by Roger Hurn
‘He gave me a monkey for it. He said he was being generous ‘cos it’s Christmas.’
Now it was my turn to chortle. ‘He lied, ‘Lonz. That necklace is worth an absolute fortune and DK knows it, but then I guess that’s why he lives in a mansion in Chislehurst while you live out of a suitcase.’ I broke the connection before he could reply.
Rachel had stopped sipping coffee and was staring at me. Her bottom lip started to tremble and tears rolled down her cheeks. I dropped the phone on the table and went and put my arm round her shoulders. She half turned and buried her face into my chest and sobbed like a child.
‘Hey, it’s all right, Rach,’ I said. ‘We’ll go and see DK and tell him the whole story and try to persuade him to let us buy the necklace back. Look, he gave Alonzo five hundred quid for it so you may well have to pay him at least twice that, but even a guy like DK Kapoor isn’t going to sneeze at doubling his money for doing nothing.’
I sounded way more confident than I felt, but I didn’t know what else to say or do. Rachel gave a shudder and a loud sniff, then she pulled away from me. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked like a frightened little kid.
‘Do you really think he’ll let me have the necklace back?’
I nodded enthusiastically. ‘Absolutely! You’re a good looking girl which isn’t going to hurt, plus it’s Christmas and all that.’
Rachel didn’t seem convinced so I continued, ‘Yeah and not to mention that DK likes to make grand gestures that show him in a good light from time to time so, as long as he makes money on the deal, why wouldn’t he?’
I was building castles in the air, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to fix things for Rachel and, if that meant going into the lion’s den armed only with Rachel’s credit card and a sob story, then that’s what I was going to do.
‘But he’ll know that the necklace doesn’t belong to my granny, won’t he and I don’t think I want to tell a man like Mr Kapoor the truth about what I’ve done.’
She looked at me quizzically. I chewed on my lip.
‘You’ve got a point, honey,’ I conceded. ‘A low life like Alonzo might have swallowed that guff, but not DK Kapoor.’
Rachel sighed so sadly that even my emotionally atrophied heart felt a twinge. Then she looked at me, Princess Diana style, from under her long lashes. ‘So will you help me steal it back from him?’
I couldn’t have been more stunned if Rachel had smacked me in the face with a frying pan. She obviously had no idea what DK would do to anyone who had the temerity to try and nick something from him. But then I figured why would she? She was a middle class girl who worked for an auction house. Now I don’t know much about how reasonably successful auction houses deal with employees who’ve overstepped the mark, but I was prepared to bet that Rachel’s boss wasn’t likely to roast her naked flesh with a steam iron prior to removing her vital organs with a blunt knife just because she’d walked off with a necklace in her handbag. DK would though – if he was in a forgiving mood!
‘You don’t steal from DK Kapoor,’ I spluttered. ‘Trust me honey, you just don’t!’
Her face crumpled and she wrung her hands together compulsively. ‘Then what am I going to do, Ryan? If I tell Mr Clemens he’ll call the police and I’ll go to prison and I don’t think I could survive that.’
Rachel was right. The old lags in Holloway would have her for breakfast. She sounded absolutely bereft and I knew I had to do something. But as I preferred to have my goolies between my legs rather than nailed to a board in DK Kapoor’s trophy room, I decided to suggest a less drastic option than burgling his house.
‘Listen to me, Rach. I’ll give DK a bell and make a time to go and see him asap. I’ll say I’m representing a client who’s hired me to track down the necklace and negotiate for its safe return.’ Rachel didn’t seem reassured so I ploughed on. ‘He’ll probably think you’re some collector and he’s got absolutely no way of knowing who you are or how you got your hands on the necklace in the first place.’
Rachel frowned. ‘But won’t Alzonzo, or whatever his name is, have told him he bought the necklace from a junkie who snatched it from a woman late on Christmas Eve?’
She had a point. ‘Yeah, maybe. But I’ll think of a story that keeps you out of it. Anyway, DK won’t really care. All he’ll want is to turn a profit on the deal.’ I hesitated because I knew that with DK’s involvement, the buyback price hadn’t just doubled like I’d said to Rachel when I was trying to keep her calm, it had almost certainly increased tenfold. ‘But it’s probably going to be a big one, so can you find the dosh if the bill runs into a few grand?’
