by Mark McKay
They spent three weeks in the jungle. During this time Don Angelo introduced them to several plant species and told them how they were used. He said that samples would be provided when they got back to their starting point.
‘There was plenty we hadn’t seen before,’ said Curtis. ‘But the Amazon has so much diversity, that isn’t saying much.’
One evening they came to a small settlement close to the river. They met three men there who Don Angelo knew. He said they were Peruvians, and that the Peruvian border was a few days away by riverboat. One of the Peruvians, a man of about thirty who seemed quite European in his outlook, spoke good English.
‘His name was Emilio. I never did find out what they were doing out there. We told them why we were in the jungle and they nodded politely. Anyway, we had another ayahuasca ceremony that night. Emilio and Julian seemed to have some shared visionary experience, they were thick as thieves. The next day, Don Angelo said it was time for us to go back, but Julian said he was going on to Peru.’
‘Were you surprised?’
Curtis raised his eyes. ‘Of course I was surprised. He said he’d fly back to Manaus in a month, and would I pick up the samples on my way back?’
‘Didn’t he explain himself to you?’
‘He said he’d had a vision of a plant he had to see in Peru. Emilio had experienced the same vision, and he knew where to find it. That was that, and I didn’t argue. After all the hallucinogens we’d been ingesting it seemed quite rational at the time.’
Curtis had his misgivings once he’d returned to Manaus with his samples. Julian Frost could be dead in the jungle by now, and no one would ever find him. He waited out the month, though, and there were a couple more trips into the jungle to keep him busy. The last week of April, Julian came back. Empty handed. The plant had been nothing but an hallucination, after all.
‘But I think Julian was being a little economical with the truth,’ said Curtis. ‘Did you bring the powder?’
Nick reached into his jacket pocket and extracted the little jar Maria had given him. He passed it across. Curtis stood up and walked across to the window, where he held the jar up to the light and stared at it for a moment or two. Then he unscrewed the top and took a good sniff.
‘Beautiful colour,’ he remarked. ‘Can I take a teaspoon of this? I’d like to get it analysed.’
‘Sure. That’s exactly what I wanted to do at some stage. Will you let me know what you find out?’
‘Of course I will. Excuse me a second.’
Curtis left the room, only to return a few minutes later with a little glass jar of his own and a teaspoon. He carefully transferred a spoonful of the deep amber powder from Nick’s jar to his.
‘Thanks, you’ve still got plenty,’ he said, handing Nick’s jar back to him. ‘You said that Maria told you this was an aphrodisiac. Did she say he’d brought anything else back with him?’
‘No. She thought that his murder could only be connected to his research trip. What do you think?’
Curtis rubbed his jaw while he thought. ‘I can’t really say. It seems unlikely to be connected with this powder. No one knew he had this stuff, just Maria. Maybe she did it.’
Nick stood up. ‘What will the analysis tell you?’
‘If it’s a species we already know of, then the analysis will identify it. If it’s something new and it really is an aphrodisiac, it could well have commercial value if the active ingredient can be identified. Would still take a few years to get it to market, of course.’
‘But someone could make a lot of money if it did?’
‘If it works equally well for both men and women, the sky’s the limit. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ll take this to a pharmaceutical lab and call you when I find out what it is.’
‘A Sanderson-Phillips lab, I take it?’
Curtis shook his head. ‘Bit of an issue, really. Julian was acting on their behalf and should have sent this sample back with the Brazilian batch. No, I think I’ll take it somewhere else.’
Nick wasn’t about to argue the merits or otherwise of that course of action. Curtis told him he’d have an update in no more than 48 hours, so Nick thanked him for his time and left him to it.
