by JJ Marsh
The last remnants of storm clouds billowed away from the port area, leaving the evening sky the colour of mouldy peaches. The police vehicle indicated once and Russell slowed, steering the car right to rest between some trailers, watching the car ahead continue for another hundred metres. Moments later, the reverse lights came on and it sped backwards to pull up beside them.
Four men got out and one shouted something which sounded urgent. Russell and Will got out of the car.
“Dov’è?” asked Russell.
The man pointed at a two-tone yacht approaching the exit to the harbour.
Russell caught Will’s arm and indicated the boat. “That’s the Naiade. It left a few minutes ago. They must have seen the police arriving. We’re going after them and we’ll force them to stop. Come with me!” He yelled at the car, “You two, stay there! Don’t move!”
Adrian’s voice piped out, like a muffled squawk, but Will had no time to argue.
Shivering with a combination of cold and fear, he ran after Russell as they raced onto a jetty. The police speedboat drew alongside with much shouting and rope activity. Russell leapt aboard as if they spent his life jumping on and off dangerous things in near darkness, whereas Will needed a helping hand from the crew.
Once the newcomers were sitting on a damp plastic seat, the boat reversed and took off at a speed. Wind smacked Will’s face like ping-pong paddles. An officer shoved lifejackets at them. Russell looped his lifejacket over his arm and stood up to watch their progress. Will decided to put his on. Falling overboard in the dark without a hi-vis lifejacket was a risk he couldn’t take.
“There they are, the bastards!” Russell roared over the noise of the engine.
Will followed the direction of his finger and saw the bigger boat, white and gleaming in the fading light, clearing the entrance to the marina and heading out into the bay.
Their speedboat changed gear and bounced across the waves as if it was a skimmed stone. Another police vessel sped in a horizontal line to their diagonal, also with a flashing blue light, heading right for the bow of the Naiade. The yacht would be trapped by the pincer movement of two police speedboats and have no choice but to stop.
The yacht increased its pace but clearly could never outrun two smaller vessels built for pursuit. Then a shout went up from the frankly suicidal cop leaning out from the police bow with binoculars. Will didn’t dare ask for an explanation, but sat still and let the professionals do their job. The throttle slowed and lights swept the area around them, the cop pointing frantically at a shifting point in the sea. Amid all the shouts, a police officer in a wetsuit pulled on flippers and dived off the side into the cold, black waters of the Bay of Naples.
Will clenched his teeth against the cold. To his amazement, Russell climbed onto the bow, preparing to jump. “Russell, what’s going on?”
He looked over his shoulder. “They threw something overboard. The police think it’s Beatrice.” With that, he dived into the sea.
Chapter 31
Beatrice could hear tinkling bells or wind chimes. A gentle rocking motion told her she was no longer on land. Her head hurt as if her scalp was too tight and she was roasting hot with a desperate thirst. She opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. A white-painted cabin with a single porthole, some storage lockers and the bunk she was lying on. Her eyes were so dry and scratchy, blinking didn’t help. The smell of sour rice was still in her nostrils, her mouth tasted furry and an unpleasant pressure bore on her bladder.
She sat up with great care, every movement stiff and painful. No one else was in the room, waiting for her to wake and say, ‘Finally we meet, Mrs Stubbs’ while stroking a white fluffy cat. The room was overly heated, but to her great relief, there was a tiny sink in the alcove between bunk and door. Water! She ran the cold tap and sticking her head in as far as she could go, gratefully swallowed six or seven gulps of water. It could only aggravate the bladder situation, but if it came to the worst, she’d pee in the sink. She cupped her hands and washed her face. She needed to clear her muddled head.
She tried the door and was not in the least surprised to find it locked. Outside the porthole, she could see nothing more than the hull of another boat. There was no sign of her handbag, keys or phone in any of the empty storage units, nor could she find her shoes. Trying to ignore her bladder, she crossed her legs and searched under the bunk in case her captors had left her a potty.