Rachel bit her lip and looked as sick as the proverbial parrot. Then she breathed in deeply and nodded. ‘I’ve got some savings I’d put aside for the wedding and, if worse comes to the worst, I can always ask my dad for a loan.’
I smiled at her reassuringly as I dialled DK’s number. I was just hoping her dad was minted and very indulgent towards his daughter.
DK answered on the third ring and he wasn’t at all surprised to hear from me. After a brief exchange of pleasantries I came straight to the point and asked if I could come over and talk to him about a matter of mutual interest. He seemed to consider this, but then told me he would see me at six that evening for “a sherry, a mince pie and a chinwag.”
I tried to push for an immediate meet, but he was having none of it. ‘Sorry, old chum,’ he murmured, ‘but I never talk business on Christmas Day until I’ve had time to digest my turkey and Christmas pudding.’
He was just pulling my chain, but I had to play along. I didn’t need to antagonise the bloke. After all, he held all the cards. Though I suspected that the reason he didn’t want to meet until later was because he was setting something up. I just had to hope that whatever it was, it wouldn’t involve any illegal use of bolt cutters against my person – gambit much favoured by DK when people displeased him.
Rachel and I then went back to bed, but I had a feeling her heart wasn’t really in it. And although I felt like the condemned man enjoying his last treat, I did my best to make her forget, at least for an hour or so, the mess she’d made of things. Then I called Rachel a cab because she wanted to go home and change while I went off to DK’s Chislehurst mansion. Before she left she kissed me and said she’d meet me back at my place later that night when I’d got the necklace from DK. I kissed her back and hoped against hope that she wasn’t going to be bitterly disappointed. I should have realised that bitter disappointment is something that fate usually reserves for me.
Chapter 10
I drew up outside DK’s mansion next to the Chislehurst golf course. The electronic gates swung open and I drove my beaten up old Mazda up the gravel driveway. By the time I’d made my way up to the door, DK himself was standing there beaming at me like I was the prodigal son returning from a particularly debauched blow out.
‘Ryan old chum, how perfectly marvellous to see you. Compliments of the season old fruit. Come in and warm your posterior by the hearth.’
DK’s English aristo act always put my teeth on edge because it was as phoney as the Raybum sunglasses that Ravi and Jason sell from their stall when the market inspector’s looking the other way. It doesn’t fool anyone, but then it’s not meant to. DK likes the fact that nobody dares call him out over it and, believe me, nobody does. And I, for one, certainly wasn’t about to swim against the tide.
He ushered me into a room with carpet so thick I lost sight of my shoes. He really did have a log fire blazing and it was the real deal not some flame effect effort from a High Street chain store. He gestured for me to plant my backside in a plush leather armchair while he poured us both a couple of generous brandies. It was Napoleon brandy and I thought that maybe it was just a coincidence, but then I remembered that DK never did anything by chance. I made a mental note to sip mine very slowly as I wanted my wits about me. Then DK lowered his not inconsiderable frame into another chair. He treated me to a close up of his pearly whit
es before saying, ‘Now Ryan, my boy, I believe you have a client who wishes to do business with me. Am I correct in that assumption?’
I leant forward and gave him my best “you can trust me” smile. ‘That’s correct, DK. I’m representing a client who’s instructed me to arrange for the return of an amber necklace that I believe is in your possession.’
DK continued to smile at me the way in which a shark would smile at an unwary swimmer who’s found himself way beyond the shark protection net.
‘And just who exactly is your client?’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You know I can’t tell you that DK.’
He nodded. ‘Oh yes, forgive me. I was forgetting all about the client confidentiality that you private eye chappies hold so dear. So perhaps the only thing I need to know is how much is your client prepared to pay to recover the necklace?’
I shrugged. ‘Well, considering as how you paid Alonzo five hundred quid for it, DK, I was thinking that fifteen hundred would give you a tidy profit on the deal.’ I looked at him expectantly.
DK sighed like a fond parent with a sweet but silly child. ‘Oh dear me, Ryan, I think you’ll have to do considerably better than that. After all, the necklace is a love token from the Emperor Napoleon to his beloved Josephine.’
