Deception!

by Elizabeth Ducie

  ‘Not sure I approve of this place being used as a poste restante,’ he sneered as he threw the envelope across the desk at me, ‘but it says Private and Confidential, so I thought I’d better hand it over straight away.’ I didn’t really know what poste restante meant, but I could guess. I picked up the envelope and glanced down at it. It was addressed to me in a sloping italic script, written in black ink: Mr Michael Hawkins, c/o Cape Town Railway Station. I didn’t recognise the handwriting and had no idea who would be corresponding with me. I felt embossing on the envelope and, turning it over, was surprised to see the emblem of the Mena House Hotel in Cairo. The mystery deepened. I knew Cairo was the capital of Egypt, but had no idea where that was, and I certainly didn’t know anyone who lived there.

  ‘Well,’ asked the station manager, ‘aren’t you going to open it?’ I looked at his weasely little face and something told me this was an envelope I shouldn’t open in his presence. I left him at his desk, puffing and blowing and shouting after me about not giving the station as my address.

  I shoved the envelope into my pocket and strolled around my little kingdom, checking everything was operating satisfactorily. One of my boys had been avoiding me for a few days and had failed to make his weekly payment. I knew he’d been working, but he’d managed not to be around at the same time as me. I asked some of his friends and they all denied any knowledge of his whereabouts. Something I would need to sort out before it got out of hand. Maybe I needed to make an example of someone before more of them thought they could get a free ride out of me.

  But I could feel the envelope as though it was burning a hole in my pocket. Finally I nipped into the passengers’ toilet. We weren’t supposed to go in there, but the staff turned a blind eye so long as it was only me. It wouldn’t do for any of the black kids to try and sneak in; but they all knew that anyway. Shutting myself in one of the stalls, I closed the lid and sat down, lit up a ciggie and opened the envelope. The letter was written on the same thick creamy paper in the same black ink. I pulled it out of the envelope and a small piece of card came with it and fell to the ground. As I bent to pick it up I caught sight of the signature on the letter: your friend, Stefano. Gasping, I turned back to the beginning of the letter and began to read.

  My dear Michael

  No doubt you will be surprised to hear from me after so long. Have you forgiven me for running out on you like that? I mentioned a bit of trouble at Mount Nelson, and you have probably heard all about that too, if you’ve seen your friend, Sammie. I do hope you didn’t get caught in the fallout.

  I’ve been moving around quite a bit since we were together in Cape Town and as you will see from the address, I have reached the very northern tip of this continent. I’ve had some interesting times, but to be honest, I’m not sure the Arabs like the Soviets as much as the black fellows down south seem to. I will be coming back down to South Africa, although not to Cape Town, within the next couple of weeks.

  I have thought a lot about our discussions in the hotel gardens and I still feel there is a place for a smart lad like you in my projects. It’s about time you broke out of the rut you’ve got into down there.

  I am enclosing a ticket to Jo’burg. It’s dated for the first of next month. That should give you time to settle your affairs down there and say your goodbyes. Although, a word of warning: don’t be too open with people about your plans; you never know when you might want the benefit of complete anonymity. I hope to see you next month. You will find me at the Monarch!

  Your friend Stefano.

  I lay awake all that night tossing and turning as thoughts raced through my head. I knew Stefano was a conman at best; maybe a dangerous crook. He might not be the safest person to team up with. But on the other hand, the time I’d spent with him had been the most exciting fortnight of my life—and I wanted more.

  I pushed all the lads at the station to make their regular payments a little early that week. A couple of them objected, but a quick cuff around the head was enough to quieten them down and no-one else seemed to want to object after that. They were going to be surprised when I didn’t appear the following week, but I guessed it wouldn’t be long before someone else would rise through the ranks to take my place; and at least they wouldn’t have to fight their way in, as I’d had to with Enoch all those years ago.

  I went to class with Amelia one more time, and had supper with her, Joe and Frank afterwards. She was full of news about a new company opening up in the neighbourhood.