Chapter 3
He went back to Oyama’s place in Sevenoaks and spent the following day researching Sanderson-Phillips. They were an American company with subsidiaries all over the globe, and their annual revenue was in the billions. They were having some success with new drugs for leukaemia and Alzheimer’s according to their website, and their share price had doubled in the last year. The London office was near Regents Park and the research director’s name was John Henderson. Nick wondered what opinion Mr Henderson might have regarding the murder of one of his researchers. He’d try to make an appointment with Henderson once the analysis results came back. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea for Ray Curtis to stay quiet about Julian’s powder; it meant Nick couldn’t mention it to Henderson without compromising Curtis. He decided to talk it through with Curtis first, when he rang with the results.
That evening, he had a call from Maria Frost. She wanted to know if he’d made any progress.
‘I met Ray Curtis,’ he said. ‘I really don’t think he knew anything about the powder.’
‘Maybe. I called you because I found something stashed in a pack in the back of the wardrobe. More powder, and some seeds.’
‘So, looks like Julian intended to grow this plant, whatever it is.’
‘Yes. And I found out where he went in Peru. At least I think it’s where he went. It’s all in a notebook I discovered.’
‘That might be just the information I need. Send it to me, please.’
She seemed relieved that he’d made the offer. ‘I will. In fact, I’ll send you the powder and seeds, too. For safekeeping. Where are you staying?’
He gave her Oyama’s address and she promised to have it in the post first thing in the morning.
‘I’m leaving Penzance for a bit, Mr Severance. I don’t feel safe here at the moment. Perhaps it’s just me being stupid…’
‘Have you told the police this?’
‘They can’t offer me protection because they don’t have the resources and they don’t think I really need it. They have no leads, either. Of course it doesn’t help that I’m sending what I’ve found to you. But I have a feeling about you, Mr Severance. I think you’ll get to the bottom of this.’
‘I intend to. Where are you going?’
‘St Lucia, in the Caribbean. Just for a few weeks. You can still get me on this number. I’ll call you from time to time, anyway.’
He wished her a good trip and ended the call. He wasn’t surprised at her decision to leave the country for a while. Anyone who came home to find their partner’s headless body on the lawn might get a little concerned about their own safety. Especially if you had no idea why he’d been killed in such a grisly way. He only hoped that the notebook, once in his possession, would help to answer that particular question.
Oyama wanted to practise Aikido early the next morning. Nick had been one of his students in London and they’d had occasion to train together in the past, so Nick knew what to expect. Oyama was well ahead of him in terms of grading; he was a 9th dan black-belt, which was a rare accomplishment. They spent a couple of hours in the dojo Oyama had rigged up in the outbuilding, doing much the same freestyle attack and defence moves that Nick was used to practising with Mariko. The work in Japan had paid off; Oyama remarked on the improvement.
‘Are you still doing the meditation I taught you?’ he asked Nick, as they came to the end of the mat session.
‘When I can.’
Oyama had instructed him in an esoteric meditation technique that was designed to increase his awareness of the energy used in Aikido. The object was to develop not only the power of this energy, or ki as it was known in Japanese, but also to become aware of its quality in other people. It was like tuning a radi
o; you made a conscious effort to focus and if there was someone not too far away who had their attention on you for whatever reason, you could feel it. It was also useful for sensing the presence of people who were close, but out of sight. It had helped Nick out on several occasions.
‘What’s your range, now?’ Oyama enquired.
‘Around fifty yards, I guess. Is there a limit?’
‘Depends where you are. In a crowd there’s a lot of energy and if anyone is focused on you it becomes harder to sense it beyond fifty yards. In a remote place, you might feel a presence up to half a mile away. Just keep practising and you’ll find your own limit.’
They went back to the house for breakfast. Half an hour later they had almost finished eating, when Nick heard the sound of a car approaching.
‘That will be Shauna,’ said Oyama. ‘My assistant.’
‘Are you working, then?’
‘Starting a new sword, today.’
The front door opened and shut, and a moment later Oyama’s assistant appeared. She was a svelte dark-haired woman of medium height, with a rosy complexion and dancing hazel eyes. She’d crossed the room and kissed Oyama before she realised there was anyone else there.