Nothing. Things were becoming urgent. She looked at the mini sink. How could she even get up there, leave alone balance on such a fragile sort of affair? A sudden rumble of engines under her feet distracted her attention and in a few moments, the boat was moving. She peered out of the porthole, aware that the light was fading and whoever had taken her from the apartment block had every intention of taking her a lot further.
Her nerves already strung out, she gasped when there was a clattering at the door. It swung open to reveal a muscular man in a vest, whose features suggested he might be from China. He carried no weapon, clearly not concerned that Beatrice might pose a threat. With one finger, he drew a line from her to the door.
She didn’t move. “I’m going nowhere until you tell me why you brought me here and where this boat is heading.”
In two strides, he reached her, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She kicked and rained blows on his back to no avail. He ducked out of the doorway and paced along the corridor at speed, ignoring her protests. He clomped up a metal staircase and she inhaled sea spray and chill wind. Voices shouted and lights flashed as she struggled and fought with no effect whatsoever. He marched along the deck paying her no more attention than if she were a toddler having a tantrum. He was heading for the rear end of the yacht. There was a proper name for that bit of a boat but she couldn’t recall it now, because she was convinced he intended to throw her off it.
There was only one weapon left. She allowed herself go limp and released her bladder. He roared his fury and yanked her away from his body. Five seconds later, she found herself flying through the air and with one almighty smack, she hit the sea.
From that height, the impact on water had the same effect as slipping on a sheet of ice. Winded and shocked by the cold, Beatrice instantly sank below the surface. Her body convulsed, desperate for air. Bubbles rushed past, heading upwards. Using every muscle she had, she kicked, clawed and wriggled herself after them, her lungs screaming. Her head burst above the water and she inhaled a mouthful of oxygen, then spluttered and coughed as a wave smacked her in the face. She trod water, using far too much effort in wet clothes, and tried to get her bearings.
Lights were all around her and she realised there was just as much danger of being torn to pieces by a propeller from one of these boats criss-crossing the bay as there was of drowning. She had no clue which direction was port or how to get there. It took all her energy to stay afloat. Never a strong swimmer, she’d been recently drugged, was fully clothed and no match for the choppy waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
Her only hope was to call for help. She bicycled her legs and flailed one arm over her head. “Help! Help!”
The cold penetrated to her bones. Keep moving, woman, don’t give up, she commanded herself. The waves slapped her and submerged her again, making her breathing panicky and urgent when she broke the surface. Something else was in the water, coming in her direction, calling her name.
“Beatrice!”
Her vision blurred by seawater, she had no idea who it was and how he’d found her. With another huge effort, she paddled her feet and waved one arm. “Help me!” Her voice was barely audible to her own ears.
Arms encircled her from behind and lifted her shoulders above the waves. “Hold still, I’ve got you. Don’t fight me, Beatrice. Look, here’s a lifebuoy, can you grab that?”
Another man swam into her vision and she became aware of radios chattering somewhere nearby. The second man hauled her up so that her upper body was supported by the buoy. He grabbed the handle and kicked away, dra
gging her behind him. She looked up and saw lights shining in their direction from the deck of a boat.
The first man swam to her side and shouted a question. “Are you injured at all, Beatrice? Did you get hurt?”
Her freezing hands clutched the float and her teeth chattered. “No, I don’t think so.” Then she recognised the face. “Ettore? What are you doing here?”
“Just hold on tight, we need to get you out of the water.”
Hands pulled and pushed her onto a small ledge at the back of another smaller boat. She vomited sea water all over her feet. They dragged her onto the deck where Ettore wrapped her in a big silver blanket. Someone gave her a warm drink which tasted like an Oxo cube. Will appeared out of nowhere and sat beside her, his face a mask of concern. A huge weariness overtook her as her body began to heat up. Her eyes closed and she leant against Will, who was asking someone else if it was safe to let her sleep. Safe or not, she couldn’t keep her eyes open a second longer.
“Beatrice? Beatrice!” Will’s voice sounded urgent.
Fingers pressed at her neck. “It’s all right. She’s just exhausted. They’ve called an ambulance so we’ll have her in hospital in twenty minutes.”
