The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set

by Christopher Lowery

  The moment passed, apparently without provoking any suspicions in Leticia, who started rattling on about the weather in the South of France, the luxury hotels and wonderful restaurants, first class service and beautiful shops. She sounded as if she was reading from a travel brochure. “Patrice loves it down there and so do I. We’ve decided we’re going to buy a place near Nice, it’s so beautiful along that coast. My French is quite good now and I’d love to spend more time in the country.” She saw Jenny’s frown and added, “Just a small place. I couldn’t afford anything big now.”

  Jenny was thinking, she’s obsessed with all things French. I just hope she doesn’t throw away her money on some chateau in the middle of nowhere. Aloud, she said, “I phoned to invite Patrice for lunch, but apparently he’s travelling.”

  “Presupuesto. Of course. He told me he was coming back to Marbella but when he arrived he was called away again on some big transaction the bank’s involved in. He’s travelling an awful lot these days. It’s rather stressful.”

  “Do you hear that, Emma? Leticia could hardly speak a word of English when I first met her a few years ago. Now she speaks fluently and is mastering the Latin languages one after the other.”

  “I’ll invite him for the weekend when he gets back, so Emma can meet him. How long are you staying?”

  Once again Jenny stepped in. “Probably about a week or so. It depends when Leo gets back from his friend’s.”

  Leticia again failed to notice Emma’s unease at the mention of her son. “Of course. Stay as long as you like. I suppose writers can work from anywhere?”

  Gradually the atmosphere became less tense and they settled down to swapping stories about their activities. Jenny encouraging Leticia to tell them about her travels with Patrice, to keep Emma out of difficulty. It was not the easiest of conversations.

  Malaga Airport, Spain

  Laura drove Espinoza directly from the restaurant to the airport. He was travelling in economy to Frankfurt and wanted to get through check-in and security without any stress. He had only a carry-on bag and his laptop case to save time when he arrived. During his time as Chief Inspector of the Homicide Squad of the National Police Department in Malaga, he had been spoiled. When he travelled for the force, he had a privileged parking spot and a fast track route through to departures and business class. Now, he was just one of the millions of low fare passengers who had to queue to claim their uncomfortable, tightly spaced seat in the back of the plane. Sometimes he pined for the old times.

  He sat in the departure lounge near to gate D 53 and settled down for his sixty minute wait. Taking out his mobile he called Marcel Colombey, his friend at the French National Police. “Salut, Marcel. I’ve another little job for you, if you don’t mind.” Although Esther Rousseau hadn’t been heard of for two years, there might be a trail he could follow. Even if it just meant eliminating her as a suspect.

  Next, he called Inspector Andréas Blaser in Geneva, one of his Interpol contacts who had followed Vogel’s trail two years ago. The search had been fruitless, but it might be worth opening up the investigation again. At this point he had to follow up every possible link, however unlikely.

  He made a couple more calls then looked at the South African Broadcasting Corporation website again. The front page had a new item which jumped out at him.

  Latest News: Murdered White Man’s Corpse

  Discovered in Polokwane.

  Another death. This time a definite murder. And in Polokwane! This is not a coincidence. Espinoza’s mind was whirling. But who is the unknown victim? And who is in charge of cleaning up? He decided that he was obliged to share this information with his employer before he left, in case she changed her mind about his trip. He called Marbella.

  Jenny saw Espinoza’s number appear on her phone and walked away from the others. She listened in silence as he related his latest report, her mind numbed by the announcement of another death.

  “What do you think? Should I change my plans? I’ll do whatever you decide.”

  Jenny tried to think clearly. She took a deep breath. “You have to go down, Pedro. It’s even more important now. We don’t know who this victim is and we have to find out immediately. It’s clearly not Nwosu, but what if it’s Coetzee? It would mean that Leo is in the hands of that despicable police sergeant. My God! I just can’t tell Emma about this. She’ll fall apart completely.”

