The first decision Jessie was faced with, as she took her seat at the table, was who to support in the role of foreperson. For her, this was the easiest decision of the week. The city banker nominating himself had not spoken more than three words to her throughout the trial; the retired head teacher had sat and eaten sandwiches with her most days during the lunch break, and Jessie was reassured when she was easily elected to lead them in their deliberations.
To give clarity to their immediate position, it was decided to cast an initial confidential ballot of the jurors.
Marking her paper, Jessie carried her burden of responsibility heavily. She was being asked to exercise her judgment on Harvey Rylands, and decide whether he was guilty or not guilty.
In her mind, there was only one answer.
CHAPTER 22
ROSCOE FELT HIS stomach tighten as he looked at the screen and watched Lily walking away from him, down the hallway.
‘We’ve got to go after them,’ said Maggie, getting to her feet, ready to race out into the hall.
‘Wait,’ said Roscoe, reaching up a hand to Maggie, the calmness of his voice not betraying the rising concern he felt. ‘This video is from more than twenty minutes ago. We need to watch where they go.’
He clicked the image forward to the next camera.
The pair walked hand-in-hand down the hall, Lily still skipping beside the unknown man.
Maggie stood frozen.
‘I’ve told her so many times, Jon. Never, never go anywhere with a stranger.’ She began to weep again and, moving to the next image, Roscoe could offer her no comfort.
Seeing the image change, Maggie dropped back into her chair, crying out as she stared at the screen.
‘He’s taking her to the elevators.’
Roscoe reached across to Maggie, who was now looking at the video through open fingers, her hands clasped to her face.
Still holding Lily’s hand, the man stepped forward and pressed the elevator call button.
Within seconds the elevator arrived.
The doors opened.
Dragging her backpack behind her, Lily stepped inside.
Followed by the unidentified man.
The doors closed.
And they were gone.
‘Where’s he taken her?’ Maggie screamed. ‘Where is she?’
Roscoe held the image on the closed elevator door, then rolled it backwards. He watched again as the man walked hand-in-hand with Lily down the hallway, before hitting the elevator call button.
There was something familiar about him.
Roscoe watched the image again.
Who was this man?
Again the elevator doors opened.
Again Lily stepped inside.
Followed by the man.
Once again, Roscoe rolled back the image.
And then moved it forward, frame by frame, until he could see inside the elevator.
Staring back at Roscoe, from the immaculately polished mirror at the back of the elevator, was a face he knew.
The South African-born journalist determined to trespass upon Tribeca property.
Michael Madison.
CHAPTER 23
BURNING WITH ANGER, Roscoe sprinted down the hallway of the fourteenth floor. Michael Madison was standing motionless in the doorway of the Rylands’ suite – a frightened deer in sight of an oncoming ten-ton truck.
Immobile, he simply said, ‘I can explain.’
Roscoe saw his mouth move, but didn’t hear a word.
Without a break in his momentum, he launched all of his six-foot three-inch, two-hundred-pound frame forward in a single motion, landing a right hook squarely on Madison’s jaw. With not a split second to react, Madison was felled with the single shot and crumpled unconscious on the floor.
As soon as he had seen Madison’s image in the elevator mirror, Roscoe had known where he had taken Lily. Quickly he led Maggie to the elevator bank and, while riding up to the fourteenth floor, reassured her that the unscrupulous journalist’s only interest in taking Lily was to secure himself unfettered access to the Rylands’ suite.
‘Don’t cry, Mummy,’ said Lily, as her mother ran down the hallway towards her. ‘Don’t be sad,’ she said as she walked out of the suite, still carrying her oversized backpack, before being swept up in Maggie’s arms.
‘Oh, Lily, I’m not sad. I’m happy, so very, very happy,’ said Maggie, hugging her child so tightly Roscoe thought she would never let her go.
‘All okay?’ asked Roscoe, quietly.
Wiping tears from her eyes, Maggie looked up at him.
