by Hannah Howe
“How about a dip, honey?” Loudon asked. He spoke to, and smiled at, Annabel, no mean task when you consider that he was completing the backstroke at the time.
“Maybe later,” she mumbled without raising her head.
“You okay?” Loudon asked. In a lithe movement, he climbed out of the pool and stood beside Annabel. “You don’t look too good.”
“I’m tired,” Annabel complained, “I need to relax.”
“Sure,” Loudon said. “You relax poolside while I talk with Sam.”
“I mean, relax, relax,” Annabel said.
“You’re overdoing it,” Loudon scowled; “you should give it a break.”
“I need it,” Annabel said. She nudged her sunglasses on to her forehead to reveal eyes that looked raw they were so bloodshot.
“Okay, darling, you know where to look.” Loudon helped Annabel to her feet. He handed her a glossy magazine, ironically a health magazine, and she clutched it with unsteady fingers. Then Annabel weaved her way into the house, narrowly avoiding a plunge into the pool.
Standing before me with water dripping from his dark hair, running over his well-toned body, Loudon asked, “You found my briefcase?”
I nodded, “I have an idea where it is.”
“Then bring it to me.”
“There’s a problem,” I said, “several problems, in fact.”
“Such as?” Loudon paused, to gather up a fleecy towel. He proceeded to dry himself with the towel, rubbing his arms and legs in vigorous fashion.
“The contents of the briefcase; you said it contained money.”
“It does, or at least it did before that thieving bitch got her hands on it.”
“You never mentioned the diamonds,” I said.
Loudon stopped rubbing. He draped the towel over Annabel’s lounger. With deep furrows lining his forehead, he took a step towards me. “You know about the diamonds?”
I nodded.
“How?”
“I’m a professional investigator, Mr Loudon; I discover things, during the course of my investigations. I discovered the diamonds. You never mentioned the diamonds to me.”
“I didn’t see a need,” he replied defensively.
“The truth and the facts usually aid an investigation.”
“I’ve told you the truth,” he said; “I’ve told you everything you need to know.”
Loudon disappeared behind a screen. The screen contained a number of oriental images, including ladies, pagodas and colourful flowers. He tossed his skimpy swimming trunks on to the screen then emerged moments later, wearing a dark blue tracksuit, zipped down to his navel.
As we walked towards the main body of the building, I asked, “Where in the briefcase did you place the diamonds?”
“In a secret compartment, in the lining.”
“How secret?”
“Fairly secret,” Loudon said.
“So,” I sighed, “not really secure.”
We strolled into the gaming room, the scene of the original crime. There, Loudon sat on a high-backed leather chair, on one of the cherry-coloured thrones.
“I want my briefcase,” he said, “I want my money, I want my diamonds.”
“Anything else?” I asked. “Did your briefcase contain anything else?”
“A few business papers,” he shrugged. “And maybe a little cocaine.”
“The diamonds and the cocaine,” I said, “they alter the terms of my employment.”
Loudon leaned forward. He placed his elbows on the gaming table. Then he interlocked his fingers and steepled his thumbs. Applying pressure, he pressed his thumbs together until they glowed red. His face too turned red, with anger. “You’re quitting on me?”
“Can you offer me a reason to stay?”
“You quit,” Loudon said, “and I’ll call in the police.”
“You won’t do that,” I said.
He glared at me, his nostrils flaring, his eyes widening with rage. “You want to call my bluff?”
“You’re a professional gambler,” I said.
He nodded, slowly. “Exactly. And I’m a winner. I only bet when the odds are in my favour. I could drop Velvet into a lot of trouble, a lot of trouble,” he repeated, “and walk away scot-free. Do you believe me?”
If Loudon asked the police for assistance, it would embarrass him. However, he had the clout and the contacts to sidestep any legal issues. So, I shrugged then said, “I believe you, Mr Loudon.”
“Then get busy; find my diamonds.”
“I’ll need more time,” I said.
“Forty-eight hours.”
“Seventy-two.”
“Sixty,” Loudon said, “and it’s a deal. But if you don’t show up here in sixty hours, with the diamonds, I’m reporting their theft to the police.”
“You’re a ruthless man,” I said.
“You’d better believe it,” Loudon said through clenched teeth.
Loudon was still glaring at me when Annabel wandered into the gaming room. She looked lost, confused, her default expression. “Darling,” she said, “I can’t find it; I can’t find the coke.”
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Loudon said. While addressing Annabel, his granite features softened into a smile. “Beautiful, isn’t she; the light of my life.” Then that smile became a snarl as his gaze returned to me. “Sixty hours, Ms Smith. You do as I ask and Velvet will walk free. But if you should fail...”
Sitting back, Loudon cracked his knuckles. His demeanour revealed a darker side to his character, unveiled a man who’d take pleasure in breaking a few bones. “Sixty hours, Ms Smith. I trust that you will not disappoint me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I returned home to find Alan in the kitchen, preparing dinner. When his daughter, Alis, lived with him, he produced sumptuous meals every evening. And even when alone, he still cooked for a king. This evening, he was preparing a fish pie with a crushed potato topping.