  ‘And, Michael, they’re recruiting office staff! I’ve got you a form; I’ll help you to fill it in.’

  I smiled and took the form from her. It seemed only polite to do that.

  ‘I’ll have a look at it when I get home,’ I said, ‘and let you see it before I send it in.’ She looked at me long and hard, and I almost blurted out my plans, then and there. But something stopped me; maybe the thought that they would try to dissuade me. As I left that evening, I hugged her extra hard.

  ‘Goodbye,’ I whispered as I walked away from their little house for the last time. When I got back to my digs, I realised I’d left the recruitment form on the table in their lounge.

  CHAPTER 20

  The phone rang as Suzanne was finalising the report on her investigations so far into Sunshine Supplements. It was Damien.

  ‘Suzanne, hi.’

  ‘Hi, Damien; good to hear your voice.’

  ‘Yes, you too. How’s the investigation going?’

  ‘Not too bad. I’ve been doing some digging into the background of Sunshine Supplements and our Mr Nigel Atkinson. I’m just writing it up and you should have it by tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Gee, that’s great. And I’ve been busy at this end too. I’ve just sent you an email but I thought it would be easier to talk it through with you as well.’

  ‘Hang on, then,’ said Suzanne, ‘let me open it up first.’ She clicked into her Outlook folder and found an email with the subject SS Report. There was a brief covering note and a Word attachment. She clicked on the W icon. ‘Okay, Damien, I’ve got it. Looks very comprehensive.’ The document was seventeen pages long.

  ‘Yes, there’s a fair bit of detail in there—and I’ll leave you to read through it at your leisure, but I wanted to emphasise a couple of things before you start. You’ll see there’s a list of names. Those are all the people I talked to in Brazil, plus some others I’ve met since I came back to the US. Not all of them have been showing the symptoms we’re concerned about, but they’ve all been drinking Super Fit.’

  ‘Well, that’s okay. We need to talk to a cross section of users; so if some of them are finding they don’t have problems, we need to record that too.’

  ‘But when Lulana first got Super Fit, she swore by it. Said it was wonderful. And didn’t show any adverse reactions. It was only after about three months they started to manifest themselves.’

  ‘So it’s important to have the timeline for people taking the supplement too.’

  ‘And maybe interview some people more than once, over a period of time. Or ask some of the people with symptoms when they started experiencing them; how long they’d been using the supplement? It may be they were so used to it by then they failed to associate the symptoms with the product.’

  ‘Or, and we have to face this fact, Damien, it may all be a coincidence and Super Fit might be completely harmless.’

  ‘I don’t believe that,’ said Damien.

  ‘No, neither do I, as a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘but we have to keep an open mind until we have some incontrovertible evidence that links Sunshine Supplements and Super Fit to the behavioural problems.’

  The two discussed some of Damien’s findings and Suzanne agreed to ring him later in the week, when she’d had a chance to go through all the interviews.

  ‘And there’s a separate list in there,’ he said, ‘of athletes from Europe; mostly UK, but also other countries. Can you cover those interviews?’

 
‘Yes, of course I can. I’ll do the ones closest to home first and then spread out if I need to.’

  ‘Suzanne, you said you’d found out some interesting background on the company and its boss?’

  ‘Well, Sunshine Supplements isn’t the first company our Mr Atkinson’s been part of.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. He’s been involved in five start-ups over the past twenty-odd years. Mostly in food supplements, although one was in health care—a homoeopathic company.’

  ‘And what’s he done with those companies? He’s surely not running all of them, is he?’

  ‘Oh, no. They’ve all been bought out by larger organisations from Eastern Europe. Made our Nigel a stack of money over the years, in fact.’ She went on to tell her client that Atkinson seemed to work to a pattern. ‘There will always be a start-up product that pushes up the value of the company just before the buyout takes place.’

  ‘That’s very interesting. And would I know of any of these start-up products?’