He watched me as closely as a hawk eyeing up a rabbit to see if his knowledge of the necklace’s history had unsettled me. He grinned. He could tell that it had. I had to hand it to DK, his mind was as sharp as a butcher’s knife when it came to working the angles. But he hadn’t finished putting me in my place.
‘Now I know amber is a resin and not of much worth when compared, let us say, to the coruscating beauty of a cluster of diamonds, the iridescent magic of a fire opal or even the delicious darkness of a blood red ruby – but it is not without merit and, when combined with its history, I suspect that this necklace is priceless to the right collector.’
I shifted uneasily in my chair. I had to try and wrest back the initiative. ‘But look DK, the necklace was stolen from my client. There’s no way you can sell it at auction, it’s not legit. So why not take say three grand here and now and save yourself a load of hassle?’
He didn’t say a word, but looked like a professor who’s just been given the wrong answer to a question of blinding simplicity by a dim witted student.
I didn’t take the hint. ‘Oh come on DK. It’s Christmas. What about doing a good deed for once?’
DK scrunched up his face. ‘What? Do you think I’m playing Scrooge in a story by the esteemed Mr Charles Dickens and you are Bob Cratchit? No, no, no, Ryan. If you must evoke a Christmassy metaphor, I think it more apt to say I was visited by a not very wise man who brought me a gift and now one of King Herod’s agents has arrived thinking to rob me of it.’ He made a little moue of distaste. ‘Three thousand pounds indeed. Ryan, you are now officially off my Christmas card list.’
He chuckled, but I wasn’t laughing. Rachel had told me five thousand pounds was her absolute limit but, before I could make another offer, the doorbell rang. DK raised his eyebrows again. ‘Hmm, is that carol singers I wonder or perhaps it is the wise men following the star?’
He was up on his feet in one effortless movement. For all his bulk, DK was as light on his feet as a ballet dancer, but he carried the power of a heavyweight boxer and you underestimated his brutish physicality at your peril.
Ignoring my earlier resolution, I took a swig of my brandy and waited to see who had arrived to join the party. I was surprised when a cool blonde in her early thirties, wearing a little black dress that probably cost the GDP of a third world country, glided into the room. She inclined her head to me and then allowed DK to escort her to the chaise longue. She sat down with all the practised elegance of a Swiss finishing school graduate and fixed me with an appraising stare. I didn’t mind, I was busy returning the favour.
DK gave us a moment or two to complete the ritual then cleared his throat discreetly.
‘Allow me to introduce you to each other. Ryan, this is Ms Maureen Berry of Wartski’s – jewellers by appointment to both Her Majesty and the Prince of Wales. Maureen, this is my favourite Private Eye, Ryan Kyd. He may look a somewhat disreputable fellow, but he was at one time a member of the DPG and charged with the protection of the Royal Family. A job he carried out with distinction – or so he tells me!’ DK chortled at the witticism and Ms Berry smiled politely. She had a dimple and her smile was charming, but I noticed it got nowhere near her eyes.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Kyd. But, as DK well knows, I’m no longer with Wartski. I’m now freelance and advise a portfolio of clients on antiques.’
‘And I guess you’re representing one of those clients tonight.’
Her smile grew wider but no warmer. ‘I am.’
My heart sank. DK was obviously hoping to set off a bidding war. I tried to scare her off.
‘Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you, Ms Berry, but the necklace was stolen from my client so, unless the person you’re representing doesn’t object to dealing in hot merchandise, I think you’ve had a wasted journey and spoiled your Christmas for nothing.’
Her smile didn’t waver. ‘Oh my client has no objection to heat. And neither does yours I imagine as that necklace should, by rights, be nestling snug and secure in the safe at Millibrand’s Auction House waiting to be sold early in the New Year.’ She settled back and crossed her legs gracefully. ‘Its proposed sale has caused quite a flap in the world of those who collect Napoleonic memorabilia, so when DK gave me a call earlier today I had no trouble in finding a client who is very keen indeed to lay their hands on it and who will pay me a sizeable commission for my trouble. So I think your no doubt sincere concern about me ruining my Christmas may be misplaced.’
