“You didn’t say anything about our problem?”
“Not a word. Too dangerous. When I get Leo back I’ll make sure he doesn’t divulge anything either.”
“Alan must be doing quite well to afford holidays on the Côte d’Azur.”
Emma laughed. “He’s not that well off and you’re forgetting that he’s Scottish. One of his authors is Mike Pringle, you’ve probably heard of him, much better known than me?”
Jenny shook her head and she continued, “Anyway, Mike has a hotel apartment near Nice and Alan gets invited down a couple of times a year. I was there two years ago. It’s a fabulous place, restaurant, pool, everything at hand and right by the beach.”
“That’s something to aspire to, so you’d better keep on writing. What’s the new book about?”
“Oh, nothing very original. It’s called Red Sky over Orkney, with the same boring characters doing more or less the same boring things, just in a different place. I told you, I’m running out of fresh ideas, that’s the problem. I just keep writing and hoping that something new and gripping will come out of it but so far it hasn’t. I’m really not that good a writer.”
“I like the title. Anyhow it’s good to see you thinking positively and writing again.”
“I was thinking about something else before he called, actually,” Emma said. “How long have you known Leticia?”
“I first met her at Ellen and Charlie’s house-warming party when she was working for them. That was seven years ago. The next time was the following year, at Ellen’s funeral.” She paused, unwelcome memories flooding back into her mind.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Emma said.
“It’s alright, just not something I like to dwell on. Anyway, I didn’t get to know her until after Charlie’s death, when I found out about her and Charlie and Emilio. That was a bit of a shock, but she was so honest and naïve that I couldn’t imagine anything wrong about their relationship. And her son is such an adorable child, he thinks of me as his aunt, which makes me really happy.
“Then we had that awful business with d’Almeida that I told you about yesterday. That’s when we became very close. I think I’m like an elder sister to her, the way you are to me. So I felt I had found a new part of my family, after losing Ron and both his parents.” Oh dear, she thought. That wasn’t very tactful of me.
Emma shook her head. “I don’t think of myself as an older sister to you. On the contrary, I feel younger. You’ve experienced so much more than me and you have a way of getting things done, despite any obstacles or objections. But I know what you mean about family. We didn’t see much of each other when Leo was young. I was writing every day when I wasn’t rushing from one book shop to another to sign future priceless first editions. I was probably a bit obsessed with my own life and not looking in your direction.” She paused, looking guilty. “I’m sorry, Jenny. It seems that it’s taken some really serious problems for us to come together again.”
“It’s just the way things work out. You were living in the North and I married someone with a business in Ipswich. Life throws changes at you. You just have to take them in your stride and get on with it. The main thing is that we’re back in touch and we’ve got a mutual objective to accomplish. Getting Leo back, with Coetzee’s help!”
Emma nodded. “I just hope he’s with him. Now that we’ve sent the others a holding message, I’m praying we’ll get a reply from Coetzee this morning. At least something that proves Leo is with him. It will probably be in the form of a counter-offer. It’s like an auction, you can’t stop bidding until you’re successful.”
Jenny said, “Why did you ask me about Leticia?”
“Oh, I was just trying to think through the people involved in this awful business and her name popped into my head.”
“In what connection?” Now Jenny was intrigued.
“Well, think about it. She’s the only person who knows about your fortune and that I was taking Leo to the football. I was looking for a common denominator, as Pedro calls it, and I thought of her.”
“It’s certainly half a connection, but she couldn’t have known about your story because you say that no one did. She knew I had a sister, but nothing personal about you, never mind that you have a Rwandan son, so I’m not sure about the common denominator.”
Jenny remembered her conversation with Leticia word for word. It had only occurred yesterday. Emma had been upset by the event and she had shrugged it off. Leticia had said, ‘I heard you talking about it’.
Could she possibly have found out about Leo’s birth? Could Leticia be the common denominator between past and present? She pushed the thought away, it wasn’t conceivable. Then the last discussion she’d had with her came to her mind. Last night she had asked her to look at some financial papers, only to change her mind after she had spoken to Patrice that morning.
Uneasily she thought about their other conversations. Another memory came to her, another phrase that had sounded out of place, when she was talking about buying something in the South of France, ‘I couldn’t afford anything big now’. Why did she say, ‘now’ and why had Patrice not wanted her to show me the papers?
Once again she rejected the idea, only to be confronted by a vivid memory of her dream the previous night. The woman who had taken the money had Leticia’s face. She shivered at the thought. It wasn’t possible, or was it?
London, England
“Bensouda has offered one hundred thousand more and the Marseille people have accepted. They’re sending me bank details for the transfer. Everything is back on course for Sunday.”
Dudley supressed a laugh. He had just paid off the taxi and was entering the Park Lane Hotel. “Well done, M Jolidon. Our arrangement is becoming more profitable by the minute. I’m in rather a hurry at the moment, but I’ll leave you to handle everything with your usual efficiency. Thank you for your call.”
