The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set

by Christopher Lowery

  “So who are you, exactly? How come my mom’s in Spain? She told me hardly anything on the phone. Only that she’s at Aunt Jenny’s house.”

  “I’m just a simple detective and a friend of your aunt’s. She asked me to help, but I’ll leave it to your mother to explain everything to you when we get back.” Espinoza paused, his suspicious mind still undecided. He was an ex-policeman and he needed to know for his own peace of mind what had happened in Polokwane. He framed his next question as carefully as he could. “Most of the story I pieced together from the various parts I found out from the SA police and my other sources, but the bit I don’t really understand is how Constance, or Blethin, as you knew him, came to be killed in Polokwane. You were there, I believe. Do you know anything about his death?”

  Leo was ready for the question. He had to make sure there was only one culprit, a dead one, Nwosu. Even if he didn’t like doing it, he had to stick to the story.

  He said, “Coetzee decided to stop in Polokwane so I could get something to eat. I’d been drugged for days and I was starving. We got burgers and we were sitting in the car in this field and the three of them started arguing. Did you know they hardly knew each other and they argued all the time? ”

  Without waiting for a response, he went on, “They were banging on about whether to go on or stay the night there. The doctor got out the car and Nwosu followed him, it was pitch black, you couldn’t see a thing. Then he came back and said Blethin had attacked him and he’d had to bash him in self-defence. We got out with the torch and Blethin was lying on the ground with his head smashed in.”

  “So Coetzee had nothing to do with his death?”

  “I swear Coetzee didn’t even know about it until too late. He was really angry with Nwosu.” Leo chose his words carefully.

  “I see. That was a key point I was unsure of. So what happened next? They undressed the body and left him in the field and then you continued on?”

  “Yes, but we didn’t continue on. That’s when Coetzee saved me. They were going to take me to Zimbabwe. Apparently it’s a really dangerous place and he didn’t want anything to do with taking me there. He got Nwosu’s gun and left him behind then drove me to the Kruger to get time to think. He’s a pretty tough guy, but only with people who deserve it. He treated me really well and now he’s going to get back with his family again.”

  So that’s the connection with Zimbabwe! The conspirators must have some kind of relationship there. I was right about the car. That’s where Nwosu’s murderer came from and that’s presumably where they took Jamie. If it’s true, Coetzee certainly saved Leo’s life. Espinoza knew if Leo had been taken there he’d never have been heard of again. He decided to say nothing about Jamie and his probable mistaken abduction. Neither Leo nor Emma should ever be told of it.

  But he was still undecided about Leo’s story. I wonder why he’s so determined to clear Coetzee’s name? Is he hiding something, has Coetzee threatened him with some kind of reprisal? The Spaniard was still suspicious, it was in his DNA.

  “Where did you get the phone? The one you texted your mother with from Polokwane and Phalaborwa?” He hoped to take the boy by surprise with this question out of the blue, but Leo was up to it.

  “It was Blethin’s. I found it on the ground when they were moving his body. Coetzee told me to put it in the glove compartment. I managed to send the message but then I couldn’t get hold of it again until we were at the lodge and the battery had died. I didn’t know the messages had gone, I never got any reply.”

  Espinoza ignored this remark. “Why do you think Coetzee took you to Phalaborwa?”

  “I think he was trying to work out what to do. He didn’t want to be involved with Zimbabwe or Nwosu and he just needed time to think. He told me he’d sent the reward message with my photo but after he spoke to Karen he changed his mind. Then he drove me to the hotel and I called Mom with Abby’s phone. Nobody stopped me from calling.”

  “You’d make a very good character witness, Leo. And since the other members of this gang are dead, there is no one who can argue with your story. I suppose that Mr Coetzee was with you this morning when Sergeant Nwosu was murdered in Diepkloof?”

  “We were all together at the hotel. He couldn’t have had anything to do with it.”