With a smile, I asked, “Remember me?”
He frowned, scratched his head and said, “Give me a clue.”
So, standing on tiptoe, I wrapped my arms around his neck, offered a sexy swivel of my hips and kissed him on the lips. “Remember me now?” I asked.
He grinned, “Yeah, I think one or two memories are coming back to me.”
We kissed again, then retired to Alan’s study, to talk.
“What have you been up to?” Alan asked. As he talked, he tided his desk, placed files and notes on to shelves and into drawers; Alan was writing a book about psychology, squeezing pages and chapters in, when time allowed.
To answer his question, I sat in an armchair. Placing my feet on a low footstool, I explained, revealing all the details about our days and nights in Amsterdam.
“So,” Alan surmised, “you’ll have to find the diamonds to get Velvet off the hook.”
“That will be difficult,” I said.
“But you’ll do it,” Alan replied.
When Alan spoke like that, you felt as though you had to rise to the occasion. I could understand why clients formed a queue to enlist his services, and why the majority of those clients walked away, satisfied.
“I’ll try,” I said. “But it annoys me that the diamonds are just part of an elaborate game for Loudon; just a fraction of their wealth could transform many lives.”
“We are still driven by conflict,” Alan said, “us versus them.”
“Men versus women?”
“To some extent, yes. Women are still undervalued in our society; their role as mothers and homemakers is taken for granted, dismissed by politicians as inconsequential.”
“But where would we be without the mothers and homemakers?”
“On the downward spiral to oblivion.”
“So why can’t the politicians see that?” I asked.
“Because politicians are only interested in short-term gains; for many, their years in power are short, and those years represent the extent of their vision. Also, they like to place a mo
netary value on everything, make everything a commodity.”
“What value would you place on a mother?” I asked.
“Priceless,” Alan replied without hesitation.
“This places mothers above the wheelers and dealers in the stock market.”
“It does,” he agreed. “And society would alter radically, for the better, if everyone held that belief.”
“There’s a lot of discontent within our society,” I said.
Alan nodded, “And various factions are trying to exploit that.”
“Including the Zusterschap.”
“The radical Dutch feminists.”
“You’ve heard of them?” I asked.
“I’ve read about them,” Alan said.
“Many women feel disenfranchised, unhappy, and the Zusterschap are seeking to capitalize on that.”
Alan placed a weighty sociological tome on to a bookshelf. In his study, the bookshelves were crammed with psychology and sociology books, whereas for pleasure he would read anything, from light-hearted novels to classics, from adventure stories to dark thrillers; like me, he believed in the maxim – words feed the mind.
“The social landscape is ripe for the Zusterschap,” Alan said, “and others like them; it’s easy to exploit people and promote causes in times of recession.”
“We’re in permanent recession,” I said.
“Yes,” Alan smiled ruefully. “And maybe one day people will stop and question the mechanism that drives that fact.”
“Inequality.”
He nodded, “Inequality always fuels the flames. In times of plenty, people feel comfortable and have no thoughts of sedition. But when they feel threatened, socially or economically, they attach themselves to radical causes. For disgruntled women in the Netherlands, the Zusterschap is a natural magnet.”
“So, as a society, we need to value women more.”
“We need to value people more,” Alan said, “realize that people are not chess pieces, pawns to be sacrificed while kings and queens look on.”
“But in the meantime,” I said, “groups like the Zusterschap will proliferate.”
“People need a voice; groups like the Zusterschap provide that voice. The problems multiply when those groups feel that there’s no one listening; then the frustration often erupts into violence.”
“The Zusterschap have already dabbled in violence,” I said. “With money from the diamonds, they could extend their bloodshed.”
“And further violence would, ultimately, damage their cause and womankind.”
I thought about that, about my commitment to Jeremy Loudon and Velvet, about my motives for seeing this through to the end.
“I could walk away and leave them to it,” I said.
“But you won’t,” Alan said.
“Velvet did steal the briefcase, and the diamonds.”
He nodded, “She did. However, clearly, she didn’t consider the repercussions. She sounds naive, not a villain in the accepted sense.”
“She is naive,” I said.
“And so worth saving.”
Of course, Alan was right. Besides, I’d already packed my bags in preparation; no matter what I thought or said, I would return to Amsterdam.
“I’ll return to the Netherlands and look for the diamonds, for Velvet’s sake. Are you happy with that?” I asked.
“I’m happy with you. And I accept that you must do what you must do.”
“And when I get back,” I said, “we must talk.”
“Talk?” Alan frowned. “What about?”
“Us. Our future. In the Netherlands, Mac introduced me to a woman called Saskia. She’s opened my eyes, made me think; what do I want out of life? Should I ask for more, or remain content with who I am?” I sighed, “I need your guidance. I need your honesty; I need you to reveal your deepest thoughts.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I returned to the Netherlands where I caught up with Mac and Velvet, though I saw no sign of Mickey Anthony. Later, through a relay of telephone conversations, Saskia arranged another meeting with Karla. The leader of the Zusterschap would convene with me at 10 a.m. the following morning, at the Homomonument.