‘Oh, you scared me to death,’ she said, and flashed Nick a smile. ‘I’m Shauna.’
The Irish accent was unmistakeable. She was younger than Oyama, by about ten years.
‘From across the Irish Sea?’ asked Nick, returning the smile.
‘Yes, County Kerry. Katsu, are you going to introduce us?’
Oyama did the honours. He’d told Nick earlier that she was a student, but if that was the case Nick hadn’t met her before. She must be new. She had a vitality about her that was appealing and it had obviously attracted Oyama. It was the first time he’d seen his teacher with a woman like this and he wondered what she’d done to get past his taciturn outer shell. He’d smiled at least twice already since she arrived.
‘Nick is visiting for a while,’ Oyama told Shauna. ‘Another Aikido student, actually.’
‘Maybe you can practise with me,’ said Shauna to Nick, and waved a hand at Oyama. ‘He’s far too advanced for me to handle.’
You seem to be doing OK, thought Nick. ‘Sure, we’ll do that. How on earth did he persuade you to work in the forge with him?’
‘I persuaded him. It took a while, though.’ She grinned again. ‘I’ll get changed, then set up the furnace.’
She left the kitchen and Nick heard her footsteps going upstairs. He looked at Oyama.
‘Your assistant…?’
Oyama became inscrutable. ‘She is actually keen to learn. And very strong, too. We work well together.’
Nick decided it would be disrespectful to tease his teacher. ‘She seems very competent,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll have a shower. Then I have work to do of my own.’
He passed Shauna on his way up the stairs. She’d changed into a white overall, which had a few black marks and burn holes in places.
‘Will you be around later?’ she asked. ‘I’ll cook dinner if you are.’
‘I’ll be here. Look forward to it.’
‘Good,’ she laughed. A moment later she was out the front door and gone.
A couple of hours later he decided to check up on Ray Curtis. He phoned on the off chance and Curtis answered straight away.
‘Any update yet?’ asked Nick.
‘There is. Just got the report back an hour ago.’ Curtis sounded excited.
‘What did they say?’
‘I took the powder to Harmsworth labs in South London,’ said Curtis. ‘They found it very interesting.’
‘Go on.’
‘They can’t identify it. The chemical composition is unlike anything they’ve ever seen. We’re dealing with something brand new.’
‘I’m sure that’s exciting for them, but it doesn’t help me to find out anything more about Julian’s murder. What are you going to do with this information?’
‘Don’t know yet, still deciding. I’ve only got the report as a print out. Would you like a copy?’
Nick considered. It might come in useful later. ‘Yes. Are you home today?’
‘I am.’
‘I’ll come around now. There’s something I want to talk through with you, anyway. See you soon.’
He was back on Curtis’s doorstep mid-afternoon. He rang the front door bell but there was no reply, so he tried the phone. It went straight to voicemail. Maybe Curtis had popped out for a minute. It was a warm day even if the sky was overcast, so he sat on the doorstep and waited. Half an hour later he was still waiting. When he tried the phone again and still got voicemail, he decided to act. He rang the bell for the flat above Curtis’s. A woman’s voice came through the intercom.
‘If you’re selling something, I don’t want it.’
‘Actually I’m meeting Mr Curtis, on the ground floor. Do you mind if I wait in the entrance hall?’
There was a long pause. ‘I shouldn’t, really…’
‘Come on, it’s starting to rain.’
There was another pause, she must have gone to check. ‘Alright, push the door.’
He was in. He walked up to Curtis’s door and knocked. When no one answered, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked.
‘Ray, you here?’
The reception room was empty. Surely Curtis would have locked his front door if he’d gone out, reasoned Nick. Maybe there was a garden out back; he could be there. Sitting in the rain. We English may be eccentric but we’re not completely mad, thought Nick. The reception room led into a little hallway, off which there were two other rooms with a kitchen area beyond. The first room was a dining room, empty. The second was a bedroom. It wasn’t a large room and there wasn’t much space for anything other than the double bed occupying it. The bed was straight ahead of him and on his left a set of French doors stood open. You could walk straight from the bedroom out into the garden.
