Betrayed (Powell Book 4)

by Bill Ward

  “Would you like me to open the beer?” she offered.

  “I think we can do that,” Jenkins replied. The girl was pretty but right now he was more interested in food.

  “You can push the trolley outside the door, when you’ve finished,” the girl explained.

  She seemed to be hovering and Jenkins realised the reason. “Thanks,” he said, taking a couple of quid from his pocket for a tip.

  She smiled. “If you need anything like desert or maybe more beers, just give us a call.”

  “We will,” he said, ushering her to the door.

  Once she’d left, Powell reappeared. “This looks good,” he commented, picking up his plate. “Good choice of hotel.” He sat on the edge of his bed and rested the plate on his lap.

  “We haven’t tasted it yet but it does look good,” Jenkins agreed, sitting on his bed. “I’m not sure we needed to move hotel again but I guess it’s best not to take chances.”

  “We keep moving,” Powell confirmed. “I know it was a drag, having to move again, after getting back from the Cement Works but it’s better safe than sorry. We stick to one night maximum at each hotel in future. No exceptions. There are dozens of hotels in the area so we won’t run out of places to stay.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  At one in the morning, Powell and Jenkins drove to Tintagel. They had an expandable step ladder, purchased from a DIY store, which remained open late. Powell was worried about being out at a time when the police were extra vigilant, looking for criminals and drunks, so he was careful to stay within the speed limits.

  They parked on the side of the road, close to the wall, but away from the main gate. They stuck the note they had written earlier, on the windscreen saying they were broken down and would return to collect the car, the next day. If a police car spotted the parked car, it was almost certain to stop and investigate why the car was parked where it was but hopefully the note would be sufficient to send them on their way.

  “It’s weird being back here,” Powell said, as they set the ladder against the wall. “I’ll go first.” He climbed the ladder and sat astride the top of the wall like a horse. As he looked towards the trees, the one image he couldn’t get out of his mind was of the naked Hattie tied to the tree.

  Jenkins climbed the ladder and sat on top of the wall next to Powell. Then he pulled the ladder up behind him, before placing it on the ground, on the other side of the wall.

  “After you,” Jenkins said.

  Powell climbed down the ladder and was quickly joined by Jenkins. They left the ladder in position, in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Not that Powell was doing anything very quickly. His leg prohibited sudden or fast movements.

  Powell led the way to the front of the house where the cars were parked off to one side. The Land Rover was in its familiar space. Fortunately, they were far enough away from the main house for the light sensors not to work.

  Powell took out his lock breaking keys and quickly had the boot open. He spotted a compartment to the side, which he opened and revealed the tools for changing the wheels. “We can put it in here,” he suggested.

  Jenkins took the bag of drugs from inside his jacket and placed it in the compartment. They closed the boot and hurried away. The whole job had only taken twenty minutes by the time they were back in their car.

  Despite the disturbed night’s sleep, they were up at eight and enjoying breakfast in their room while taking turns to shower. Roger had said Luigi ran a small chain of betting shops in Kent. His full name was Luigi Pesce and he was listed as the Director of Roma Racing. Some brief searching on the internet provided the phone number for what was described as the Head Office.

  Powell called and asked to speak to Luigi but from the response it was evident he wasn’t often seen in the office before the afternoon. He asked if there was any other number where he was more likely to be able to reach him but met a blank. They weren’t going to hand out his mobile or home numbers to just anybody.

  Powell decided it was worth taking a risk. He went down to the hotel lobby and found a payphone. He called Brian and asked him to find the home and mobile numbers for Luigi Pesce. He said he would call again in an hour. Even if someone was eavesdropping, they didn’t have time to trace the call.

  One hour later, Powell called again and Brian gave him a number listed to a Luigi Pesce, who had a criminal record and currently owned Roma Racing. He was identified as a person of interest to the police. They again kept the call short to avoid the danger of being traced, with Powell just confirming he was making good progress.

  Powell returned to his room and used his mobile to call Luigi.

  “Who is this?” a voice answered with a definite Italian accent.

  “I’m a friend. I have some information for you.”

  “And what is your name, friend?”

  “That’s not important. I know you recently lost something very valuable. I can help you with its recovery.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  “I don’t want a financial reward. Let’s say the result would be in both our interests. One day maybe you will be able to do me a favour. I have a friend who lives at Tintagel. He tells a story about overhearing someone called Tommy boasting how he and Scott have got one over on the greasy Italian. Forgive me, they are not my words.”

  “Go on.”

  “It seems you were set up and have been fooled into believing someone else is responsible for your loss. Tommy and Scott had some short term financial problems and you were the solution. I don’t know where the money is but I do know the product is somewhere in the back of their Land Rover. I believe they are about to sell it for a second time.”

  “It is an interesting story but I am not sure why I should believe you. How do you know they have put the drugs in the car?”

  “As I said, I have a friend at the house.”

  “It would be foolish of you to lie to me,” Luigi warned.

