by Chris Thrall
“That’s the car,” he whispered. “The one I got on film.”
“Which explains the yellow tag on the license plate,” Penny whispered back. “It’s the Hertz logo.”
“Logan or one of his thugs must have rented it here when he flew in from Praia. It’s the only Hertz outlet on the island.”
“Can you ask who?” Penny looked over to the agent serving behind the counter.
“I don’t want to draw attention. I’ll call Jonah. He’ll find out for us.”
Hans and Penny boarded the island hopper and took up their seats. Soon after takeoff, the flight attendant approached.
“Mr. Larsson?”
“Ma’am?”
“We’ve had a call from the police. They wish to speak to you when we land in Praia.”
“Did they say why?”
“I was only told to give you the message.”
A police car was waiting on the tarmac as the plane touched down. Out stepped a short, fat local man dressed in black dress pants and a Hawaiian shirt, which looked as if it would burst open at any second. He walked over and introduced himself as Barbosa Amado, the chief inspector of the Judicial Police.
“Mr. Larsson.” He pumped Hans’ arm up and down. “Miss Masters.” Penny received the same treatment. “The hotel said you were on your way to Praia. Would you come with me please?”
“What’s this about?” asked Hans, stepping into the vehicle and noting from the nervous look on Amado’s bloated face that he felt way out of his depth.
“Inside, inside.” The chief inspector waved a finger in the direction of the terminal, as if this bypassed the need for an explanation.
The car dropped them at the arrivals building, Amado ushering them up a flight of stairs into a nondescript office. A slim Italian-looking man, midforties with graying black hair, stood waiting to greet them, sweating profusely in his dark wool suit.
“Mr. Larsson, Miss Masters, this is Inspector Leonardo Mucci from Interpol’s Praia office.”
Mucci pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his palms before shaking hands.
“Inspector Mucci is coordinating the joint operation with Scotland Yard into the British girl’s disappearance,” Amado continued. “You know of Holly Davenport?”
“We’re aware of her, yes,” said Hans.
“Forgive me, but you returned to the islands to recover the body of your daughter, er, Jessica.”
“Correct.”
With Mucci keeping quiet in the background and Amado’s lack of eye contact, Hans knew this was a fishing exercise.
“But you have no luck, huh?”
“It’s a big ocean out there.”
“Exactly. And I understand you have recently acquired a diplomatic passport.”
“I’m doing a little work for the embassy, yes.”
“Detective work, huh?” Amado’s eyes kept flicking down at the desktop.
“That’s my job,” Hans replied, his stare unwavering.
“Would that explain what you were doing in Mindelo harbor last night when the fishing boat – er, what was her name?”
“I don’t know,” Hans replied deadpan. “What was her name?”
“Ah yes, the Rosa Negra. She was blown up while you were out, erm, ‘fishing.’”
“Blown up?” Hans raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was a fire?”
“Yes, a fire, of course.”
“And are you suggesting I had something to do with it?”
“Not at all Mr. Larsson—”
“Call me Hans.”
“Hans, you understand my predicament. You didn’t find your daughter, and next you’re chasing a local fisherman and boom!”
“Chief Inspector Amado, my sole aim is to explore every possibility of recovering my daughter’s body. You have my word if in the course of my investigation I come across any information that links to Holly Davenport’s abduction I will let you know.”
“I trust you will do.” Amado took a business card from his breast pocket and passed it to Hans. “And if I can be of assistance to you in any way, don’t hesitate.”
“Of course,” said Hans, reciprocating the gesture.
- 35 -
Hans rented another jeep at Nelson Mandela Airport, and they drove through the traffic packing the faux-colonial streets. Before arriving at the embassy, Hans pulled over and took out his cell phone. He wanted an update from Mike Davenport before meeting Karen.
“Mike, Hans Larsson.”
“Hans, how are you?”
From his tone alone, Hans could tell there had been no developments and he was putting on a brave face.
“I’m fine, Mike. Just ringing to see if there’s been any news.”
“Acht! The police keep saying they’re coming up with leads, but they’re only blowing smoke. We’re being kept in the dark. They’ve splashed Holly’s photo everywhere, but I can’t help thinking they’re gambling on something random turning up. They’ve assigned some bumbling inspector to the case, real Colombo type but without the brains.”
Hans smiled.
“My wife Carrie’s returned to the UK to raise media and political interest and funds for a private investigation. I’m in a hotel in Praia so I can be near the police headquarters and not have to keep flying back and forth between the islands. Anyway, enough about me. Did you have any luck finding your daughter’s body?”
“No. No, we didn’t, Mike. We’ve decided to stay awhile to try to get some closure, so we’ll be in Praia too. If there are any developments, anything we can do to help, or you just fancy a couple of beers, please get in touch.”
“I will do, Hans. I appreciate your call.”
Hans filled Penny in on the details of the conversation as he drove toward the embassy.
“Are you sure it’s not best to tell the police what we know? I mean, widen the net so to speak.” Penny felt uneasy.
“Did you see the increase in security at the airport?”
