They stared at each other and then she asked, ‘Do you know what time it is?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Around ten o’clock.’
She nodded.
‘I usually take dinner at eight. I’m damned hungry . . . Let’s go.’
Inside, the bistro was small and warm. On one side of the room was a long bar. There were only eight tables, covered by blue and white gingham tablecloths. Michael was sitting at a corner table together with an old woman dressed in a long turquoise gown. Her face was heavily made-up and diamonds and gold, glistened on her wrists, fingers and in her ears. Her jet-black hair was carefully coiffured on top of her head. Her thin lips were bright crimson. There were only six other diners at an advanced stage of their meals. The bartender came round from behind the bar and greeted Creasy in a strange manner. The two men put their left hands behind the other’s neck and kissed each other briefly but hard on the cheek, close to their mouths. Then Creasy turned and introduced him to Gloria. She was then introduced to Nicole and her young sister, Lucette. Creasy gestured to Ruby to push the wheelchair across the room. Michael stood up and introduced Gloria to Blondie.
For the next half an hour, Gloria was uncharacteristically subdued. She sat across the table from Blondie, who was obviously in her element, half-grande dame and half-coquette. Lucette served the food, and it wasn’t long before Gloria could see that there was something between her and Michael. Every time she leaned across the table to place a plate or retrieve something, her arm managed to touch his.
At first, the conversation was mostly between Blondie and Maxie, as they discussed old friends and acquaintances. Ruby sat on Gloria’s right and didn’t utter a word, but she hardly took her eyes from Blondie’s face.
Suddenly, Blondie was talking to Gloria in her heavily-accented English. ‘Creasy told me about your daughter. I’m very sorry. I also lost a daughter once. Of course, the pain never goes away, but I can tell you that the passing of time makes the pain easier to bear.’
‘How old was your daughter?’ Gloria asked.
‘She died the day after her sixth birthday.’
‘Any other children?’
‘No. I can’t understand why, but after that I did not want any more . . . and the times were not good. It was just after the war and those days in Italy were hard days . . . have you always been rich, Mrs Manners?’
Creasy was watching Gloria. He saw her shake her head as she said, ‘No. I know what it’s like to be poor.’
Creasy saw the faintest smile cross her lips.
She said, ‘To quote Eartha Kitt: “I’ve been rich, and I’ve been poor . . . and being rich is better”.’
Blondie gave a deep chuckle. The other customers had left and now Maxie and Nicole joined them at the table, while Lucette cleared away the plates. Then the young girl brought espressos and a bottle of cognac and abruptly the mood changed.
‘So what do we have?’ Maxie asked Creasy.
‘We have a murder. As you know, it was Gloria’s only daughter and only child. It happened by the Zambezi . . . in an area near to the Cheti. You know it well.’
‘I know it very well. That was my area of operation for more than half a year in nineteen seventy-eight.’
Creasy turned to Gloria and explained. ‘As I told you on the plane, Maxie was more or less a founder member of the Selous Scouts. I was attached to them for a while in ‘seventy-seven, but I operated on the other side of the country, near the Mozambique border. I need to tell you a bit more about the Selous Scouts. They were a very elite unit of the Rhodesian Army and named after the famous nineteenth-century explorer, tracker and hunter. The idea was to turn captured terrorists, or what are now known as freedom fighters, who were infiltrating across the Zambezi from Zambia on the North-West border and across from Mozambique in the East and then send them out in the bush with some of our own troops, who were pretending to be terrorists, using Chinese or captured weapons. Obviously, there were only a few white Selous Scouts.’ He smiled across the table at Maxie and went on, ‘But if you drink in bars from Harare to Cape Town, enough whites will tell you that they were Selous Scouts to tilt the whole of Africa. In fact, there were never more than a hundred whites in the unit. They also raided terrorist headquarters and training camps in Zambia and Mozambique with great success. They were probably the best trackers in the world, and could live off the land with only their bare hands for any length of time. The point is, Mrs Manners, that with the end of the war and the coming of independence, the Selous Scouts just sort of drifted away into oblivion. No photographs were taken of the black members, unless their faces were covered. All records were destroyed. Many of those black members are now in positions of authority in that country, while others went back to their villages. With independence, the new black government carried through, after some years, a remarkable policy of conciliation between the forces who fought for independence and the forces who fought against it. They created a cohesive single army, some of whose members were Selous Scouts.’ He turned back to Maxie and said, ‘The police made exhaustive enquiries, particularly as they were highly pressured by the American government, a major aid donor to the country. Mrs Manner’s daughter, Carole, had been spending a few days at camp with a white South African friend. He was an eminent zoologist and was doing research work in the Zambezi Valley on the after-effects on wildlife after the creation of Lake Kariba. He was thirty-five years old and well versed in bush lore. So much so, that he liked to be on his own without African helpers and, as a matter of principle, never carried a gun.’