‘Thank you so much, Jon. I thought I was never going to see her again.’
Roscoe shared in Maggie’s joy and, as she picked up her daughter, he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around them both, before Maggie carried Lily down the hall. As they walked away, the elevator doors opened and Roscoe saw Stanley coming towards him.
‘A gentleman of the press for you to deal with,’ said Roscoe to his assistant, gesturing towards Madison, who had regained consciousness, but remained slumped against the heavy wooden door that led into the suite, ‘although I have to say he’s anything but a gentleman.’
Roscoe stepped back over to the journalist, stood directly over him and, resting his boot on Madison’s hand, let his full body weight crush the journalist’s fingers.
Madison cried for mercy.
‘I’m sorry, Roscoe!’ he begged. ‘I didn’t do anything to hurt her.’
Roscoe twisted his boot, before releasing the pressure.
‘You stupid little rat. I should have drowned you when I had the chance.’
‘I needed to get into the suite, and you were never going to help me.’
‘Help you!’ exclaimed Roscoe, towering over Madison.
‘I was desperate. If anyone stopped me, I was simply taking her to see her mum.’
Incredulous, Roscoe shook his head.
‘You kidnapped a seven-year-old girl. I should have you locked up.’
‘I never meant her any harm. To be honest, I couldn’t believe my luck.’
‘Luck?’ said Roscoe. ‘You call it luck? I call it absolute stupidity.’
Still ablaze with anger, he jumped forward onto Madison’s outstretched knee, crushing the joint. As Madison hollered in pain, Roscoe stepped back and turned away.
‘Take him away, Stanley, before I do something I’ll really regret.’
‘He’s not worth it, Boss,’ said Stanley, grabbing the journalist by the jacket collar and hauling him to his feet.
Roscoe thought of Maggie holding her daughter so tightly to her, the most precious thing in the world. He couldn’t stop himself. He turned again, grabbed Madison by the throat and slammed him into the wall.
‘You are total scum. Aren’t you?’ he shouted, his face pressing into the journalist’s. ‘You’d better swear never to do anything as fucking stupid again.’
‘Never! Never ever,’ pleaded Madison.
‘Get this filth out of my sight,’ said Roscoe, releasing him and letting Stanley march the journalist down the hall and into the waiting elevator.
Walking behind them, Roscoe took a deep breath.
Further down the hall he stopped and crouched down to talk to Lily, as she held tightly onto her mother.
‘Hello, Lily,’ he said softly, ‘my name’s Jon.’
‘Hello,’ replied a tiny voice.
‘Do you think you might be able to help me?’ asked Roscoe.
Clinging to her mother, her fists tightly balled, Lily nodded her head.
‘Can you tell me what the man was doing inside the big room?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lily.
‘Do you think he was playing hide-and-seek?’ smiled Roscoe.
‘No,’ Lily laughed. ‘He wasn’t playing,’ she said. ‘He was looking for something.’
‘And did he find anything?’
‘I don’t think so. He was in a hurry.’
‘I bet he was. Do yo
u know what room he was looking in?’
‘In the bedrooms. He went inside the people’s bags,’ Lily told Roscoe. ‘He shouldn’t have done that, should he? They weren’t his bags.’
‘You’re right, he shouldn’t.’
‘I told him, but he said it was okay. I didn’t believe him. He was being naughty, wasn’t he? That’s why you hit him.’
Roscoe looked up at Maggie.
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have hit him quite so hard,’ said Roscoe, ‘but he was being very naughty.’
Lily nodded her head and smiled.
‘And when he was looking in the people’s bags, where did you go, Lily?’
Lily dropped her head and curled into her mother.
‘It’s okay,’ said Maggie, ‘you can tell Jon. You won’t get into trouble.’
Having seen the scarlet lipstick smudged on her face, Roscoe could guess how Lily had entertained herself.
‘Did you go into the lady’s make-up bag?’ he asked.
Lily nodded her head.