“Keeping an eye out for Holly. I saw some of those ‘missing’ leaflets at the marina too.”
“Exactly. Scotland Yard – with a little help from Interpol – will have put pressure on the island’s police to prevent her being taken out of the country. That’s why Holly’s photo is all over the news.”
“I’m listening.”
“It doesn’t make sense at this stage to put the heat on Logan. Small-island police are inept at the best of times. They’ll be keeping Scotland Yard’s officers at arm’s length and blundering through the investigation themselves. You remember that little girl’s disappearance from a swimming pool changing room when we were in the Canaries?”
“Anita someone.”
“That’s her. It was twenty-four hours before the police bothered to seal off the crime scene. By that time every Tom, Dick and Harry had crawled over it and contaminated the forensic evidence. Then after forty-eight hours they alerted the media, but not Interpol.”
“Strewth!”
“Shyeah. If Jessica’s being kept in the islands until the Holly Davenport situation dies down, our best bet is not to let Logan know we’re onto him.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Carry out surveillance, make subtle inquiries and see if Jonah turns up any more intel. If we draw a blank, then I’ll give Inspector Amado a call and level with him.”
- 36 -
“Hans, Penny, good to see you.”
Karen welcomed them into the office and buzzed her secretary for coffee. They made small talk until the drinks arrived and the secretary left the room.
“I see Senhor Alvarez went up in smoke.” The ambassador pressed her lips together as she passed Hans a cup.
“Nothing to do with me, Karen. The Fulani was murdered too.”
“Gosh!” said Karen, genuinely surprised. “There was no mention of that on the news or the bureaucratic grapevine.”
“At this point in time I think it’s only us and the killer who are aware of it,” Hans concluded.
“I se
e. Any leads?”
“Does the name Eddy Logan mean anything to you?”
“British gangster comes to mind.” Karen pulled a pained expression.
Hans filled her in on the details and showed her the horrifying message in the photo.
“I’ve met him at a couple of functions around town,” said Karen. “Likes to come across as a Mr. Playboy Businessman, but he didn’t make all that cash he flashes around selling cocktails out of a bar in Praia.”
“More like selling children.” Hans looked stern. “I’m waiting on further intel to come back from Odysseus. In the meantime it’s good ol’-fashioned surveillance.”
“Is it worth liaising with the island’s police?”
“Funnily enough, we met Chief Inspector Amado at the airport. He was waiting to speak to us with a suit from Interpol, asking why we were down at the harbor last night. They’re looking into Holly Davenport’s abduction. But I figured showing our cards at this stage would do more harm than good.”
“What about asking Muttley to fly a team in?”
“I thought about that, but other than a name there’s not an awful lot to go on, and I can cover for the time being.”
“In that case I suggest we bring Enrique in on this. He’s been with the embassy ten years, knows the scene here inside out, and with his CIA connection and contacts in law enforcement I can’t see it would do any harm.”
“Agreed, but remember we have intel on Logan we can’t divulge to Enrique, for obvious reasons.” Hans tapped two innocuous fingers against the face of his Rolex.
Karen dialed Enrique’s extension and asked him to join them. While they waited, Karen gave Hans a door key and wrote down an address.
“This is my private retreat.” She looked up, smiling. “It’s on the coast not far from here. I rented it to get out of the city at weekends, only I’ve been too busy to go there, so hardly anyone knows it’s mine. It might need a vacuum, and take some supplies, since the cupboards are pretty bare, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”
Enrique entered the room. Having met Penny when the Royal Naval chopper flew Hans in to the airport, the American-born Nicaraguan cracked a broad grin.
“Minha amiga, so nice to see you again!”
They hugged like old friends, and Enrique pecked her on both cheeks.
Karen got straight to the point. “Enrique, we have it from a reliable source that Alvarez, the captain of the boat that . . . caught fire and sank last night, picked up Jessica after their yacht went down.”
“Reliable source, Karen?”
“A Fulani woman, a migrant. She also came up with the name Logan, who we think is Eddy Logan.”
“Ah, our playboy millionaire money launderer.”
“Well, it looks like he doesn’t just rinse cash.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. How can I help, Hans?”
“Karen tells me you have connections in certain places.”
“It’s not something I broadcast, but yes.”
“Any end-user info you can pull on this guy would be a start.”
By “end user,” Hans inferred someone cleared to access the global intelligence community’s databases.
“Any local knowledge would be a help too – associates, movements and such.”
“Sure.” Enrique scribbled notes on a pad.
“I appreciate you must be busy, but if you can put some time into this I’d appreciate it.”
“Four people are dead, Hans. I’ll make time. Anything else?”
“Yeah, there is. Where can I buy a decent camera?”
- 37 -
“The Canon E74S is perfect for your needs, senhor,” the shop assistant informed Hans, handing over the state-of-the-art camera. “It’s lightweight, compact, has an eighteen-megapixel full-frame sensor and comes with a powerful seventeen-to-forty-millimeter zoom. The battery is lithium, so it will take about twelve thousand pictures before going flat.”