  “Agreed. Now we have two murders to help us in our investigation and that could be of vital use to us. Let’s see what I find there before we tell her. We’ll talk tomorrow evening. I’m going to call back CS Hendricks. He’ll be keen to get me involved if I can show the two deaths were connected. His resources will be valuable to my investigation.”

  Jenny mumbled her agreement, her brain still trying to cope with this latest revelation. In the back of her mind she was blaming herself again.

  Espinoza was still speaking. “There’s another thing, Jenny. Can you bring to mind anything about Esther Rousseau or Kurt Vogel? They knew all about the money and diamonds and they disappeared off the radar when d’Almeida was killed. There could possibly be a slender thread there, perhaps?”

  A shiver ran down her spine. Schneider’s assistant at Klein Fellay, d’Almeida’s lover. And Vogel, Charlie’s crooked accountant. More links to Charlie’s fortune and to the diamonds! It was like a poison to her. That’s why the diamonds were hidden away in Geneva, where they could do no further harm. No one, including Espinoza, knew she had both keys so she avoided the subject. “What do you mean, Pedro? Has something happened to implicate them?”

  “Not as far as I know. Someone reminded me that bad pennies tend to turn up again and I’ve lived that experience before.”

  “I’ve heard nothing more about Esther since the night d’Almeida died. From what he said, they were going to meet, but I don’t know where. She just disappeared. And so did Vogel, I have no idea what happened to him after he embezzled the Angolan Clan’s funds. I agree they knew all about the Angolan fortune, but I can’t believe they somehow managed to find out about Emma and Leo and their history. It’s too far-fetched.”

  “Well, I’ve put out some feelers just in case. We don’t have many suspects, so we need to examine them all with a microscope.”

  This remark jogged her memory. “Pedro, there’s been another unexpected development. We just found out that Leticia knew about Emma’s trip with Leo. I hate to say it of Leticia, but your list of suspects has now doubled!”

  “Or perhaps trebled or quadrupled,” he replied.

  Phalaborwa, Limpopo, South Africa

  “Ah, Mr Coetzee again. Good afternoon” The Voice tried to sound friendly and relaxed but he didn’t quite succeed, especially with the acoustic distortion. “The good sergeant still isn’t available?”

  “I’m glad you’ve called. We’ve got a problem here.” Coetzee smiled to himself. Now the boot’s on the other foot. He had left Leo on the terrace and gone to the car so he wouldn’t hear the conversation.

  “And what might that be. Has something untoward occurred?”

  “You could say that. The fact is that we’re stuck here in Polokwane because Nwosu is in hospital having surgery on his shoulder. He’s been shot!”

  A longer pause than usual, then, “How did Sergeant Nwosu manage to get shot?”

  “It seems that Blethin was a tougher cookie than he imagined, He shot him with his own gun apparently. But he’s been, what’s the word, neutralised”

  “So, at present only yourself and the boy remain unscathed?”

  “That’s about the size of it. The boy is fine, but he’s shaken up by the recent events, naturally.”

  “Where are you staying in Polokwane?”

  “In the circumstances, with people getting shot and murdered all over the place, I’d rather not say on the phone. You’ll understand my position.”

  Another pause. “Yes, I understand, of course. In which hospital is the sergeant being treated?”

  “Sa
me thing. I’d rather not say on the phone.”

  An even longer pause. “Do you know how long he will have to remain in the hospital?”

  “The bullet went through his shoulder. It looked like a clean wound to me, but if there’s muscular or ligament damage they might have to operate and it could be a while before they let him out. There’s no chance he’ll be able to travel today, that’s for sure.”

  “Mr Coetzee. I understand your predicament and I sympathise with it. With your permission, I will spend some time considering the optimum solution to the problem and I shall call you back again later this afternoon without fail.” The phone went dead.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Marbella, Spain

  Sam turned out to be just as pleasant as Jenny had described. Maybe a little too pleasant, Emma thought to herself. He came across as very entertaining and rather seductive but she sensed he was trying hard to impress them. He was a few years older than she and Jenny, tall and chisel-featured, excellent English with a soft, seductive French accent and an apparently totally relaxed self-deprecating attitude. He was obviously brought up by a very good English nanny, she mused.