‘I was looking for Mummy and then, when I couldn’t find her, he said I should look after myself.’
‘I’m sure the lady won’t mind, but we’ll keep it as our secret, if you like. You, me and Mummy. ‘
Lily nodded.
‘Good,’ said Roscoe, standing back up to his full height and rubbing Lily’s hair affectionately as he did so. ‘Can I ask you one more thing?’ He crouched back down. ‘What are you keeping so safe in your hands?’
Lily stared at Roscoe.
‘We’ll make it our secret as well,’ said Roscoe. ‘I promise.’
‘Like the lipstick?’ asked Lily.
‘Yes, like the lipstick,’ reassured Roscoe. ‘Our secret.’
Slowly Lily put her hands out in front of her, unfurling her little fingers as she did so.
Clenched in the palm of each was a dazzling, blood-red ruby.
CHAPTER 24
ROSCOE LOOKED UP at Maggie, who gasped in pure amazement at the stunning rubies her daughter was holding. Aware that Maggie was about to start to quiz Lily on where the jewels had come from, he gently held up his hand.
‘Wow, look at those jewels!’ he said to Lily. ‘They’re amazing. And such a shiny red. Can I hold one?’
With some reluctance Lily reached across, releasing one of her treasures to Roscoe.
‘Thank you,’ he said, smiling at Lily. ‘It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?’
Lily nodded her head.
‘Can you tell me where you found them?’
Lily looked at Roscoe and bit her lip. She turned to look at her mother, who leaned down beside her.
‘It’s okay, Lily. You can tell Jon where you found the jewels. We won’t be angry.’
Lily was silent.
‘Let me guess. Did you find them in the kitchen?’ smiled Roscoe.
Lily shook her head.
‘Did you find them in the living room?’
Again, she shook her head.
‘Was it the dining room?’
‘No, silly!’ Lily laughed. ‘It was in the bathroom.’
‘In the man’s bathroom?’ asked Roscoe.
Lily frowned, shaking her head.
‘The lady’s?’ said Roscoe, a questioning rise in his voice.
Roscoe watched Lily nod her head, almost as if she was amazed it had taken Roscoe so long to guess.
‘In with her make-up?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’ exclaimed Lily.
‘Why don’t you give Jon the other jewel, so he can take them back to the lady’s room?’ said Maggie. Lily grudgingly handed the jewel over to Roscoe, giving him a hug as she did so.
‘Promise me you won’t go wandering off without your mum again,’ said Roscoe, getting to his feet and heading down the hallway.
‘Thanks for everything, Jon,’ called Maggie, but Roscoe was already approaching the door to the Rylands’ suite.
Why rubies? he thought. He knew the shocking part they had played in the Elegant Daniels attack, but why were there more rubies in the Rylands’ suite? Why bring more rubies to the hotel? What did they mean?
With Tribeca Luxury Hotels’ commitment to guest space being sacrosanct ringing in his ears, as he entered the bathroom, Roscoe couldn’t stop his detective’s instinct kicking in. Picking up the vanity case, he started to search through its contents. Taking out the first layer, he found nothing out of the ordinary. A second layer of cosmetics with a pocket for the rubies followed; but then, taking out the third, he found a clear plastic wallet concealed at the bottom of the case.
Removing the wallet, he discovered a set of papers and, upon opening them, realised they were legal documents, dated a number of years earlier.
Paging through the papers, Roscoe understood what he was holding.
Divorce papers for Barbara Turner and Harvey Rylands.
CHAPTER 25
FOLDING THE PAPERS and slipping them into his back pocket, Roscoe returned the layers of the vanity case, before heading out of the room. Taking the elevator down to the security control room, he recollected the death of Barbara Turner from more than twenty years before. At the time her half-brother, Andrew, was a relatively unknown junior government minister, and her death had been widely reported, due to her own notoriety rather than his.
Barbara Turner had been one of the most influential figures in British industry, owning mining and manufacturing assets across the globe – her achievements all the more notable in that they came through a company originally established by her mother immediately after the Second World War.