  “It’s what I assumed. Well, Leo, if Mr Coetzee is not a murderer I have no intention of disturbing his life ever again. His wife and daughter seem to be devoted to him and I wish them every happiness and success.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Leo fished in his case and handed some documents to the Spaniard. “Marius gave these to me. They’re from Blethin’s stuff, I mean Constance. His passport and a couple of other papers.”

  Espinoza took the documents and opened up the French passport. He assumed that it had been Constance who had administered the drug then pushed out the wheelchair, but he didn’t recognise the photo, the man in the CCTV clip couldn’t be seen properly. The passport seemed to be quite normal, but he would have it examined by an expert when he returned to Malaga. The other documents were personal items, a couple of letters and a bill from a McDonalds restaurant in Polokwane.

  He was composing another question in his mind when they heard the flight announcement. They walked to the departure gate, each preoccupied with his own thoughts. Leo was breathing a sigh of relief. He’d got through the worst part of the conversation, it could only get better. Espinoza hadn’t finished his interrogation but he still had a ten hour flight to find out more.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Marbella, Spain

  The house was in darkness but Jenny was still wide awake. She was in her nightdress at the desk in her bedroom studying the file of bank papers given to her by Leticia. She knew she wouldn’t sleep if she didn’t look for the problem now. To save time, she looked only at the monthly statements, starting in January 2009 when the account was still entirely in cash and the first investments began. The balance was almost three point eight million Euros, so Leticia had spent about one hundred and fifty thousand in nine months. She had told her the truth; she wasn’t frittering away her money.

  After the investments began, the value of the account slowly increased month by month, until by December 31st it had climbed to over four million. During the first quarter of 2010 both the number of transactions and the increase in value continued to grow, then suddenly in April, the value fell by a half a million. It fell again in May and in June, ending with the amount of two million nine hundred and sixty thousand she’d first been shown. She looked quickly through the statements for large sales, but there were very few. Now Jenny was becoming worried. It could only have been cash withdrawals or payments, but Leticia wasn’t spending that kind of money.

  She decided to compare the statements month by month from April of last year and in ten minutes she found what she was looking for. Amongst the first investments made by Patrice, in January 2009, were two amounts of five hundred thousand Euros each, in the names of Asian Atlantic Multi-Diversity Fund and Asian Atlantic Life Sciences Fund, a total investment of a million Euros. By September the values had already grown by five per cent and by year end were ten percent higher. But by April, they were reduced by a third, then again in May and in June they had both disappeared from the statement. A million Euros, plus the profit, gone just like that. Why?

  Looking through the individual advice notices for June she found a simple debit note. It said, ‘Reserve against potential loss: Asian Atlantic Investment Funds: €1,100,000’. The value of the investment had been written down to zero!

  Jenny opened her laptop and looked up the company website. Nothing came up except a notice saying, Closed for business until liquidation of relevant holdings. She typed in Asian Atlantic Investment Funds. There were hundreds of recent articles. The last newspaper extract had been published ten days previously with the headline, Asian Atlantic Investment Funds Managers Arrested for Fraud and Embezzlement.

  She read the article with a sense of déjà vu. Asian Atlantic
Investment Funds was a holding company which owned five subsidiary funds. Although the funds specialised in investing in mid-sized Asian, US and European companies, she saw that the holding was registered in the British Virgin Islands, the directors were mostly Brazilian and the head office was in Dubai. The company had been created immediately after the Lehman debacle, in December 2008 amid a considerable fanfare. The top strategy manager was Alwyn Forsdyke, a Wall Street legend who had, allegedly, foreseen the last three economic crises and made a fortune in the process. His book, Why Will They Never Learn? published at the same time as the launch of the Asian Atlantic Investment Funds, became the US best-selling financial exposé of 2008.

  In December and the first quarter of 2009, over a billion dollars poured into the five sub-funds and this inflow continued until mid-April, when Alwyn Forsdyke was killed in a motor accident. Rumours abounded and the newspapers were full of contradictory reports surrounding his death. An investigation into the ‘accident’ was set up in late April, apparently after a dossier was passed to the FBI by his one-time secretary. The dossier was reputed by the financial press to contain a lot of background on the dubious dealings of Asian Atlantic Investment Funds, its founders and directors.