  He was charming with all three women, but she noticed his attention never wavered far from her sister. He also made a great fuss of Emilio and their attempted conversations in three different languages made them laugh. Encarni served a delicious lunch and Jenny was delighted to see Emma enjoying herself and apparently putting her worries on hold, at least for a little while.

  Sam wanted to learn all about Emma, her childhood and travels to Africa, her writing career and her son. With Jenny’s help, she managed to fend off his questions without raising any suspicions. Leticia unwittingly helped, by continually interposing comments about her parent’s flight from Angola and their new life in Spain.

  As they reached the end of the meal, Jenny announced, “Fuente has arrived. I told you he would turn up. He can smell grilled fish at a hundred paces. Here you are, Fuente.” A beautiful, black, long haired cat padded across to rub itself against her legs then bent over the dish she placed in front of him, gobbling up the remains of the fish.

  “He’s magnificent.” Emma stooped over to stroke him.

  “He’s a woman’s cat,” said Sam. “He doesn’t let me touch him. If I get near him he hisses and backs away.”

  “Don’t complain, Sam,” Jenny laughed, “he’s done much worse than that in the past.”

  “Fortunately for us,” added Leticia.

  Neither woman expanded on the story and the cat padded quietly off into the garden. At Jenny’s insistence, Sam told a few amusing anecdotes from his days in the Moroccan Olympic rifle team and they finished lunch in a pleasant ambience, relaxed in each other’s company.

  “I’d better check my messages. I’m on holiday, so there’s probably nothing.” Emma gave Jenny a knowing look and went up to her room. There was nothing on her phone but she checked her laptop in case there was any further news.

  “Jenny, come quickly!” Emma’s voice echoed from her bedroom window down to the terrace.

  Sam jumped to his feet, “I’ll go. Something’s happened. Where is she?”

  “No, please don’t worry. She gets these panic attacks,” Jenny invented quickly. I’ll go up. She’ll be fine.”

  She ran upstairs, her heart thumping. Emma was sitting at the desk staring at her laptop screen, hand at her mouth, tears running down her cheeks.

  London, England

  “We’ll have to inform them of this. It will inevitably become known and I have no desire to be accused of concealing material facts.” The Voice and his companion had been checking the online news reports for Johannesburg and Polokwane. The two deaths were reported. It seemed that Coetzee’s story was correct, but the situation was worrying.

  “You’re right of course, but they’ll be bloody furious with the news. I don’t know how we managed to end up with so many idiots on this job, it’s not exactly rocket science.”

  “Calm down, it’s merely a minor impediment. Our job is to provide solutions so that’s what we’ll do. I’m going to call Harare first. We’ll send a couple of our friends to pick up the boy and neutralise the remaining intermediaries.”

  “Tell them to be quick about it!”

  Ten minutes later the Voice called Slater’s mobile number.

  The man listened in silence, his heart pounding as he registered these latest events. This is all just hearsay from Coetzee. Aloud he said, “How do you know he’s telling the truth? It could be a purely fictitious story. Nwosu may even be there and he doesn’t want to talk to us. Maybe they’ve worked out a different agenda. This whole plan is falling apart. Isn’t there anybody there you can trust? Fucking Hell! How could you let things get so out of hand?” His voice trembled as he thought, How I am I going to relay this news?

  “Please remain calm, Mr Slater. I believe our South African colleague is telling the truth. We have some independent verification of the local situation. There are reports of two murdered white men in South Africa in the news today. The first is Lambert, the hotel manager, in Johannesburg and the second is an unknown man in Polokwane. That must be Blethin, the doctor. This corresponds exactly with what he has told us. I will instigate a means of locating the others and report back to you this afternoon.