Portrayed by the press as a ball-breaker, Barbara had a reputation that was ill-deserved, and which Roscoe knew was constructed by a media trying to fill the gap generated by her desire to protect her privacy. Her marriage was always viewed as turbulent, but Roscoe thought any marriage to Harvey Rylands would be a tempestuous one.
Trying to remember more details, Roscoe logged into the Tribeca Luxury Hotels global communication network, and seconds later Josh Jameson, Head of Security for the three Australian Tribeca Hotels, appeared on the screen in front of him.
‘Hey, Roscoe, what’s going on?’ came the Australian’s greeting. ‘I was about to head out for dinner.’
‘Sorry for disturbing your evening,’ replied Roscoe, knowing full well that the head of his team in the southern hemisphere never let himself be off-duty, even when he was off climbing mountains. ‘I need some help on an old case.’
‘Fire away,’ said the ever-helpful Aussie, the youngest member of Roscoe’s global team. ‘What do you need?’
‘Do you remember the death of the British businesswoman Barbara Turner?’
‘Remember it? I think I was about seven at the time,’ laughed Jameson, ‘but I know the case. She was the woman who went overboard from her yacht, sailing round the Barrier Reef?’
‘That’s the one,’ said Roscoe, the details of the case coming back to him.
‘Middle of the night, everyone said she was drunk, stumbled out of her cabin, fell over the side of the boat and drowned. Sad story. She was a wealthy woman, right?’
‘Very.’
‘And now her husband is up for attempted murder, that’s right?’
‘You know about the Rylands case?’
‘Chief, we might be the other side of the world, but we do still get news stories! Why are you interested?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Roscoe. ‘Rylands is staying here at the hotel, along with his current wife. There could be a verdict today, but there are a couple of things that don’t quite add up and I’m wondering if somehow they link back to Barbara. Can you get me some more details on the case?’
‘I know how you hate loose ends. What are you looking for?’
‘Passenger lists, anything from the autopsy on Barbara Turner, something in the police records not made public.’
‘Leave it with me. I’ll make a couple of calls, see what I can find.’
‘Josh, you said you were seven at the time?
’
‘Something like that,’ said Jameson, clicking on his keyboard. ‘Six in fact, Chief. Sydney Morning Herald reports the accident as happening on November the twenty-second 1995.’
‘You’re sickeningly young,’ laughed Roscoe. ‘Can I leave this with you?’
‘No problem. Call you back in thirty,’ said Jameson, disconnecting the line.
Roscoe leaned back in his chair, pulling the Barbara Turner–Harvey Rylands divorce papers from his pocket as he did so.
Reading through them again, something immediately struck him.
They were dated November 22nd 1995.
CHAPTER 26
SITTING ALONE AND in silence, with the Old Bailey courtroom once again filling around her, Amelia Rylands felt an equal sense of expectation and dread. All her hopes rested upon the verdict that the jury in her husband’s trial for attempted murder was about to deliver.
She looked across at the twelve-person jury as they filed back in and took their seats across from the judge’s bench. Desperate for some kind of sign, she quickly tried to catch the eye of the older black woman who had smiled reassuringly towards her on more than one occasion during the trial.
For the briefest moment she caught her eye.
But the woman turned quickly away.
Thoughts raced around Amelia’s head. Why didn’t the woman want to look at her? Dropping her head, she inhaled deeply as she clasped her hands tightly together.
Clasped in prayer.
For Harvey.
Clasped so tightly that, as the Clerk of the Court collected the verdict from the jury foreperson, her fingernails cut into her soft skin.
A narrow line of blood ran down the back of her hand. Transfixed, as the verdict was handed to the judge, Amelia never noticed.
As he considered the jury’s decision in silence, her prayers continued. Holding her breath, both hands bloodied now, she watched the judge return the verdict to the clerk.
The Verdict: BookShots (A Jon Roscoe Thriller) Page 6