  “It’s easy enough to check out. Pay Scott a visit and see if my information is correct. What have you to lose?”

  “How can I contact you?” Luigi asked.

  “You can’t.”

  “But if I find something of interest in the Land Rover, I will want to thank you properly.”

  “I’ll be in touch again. You’ll be needing a new supplier, I guess?”

  “Now I understand. You want to take over Scott’s business. I like entrepreneurs. Give me a call in a few days and we can talk further. Of course, that is contingent on your information being correct.”

  “It is,” Powell said and ended the call.

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  When Powell finished the call with Luigi, he was in a good mood. He was quietly confident Luigi had taken the bait and there was trouble in store for Scott.

  “I think that went quite well,” Powell summarised, as he turned to see Jenkins glued to the television screen. Receiving no response and seeing the worried look on the face of Jenkins, he asked, “What’s happened?”

  Jenkins didn’t answer for a few seconds and Powell looked at the television to see what had captured Jenkins’ attention. Almost immediately the news item changed so he was none the wiser.

  Jenkins turned to Powell. “Two people were found dead yesterday evening, in the same hotel where we checked out yesterday afternoon,” Jenkins explained.

  “It could be a coincidence,” Powell suggested but his good mood was fast evaporating. He wasn’t much of a believer in coincidences.

  “It could be but what if they were after us and those poor people got in the way?”

  “How did they die?” Powell queried. “Did the news say they were murdered?”

  “Not exactly. They were unexplained deaths.”

  “That could mean suicides. It’s just as well we moved out. Even if it was nothing to do with us, the police would have wanted to interview all the guests. Looks like we had a narrow escape.”

  “Probably not entirely true. The police will li
kely check who stayed in the room the previous night. That will eventually lead them to me.

  “You gave your home address in Wales so they won’t find anyone at home. I doubt they will track you down before this is all resolved.

  “I’ll have to be careful how I use my credit cards. They are easily tracked, as is my phone.”

  “If necessary, we can use some of the cash we’ve inherited to pay the bills.

  “You should talk to Brian,” Jenkins suggested. “See what he can find out about how the couple died.”

  “I will. One day it would be nice though to be able to call him and not have to ask for a favour.”

  “That’s the only type of call I ever get from you,” Jenkins said with a mock, pained expression.

  “True but I know you’re bored and sitting by the phone, waiting for me to call.”

  “Well life certainly hasn’t been dull since we met.

  “I even took you on holiday with me to the sun.”

  “If you mean bloody Saudi Arabia that isn’t funny.”

  “It was a bit hairy,” Powell acknowledged.

  “So the call with Luigi went well?” Jenkins enquired.

  “He thinks I’m trying to muscle in on Scott’s business and will check the Land Rover.”

  “Wish I could be there.”

  “Me too. I’ll go call Brian. You get ready for us to check out. I’ve chosen a hotel in Reigate to stay tonight.”

  Powell once again visited the payphones in the foyer. He checked nobody was paying undue attention to the phones, in case his earlier calls had been traced, although it seemed extremely unlikely as he had kept the calls short. But he wasn’t abreast of modern technology and didn’t know if the authorities could now trace calls in seconds rather than minutes. It wasn’t something they would announce to the world.

  Satisfied he could detect nothing out of the ordinary, he put in a call to Brian, who promised to investigate and get back to Powell as soon as he had obtained a copy of the police reports. Powell didn’t say why he wanted to know about the two deaths but stressed he needed to know the room number where the people were staying. Brian realised it wasn’t wise to ask the reason behind the questions, over the phone. Powell hoped their deaths were not linked to him in any way. His conscience was already full to bursting with regrets.

  Powell was about to return to the room when his mobile rang. He was hopeful the impromptu call signalled Samurai had finally discovered something useful. Tina was still the only person who had his number.

  “Hi Tina,” he answered, walking towards a quiet area of the foyer. “I hope you’re calling with some good news.”

  “Hi Powell. I’m not sure. Peter has stumbled across something strange, he thinks you should know about.”

  “Tell me,” he said in a calm voice, which disguised the sudden surge of excitement he was feeling.

  “As you requested, he’s been trying to discover the name of the person who really owns Tintagel. There are various accountants and lawyers involved with the myriad of companies but he’s finally found a tenuous paper trail link to someone who’s name has cropped up as a signatory on a loan document. It doesn’t mean this person owns Tintagel and it could just be a coincidence but …

  “Tina, who is it?” Powell urged. This was turning out to be a day of coincidences.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Powell arrived at the house in Putney and as the maid showed him through to the lounge, he couldn’t help but remember his first visit only a couple of weeks earlier, since when his life had been in turmoil. On that occasion, he had been invited by Clara Buckingham and thought it strange her husband didn’t seem to really want to be at the meeting. This time, the meeting was with Charles Buckingham and he was about to receive the shock of his life.