  Immediately after this announcement a run of substantial customer withdrawals commenced, causing a halt in the growth of net asset values and a shortage of liquidity. By May, clients were waiting up to thirty days for repayment of their funds and by June the funds were closed to new investors and all repayments were postponed indefinitely. On July 1st AAIF was shut down by the Securities and Exchange Commission and several criminal warrants were issued.

  The latest newspaper report implied that Forsdyke had been eliminated because he discovered that the directors of the fund were operating a massive Ponzi scheme, paying dividends from new incoming cash. The underlying investments were proving difficult to locate or were worthless ‘special purpose vehicles’, set up just to receive money and pay it to the directors and their cronies.

  She sat back from her laptop. Another Madoff, she thought. It was in December 2008, the same month that this fund had been set up, that Bernard Madoff had cost investors, including members of his family and lifelong friends, almost twenty billion dollars in the biggest Ponzi scheme in history. At least he didn’t murder anyone in the process, she reflected. Or at least not as far as they know.

  She turned her mind back to the problem in hand. So Leticia has lost twenty-five per cent of her money in Spain because of Patrice. He didn’t steal it, which is a good thing, but why didn’t he liquidate the investments when he saw the writing on the wall? Then another thought occurred to her. He told her that it was just a temporary problem. It would be back to normal by September. What was he expecting would happen before then to put it right?

  Jenny closed her laptop and put the file aside. Worrying thoughts crowded into her mind as she lay trying to fall asleep. Thoughts about Patrice flying around and being in London so often, especially this week. Lord Dudley, whoever he was, tracking people in South Africa from London. Esther Rousseau and Leticia’s face in her dream. Doctor Constance, Emma’s friend who had suddenly become Leo’s kidnapper. And Leo himself, victim of an abduction plot whose perpetrators demanded ten million dollars and still hadn’t been found. She finally fell into an uneasy sleep, full of invasive and frightening dreams, the kind she had experienced after Ron’s death, the kind she thought she had got over long ago.

  London, England

  A ‘ping’ from Dudley’s laptop woke him. He’d fallen asleep and had a crick in his neck and a dry mouth. He looked at his watch, it was almost eight thirty. Laboriously he got to his feet and went to the toilet, drank a glass of water then came back and looked at the screen. There was a new message, from Harare. It had no subject or text, just an attachment. He opened it up. It was a photograph.

  Sydney, Australia

  “Thanks Rolf. Is that everything?”

  “That’s all I could find, Mac. Come back to me if there’s anything I’ve missed.”

  Detective Sergeant ‘Mac’ McCallister reread the notes he’d made from his call. He was starting to understand Espinoza’s obsession with the Forrester case. None of this information had been available to his department previously because the accident had been handled by the Perth police force and then filed away when the death was officially registered eighteen months previously. He had asked for a copy of the whole file to be FedEx’d to him

  He looked at his watch, it was two in the afternoon, midnight on the previous day in South Africa, Espinoza might still be up. He didn’t want to send an email. Digging up a closed case, especially in another jurisdiction, wasn’t encouraged unless there was reasonable evidence that a serious mistake had been made. All he had was a query from Spain and a possible line of enquiry into a confirmed case of accidental death. He pressed Espinoza’s number on his mobile.

  There was no reply and he got the answering service, in Spanish. He left a short message, just enough to pique Espinoza’s curiosity. This’ll put the cat among the koalas, he thought to himself. Let’s see what it’s all about.

  London, England

  Dudley’s phone rang several times between nine o’clock and midnight. Both Esther and Slater were calling for news, but there was no reply and he never called back. After receiving the message from Harare he had finished off the bottle of Gevrey Chambertin. He was drunk and fast asleep.

