In Treacherous Waters

by Richard V Frankland

  His next call had been to Jan Vermeulen to tell him of the delivery arrangements for the notebook and promising to text over a photograph of Alice in the Valentino dress. Bringing the picture up onto the screen he looked at it and sighed, the dress looked fantastic on the stick insect of Valentino’s model but not a patch on what it looked like on the more shapely form of Alice Morgan, especially in those blue high heels and looking back at him pouting. “Oh and, Jan, don’t bother with the diamonds just yet, I’ve decided to terminate her employment after tomorrow.”

  “Getting a bit boring in bed is she, Leonard?”

  “Something like that, Jan. Oh by the way, did I hear you say you were thinking of going to Rio?”

  “No you didn’t, Leonard, but that could be a good place to be for a while. Keep in touch, eh.”

  ***

  At eight o’clock the morning after his arrival, Detective Sergeant Brian Conway entered Police Headquarters in Funchal and asked to speak to their International Liaison Officer. Half an hour later, following a grilling from the desk sergeant and a detective, he was introduced to Detective Sergeant José Livramento.

  “How may we help you, Sergeant Conway?”

  “We are wanting to find and interview a British subject named Leonard Staunton believed to be currently on this island.”

  “Oh really, what crime is this man believed to be guilty of?”

  “Our investigation is in connection with illegal arms trading.”

  “You wish to find him and would like our assistance.”

  “I would very much like your assistance in finding out where he is staying,” replied Conway, now having seen the number of hotels in Funchal, he was well aware of the needle in a haystack task in front of him. “He could well be using two other aliases, Leonardo Giovani and Laurens Van Vuuren.”

  “So I think this man is a little more than someone you just wish to talk to.”

  “We will see when I get to meet him,” replied Conway.

  “At the moment, Sergeant, we do not have the formal request required for such assistance but it is early in the day and maybe by lunchtime Lisbon will have agreed to help your police. Please if you return this afternoon the situation may have been clarified.”

  “We are very concerned that this man will move on very soon. Would it be possible for you to contact Lisbon to see if they have received the request?”

  Livramento looked at his watch, “If you come with me I will put a call through. Tell me do you have a reference number concerning the request?”

  “No, it was quite a rush to get me out here you see and I have not been informed of the request number, surely there aren’t many sent from the UK.”

  “We will see, I will phone for you.”

  Livramento’s desk was piled high with files.

  “You look busy,” said Conway.

  Livramento gave a deep sigh, “It seems that nearly everybody on the island is suspected of collusion with the coup so our kind security services have asked for us to investigate many people here, all of who so far have been totally innocent of any involvement. A few may have had some sympathy but not in any active way.”

  Conway was about to suggest that Staunton may have been involved but decided to stick to his brief and not trespass into Vaughan world.

  Livramento picked up his telephone and punched in the number in Lisbon, “Fabiana? Ah bon, Livramento aqui, Funchal…”

  The loud conversation went on for some considerable time before there was a pause while Fabiana went away to make further enquiries. On his return the conversation continued until shaking his head, Livramento put the phone down.

  “I am sorry but Lisbon say they not received such request and remind me very strongly to wait until all is agreed before I become involved.”

  “May I use your phone to call London?”

  Livramento hesitated, wondering whether allowing his phone to be used would be deemed as involvement, “Yeh okay, here you dial, eh.”

  Opening his notebook Conway flicked through the pages until he found the number he wanted, hurriedly he dialled and waited, “Good morning, DS Conway here, could you put me through to the European Cross Border Investigations section please.” There was another wait, then a lady with a strong Glasgow accent came on the line.

  “Good morning er, WPC Breslin? I am DS Conway speaking to you from Funchal Madeira, sorry… say again… Oh, it’s sunny and rather hot here, pardon… Oh is it raining still, look I am here on an investigation searching for a man named Leonard Staunton. When I left London yesterday I was assured that a formal request had been made to the Portuguese authorities to sanction my investigation and obtain assistance when required… Right I’ll hold.

  “Coffee?”

  “Ah, thank you, Sergeant, white please, no sugar.”

  The coffees had arrived before Breslin got back and confirmed that the request had been sent to the Lisbon head of the Europol section.

  “Chief Inspector Tomas Miranda you say, that’s great thank you, could you do me a big favour and phone through to them to chase it up. I am very concerned that our man may move on somewhere else very soon… Oh that’s magic, thanks again.”

  Livramento shook his head, “Chief Inspector Miranda is the boss of Fabiana, I will speak to Lisbon again but first I must explain to my boss, please enjoy your coffee.”

  ***

  After meeting Conway at breakfast Vaughan had gone for a swim in the hotel’s pool and was now sat on a sun lounger drinking a black coffee. Somewhere around midnight he had made a decision and having done that was now focused. Looking at his watch he picked up his mobile and dialled DS Conway’s number.

  “Conway.”

  “Brian, it’s Ian, any movement your end regards paying a visit on that house?”

  “I’m with the local Liaison Officer at the moment, Ian, we’ve only just got full confirmation out of Lisbon.”