Maxie muttered something under his breath.
Immediately, Gloria asked, ‘What did you say, Mr MacDonald?’
He shifted his eyes from Creasy to her. It was just a curse, Mrs Manners. I know the type. In a way, it’s kind of a macho syndrome, to go out in the bush and commune with nature. That’s fine, if you do it totally on your own and accept the risks . . . but you don’t do it with a companion, especially not with a city girl . . . and especially not in an area like that, where elephant and rhino poachers roam around with high-powered assault rifles.”
Gloria was nodding, but she said, ‘I cannot blame the man entirely. His name was Cliff Coppen and while he spent a few weeks in Bulawayo, Carole fell very much in love with him. She wrote me a letter, saying that she wanted to go on a field trip with him, but that he had refused because of possible danger. In that letter, she also told me that she knew where his camp was going to be, and that she was going to travel to Victoria Falls, hire a Land Rover and driver, and have him take her to that camp . . . You have to understand, Mr MacDonald, that my daughter was a head strong and determined woman . . . and a very beautiful one. I don’t think that an idealistic zoologist would have been much of a match for her.’
Maxie smiled slightly.
‘She was your daughter, so I get the picture.’
He looked again at Creasy and asked a one-word question. ‘Poachers?’
‘Possible but very doubtful. There are few rhinos left in that area. The Zimbabwe police report also shows that an anti-poaching patrol had passed by only forty-eight hours earlier. They had seen and spoken to Cliff Coppen and Carole. There were no tracks anywhere around the camp. The motive was not robbery because nothing was taken. The bodies were not discovered until three days later, by which time there had been heavy rainfall.’
The two men began to speak in a sort of jargon.
‘Bullets?’
‘7.62 millimetres.’
‘How many?’
‘Three, same rifle. Two in the man. Stomach and upper spine. The bullet that killed Carole was a heart shot.’
‘A loner?’
‘Looks that way.’
‘Close target?’
‘Penetration gives an estimate of four to six hundred metres.’
‘A pro?’
‘Looks like it.’
Creasy sighed and looked at Gloria. She was sipping her brandy, looking down at the table. Creasy switched his ga
ze back to Maxie and said, ‘Coppen was clutching a long stick. The end was blackened. They were shot by an open wood fire. My guess is that Coppen was on his haunches prodding at it, with Carole standing beside him — I’ve seen a position drawing. The gunman shot her first because she was standing and could move faster. The fact that it was a heart shot shows that he knows his business. He would have shot Coppen as he rose. With that movement, Coppen took the first bullet in his stomach. He was spun around and knocked flat because the second bullet was angled towards the neck.’
‘He didn’t waste bullets,’ Maxie said. ‘No tracks at all?’
‘Everything washed out.’
‘Casings?’
‘None.’
‘A pro.’
‘Yes, a pro.’
The two men fell silent into thought. Nicole was looking at Gloria, who was still holding her glass near her lips and taking frequent sips.