Beatrice smiled and tried to open her eyes. “You know ...”
Will bent close to listen. “What is it? Are you OK? Beatrice?”
She couldn’t lift her head. She just managed to part her lips to say, “I peed on him,” then succumbed to sleep.
Chapter 32
Adrian sat on a squeaky stool outside Beatrice’s hospital room, waiting for the police to finish interviewing her. Will took the opportunity to cross to the other side of the building to see Matthew. He was the best person to play down the nature of events and reassure Matthew that Beatrice would be fine. Although Adrian was the better actor, Will’s presence always tended to calm even the most agitated of spirits. Two detectives had taken Ettore and Pietro to the police station to give their statements while another two hung about till the doctor gave Beatrice the all-clear. That had been over twenty-five minutes ago, when they entered her room.
Without any real role to play, Adrian chose to ‘guard’ Beatrice. Against what, he wasn’t sure. He glanced at his watch. Only nine o’clock? It felt more like midnight. He wondered whether to call Isabella but decided to wait for Will to return so they could choose what to say. His mouth was dry and he decided it would be safe enough to leave his post long enough to go to the water fountain by the lifts. He was just filling a paper cup when the lift pinged and Will came out.
“How is Matthew?” asked Adrian, as they walked back towards Beatrice’s room.
“Health-wise, in good form. As for his emotional state, suspicious. I think he knows there’s more to it than I let on. At least he accepted the fact that she’s alive and in good hands. He was worried about Luke too, but I picked up a message from Suhail. They are both back at the apartment because the restaurant is closed.”
“Ecco is closed? Why?”
Will shrugged. “Dunno. When I called him back, Suhail said it was something to do with Gennaio. Apparently there was a huge row between him and Isabella, and then Agusto sent everyone home.”
“It must be pretty severe to close the restaurant. Is Luke OK?”
“Yeah, he’s watching TV and eating spaghetti Bolognese. Have the police spoken to Beatrice yet?”
“They’re in there now,” said Adrian. “The doctor said we can take her home when they’ve finished. Or maybe she wants to go and see Matthew.”
“She’ll have to wait till the morning. Visiting hours end at eight. That’s why they kicked me out.”
They sat down outside Beatrice’s room and Adrian remembered his plan. “We should call Isabella and let her know Beatrice is OK.”
“Good point.” Will got to his feet again. “I’ll go outside and do that now. I hate hanging about in hospitals. You know what else? I’m starving. Right now, I could kill for some spaghetti Bolognese.”
“Me too. Let’s hope Suhail has catered for us all.”
Spaghetti, Bolognese or otherwise, was not to be. When the three of them got out of the taxi outside the apartment, Agusto’s Ferrari was parked outside.
Adrian looked at Will, arching his eyebrows.
“Oh. Right. When Isabella said they needed to talk to us, I assumed they meant tomorrow. Are you up for this, Beatrice?”
“Doesn’t look like I have a choice, does it? I suppose that means dinner will have to wait.”
“Are you hungry too?” Adrian unlocked the door and they trooped up the stairs.
“Famished. It takes more than being kidnapped and chucked off a boat to put me off my food.”
As they entered the apartment, Suhail came out of the kitchen with some glasses and a carafe of water. He broke into a genuine smile when he saw Beatrice and indicated towards the living room. To Adrian’s surprise, Isabella and Gennaio were sitting with Agusto at the dining-table. Isabella’s eyes were red, as if she had been crying. Once Beatrice came into the room, she burst into fresh tears and embraced her in a hug. Gennaio and Agusto stood up, both looking like schoolboys outside the headmaster’s study.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” said Beatrice, extricating herself from Isabella’s arms. “Nothing to worry about. Where is Luke?”
“In his room,” said Suhail. “He fell asleep on the sofa, so I put him in his bed.”
“I’ll go check on him,” said Will.
“Thank you,” said Beatrice. “Shall we all sit down?”