He put the US phone back in his pocket. One intermediary in Geneva and the other in Marseille and never the twain shall meet. Arthur Dudley was feeling quite pleased with the terms of the transaction and it was only going to get better.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Johannesburg, South Africa
Espinoza had taken a cab directly to Chief Superintendent Hendricks’ office. He had caught him on his mobile and been invited to go over immediately. He was still mulling over his call with Jenny and Emma and the message they had now sent to ARGS. This investigation was becoming more and more complicated and he needed time to think about the various pieces of the jigsaw and how they fitted together. Maybe he would learn something from the policeman.
He saw on arriving that Hendricks was stressed out at having two suspicious deaths on his hands at the same time. As usual, the top brass were piling on the pressure for an announcement, any announcement. He was summarising what they’d learned to date when the call came from DI Dewar in London. Hendricks’ eyes widened when he was told who was calling. Two European contacts in the same week as two mysterious deaths. What was this all about?
He listened to Dewar’s information in silence, making notes with a cheap ball point pen on a pad of shoddy recycled lined paper. Espinoza’s ears pricked up when he heard, “You say that the trace followed them from Polokwane to Phalaborwa then down here to Delmas? Is that where they are now?”
He listened again for a moment. “Good, please email the details and I’ll follow it up. Here is my private email address.” He dictated the information. “Thank you for your assistance, Detective Inspector.”
“News about our investigation?” Espinoza asked ingenuously.
“Possibly, but I doubt it. Apparently someone in England has been tracing mobile phones in South Africa. I can’t see why that would be connected. I’ll wait for the email. Now, as I was saying, the death of the hotel manager, Lambert, seems definitely to be murder. The receptionist said he went upstairs with a Sergeant Bongani from Forsburg Central and next thing he was lying dead in the car park. The problem is that t
here is no policeman in Forsburg or even in South Africa with the name Bongani. The woman couldn’t give a good description of him and there are no other witnesses, so we have no idea whether it was actually a police officer or an imposter.”
Espinoza didn’t comment, but he was certain it must have been Nwosu. “And the second death, in Polokwane?”
“We think it was also a murder, because of blood traces and tyre tracks on the nearby ground and there was no identification on the body. But we have nothing to go on. The corpse had been savaged by wild animals and the face was unrecognisable. We’ve done house to house visits in the area, but no one knows anything. Or if they do they’re not saying.”
“Have you done a DNA analysis?”
“I’m waiting for the result. It should be here this morning. But if it’s not on our data base we’ll still be in the dark.”
Again the Spaniard made no comment. He was still putting two and two together from the snatches of speech he’d heard during the call. “Why do you think an English police inspector would be interested in a phone call trace in Polokwane?”
Hendricks seemed irritated with the logic employed by the other man. “I have no idea why he called. Something to do with a fellow called Lord Arthur Dudley. Can we please concentrate on my murders that’s the priority right now.”
An English Lord! Espinoza’s curiosity was now really aroused. Emma had said the ARGS messages might have been written by a member of the aristocracy. He didn’t believe in coincidences and he didn’t believe that simultaneous events in South Africa and England were not somehow related. Both Emma and Lambert were English and he had suspected from the start that the epicentre of the conspiracy might be in the UK.
“Right.” Hendricks’ voice interrupted his reverie. “Please tell me about the case you’re investigating and how these deaths could be connected.”
Espinoza began a long and convoluted fabrication about drug smuggling, prostitution and human trafficking between the UK and Spain. It was an anodyne story that could have occurred anywhere in the world and Hendricks looked suitably bored until he said, “I identified Lambert during my investigation in Spain and I’m convinced he fled to South Africa to save his skin when the net started to tighten.” Here he strayed somewhat from the truth, but said to himself, The end justifies the means.
“So you think he was murdered because of his involvement in the Spanish business?”
“According to my information they have interests over here too. I believe he was killed by an ‘associate’ to prevent him from betraying the organisation.”
Now the South African was becoming interested. “We’re aware of the links between our country and Europe. I hear there’s a lot of organised crime in the South of Spain. What do you know about the ‘associate’?”
“I’ve heard a name and I’ve seen a photograph. It’s a long shot, but I would recognise him if I saw him again.”
“Is there a connection with the other body, in Polokwane?”
Here Espinoza was on thinner ice, since he couldn’t easily create a connection between the two deaths without risking the truth. He was saved by a ‘ping’ from Hendricks’ laptop.
“It’s Dewar. Hmm, this looks bloody complicated. Apparently Lord Dudley asked for two phones to be traced by a company called EzeTracker in England. One was supposed to be in Polokwane at the time of the death up there, then it was traced to Phalaborwa and then to Delmas. A second phone was traced to Delmas and now they’ve both moved to a different location. He thinks it’s an apartment building in Diepkloof. That’s a half hour south-west of here,” he added.
It took all of Espinoza’s mental fortitude to remain calm. Diepkloof. That’s Nwosu’s precinct and where he lives. Bingo! He said, “Can you send someone there to check?”
The other man looked exasperated. “Look, Espinoza. I’m in the middle of a double murder investigation. This phone tracking is obviously not relevant to my enquiry. Just tell me what you know about this gang killing.”