Blondie broke the silence. She said to Gloria, ‘It is a fact that Creasy is probably the most effective soldier roaming around this globe, and I well know that Michael has been trained by him in his image. I also know that Creasy came here, not just to see me, but to dig into the mind of Maxie. You are leaving for Zimbabwe early tomorrow morning. I think, in the back of his head, Creasy would be happy if Maxie goes with you too, because Maxie was a Rhodesian. He will not ask him because, when Maxie married Nicole, he promised to give up that work. But three years ago, Nicole pushed him out to destroy some very evil people. That is how Juliet came to be Creasy’s daughter.’ Blondie was looking directly at Nicole. She went on, ‘I know my Nicole. She loves her man and is confident in his love for her. But she is wise enough not to hold him back from something he wishes to do . . . and something he feels he should do.’
Immediately, Nicole answered, ‘We have a part-time bartender who can become full-time anytime. Maxie still has distant cousins in Zimbabwe and many friends. Some of them come here to see him, but others cannot afford to leave Zimbabwe. Maxie should see them. If he wants to go, I raise no objections.’ She smiled. ‘In fact, for the past few weeks, he’s been restless. Maybe some time in the bush will do him good.’
Gloria turned to look at Creasy.
‘Do you need him?’
Maxie himself answered the question. ‘He doesn’t “need” anyone. He won’t admit it, but he knows the bush, as a whole, as well as I do. On the other hand, he does not know that area of it as I do. Creasy has friends in Zimbabwe, but since I was born and grew up there, I have more friends . . . and more contacts. And I also have cousins there. Creasy would never admit to needing me but, as Blondie said, in the back of his mind he’s sitting across the table in my bistro because he wants me out there in the bush. He wants me because he knows that if we find a clue as to who killed your daughter, it’s more likely that we’ll find that clue somewhere in the bush, near the Zambezi.’
Again, Gloria glanced at Creasy. He simply nodded.
The Gulfstream IV lifted off from Brussels airport at nine o’clock the next morning.
Chapter 10
Lucy found the file after four days.
During those four days, she realised the extent of her father’s life-work, the esteem in which he was held by others in the field, and the vast number of overseas contacts. He was not only a graduate of Guy’s Hospital in London, but also had a Master’s degree from John Hopkins University in America. His speciality, however, was in Chinese medicine and its relationship and possible influence, both past and future, on modern Western medicine. The walls of his library were filled from floor to ceiling with ancient books and the walls of his laboratory were lined with bottles and flasks containing the plants, herbs and liquids and animal parts and organs which were all part of Chinese medicine. The files of correspondence with other experts from both the West and the Eastern world were voluminous. Every evening, Colin Chapman would arrive at the house, have a quick dinner with her, and then help. Because of his vast knowledge of written Chinese, he concentrated on the correspondence between her father and the professors and doctors on mainland China, while she went through the English language correspondence.
On the first evening, she had looked up at him across the large refectory table. He wore thick horn-rimmed spectacles which, she thought, suited him.
She had remarked, ‘This is a wild situation. Here I am, Chinese, reading the English stuff and there you are, a gweilo, reading the Chinese.’
He said seriously, ‘Lucy, your father was a very learned man, much more learned than I had known. Did he ever actually practise medicine?’
‘No. Only in an emergency.’ Soon after he left John Hopkins, his father died and left him a substantial sum of money. His first love had always been pure research and so he never really had to make a living as a doctor. He returned to Hong Kong, bought this house and set up his laboratory and library and study. He made many important discoveries and, as you know, wrote several books. He was a happy man in all his work and in all his life. Lately, he had become fascinated with the advent of genetic engineering, because he was able to show that many traditional Chinese medicines thousands of years old have a scientific basis.’ She gestured at an old desk in the corner, on which sat a word processor, ‘He was half way through a book on the subject when he was murdered. It’s my job now to make sure that all his papers and research go to the right people, so that it can be continued.’