Isabella pulled a tissue from her pocket and dried her eyes as everyone took their seats. Suhail poured water for everyone and was about to leave the room when Agusto spoke.
“Suhail, please stay. This concerns you as well. Gennaio has something to say.”
Gennaio leant his forearms on the table, his face a picture of remorse. He nodded his head several times without meeting anyone’s eyes and swallowed. Will slipped into the room and gave Adrian and Beatrice a silent thumbs-up.
Gennaio looked up and released a long shaky sigh. “Beatrice, I want to apologise. You gave me the opportunity to do the right thing. You told me to confess that I was the person selling recipes stolen from Ecco. When I left you this afternoon, I planned to do it, I really did. Only after I saw my brother, I just couldn’t say the words. I was too ashamed.”
Adrian saw Suhail’s eyes widen.
“Yes. I am sorry to you also, Suhail. I was the one putting pressure on you. I wanted to offer my protection in return for the recipes. I thought you would be like Rami. You are not. You are a different man.”
Suhail said nothing, his expression frozen.
“Then Beatrice disappeared. I was afraid. These people do bad things if they don’t get what they want. The warehouse, the car and now taking Beatrice? This is to force me to work for them. So I told my brother and Isabella everything and I ...” he struggled to speak, swallowing and rubbing his eyes, “cannot find the words to tell you how sorry I feel. I ...” He shook his head, unable to continue.
Adrian’s head was reeling. He had more questions than he could articulate.
Agusto took over. “My brother is not a bad man. Stupid, greedy and a liar to his own family, yes, but in the first place he did this for a good reason. He wanted to help someone start a restaurant career. Instead of doing it properly, he cheated, asking Rami to steal my recipes to take a short cut. Then they saw they could make money and borrowed financing to begin a franchise. The people who loaned the cash wanted a cut of the profits and even worse, to use the Nonna chain to clean their own dirty money. Gennaio was in trouble. He couldn’t say no. Then Rami got involved with these people and had an arrangement to sell ... other things. He got very rich and didn’t need the restaurant job, but he stayed for the recipes.”
Isabella was shaking her head in disbelief. “Rami. I still can’t believe it. He was such a good man. My heart broke when he died.”
“When he was murdered,” corrected Gennaio. “They killed him
because he was making his own profit from drug money. This was nothing to do with the restaurant. What was I to do? My kitchen connection was gone. I needed someone inside to help, so I made life difficult for Suhail. Some time later, I planned to offer him my protection. But Isabella hired Beatrice and everything became complicated. The financiers got angry and impatient and threatened me.”
Adrian pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to comprehend the tangled knot of connections.
“So much deception,” said Agusto, his voice half its usual volume. “Isabella hired Beatrice. I hired Russell to protect her but did not tell Isabella the truth. Meanwhile, she hired Pietro. God knows why. He is the brother of Alessandro, our maître d’ and he also used to work for us. Pietro is a drunk and an idiot. He made too many mistakes and Isabella fired him. Then she felt sorry, so paid him privately to protect Beatrice and her family. She didn’t tell me or Alessandro. More lies. A family of liars.” He shook his head, his eyebrows arching in regret.
“You owe Pietro more than you know!” Isabella snapped. “Alessandro’s great concept? The ‘harmony of senses’? That is all Pietro’s work. Yes, he is an alcoholic, but it was him who did the research, him that wrote the paper. Alessandro just translated it. When I found out about Pietro’s work and heard he’d been fired from the university, I wanted to help. But as a waiter, he was useless. He was even worse as a private security guard.”
Agusto looked thunderstruck but Adrian interrupted. He could hardly follow any of this.
“Wait a second,” he said, turning to Beatrice. “You told Gennaio to confess? How did you know it was him?”
“The dessert Suhail and I made was on the menu at Ristorante della Nonna. Made to the wrong specifications. The only people who knew those false specifications were Isabella, Agusto and Gennaio. So I drew the only logical conclusion.”
Adrian could hear the smallest hint of pride in her voice. He allowed himself a surreptitious smile. PI Stubbs had solved her first case.