  Charles entered the room and Powell went through the routine of shaking hands despite how he felt about the man.

  “What was it you wanted to see me about?” Charles asked, grumpily. “I’m a very busy man.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Powell replied, sitting on the sofa. “All those companies you are involved with must keep you extremely busy.”

  “Companies? What companies?”

  “The ones in Panama you’ve used to disguise your holdings in certain UK companies.”

  “What the hell are you talking about,” Charles demanded. “What’s all this nonsense about Panama?”

  “I’ve been trying to establish who owned Tintagel and you can imagine my surprise when I discovered it was you.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Charles replied, in a raised voice. “This really is a waste of my time.”

  “I want to come to some sort of arrangement with you. Thanks to you and Scott, I need to get out of the country. I need some money to make that possible. I have assets. I own a house and a bar but I don’t have much cash.”

  “So you came here to try and extort money from me?”

  “I think blackmail would be a better description. You pay me a million pounds and I’ll forget what I know about your business dealings.”

  “You’re bluffing. You don’t know anything. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I’m not wearing a wire,” Powell said, opening his jacket. “Search me. Then we can stop all this bullshit and get down to talking numbers.”

  “I’m going to call the police,” Charles threatened.

  “If you were going to call the police, you would have already done so. In fact, an innocent person would have had the police waiting for me when I arrived. You couldn’t risk calling the police until you found out what I knew and whether I was a threat to your plans. As I said before, I need to get out of the country. It’s in your interest to help me get as far away as possible.”

  Charles Buckingham was thoughtful for a second. Then he walked towards Powell and patted down his body. He checked the contents of his pockets and seemingly satisfied, stepped backwards.

  “It was most unfortunate for both of us, my wife insisted on hiring your services.”

  “I have no ties to this country,” Powell said. “I would enjoy a clean break and fresh start somewhere with a warm climate. I am even willing to sell you my bar in exchange for a fair price. I just need a quick deal and the money up front so I can skip the country.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “Well I’m not likely to tell you so you can arrange for the police to arrest me. I can get out of the country. I have access to a passport in a different name. But I don’t intend to leave without sufficient funds to have a decent lifestyle.”

  “I repeat, I haven’t done anything illegal.”

  “I’m not sure about that. Conspiracy charges can cover a great number of circumstances, including murder.”

  “Murder? What do you take me for? I haven’t been involved with any murders.”

  “Possibly not but I’m sure you don’t want your personal life all over the front pages of the newspapers. It would make especially interesting reading for your wife and stepdaughter.”

  Charles walked to a globe standing on one side of the room. When he opened the top it revealed a small bar with a collection of alcohol and glasses. “Do you want one?” he asked.

  “I’ll have a malt whisky, if you have one?”

  Charles poured two glasses of malt Scotch and handed one to Powell. “Tell me something to make me believe you aren’t just bluffing,” Charles requested.

  “CCH Holdings. Does the CCH stand for Charles, Clara and Hattie by any chance?”

  “Yes it does. You really have done your homework.”

  “I had some expert help.”

  “So you aren’t the only one who knows about my business dealings?” Charles asked, suddenly concerned.

  “Don’t worry. My help was a hacker who works outside the law. He will only publicise what he knows if something unfortunate should happen to me.”

  “If you know my business dealings as well as you say you do, then you know I’m not exactly flush w
ith money.”

  “I’m not an unreasonable man. I need some immediate cash but I’m willing to wait for the balance until Hattie hands over her inheritance to Scott.”

  “I begin to wish you had been my partner not Scott,” Charles said. “I can give you fifty thousand in cash tomorrow,” he offered.

  “That would be acceptable for the time being. I expect the other money within one month of Hattie’s birthday.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Tell me,” Powell asked. “How did you ever meet Scott? He doesn’t seem like the type of person you would normally associate with.”

  “I was desperate. My businesses were leaking money and I had Tintagel available to rent at half the going rate. He said he was interested and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Did Clara not realise you owned Tintagel?”

  “To be honest, she hasn’t a clue about my business dealings. She has her own money.”

  “Who had the idea about Hattie’s inheritance?”

  “It was mine. Her grandfather never should have left her so much money in the first place. She’s a spoilt child. She would just squander the money.”

  “She might not have fallen for Scott or agreed to make the donation.”

  “She’s predictable. The more I told her, I didn’t want her to see him or be at the commune, the more certain it was she would do what we wanted.”

  “You could have told her the truth and asked her to invest in your business.”

  “We aren’t close enough and that would have involved telling her mother. It wasn’t a serious option.”

  “Just out of interest, where did all your money go?”

  “A couple of bad investments. Since the stock market collapsed, I’ve been struggling. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. The interest alone on my loans is crippling me and without Hattie’s money, I will be bankrupt by the end of the year.”

  “You said your wife has money? Couldn’t she have helped?”

  “Possibly but I didn’t want to ask her? It would have meant the end of our marriage if I told her I’d lost everything.”