  ‘It’s unlikely. In all cases apart from the homoeopathic one, the star product has later been taken off the market. There’s always been a valid reason; either a change in regulation or lack of demand, but it seems a bit odd that none of the stars has survived absorption into the larger company.’

  ‘Haven’t any of these companies heard of due diligence?’

  ‘Apparently not. Either that or they know about the problems and don’t care.’

  ‘Money laundering?’

  ‘Possibly. I need to talk to a few friends in the city before I can make a judgement on that. And that would explain why there’s so much investment gone into the Super Fit production plant. It’s far too high-tech for a food supplement under normal circumstances.’

  ‘And do you think Sunshine Supplements is heading for a takeover as well?’

  ‘Yes, I do, at some point. There’s a rumour that some investors are sniffing around, looking at its potential. But let me do some more digging and get back to you. And in the meantime, I’ll start interviewing the folks on this list.’

  ‘Okay, Suzanne. We’ll talk in a day or so—and let’s move quickly on this. Too many of my friends are taking this thing for me to sit back and let it hurt even more of them.’

  Over the next couple of hours, Suzanne tried to contact seven of the people on Damien’s list. One was out of the country and not expected back for another two months. Two refused point blank to talk to her, or even to admit they were taking the Sunshine Supplements product. Three were happy to talk, even though only one of them seemed to be having any problems. The seventh was a sprinter called Annabelle Swift. She lived in Somerset and as Suzanne was planning to drive down to the West Country that week to visit her parents, she arranged to call in to the pretty little village just outside Bristol on her way past the following day.

  ‘It’s only a short distance from the motorway; I should be there around two pm, if that’s okay,’ she told Annabelle when she spoke to her on the phone.

  When they met, Suzanne was surprised to see Annabelle was tiny and frail looking. She sounded breathy and looked like a schoolgirl in her early teens, although Damien’s notes told Suzanne she was actually nineteen and in her second year at university. She had a coughing fit at one point and confirmed to Suzanne she was not actually training at the moment due to breathing problems.

  ‘But I’ll soon be fine again,’ she confided. ‘I’m taking Super Fit and it’s helping me a lot. I’m hoping the doctor signs me off next week. I can’t wait to get back to training again.’

  Annabelle was adamant she’d suffered no ill effects from the Sunshine Supplements product. Quite the opposite in fact.

  ‘All my friends have been commenting on how glossy and healthy my hair has got since I started using it. Why, some of them are even considering taking up a sport, just so they can be eligible for it!’

  Suzanne wrapped up the interview quickly. There didn’t seem to be anything untoward going on with Annabelle, apart from her coughing, which could hardly be blamed on Super Fit. She took a few more details of usage and then said her goodbyes.

  But as she continued on her journey down the M5, she couldn’t get the image of the frail young runner out of her head. She made a mental note to herself to give her a ring the next day to check how she was. But she was driving, she didn’t have a notebook to hand—and the visit to her parents drove other things out of her mind.

  It was another four days before she remembered she’d meant to phone Annabelle. She rang the cottage three times that day, but there was no answer. The following morning, she dialled the number just after nine o’clock. The phone was picked up but instead of Annabelle’s voice, it was a male that answered.

  ‘Hello, this is Suzanne Jones. Could I speak to Annabelle, please?’

  ‘Are you a friend of hers?’

  ‘Well, not a friend, actually. I came to see—’

  ‘She’s not here.’ And the phone was slammed down. Suzanne stared at the handset, perplexed. What was that all about? Should she try again? Maybe later, when hopefully Annabelle would be at home.

  But she never did make that call. Later that day, she got an email from Damien with a link to the Somerset Weekly Gazette Online, reporting the shock death of a young sprinter following an extreme allergic reaction. The report said the medical authorities were baffled as to exactly what the deceased athlete had been allergic to. But it was the name that jumped off the screen at Suzanne. The deceased woman’s name was Annabelle Swift.

