out the lay of the land, but we needn’t have bothered. The docks, or whatever they’re called round here were already buzzing - the media circus had come to town! It was only just before five in the morning and the ship wasn’t due to sail until around half ten, but the amount of famous faces and big names involved meant that we couldn’t get anywhere near the yacht itself, as the cameramen and reporters had already formed a lined corridor all along the quayside, shutting it off completely from the outside world.
The celebrities started turning up in trickles at about half nine - as fashionably late as possible. As they paraded between the flashing bulbs and microphones, their attention-seeking was painfully clear for all to see. I could not help but notice their vanity spreading out around them like demarcation zones, keeping all others out of their own bit of highly-craved limelight.
And then there was Humphries, strolling up the aisle like the father of the bride, pleased as punch with himself and waving and smiling at the cameras like all the other passengers! The man must have more nerve than a hydrophobe in a diving bell. Unbelievable.
But there was nothing we could do about it. I’d had a bit of a pick me up out of Ramona’s bag in case I needed a helping hand and although this meant I was forced to witness the horrible shocking pinks given off in the celebrities’ self important auras, it did mean that I got to see the stolen coins - in x-ray - making their way through Humphries’ gut where he had swallowed them for safekeeping. But he just walked straight past me, and there was nothing I could do about it.
So, the upshot of it all is that we’re taking a couple of days break here courtesy of Ollie – we’ve already changed hotels - and then we’re off to the States. That’s where the ship is bound and this turn of events means we’ve got plenty of time to get there first and spring a trap.
Talking of Ollie, another thing that has made Elliot happy other than the prospect of a decent night’s sleep or two, is that we are now being backed by Ollie Donald, so the poor old boy doesn’t have to keep shelling out all the time. Despite the fact he never mentions it, this little expedition must be costing him a fortune, so I’m sure Ollie’s offer has come as a bit of a relief.
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