Espinoza realised he’d sold the gang story too well and Hendricks was desperate to believe it. The man didn’t think laterally.
“You’re right of course.” He replied. “It’s unlikely that it’s connected to your two murders. But there could possibly be a link to my enquiry because of the English connection. Since I’ve come all the way down here I have to exhaust every possibility. I can go on my own if you don’t have the resources.”
Hendricks still looked uninterested, but he was thinking fast. He had no leads at all in the murder enquiry and Espinoza hadn’t told him anything of value. But he obviously knows something and he’s looking for a deal. If I humour him in this Dudley affair, he’ll be obliged to help me and it might make a difference.
“You can’t go on your own, you have no jurisdiction.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll take you myself. It’ll be a waste of time but you can check it out then we can get back to my murder investigation. OK?”
The Spaniard smiled to himself. “Good, thanks. I’ll be entirely at your disposal when we return.”
Hendricks took a pistol and holster from his drawer and fastened it on. “I’m not allowed to arm you, but it’s probably a wild goose chase. Let’s go.”
Espinoza followed him out the door, hoping he wouldn’t live to regret that statement.
London, England
Dudley, Esther and Slater were sitting in a room near the reception of the hotel. She served them coffee and croissants from a tray on a sideboard.
“I have received an email message on my mobile phone from Ms Stewart,” Dudley announced with a beaming smile. He put on his spectacles and read from the tiny screen. “She informs us that she is attempting to raise funds ‘from various sources’ to make us a reasonable offer. We can expect a confirmation by Monday, which I think you’ll agree is extremely promising. I can only assume that she is speaking with her sister, since that is the closest and most available source of substantial wealth and they’re probably in the same house together. What do you think of that?”
“If my partner comes over this afternoon we’d better have a better story than that to tell. This business isn’t justifying an investment of half a million dollars at the minute.” The man looked confident and professional in his business suit but his nervous tone confounded the image.
“I believe we are about to receive some very good news. Following further arrangements I have put in place I am expecting a call in just a short while. I suggest being patient until we receive further news. In the meanwhile we can discuss the details of the payment procedure once again.” Dudley gave a smug smile and sipped his coffee.
Esther and Slater looked at him in astonishment. Last night they had lost the boy and now it seemed he had been found again. They both sat back in their chairs, breathing a deep sigh of relief.
Vereeniging, Gauteng, South Africa
According to the brochure, the Vaal Riviera Hotel is exactly one hour’s drive from Johannesburg. But the south bound highway of the N3 was under repair and it took Coetzee almost two hours to get there. It was after midday before they were installed in their rooms. The hotel was a four star establishment, comfortable and old fashioned. He had booked a double room for Karen and Abbi and two singles for Leo and himself.
The hotel had a floating bar/lounge and dining room on a motorised barge that sailed from one side of the river to the other. It was a beautiful day so they went for a coffee outside on the deserted deck.
Leo was still waiting to call his mother. He wanted to hear what Coetzee had to say. Especially what part he played in Blethin’s demise. To get his own version right before he called her, and that might depend on what he heard from the South African. He sat waiting nervously for him to begin.
“I reckon I owe you all an explanation.” Coetzee looked uncomfortable. “Where should I start?”
“How about the beginning?” said Karen and Abby in unison.
“Right.” He took a cheroot from the pack and laid it on the t
able without lighting it. Then he told them the story of the Voice and Nwosu and Lambert and Blethin, and Leo. He didn’t tell them about poor Jacob Masuku and his wife. He realised that some things were best forgotten.
Diepkloof, Gauteng, South Africa
Hendricks’ unmarked Peugeot pulled up in front of the apartment building in Diepkloof at twelve thirty pm. As they got out of the car a black Mercedes with darkened windows and Zimbabwean plates drove away from the kerb, narrowly missing Espinoza.
“Fucking tourists! Their country is bankrupt and falling apart and they’re driving around my country in fancy Mercedes spending money they’ve stolen from their own people and from foreign aid. It’s disgusting.” Espinoza nodded his agreement as Hendricks spat into the gutter in anger.
There were three entrances to the building and the information from DI Dewar hadn’t identified which one it was. Espinoza didn’t want to reveal that he knew the address, it would look suspicious. Fortunately it was the only apartment building on the street. They chose the first entrance and went into a shabby hall with post boxes on the wall. “What was the name you heard?”
“Nwosu. Jonathon Nwosu.” Espinoza held his breath in case the policeman recognised the name.
“Nobody here called Nwosu.” The name meant nothing to Hendricks. “We’ll try next door.”
Nwosu’s apartment was on the top floor of the third entrance. They climbed the four flights, ignoring the various noises and smells they passed on the way. There was no one in the stairwell and they arrived at the apartment without seeing a soul.
Hendricks pressed the bell. There was no response and he pressed it again and knocked with his knuckles. Still no response. Espinoza turned the metal handle and the door swung open.
“Wait.” Hendricks took his pistol from the holster and released the safety catch. They walked into a small hall with three closed doors around them. The first opened onto an untidy bedroom with a travel bag lying on the unmade bed.
The Rwandan Hostage Page 37