  “Oh God, bloody bureaucracy. Can you get him to check out the car hire firms to see if Staunton has hired a car?”

  “Hold on.”

  Vaughan waited.

  “He’s is starting to ring round now.”

  “Can he check with the hire car companies against the names, Laurens Van Vuuren, Leonardo Giovani or Leonard Staunton.”

  “He says it will take some time. I’ll call you back, Ian, as soon as we have something.”

  “We also need to find the hotel he is staying at.”

  “The sergeant here has already got someone onto that, patience Ian; we will get back to you asap.”

  Vaughan sat back and tried to put himself in Staunton’s position. “By now he must know that SIS are onto him and have traced him to Madeira. He would also guess that the first thing anyone searching for him would do is find the hotel or address where he is staying. I wonder whether Conway has thought about showing Staunton’s picture around the taxi drivers at the airport?

  “If it were me I would try and rent an apartment, it would take ages for the police to track that down. I wonder whether they will put out a TV appeal. Now that would have me thinking of changing my appearance.”

  Vaughan left the poolside and went up to his room to shower and change, then sitting out on his balcony overlooking the sea his thoughts returned to Staunton. “If the arms are here on the island how the hell would he be able to ship them out? The two ports are Machico and Funchal but surely he would not be able to use those without all the right paperwork and checks.”

  “I know, I will ask Amelia, she will know how it could be done.”

  At last Vaughan had something to do and hurried down to his hire car, he was about to start the engine when his mobile rang.

  “Ah, Brian, hang on a moment my signal is not very good here.”

  Getting out of the car Vaughan ran up to the road entrance of the car park where the signal was good.

  “Okay, Brian, what news?”

  “The car was hired under the name of Leonardo Giovani, who it turns out has hired cars from this co
mpany before, always paying in cash.”

  “Interesting, very unusual I would have thought to pay for car hire in cash.”

  “That’s precisely what I thought. The full registration is now known and has been circulated throughout the island’s police force, so hopefully he will be tracked down quite soon.”

  “How about the bureaucracy?”

  “Sorted thankfully, here’s the car’s registration details…”

  Noting the information down Vaughan stood for a moment before acknowledging. “Brian, if it were me I would have almost immediately driven away from Funchal and switched the plates.”

  “Good point, I’ll mention it.”

  Ending the call Vaughan went back to his car and drove off in the direction of Cämero de Lobos.

  ***

  It had been a very early start for Alice Morgan. Wearing jeans, a dark blouse and hooded jacket that covered her hair curlers, she slipped on her trainers and sunglasses then hurried down the track to the road carrying an overnight case containing the Valentino dress, shoes and make up. The bus to Llanrda was surprisingly almost full. At Llanrda she boarded the train for Swansea but travelled only as far as Llandeilo, occupying a toilet for almost all of the journey and applying her make-up. Leaving the train she walked to where she had left her car parked in Alan Road.

  She was, however, unaware that on the day Staunton flew from Gatwick a car number recognition device on the Severn Bridge crossing had informed the authorities that the car registered in the name of Alice Morgan had entered Wales and a further motorway bridge device indicated her direction as being towards Swansea. This had brought the police and SIS officials to the home of her parents, expressing their concerns as to her disappearance. By the evening of her arrival at the holiday home hideaway, SIS had constructed a supposed CCTV footage of her apparently leaving a nightclub with friends followed by another sequence of her going through a tube station ticket barrier followed by a hooded man. This had been fronted on television late news by recent images of her with an appeal for the public to report any sightings. Dewi Morgan, a young shop assistant in a bakery at Ammanford had recognised her as the very shy woman he had served late that afternoon, and phoning in his sighting was surprised to find himself being interviewed by police at two o’clock in the morning. By lunchtime the next day her car had been found and a police tracking device fitted to it.

  Now, as Alice pulled away heading for the A483 the movement was detected and reported to SIS and by the time she had reached the start of the M4 two unmarked police cars were operating a relay tailing system.

  At the Marina Street car park in Swansea two plain-clothed policemen were guided in on her as she made her way to the train station where she entered the ladies pulling her overnight case behind her. Calling on a WPC they waited for ten minutes then sent the WPC into the toilet area just as a very glamorous lady walked out, her face immaculately made up and wearing sunglasses, carrying only a dark blue patent handbag that matched her expensive shoes. There were a few minutes delay in response before one of the officers commented that he had not seen the glamorous woman enter the toilet. Minutes later they saw her walking onto the platform for the 0828 London train.

  Alice, having entered the cubicle, had stripped down to her underwear and slipped on the Valentino dress and the high heels, then placing her trainers by the toilet pan with toes towards the door she lowered her jeans onto them, stuffing the legs with the hooded jacket and blouse, leaving the impression, to any cursory glance under the door, that someone was sitting on the toilet. Taking a length of cotton from her handbag she tied a loop one end and slipped it over the end of the lock lever before closing her handbag and, opening the door, stepped outside holding the loose end of the cotton thread. Closing the door she carefully pulled on the thread hearing the lock secure the door closed. It would be well into the afternoon before the cleaning staff became suspicious and raised concerns.