Over breakfast, I thought about Karla. From Internet articles, I gleaned that she was divorced, university educated and the founder of a women’s support centre. A talented artist through pencil sketches, she enjoyed kickboxing and yoga. I wondered why she’d agreed to meet me – maybe simply because she hoped to convert me to her cause? In articles, she’d stated bluntly and repeatedly that all women should join her movement, and that she’d work tirelessly to realize her aim.
I cycled through the streets of Amsterdam, to our rendezvous point. An overnight frost had left the roads and pavements slippery. At a road junction, I encountered an incident – two horseboxes had slithered on a patch of black ice and blocked the traffic. Fortunately, the horses were unharmed. Presumably, the horses were on their way to the showjumping festival, an event advertised at various locations throughout the city.
I found Karla waiting for me at the Homomonument, with Lia, her faithful lapdog, at her side.
As I approached, Karla scowled at me and said, “You are late.”
“A minor accident,” I said, “it slowed the traffic.”
“Including the cycle lanes?”
“Two horseboxes slithered on the ice and blocked my route.”
Apparently satisfied with my explanation, Karla proceeded to walk alongside the canal. She walked south today, away from the Westerkerk, towards a street blessed with bars and cafés. Trees lined the street, adding to the picturesque view.
While pushing my bicycle, I caught up with Karla and said, “The landscape has changed.”
“How so?” she frowned.
“I know about the diamonds.”
“What diamonds?” The frown remained on her forehead while her lips upturned into a false smile. With her artificial expression and abundance of hair, she reminded me of a clown, a figure of fun and amusement, yet as scary as hell.
“The diamonds you found in the briefcase,” I said, “I know about them.”
Karla paused. She glanced at Lia then across the canal to an area of waste ground. Piles of bricks dotted the waste ground, suggesting imminent redevelopment.
“Imagine I did find those diamonds,” Karla said, “what then?”
“You give them to me.”
She laughed, throwing her head back, emitting a shrill sound. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” I said.
“Why?” Karla asked, her emotions now under control.
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
The scowl on Karla’s face suggested that she begged to differ. “And if I give you the diamonds,” she said, “you will give them to that male chauvinist pig, Loudon.”
“If I return the diamonds to Jeremy Loudon, everyone returns to square one, just about. That seems the fairest outcome, to me.”
“Why would you help such a man?” Karla asked. Her tone suggested genuine interest, a desire to understand my motives.
“For Velvet’s sake,” I said.
“What is Velvet to you?”
“A sister.”
Karla grinned. Unfortunately for her, whenever she grinned, her lips cast a dark shadow; her face lacked warmth; her features lacked love. Through her false smile, she said, “Velvet is not even of the same colour skin.”
“Does that matter?” I asked. “I thought you were fighting for all of womankind.”
Behind us, a man emerged from a small store carrying a shopping bag in his left hand. He chewed on a pipe, then he acknowledged our presence by fingering his flat cap. We nodded in turn before the man jumped on to a barge, moored on the canal.
“What if I offer you the money that Lia found in the briefcase?” Karla suggested.
“Loudon wants the diamonds,” I said.
“What about the drugs?”
“Cocaine?”
Sh
e nodded.
“You can keep the cocaine; I’m happy to forget all about it.”
“I could sell it,” Karla smiled somewhat mischievously.
I shrugged, “If your conscience permits.”
The man in the flat cap steered his barge along the waterway, towards the Westerkerk. To my untutored eye, barge travel seemed natural, restful. Of course, water travel was centuries old, a mode of transport that stretched back into time. Until the coming of the industrial revolution, people and commerce travelled by boat, the quickest, the easiest method, to get from A to B.
“We need the diamonds,” Karla said, her tone hard-edged, forceful.
“To fund your movement?”
“Yes; the diamonds will make us strong.”
“How?” I asked.
“We can buy weapons. We can buy an army.” A gleam appeared in Karla’s right eye, a gleam akin to a sparkling diamond. “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. We need them; you cannot have them. You cannot have them because I have made a deal with Otto Visser.”
“Who is Otto Visser?” I asked.
“An arms specialist.” Karla turned on her heel. She walked away from me, north towards the Westerkerk. “We will not meet again,” she said while glancing over her shoulder. “This is the end of our communication.”
Meanwhile, Lia smiled at me. With evangelical zeal, she said, “Join us, join our crusade; every woman should join the Zusterschap. You would be a valued member. You are resourceful; you could help us in our fight.”
“And what about freewill?” I asked.
“You do not need freewill if you have the unity of the Sisterhood.”
“And what about Velvet?”
“She should join us too,” Lia enthused; “we will protect her from Loudon.”
“And teach her to fire a gun?”
Lia nodded, “Bullets speak louder than words. And with Loudon’s diamonds we will buy many guns and bullets; we will buy an arsenal, an armoury that will conquer the world.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Back at the hotel, I met Mickey Anthony in the lobby. His doleful expression told me that he hadn’t found the diamonds. So, with reluctance, I invited him up to my room.