Chapman went back to studying his file. She pulled another box file in front of her. Her father’s handwritten words were on the front. There were just two of them: ‘Rhino Horn’. Underneath were the Chinese characters. It was a thick file and, after she had leafed through it for half an hour, she suddenly lifted her head and said, ‘Colin, I think I have something.’
Half an hour later, Colin said, ‘That must be the connection.’ He was sitting beside her. He leaned back in his chair and spoke out loud, but as though talking to himself. ‘For centuries, it has been firmly believed by the Chinese that the horn of the rhino is a potent aphrodisiac. The powder made from that horn has always been tremendously expensive as wealthy old Chinese men try to satisfy their young concubines. But now, with the rhino almost facing extinction through poaching, that powder has become the most precious substance on earth. Rhino horn is also used by Yemenis for ornamental dagger handles, but the most valuable market is here in Hong Kong and in Taiwan. That market is controlled by one Triad . . . the 14K.’
Colin had extracted one letter from the file. It was in English and dated one month earlier. He read it out loud:‘“My dear Cliff, I have some truly astonishing news, and since you were such a vital part of my project, I hasten to write. It was four months ago when you were able to obtain for me the fifty grams of black rhino horn. I had put aside most of my other projects while I worked on it. My experiments came to fruition at about two o’clock this morning, when I discovered that, far from being an aphrodisiac, the substance actually diminishes male potency and contains a carcinogenic-causing agent called Hetromygloten. The thing is, I cannot understand why it contains such an agent. Then it occurred to me that perhaps it came into the fibrous hair of the horn through certain grasses or plants that are part of the black rhino’s diet. Naturally, I have no knowledge of that diet, but I’m sure you do. Of course, it might also be in minerals contained in the water that they consume or in the soil of their habitat. ‘ “I’m sure that my findings have deep implications. As I write this, I have beside me your letter of the 16th, where you state that the fight against the poachers is being lost and that even the programme to dart the black rhinos and then de-horn them is proving futile, since poachers still kill them because it saves tracking a useless animal. If, however, my countrymen can be convinced that by imbibing even a small particle of black rhino horn their sexual potency will be markedly reduced — and that they also risk cancer — then the market for it will cease immediately. For this campaign, we will need substantial funds, but I’m sure that this will be forthcoming from worldwide conservation organisat
ions and perhaps certain interested governments. However, the next step must be that I do more work on the subject and then publish an academic article in Nature. That article can then be quoted in newspapers and magazines as part of the educational campaign.
As you well know, such things take time. It could be six months or even a year. I know from your letter that the black rhino does not have much time and so I have a ploy which might end the trading almost immediately. I phoned an old British acquaintance of mine who had recently retired from the Hong Kong police force, and asked him which Triad gang would have control of that particular trade. He immediately made enquiries with the Anti-Triad Branch, who told him that, without doubt, the 14K is the largest, most dangerous and has world-wide connections. It is headed by a man called Tommy Mo Lau Wong.
I intend to communicate with this Tommy Mo and inform him of my findings and warn him that, unless the business ceases forthwith, a large advertising campaign will shortly appear with my findings. Like any astute Chinese business man, Tommy Mo will realise that any rhino horn powder he is holding, or has in the pipeline, will become worthless. He will immediately sell all his stocks and not take any more. Obviously, if this works, the expensive advertising campaign will not be needed and the money can be used elsewhere. I will let you know the result, if any. Again, my thanks for your considerable help. With warmest wishes, Kwok Ling Fong.” ’
Chapman turned to look at Lucy and said, ‘I’m afraid that, like most academics and scientists, your father was somewhat naive about the real world out there.’
She nodded, ‘I’m afraid he was . . . He must have made contact with Tommy Mo, who had him murdered and then tried to burn the evidence.’ She shook her head and said, ‘To think that my whole family was murdered just because of some animal horn.’
Black Horn (A Creasy novel Book 4) Page 5