  CHAPTER 21

  Despite her apprehension, Charlie’s first time in the company of Michael Hawkins was a lot less stressful than she expected. They met at Congonhas Airport and apart from a brief conversation when Mercy introduced ‘Rose Fitzpatrick, her friend from England’ to her father, he ignored both of them. As soon as they took off, he pulled a sheaf of papers out of his calfskin briefcase, took a slim gold pen from his breast pocket and settled down to read. He didn’t raise his head until the pilot announced they were coming in to land at Aeropuerto Internacional de las Cataratas del Igauzu and they were to refasten their seat belts.

  The plane taxied to the section of the airfield reserved for private transport, and stopped. Two limos with blacked out windows drove across the tarmac and stopped at the side of the plane, while ground staff wheeled the steps over and positioned them by the door.

  Hawkins disembarked first. The back door of the first limo opened and a short, squat man in expensively casual clothing jumped out and hurried to shake Hawkins by the hand. Then, clapping him on the shoulder, he escorted him to the car. Mercy and Charlie stood uncertainly at the bottom of the steps. Out of the second car emerged a much younger version of the first man. Hawkins looked over his shoulder and called across to Mercy.

  ‘This is Chico. He’ll look after you girls this afternoon and we’ll meet up for a drink before dinner tonight.’ And with a wave he climbed into the car which drove away.

  ‘Well,’ said Charlie, ‘it looks like we’re on our own.’ She looked across at Chico who was standing silently to one side, waiting for them to acknowledge him. ‘Right, Chico, what do you have planned for us?’ As she said this, Charlie hoped she wasn’t coming over as too forward, but Mercy seemed to have suddenly become very withdrawn. What was wrong with her?

  Unusually for a Brazilian of his age, Chico’s English was poor. Charlie, who was no linguist, had picked up very little Portuguese since arriving in Brazil. She was going to have to rely on Mercy to act as interpreter. But in fact, Chico had very little to say for himself anyway and after a few attempts at conversation, they decided to treat him as a tour guide and enjoy the visit on their own.

  When they’d dropped their bags at the hotel, the two women, with Chico trailing behind them, made their way down the stairway to the cliff-side path along the rim of the falls. Everything was shrouded in mist when they first arrived at the top of the cliffs. They could hear the water thundering over the r
ock face below them, and feel the spray as it splashed across their faces, but all they could see was an impenetrable grey blanket. They walked faster than Chico and he had very soon vanished from view.

  ‘Chico reckons this will disappear soon,’ Mercy said, linking her arm through Charlie’s. She gave a shiver. ‘But if it doesn’t, I think we should head back to the hotel and have a swim. We can always come back tomorrow. The weather is forecast to be better in the morning—and apparently the best time to see the falls is at dawn anyway.’

  ‘You could be right,’ said Charlie, looking upwards, ‘but I do believe there’s a gleam of sunlight up there. Let’s just hang on a while longer.’

  The women stood huddled together leaning on the railing, and after a short while, Charlie knew she’d been right. The sun was definitely coming out and the mist began to clear. Then without warning, it was gone and the whole vista was laid bare. Charlie heard Mercy gasp and felt her squeeze her arm.

  ‘Would you look at that!’

  The falls stretched out before them, fold after fold of fractured cliffs over which millions of gallons of water tumbled to the river bed below. Light glinted on the water, myriad rainbows played through the spray and the roar of the falls seemed to intensify with the sight.

  Charlie was surprised to see tears pouring down Mercy’s cheeks.

  ‘Mercy, what’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s so beautiful; I’ve never seen anything like it.’ She rubbed her hand across her face. ‘Thank you so much for coming with me. It wouldn’t have been the same without someone to share it with.’

  ‘Hey, you’re welcome. I’m really enjoying this,’ said Charlie, realising, as she said it, how true her words were. She felt a tiny stab of guilt that she was here under false pretences. This guilt was a habit she’d tried, but never quite managed, to break herself of in the past. There was always someone innocent, someone she felt drawn to. But now she stifled that thought, reminding herself that no matter how innocent Mercy might be, her father deserved whatever he had coming to him. ‘It’s great you asked me rather than one of your other friends.’