But Ray Curtis wasn’t in the garden. He lay stretched out on the bed, face down. The back of his head was a bloody mess and there was a bloodstained pillow on the floor. It looked as though he’d been marched in here and shot, with the pillow being used to muffle the sound. Still, thought Nick, it must have been loud in this confined space. Even a silencer made some noise.
There was nothing he could do for Ray, now. He should ring the police, but if he did that he would inevitably be detained and questioned. He didn’t want that. He could call anonymously, but the prospect of having his voice recorded by the emergency operator wasn’t appealing, either. The problem was, he’d now left traces of his presence here. He needed to erase those. He began to retrace his steps, rubbing down all the surfaces he’d been in contact with. When he got back to the reception room he tried to remember what he’d touched when he was here last time, which hadn’t been much if his memory served him correctly. Once he’d done his best to remove his prints, he stood quietly looking around. It didn’t matter what you did, you always left some forensic trace of yourself behind. His DNA was in this room somewhere, in a stray hair probably. But as his DNA wasn’t on record and he wasn’t anticipating anyone asking him for a sample, he was fine. For now.
The reception room looked much the same as it had on his last visit. Nothing looked disturbed. He looked for an envelope or any document that could be a pharmaceutical analysis report, but there was nothing. The jar of powder wasn’t here and Ray’s phone was nowhere to be seen, either. Now the murderer had his phone number. He swore, and then wrapped his handkerchief around his hand and made his way around the entire place, carefully opening and shutting cupboards and drawers in every room. He knew it was a waste of time, but he did it anyway. By the time he got back to the reception room it was confirmed; the powder, the phone and the report had vanished. But he knew where to get a copy. He slipped quietly out of the flat, making sure to wipe down everything as he went. Not even the doorbell was spared. It was still raining, so he ran to the main
road and went into the pub on the corner. He needed a drink.
He ordered a scotch with ice and took it to a table with a view of the street. The usual procession of London buses, taxis and cars wound its way down Ladbroke Grove. The rain was easing off now and the sun had emerged; the wet streets shone with its glare. He thought about what had just happened. Sometime within the three hours it had taken him to get from Sevenoaks to the flat here in London, Curtis had been murdered. He might have missed the murderer by minutes; in fact he could have gone through the French doors and over the garden fence while Nick waited on the doorstep. Could still be in the vicinity. Nick couldn’t sense anyone nearby who might be observing him, but all that meant was that the murderer wasn’t aware of him. He could be here in the pub and Nick wouldn’t be any the wiser.
He sighed and drank the scotch in one mouthful. The warmth spread through his chest, and he thought about his reaction to the corpse on the bed. He hadn’t been shocked or nauseated, he’d seen worse. Hell, he’d done worse himself, but as far as he was concerned he’d had good reason to. It just worried him that he seemed so emotionally numb these days when it came to the sight of dead bodies. That kind of numbness could infect every part of your life, if you let it. It wasn’t healthy for you or the people you loved. Unfortunately, the people he loved, especially the women in his life, also had a tendency to die in violent circumstances. He thought about a second scotch and decided against it. Instead, he did a search on his phone for Harmsworth Labs. They were in Vauxhall, just across the river. It was a half-hour taxi journey. He went out into the street and hailed a passing cab.
He could just about remember when Vauxhall had been a rather run-down part of London, with lots of boarded-up properties and shabby pubs with lunchtime strippers and warm beer. Now it was gentrified. As the taxi crossed Vauxhall Bridge the headquarters of MI6 was visible on his left, on the water’s edge. It looked solid; fortress-like and impenetrable. On the right he saw the high-rise apartments that were the flagship symbols of the area’s regeneration. Most of them would end up owned by overseas buyers, the locals certainly couldn’t afford one.