  Based on the concerns of the officers monitoring the toilets, orders to follow the glamorous lady taking the 0828 to London were given and the WPC and one of the detectives boarded the train and travelled as far as Reading, where they were to be relieved by SIS agents. In the meantime, the detective remaining in Swansea had learned that the glamorous woman had purchased a ticket that included Underground travel in London, and informed his colleagues and SIS.

  The most anxious time for Alice Morgan had been her journey from the house near Lampeter to Swansea Station where she had arrived believing that she had not been identified. Even the change in the ladies had worked smoothly and she felt a little smug leaving her overnight case secure behind a locked cubicle door. In keeping with the part she was playing she had bought a copy of Vogue magazine and spent most of the journey to Paddington Station reading it. At Paddington, however, her confidence disappeared as she then realised that her dress stood out to the extent that she was attracting a lot of attention, particularly from men.

  Having left her everyday street clothes at Swansea Station Alice had no alternative but to carry on and she walked as fast as her high heels would allow her to the Circle Line Underground where she caught a train as far as Notting Hill Gate. A change to the Central Line got her to Bond Street where she changed trains again, taking a Jubilee Line train to Green Park. Walking out of the station onto Piccadilly she found herself almost opposite the Ritz with five minutes to spare.

  As she stood on the pavement deciding where to cross the busy road, the two agents tailing her remained just inside the station entrance calling for backup in numbers. By the time Alice Morgan had reached the junction with Berkeley Street eight SIS agents supported by police were homing in on the area at high speed with sirens and blue lights clearing the way.

  As Alice waited for the traffic lights to change, Jan Vermeulen and Pieter’s taxi had just crossed the lights at the top of St James Street into Albemarle Street.

  “Driver, pull over please and wait whilst my colleague checks that our host is already at the restaurant, I don’t want to arrive before him.”

  “I’ll find a place, sir.”

  After a few yards the driver swung the cab into a gap in the street parking and Pieter leapt out and hurried back to Piccadilly. Once there he walked along to Dover Street looking for any signs that the Ritz entrance was being watched. Crossing Dover Street he saw Alice Morgan, in the dazzling dress, a picture of which Staunton had sent over, making her way towards the entrance to the Ritz Hotel but he failed to pick up the agent following her. After a final look along the pavement and a more careful look across the road he returned to the taxi.

  “Your host is there, Boss.”

  Vermeulen paid the driver, adding a tip, then followed Pieter round the corner and along Piccadilly to Dover Street. Waiting for the lights to turn red against the traffic they crossed the road and, entering the Ritz Hotel, made their way to the Rivoli Bar. Alice Morgan sat at a corner table studying the cocktail list.

  “Alice Morgan?” asked Vermeulen.

  “Yes, are you Jan Vermeulen?”

  “I am, it is nice to see you at last. Leonard has been hiding you away for far too long,” said Vermeulen looking down admiringly at the very pretty Alice. “Tell me what does a beautiful young lady like you see in a sour face like Leonard, eh.”

  “Nothing anymore,” replied Alice, feeling immediately embarrassed by her honesty.

  “I would be very happy if you came and worked for me, Alice, if that is how you feel.”

  “I am sorry, Mr Vermeulen, but Leonard has got me into enough serious trouble which I think is linked with what you do, and I do not want to get any deeper into the mess than I already am.”

  “I do not know what business Leonard is in that has caused you trouble, Alice. It definitely is not something that I am connected with, all I run is an import export business.”

  “That involves diamonds?”

  “Huh, the choice is yours, my dear,” Vermeulen replied, “But we are ’ere so that you can ’and over a note
book of mine but first please join me in a drink, it ’as been a long time since I ’ave ’ad the pleasure of sipping cocktails with a lady as pretty as you.”

  Alice almost smiled. “I can’t be long, Mr Vermeulen, as I have a long way to go this afternoon.”

  “Call me Jan, please. Now what would you like?”

  “Oh, just a dry Martini please.”

  Pieter, who had been standing alongside Vermeulen, his eye shifting between the two men at the bar and the doorway, went across to the bar and ordered the drinks. On his return he sat himself next to Alice but showed no interest in either her or the conversation, concentrating instead upon those now entering the bar.

  “Tell me, Alice, just how did you get involved with Leonard?” Vermeulen asked, sounding genuinely interested to know.

  “He approached me one day when I was stationed at Portsmouth Command, Whale Island, saying that he wanted me to apply for a communications post. Wanting to know why he had selected me, he said he had read my file and thought that I would be ideal for a position he had in mind but that it would depend on whether I got through the course. I suppose I was flattered really,” she explained.

  “And then?” said Vermeulen.

  “I did the course and passed and the next thing I know he turns up and takes me to this garden party at a big house on the Thames, and, well, things got going a bit between us until I got posted aboard one of the new frigates. We kept in touch while I served six months with the ship, then I was ordered to report to London and we saw each other regularly.”

  A rather wistful expression had come across her face at that point which Vermeulen guessed was memories of a time when she was happy in the relationship.

  The drinks arrived along with some nibbles.

  “Your very good health, my dear,” said Vermeulen, raising his glass.

  Alice reached for her glass and took a sip.