The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set

by Christopher Lowery

  Then he felt hands on his shoulders helping him, pulling him away from the deep. Faintly, he could see a light. He swam more strongly. It got brighter as he struggled to swim up towards it, brighter and brighter until...

  Leo opened his eyes. He tried to focus, but his vision was blurred. In front of him was someone, leaning into his face and shaking him gently by the shoulders. ”Wake up, Leo. That’s it. It’s time to wake up now. You’ve had a very long sleep, but you must wake up now. Here, drink this, you must be thirsty.” A glass was pushed against his lips and he swallowed instinctively.

  Water, he registered and coughed as it ran down his throat. He rubbed his eyes and gradually his vision cleared. He saw a young black woman, quite pretty, with a white cap. He squinted again. She was wearing a nurse’s outfit and holding the glass of water. He nodded and she placed it at his lips again. He grabbed it and drank the contents thirstily. He had a raging thirst, his mouth was parched.

  “More water please,” he said.

  “Not just now, Leo. In a moment you can have some more. Just take it easy and do everything very slowly. You’ve been asleep for a while, so please just take your time until you feel better.”

  He moved his head from side to side, taking in his surroundings. It was a small square room, impersonal, with bare walls and no furniture except for a table in the corner with some equipment on it. “Is this a hospital,” he asked the woman.

  “More or less,” she replied. “We have everything we need here to look after you, so don’t worry.”

  The nurse took his wrist and felt his pulse, looking at her watch. She put a thermometer in his ear and he heard a click and she checked his temperature. She opened his mouth and looked down his throat with a polished spoon as a mirror. Then she brought a blood pressure monitor and slipped the band around his upper arm. It tightened on his bare arm and he realised he was not wearing a pyjama jacket. She noted the results from the machine on a notebook.

  “Why am I here? Have I had an accident? Where’s my Mum?” He tried to sit up, but the nurse gently held him on his back. He realised she was very strong and he was very weak. He decided not to fight. She wrapped another rubber band around his arm, tight.

  “I need to take a little blood for testing”, she said. “Lie still. Just for a minute.”

  She found the vein and swabbed it with antiseptic. “Now.” He hardly felt the needle slip into his arm and a moment later, she said, “Well done. That’s all we need.” She put the phial onto a table near the bed. “Now you can have a little more water. Just one small glass until later.”

  He drank it down thirstily. “Have I been sick? Why is my Mum not here? What’s happening?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a while,” she said and taking her notebook and the phial of blood, she left the room.

  Leo waited for a moment after he heard the door close then he tried to sit up in the bed. His head swam and he fell back onto the pillow. After a minute or two, he tried again, very slowly and carefully. This time he managed to get himself into a sitting position, his arms around his knees. He waited until his head cleared again and turned to sit with his legs hanging over the bedside. Absently, he saw that he was wearing a pair of jockey shorts, not his.

  Gingerly, he pushed himself up until he was standing, holding onto the bedframe. It felt cool and was made of metal. There was another door on the right that he hadn’t seen. Still holding on, he took a step towards the door, then another. He realised he had to leave hold of the bedframe to reach the door. Preparing himself, he lunged at the door and caught the handle to stay upright. His legs didn’t seem to want to follow him, but he dragged them along until he was standing at the door, holding onto the handle. He turned it and almost fell into the room but managed to keep himself up. It was a small bathroom with a shower, wash basin and a toilet. It looked very clean. There was no window. No way out, he registered.

  Using the wall to hold himself upright, he managed to reach the door the nurse had gone through. He hung onto the handle and tried to turn it each way, but the door was implacably locked. He looked over at the windows, they were closed up with blinds. Grabbing the bedframe again, he lurched across and reached the windows, but the story was the same, neither the windows nor the blinds could be opened.

  “Shit!” He looked all around the room again. There was no other possible exit, or even view out of the room. Staggering back, he collapsed onto the bed and rolled over onto his back, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. Within a minute he was asleep again.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Johannesburg, South Africa

  Coetzee was looking at a CCTV screen in the manager’s office at the Packard Hotel in Mayfair, Johannesburg. He saw Leo collapse onto the bed and fall asleep.

  “He looks OK to me.”

  “We’ll be sure when I’ve done the blood analysis,” Doctor Blethin, the man beside him, replied in his accented English, “but he doesn’t seem to have suffered any lasting damage. I didn’t expect he would, he’s a healthy, well-nourished boy of fifteen. They don’t come much stronger than that. I’ll get on with it right now.” He left Coetzee alone in the office.

  The security chief was in a foul mood. He and Nwosu had received their regular call from the Voice that morning, Tuesday. It was a very disagreeable call. After they’d summarised the catastrophic events of yesterday, there had been a very long and menacing silence.

  Finally, the Voice said, “So, you have not only managed to lose Mrs Stewart, the boy’s mother, you have somehow contrived to let her join her sister, Mrs Jenny Bishop, in her home in Marbella. I sincerely hope that you have not mislaid the boy too?”

  “He’s still safe and sound and healthy, under our control.”