  “In my view, things are still under control. We know where they are and that they still have the boy. Why would they change their plan when they are to receive a substantial amount of money from adhering to ours? It is not so easy to suddenly become an independent agent in an abduction. Just think how long it took us to organise what has been so far a successful enterprise, despite one or two unforeseen events.”

  Slater took a deep breath. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I have already dispatched two of our Zimbabwe friends to intercept them in Polokwane. It is not such a large town that we can’t find Nwosu in a hospital or Coetzee and the boy wherever they are. We cannot assume they do not wish to be found. When Coetzee knows that help is at hand I am certain he will reveal his whereabouts. If Nwosu is unavailable to escort the boy to Beitbridge my people will do so and the matter will be resolved.”

  “When will they arrive in Polokwane?”

  “In three hours, no more than that. They will be back over the border later tonight, all being well.”

  “Call me as soon as you have definite news.” He rang off then with trembling fingers he called his partner’s number. He was terrified to report the news but he had no option.

  The listener waited for the end of his abbreviated version of the story without speaking, then said, “I can’t talk now, I’ll call you back,” and rang off.

  Slater put the phone down and went to pour himself a whisky. What have I got myself into? He asked himself as he slumped into the hotel chair.

  Geneva, Switzerland

  At Ramseyer, Haldemann the director, Claude Jolidon, had received a call from Marseille. It was a disagreeable conversation and he shifted uncomfortably as he listened to the bad news.

  “Putin de merde. Shit!” He slammed his phone down on the desk in anger then calmed himself down, made some notes and called a number in Brussels on his mobile.

  The voice that replied sounded slightly deformed, as if the speaker had a handkerchief over his mouth. “One minute please, I will go to another room.” A moment later he came back on the line, this time speaking French in a clear voice. “What is it, M. Jolidon?” He listened to the news and said, “You’ll have to call our client immediately. He may be able to remedy the situation. It’s always a matter of money, you know.”

  “Very well, but remember, I’m not responsible for this. He’s my client but it was you who set up the transaction.” Jolidon finished the call and took a deep breath. He called another number and waited anxiously as it rang. “Bonjour, Monsieur,” he said in French. “I have some news on our transaction. Are you free to talk for a few minutes?”

  Marbella Spain

  Jenny went a
cross to her sister. “What is it?”

  “Look at this. I can’t believe it. What’s going on?”

  She turned the laptop towards her. The email message was from m.coetzee@css.com.

  It read;

  Hello Emma, I have good news for you. I have managed to rescue Leo from his abductors and we are in a safe place where no one can locate us. As you can see, he is in good health and has suffered no ill effects from his experience. I am certain you will want to reward me for saving your son and I don’t want to be greedy after the anguish you’ve gone through. I hope you agree that the amount of $1,000,000- would be a fair recompense for the trouble and danger I have faced to be able to reunite you with Leo.

  Your son is a fine boy and I have no wish to harm him, so this is not a trap of any kind. I need these funds to remake my life elsewhere, because I will be in danger if I stay here in SA. Please confirm your agreement as soon as possible and I will send you instructions for the payment and for Leo’s return to his home.

  Thank you for your understanding and a positive response.

  Marius Coetzee

  Jenny looked at the photo attached to the message. Leo was sitting in a wicker chair against the wall of a wooden building, like a cabin or a garden pavilion. He appeared calm and composed, not frightened or angry. Her mind went back to Espinoza’s call. It looks like it must have been the doctor, Blethin, who was killed. He said it was a white man so if it wasn’t Coetzee I don’t see any other candidates. But where is Nwosu in all this?

  She noticed it was sent to Emma’s publishing address, emma@emmastewartwriter.com. Not her private address, the one used by the other senders, but the one that’s in the public domain.

  “How can I be getting messages from two sources, both claiming to have Leo? I don’t understand what’s going on” She sat on the side of the bed, tears falling down her face.

  When her sister didn’t reply, she stifled her sobbing and asked, “What is it, Jenny? What are you thinking?”