Hans had heard enough and, feeling the effects of spending a month in a life raft, was keen to get out of the busy shopping mall. He pulled out his wallet and paid the equivalent of $2,200 by credit card.
“Shall we go and find Karen’s villa?” Penny asked, sensing Hans’ unease.
“First we need a post office. I’ve gotta send these prints to Muttley and get them run through the lab.” Hans had sealed the three glasses he’d removed from Djenabou’s place and the beer can from Alvarez’s in separate ziplock bags.
“Can’t Enrique request the police here do it? Wouldn’t it be quicker?”
“I don’t want the island police to have any dots to join up – not at this stage.”
There was a post office on the same street. He scribbled a note to Muttley explaining that one glass was a sample of the Fulani’s prints, and the beer can Alvarez’s, asking him to check if the other glasses held Alvarez’s or Logan’s prints or some unknown’s. He placed them in a padded envelope and posted it priority airmail.
On the drive to the villa Penny was unusually quiet.
“Honey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, staring at the dashboard.
“Penny . . .” Hans placed his hand on hers. “I’ve been through some pretty tough scrapes in my life. I’m not afraid of these guys, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to get my daughter back. If anything happens to her, I’ll take every single one of them down and . . .” Hans’ knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Listen, I’m trying to say that I’m all in. There’s no going back. But I don’t expect you to come on the journey.”
“Hans, why are you saying this?”
“It’s just . . . I can see this thing’s bothering you. Hell, why should you get dragged into it? And—”
“Hans!” she could see where this was going. “I’ve loved you and Jessie since the moment I was lucky enough to set eyes on you. I will follow you to the end of the earth to help get her back. I’m not worried. I’m . . . I’m . . .” She burst into tears.
“Honey, what’s up?” Hans pulled the jeep over.
Penny threw her arms around his neck. “Hans, I hate seeing you like this . . . and to be like this, to know Jessie’s out there somewhere. You’ve been through so much and yet you bulldoze on through, remaining strong and so fucking professional. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I wish I could do more. I wish this was over – u-hut-huh-huh . . .”
“Baby, we’re gonna get her back – for you, for me, for us. Then we’ll take a year out and do nothing except be together and relax and have fun.”
“Hans. I-I-I—”
“I know, I know.”
- 38 -
One afternoon Jessica was in the middle of putting an evil overlord to bed with a jump kick when she heard footsteps in the corridor. She scrambled back under the blanket and pretended to be comatose from the morning’s pill. However, Mouthwash Man never entered the cell and unbolted the next one along.
“In!” she heard him yell, and the door slammed.
Lying there puzzled, Jessica heard a little girl’s cries coming through a ventilation grate set into the bottom of the dividing wall. She got up off the bed to investigate and crouched by the vent, where the tears sounded louder and more real.
“Hey!” she whispered, and the crying ceased. “I’m down here!”
The bed in the next room creaked, and someone tiptoed across the floor. Peering through the vent, Jessica saw a silhouette appear.
“What’s your name?” she asked the stranger.
“My name is called Holly,” the girl replied with a sob.
“My name is Jessica Larsson and I’m seven years old – but I might be eight now, I’m not sure.”
“I’m five, and I want my mummy and daddy,” Holly whimpered.
“Don’t worry. My daddy’s coming to get me and he’s a detective and he was a Navy SEAL and he’s not afraid of anything. If you want, we can take you with us and go and find your mommy and daddy.”
“Uh-huh
.”
“Holly, you talk funny. Are you an American?”
“I don’t know. What’s a Mercan?”
“It’s someone that comes from the States.”
“What’s a states?”
“It’s a country a long way away. Which country are you from?”
“I’m from Little Hamstead.”
“Oh. Where’s that?”
“It’s in Devon.”
“I’ve been to Devon! It’s in England! Me and Papa went to Plymouth and we bought a boat called Future and we were gonna sail her home to Portland but it got sunk. Have you got a boat too?”
“No,” Holly whispered. “We haven’t got any water in Little Hamstead.”
“Do you know about Sir Francis Drake? He lived in Devon.”
“Ut-uh.”
“He was the queen’s favorite sailor and he had a big boat called a galleon and he sailed around the world and he found new people who lived in a jungle. And you’ll never guess what.”
“What?”
“His boat had a lot of guns on board and he needed about one hundred men to help sail her.”
“Who’s that man?”
“What man?”
“The bad man who put me in his car and brought me to here.”
“Oh, I call him Mouthwash, because he stinks like mouthwash. Did the pirates give you to him?”
“What pirates?”
“The pirates who pulled you out of the sea.”
“I wasn’t in the sea. I was on the beach and a woman said I had to go with her because Daddy wanted her to buy me an ice cream.”
“Did you get one?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she told me mummy and daddy were going to die and it would be my fault if I didn’t get in the car with that man.”
“Acht, he’s a real jerk! He’ll try to make you eat some pills, but you gotta spit them out when he’s not looking or they make you drunk like mojito and then you’ll be sick.”
“I want my mummy.”
Holly started to cry again.
“Hey, get a grip!” Jessica sensed she had a job on her hands with this one. “Sobs are for slobs!”