  Once again they heard the sound of someone speaking quietly in the background, then the Voice continued, “Why would Mrs Stewart leave South Africa when her son is missing?”

  Before Coetzee could reply, Nwosu said, “We have no idea. It came right out of the blue. She was supposed to come back here but she ran away to her sister’s in Spain. Women do strange things.” He looked at the security chief, wondering if he’d recognise the quotation.

  “Could she have learned of the plan from someone, another of your incompetent employees?”

  Coetzee interrupted. “No chance. She’s never been in contact with anyone except Lambert and he’s smart enough not to implicate himself in this business. There’s no way she could have found out.” He looked at Nwosu as if to say, I’ve got you off the hook. You owe me!

  Again there was that faint sound then the Voice asked, “Do you have any knowledge of Mrs Stewart’s sister?”

  “Why should we have?” Coetzee was cursing the day he’d got involved in this pathetic farce. “Who the hell is this Jenny Bishop anyway, Wonder Woman?”

  “Some people might say so. Let me advise you only that Mrs Jenny Bishop is not a woman to be trifled with and now she is involved in our little scenario. I am very unhappy with this turn of events.”

  “Funny you should say that,” said Coetzee. “We’re not too happy ourselves, actually.”

  “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  “We think you’re underestimating our value in this transaction. The fact is our task was to abduct the boy and that’s what we’ve done. You’ve told us nothing more about the reasons for the kidnapping, we’ve taken all the risks and you’ve done bugger all except give us shit about what a mess we’ve made of it. We think we deserve a little more respect, maybe a little more reward. We think it’s time you let us into your confidence, after all, we have the boy under our control and you wouldn’t want anything to happen to him, would you?”

  Once again the silence was deafening. Nwosu looked at him as if to say, now you’ve gone too far! Coetzee shrugged and lit another cheroot.

  Finally, the Voice continued, “Very well, let’s put that matter aside for further consideration and we’ll discuss it after the next phase of the operation. Agree
d?”

  “What do you mean, the next phase? What’s that?”

  “The boy must be moved. He is still in close proximity to the abduction scene and now that the Bishop woman is involved it’s likely that exhaustive enquiries will be made. We will make arrangements to house him in a new location and you will deliver him there. Do you think you can manage that?”

  “If you can manage to revise our remuneration, I think we can manage to relocate him safely.” Coetzee was trying to play the Voice at his own game, but his vocabulary wasn’t up to it.

  “Good, then we are in agreement. I will call back tomorrow with the appropriate instructions and will give your request further consideration in the meantime. This is rather an important operation and we wouldn’t want to jeopardise it for the sake of a little money.”

  The phone went dead and Nwosu said, “You’ve got a lot of balls, Marius. Well done! But it better be more than ‘a little money’. You were right, we’ve got the upper hand now. Let’s see how much the kid is worth.”

  Coetzee said nothing. He didn’t trust anyone. Nwosu had never called him Marius before and the Voice had been too easy to persuade. This was a messy business and he didn’t like it one bit.

  Now, in the hotel, he picked up the phone. “Barry, come down here, will you?”

  A few minutes later the hotel manager came in. “What’s up? Is the kid OK?”

  “He’s fine, but we’re going to have to move him. It’s not safe here. Make sure everything’s ready to move him tomorrow.”

  “You want him still sedated?”

  “Wait until the doc does his blood analysis and then we’ll see. Leave him for now to sleep normally. I’ll call you in the morning when I’ve decided what to do.”

  Coetzee stood up from the desk and walked out of the hotel, only fifty metres from the room where the fifteen year old boy was sleeping. He was worried.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Marbella, Spain

  Jenny took her sister upstairs to a generous-sized suite with spectacular views over the Mediterranean. “This is where you’re staying. You should be comfortable here. Whatever is going on, I want you to follow your normal routine whenever you can. I know you need to keep up with your work. It’s important that you do.”

  “I certainly don’t feel like it right now. And I do need a bath and a change of clothes. The only problem is, I haven’t got anything to change into.”

  Jenny opened the door to a walk-in wardrobe off the bedroom. “I’ve hung a few things here that’ll probably fit you. Just try anything you like, they’ve hardly been worn at all.” Before Emma could say anything, she went on, “And please stop thanking me. You’re my sister and if I can’t help you out when you need it, what’s the point in having a sister?

  “Now, I want your permission,” she went on, “to contact someone I know and trust and who saved my life a couple of years ago. He’s a very clever man, used to be Chief Inspector of the Malaga Homicide Squad and now he’s reinvented himself as a private detective. The main thing is that he’s a very nice person and he’ll treat everything with absolute discretion. Can I call him over to tell him the story? I firmly believe that he can help us.”

  “If you trust him and think he can help, that’s good enough for me. But you know that I don’t have the money to pay a detective. And there’s something else worrying me. We haven’t received any message or demand for a ransom. There’s been absolutely no contact at all from these people.”

  “First of all, stop going on about money. This is about bringing your son back to you. If it makes you feel any better, I’m comfortably off and I’m not spending more than I can afford. As to the ransom message, they’ve probably just realised that you’ve escaped from South Africa and are trying to find out where you are. They’ll be in touch as soon as they work out what’s happened.”