  Johannesburg, South Africa

  “So what did you think of Leo, Abby?” Coetzee and his newly reacquired wife and daughter were driving back to Delmas.

  “He’s nice. I really like the way he talks, his accent is lovely. Shame he’s gone back to the UK.” She smiled shyly.

  “So at least you have a new pen pal, or I should say, Facebook pal. Keep in touch and I’m sure he’ll come back to see us again. He’s mad keen on visiting the Kruger properly so we can organise a safari and invite him.”

  “Only if you start making some money from the business.” Karen had the upper hand for the moment and she intended to take full advantage of it.

  The drive home was relaxed and comfortable. Coetzee already felt he belonged again, that he had someone to report to and two people to feel responsible for. He was also looking forward to finishing Emma’s book when they got back.

  Over South Africa, en route for Zurich, Switzerland

  “I’ll have a glass of champagne, please.” Espinoza was settled comfortably in his seat, a blanket over his knees and his feet up on the folding stool. He turned to ask Leo what he would like but the boy was already out like a light, snuggled down into his seat and snoring gently. He had been looking forward to chatting with him, getting to know Emma’s son and finding out more about Coetzee and Lambert, the abduction and especially about Constance’s death, but it would have to wait.

  He must be more exhausted than me, he mused. After everything he’s been through, if anyone deserves an undisturbed rest, it’s this boy.

  The cabin attendant placed the glass on his table with a packet of nuts. “Thank you,” he said. “Could you show me how to operate the television? It’s not a system I’m used to and I’d like to watch a movie.” If he couldn’t talk to Leo, he was determined to get the most out of the flight before he went to sleep.

  London, England

  Slater called Esther at midnight, after trying Dudley’s number one last time. “What the hell is going on?” He almost screamed. “I’ve been calling Arthur for two hours and he’s not answering. I’ve come outside to call you so my partner doesn’t hear me, but I can’t keep this quiet for long. It’s all going to blow up if we don’t get any news.” His voice trembled and he stumbled over his words as if he’d been drinking.

  “I’ve been calling too and I’m none the wiser. I agree it doesn’t look good, but we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe he hasn’t heard from Harare, or he’s gone out somewhere, or he just doesn’t feel like talking to us. He’s a peculiar man, so leave him alone tonight. I�
��ll go to his apartment first thing in the morning and find out what’s happening and then call you. Just relax and remember we’ll soon be together and we can forget this whole business.”

  “OK. I’ll try to keep a lid on it until tomorrow, but call me as soon as you can. I can’t take much more of this uncertainty. Goodnight darling.”

  Esther switched off her mobile and sat on the bed in her shabby hotel room, reflecting on the situation. He’s cracking up, she thought. He doesn’t have the balls to manage a crisis. He’s not half the man Ray d’Almeida was.

  She still hadn’t got over her Angolan lover and didn’t think she ever would. He had been a strong, clever and resourceful man, nothing could stand in his way; he was indomitable. And he was the most accomplished lover she had ever encountered, unlike this second rate substitute. The six months they had been apart when she was working with Schneider at the bank in Geneva, preparing the groundwork for their master plan, had been almost intolerable. He had been able to come down from Haute Nendaz on just a few occasions, but she had remained true to him until their plan was ready to execute. One night with Ray was worth a lifetime of waiting and the waiting was almost over.

  But somehow, on the night that should have been the start of a new life together, he was suddenly gone and it was over. She had never found out exactly what had happened but she knew it was the work of that bitch, Jenny Bishop, the daughter-in-law of Charlie Bishop. The man who had condemned Ray’s family to a life of poverty and hardship and caused his mother and father’s premature deaths while he and his ‘Angolan Clan’ of thieves were living high on the hog in big houses with swimming pools, spending Ray’s money. Money that had then gone to Bishop’s Angolan girl friend and his bastard son and to the Bishop woman. The fortune that had been stolen from Ray and that she was determined to recover. It had been her lover’s inheritance and it was rightfully hers to reclaim.