DK grinned at me. ‘You see, Ryan, when Alonzo brought me the necklace I saw the inscriptions on the beads so I did a search on the internet and discovered a most fascinating story. Apparently, according to an article in the New York Times of June 1921, the necklace was stolen from the Louvre in the 1890s and never found despite a reward of 125,000 dollars being offered for its safe return.’ He shot me a look that could have curdled milk. ‘So I think your client’s offer of three thousand pounds is a trifle wide of the mark and I’m rather disappointed in you Ryan for trying to mislead me as to its worth.’
I was seriously on the back foot. Instead of playing hide the sausage with Rachel, I would have been better employed doing some background checking of my own. But then Ms Berry came to my rescue.
‘Yes, but as I’ve already told you DK, that New York Times story of the so-called theft is just a myth made up by a bored journo on a slow news day way back when – so stop trying to make poor Mr Kyd feel small.’ Ms Berry gave me another flash of her dimple. ‘The reality is that the Empress Josephine gave it to her daughter Hortense who it turn passed the necklace on to her son, Louis, AKA Napoleon the Third.’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of Napoleon the Third.’ DK snorted with disbelief at this assertion. ‘Hey, come on DK, I’m an educated guy and smarter than the average plod – as you yourself have said on many an occasion.’
The lovely Ms Berry narrowed her eyes trying to assess if I was just being a smartarse. I wasn’t. I was just trying to let her know I wasn’t a total dummy. I don’t know what conclusion she came to, but she continued with her tale.
‘Anyway, not surprisingly, the Emperor gave it to his wife Eugenie. But, perhaps more surprisingly, though maybe you know this too Mr Kyd, Napoleon and Eugenie lived for many years not in France, but in exile here in Chislehurst.’
I did know that. In fact, there’s a memorial to him and Eugenie on Chislehurst Common, but I had no idea about what she proceeded to tell us next.
‘Well, Eugenie had as her principal servant a local girl called Minnie Shapley. And, after the death of Napoleon in 1873, Minnie proved to be a great source of comfort to the grieving widow. So, in order to express her gratitude for her kindness, Eugenie made Minnie a gift
of the amber necklace when Minnie got married. It was an act of breathtaking generosity.’ She pursed her lips and I had the distinct impression that being open handed was alien territory for Ms Berry. ‘Anyway, the necklace has stayed in Minnie’s family ever since. But now they decided to put it up for auction. Well, Minnie’s last direct descendent, her great granddaughter Sally did – though I gather not everyone in the family was best pleased by her decision.’ She grinned at me maliciously. ‘So, are you representing Minnie’s great granddaughter, Mr Kyd?’
She knew full well I wasn’t.
‘Hmm… didn’t think so.’ She tilted her head slightly to one side and put the index finger of her right hand on her chin. ‘So, who is your client and how come they had the necklace so it could be stolen from them in the first place?’
‘That’s what I asked him, but he pleaded client confidentiality.’ I glared at DK but, before I could say anything, the doorbell sounded again.
Chapter 11
Judging by her look of imperious disdain our Maureen wasn’t best pleased to see the new arrival. He was a thick set Belgian guy who introduced himself as Christophe van den Bruel. He wasn’t exactly the muscles from Brussels, but the guy who stood menacingly half a pace behind him was. Apparently, Van den Bruel was a successful “business associate” of DK’s who had a lifelong passion for all things Napoleonic so, naturally, he was keen to take part in the de facto auction DK was running.
‘It was fortunate that I was in London when DK called me otherwise I may have missed this opportunity,’ he confided even though we hadn’t asked. He was all teeth and false bonhomie, but his minder didn’t crack a smile or say a word. Van den Bruel asked to see the necklace, but DK said he was keeping it under wraps until we were ready to start the bidding and that wasn’t going to happen until he’d set up a Skype link with the final interested party – a New York financier and another Napoleon nut. In my opinion, there are way too many greedy gits with Napoleonic complexes on Wall Street and in the City as it is. They all think they’re born to rule the rest of us but, just like the main man himself, their plans for world domination always fall flat leaving poor working schmucks to pick up the bill. However, as it happened, I wasn’t the only one with reservations.