  When Emma didn’t reply, she went on, “Now, take a bath and have a nap or whatever you want to do and I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready. I’m going to do some research and then I’ve got a few calls to make, so I’ll leave you to it.” She gave her a peck on the cheek and left the room.

  Sitting in the shade on the terrace, Jenny started her research on her iPad. She found there were over two million items on the Rwandan genocide and opened up the first one that looked relevant. She started reading.

  After two hours of researching she had filled three pages of notes with extracts copied from the various items. The sites were a mine of information. She checked on her sister a couple of times. Emma was out to the world, recuperating from her lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion. When she had finished her work she called a number from her Favourites list and had a short conversation. Then she ended the call and rang a mobile number in Malaga

  After a couple of rings, a voice answered, “Si, diga me.”

  “Chief Inspector Espinoza, this is Jenny Bishop. How are you?” She said.

  There was a pause and an intake of breath, then, “Señora Bishop, How nice to hear from you again. But perhaps you don’t know I’m no longer a Chief Inspector, just a humble detective, trying to make a living. May I ask how you discovered my telephone number?”

  “José Luis has just told me all about your new career. Congratulations, I hope you’re happy in your retirement.”

  “More importantly, my wife is much happier. What can I do for you, Señora?”

  “First of all, please call me Jenny. I think we know each other well enough to be on first name terms.”

  “As you say, Jenny, I think we know each other well enough. So what’s the reason for your call?”

  “I want to hire you for an assignment, if you agree. It’s complicated and potentially dangerous. Are you available at short notice?”

  “When do you want me to start? I am, as they say, in between engagements and can be there in an hour.”

  “Perfect. Gracias y hasta pronto, Pedro.”

  Malaga, Spain

  Pedro Espinoza replaced his iPhone on the table beside his empty coffee cup. He was sitting at his favourite tapas bar, just down the street from the Comisaría. It was one of the old habits he’d maintained since his retirement and reconciliation with his wife, Soledad. She was shopping for groceries at SuperSol, something that he wasn’t yet prepared to assist with. His mind slipped back to the business of Charlie Bishop’s death two years ago and the subsequent murder hunt for Ray d’Almeida aka Francisco García Luna, fake lawyer. Just in time, he remembered. Thanks to Sra Bishop I was just in time, but it was too close for comfort.

  After this high profile case, Espinoza had reconsidered his life choices. He was working too hard and earning too little and he no longer had any home life at all. With the help of his daughter, Laura, and his old lawyer friend, José Luis Garcia Ramirez, he had managed to convince his estranged wife Soledad to come back to their family home. Being in one house together reduced their monthly costs so they could enjoy life again. Early retirement from the force provided a basic income that covered the essentials and he had enough contacts to sell his services as a consultant or private detective which enabled them to enjoy a few luxuries. He had regained his equilibrium and his family and he had never been more content.

  He paid the bill and went across to his car for the drive to Marbella. If the traffic was bad it could easily take an hour and he knew that Sra Bishop was very keen on punctuality.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Johannesburg, South Africa

  Coetzee was trawling through Emma’s website. It was crafted in two main colours, crimson and black. He supposed this was to give a subliminal dual message of blood and villainy. There was a photo of her, looking a lot happier than when she’d been with him and Nwosu. She’s a very good looking woman, he mused. Emma had eleven books to her credit, the most recent, An Extravagant Death, having been published the previous year. It had earned four stars from the several readers who had posted their reviews. From the blurb and the preview pages he saw that her two main characters were Angus Sk
elton, an acerbic Scottish ex-policeman and Victoria (Tory) West, a wealthy widow turned private detective. He paid seven pounds ninety-five with his Visa card and downloaded the book onto his Kindle. It might give me an insight into her mind, he reasoned, subconsciously hiding his real motivation in wanting to read what Emma had written.

  Next, he looked at her Facebook profile. There was nothing of any real importance, mainly photos and articles about her latest book. No information which could help him in his research. The latest posting was a photo of her and Leo at the airport, with the status change; Off on holiday with my BRILLIANT son. Might get some ideas for my latest book. Happy Holidays everyone.

  He turned his attention to the problem of Leo’s birth and the identity of his father. The Voice was very insistent on this point, so it was obviously a valuable piece of information. He took the copy of the boy’s passport that he’d retained. It said Leo had been born on April 23rd, 1995, in London. He went to the ‘Family Tree’ site on the Internet. It cost him thirty pounds to get the birth records of Leopold Stewart; Born at University College Hospital Maternity Ward, London, Mother: Emma Stewart, Father: Unknown.

  “Shit!” He was no further forward. For some reason Emma hadn’t disclosed the father’s name. She had also managed to evade every question about him during their extremely unproductive interrogation. But why? What was so important or damaging that she wouldn’t reveal the name of her boyfriend or lover, or whoever the guy was? It was unlikely that she’d been artificially inseminated from an African source, especially given the hysteria around AIDS at the time. So, who was this mystery man and where was he now?