by L. A. Larkin
‘Allow me,’ says Wolfe. ‘Maybe you scared her.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Charlie?’ she calls through the door. ‘It’s Liv. Please open the door.’ She knocks again. ‘Charlie?’
They enter the room. It’s dark. Stone slides the card into a slot on the wall and the lights come on. An en suite room in greys and creams, with a king-size bed, desk, and two armchairs facing the window, from which Wolfe can see the city’s glimmering lights. The bed hasn’t been slept in, and the curtains haven’t been drawn. The room looks as though it has just been serviced. Neat. Clean. No sign of a struggle.
Stone checks the bathroom, then unlocks the adjoining door. He yells out a warning and enters the SO1 officer’s room.
‘Empty. We’re wasting time here,’ Stone says, joining Wolfe.
Wolfe wanders around the room. Under the desk is Caroline’s Furla bucket handbag in tan. Wolfe rifles through it. Purse, make-up bag, breath mints, glasses case and glasses, sunglasses, house keys, mobile phone.
‘Where would you go without a handbag and phone at this time of night?’ Wolfe asks, frowning at the digital clock. It’s 23.37pm.
Inside the mirrored wardrobe is a hotel laundry bag with clothes in it.
‘Do you know what she wore today?’ Wolfe asks.
Stone checks a spiral bound notebook. ‘Navy suit, pale blue blouse, court shoes.’
‘The shoes are here. There’s the suit. The shirt is in the laundry bag. So she’s changed. Did she have a function tonight?’ Wolfe checks the hangers. Two evening dresses. One has been worn. The deodorant has left a white mark on the inside of the fabric.
‘She was at an official dinner until eleven oh five,’ Stone says. ‘She was escorted by her SO1 officer through the lobby and into the lift at eleven oh eight. CCTV shows him walking Caroline to her room, then he enters his room next door.’
‘Then what?’
‘Nothing. Nobody arrived. Nobody left.’
‘They can’t have disappeared into thin air.’
‘CCTV doesn’t lie.’
There is an open plastic bag with the hotel logo on it. Wolfe picks it up. ‘She’s wearing hotel slippers. Where would you go in hotel slippers?’
Wolfe opens the drawers. One running top. One pair of leggings.
‘This conference lasts three days, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s odd,’ Wolfe says. ‘Charlie’s a fitness freak. Goes jogging every night. So why only one set of running gear?’
‘Why does it matter?’
99
How does a woman just disappear from a hotel with CCTV on every floor?
Stone’s mobile rings. He takes the call. ‘You sure?’ Stone gets his answer. ‘I’ll be right down.’
‘Hotel security,’ Stone says to Wolfe. ‘They may have a lead. You’re coming with me.’
‘I’ll check the gym.’
‘Forget the gym. You’re coming with me.’
‘Why?’
‘I need you to identify someone.’
‘Please tell me it’s not a body?’
‘It’s not a body. Come on.’
As the lift opens at basement level, they are met by a security guard named Lwazi. Beneath the hotel and away from the air conditioning, the tunnel-like corridor is oppressive.
‘What happened to Fezile?’ Stone asks, as they follow Lwazi past the laundry, the huge dryers humming endlessly, full of towels and bed linen.
‘Fezile had to go. Family emergency. He tells me you want to find Caroline Bloom. So, I look at the CCTV.’
The corridor opens up to a loading dock. The night air is cooler here but the stench from the rubbish bins is intense. A truck is parked in one of the bays and steam-pressed tablecloths are unloaded and stacked on a trolley by two women in black and white housekeeping uniforms. In the next bay, is a plumber’s van.
Lwazi leads them across the loading dock and into another equally sultry, meandering corridor.
‘In here,’ says Lwazi.
Inside the cubby-hole of a room is a wall-mounted screen, displaying twelve live images from CCTV cameras around the hotel. On a computer monitor, each camera and its location are listed.
‘How many cameras does the hotel have?’ Wolfe asks.
‘One hundred and thirty.’ Lwazi sits. ‘I want to show you this.’ He brings up a frozen image of the loading dock. The time-stamp says 22:50:13. Two men leave a plumber’s van, their backs to the camera.
‘We did not call in a plumber. I checked,’ Lwazi says.
Wolfe and Stone exchange glances.
‘Replay it from the moment the van arrives,’ Stone asks.
They watch the van arriving at the loading dock. Two men get out. One carries a bag.
‘How the hell did they get past security?’ Stone asks.
Lwazi rubs his fingers together. ‘Money.’
‘And where did they go?’
‘I do not know. I called you as soon as I saw this,’ he said pointing at the screen. ‘I must call the police.’
He reaches for a phone on the table. Stone places a hand on his.
‘The lives of three British citizens are at stake. Give us a chance to find them.’
‘But I must. It is my job.’
‘Management will want to know why security failed. How they got in. There’s no need for you to lose your job if we find the missing guests first,’ says Stone.
‘Me? No, no. Fezile was on duty. He must have let them in. I don’t know anything about this.’
‘Help me find them and nobody need know this ever happened.’
Lwazi’s shoulders slump. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Wolfe answers, ‘Run the footage again.’
The images are grainy, and both men wear baseball caps.
‘Is that Yushkov?’ asks Stone pointing to the taller, broader man. ‘Olivia?’
She feels sick. She had clung to the hope Yushkov would not turn up at Caroline’s hotel. But one of the so-called plumbers has Yushkov’s build. ‘It’s possible.’
‘And the other one?’
‘Could be Terry Blunt. He’s got Blunt’s belly. But I can’t see his face.’
‘Where do they go next?’ Stone asks Lwazi.
The guard switches to another camera. It covers the corridor immediately outside the basement lift. ‘See, they use the elevator.’
‘Which floor?’
‘I don’t know. I must check the cameras on every floor. It will take time.’
‘Check floor sixteen and hurry,’ says Stone.
Wolfe says, ‘They’d need a pass for the lift. How’d they get one?’
Again, Lwazi rubs his fingers together.
Wolfe sighs, nodding.
Lwazi searches for the footage for floor sixteen at the time of the plumbers’ arrival.
‘If Yushkov were the assassin, how would he do it?’ Stone asks.
Wolfe feels light-headed. Perhaps it’s the stifling, airless room.
‘I can’t be sure it’s him. I may be completely wrong.’
‘Doesn’t matter. How would he do it?’
‘He’s best hand-to-hand. He’d want to get close. Logically they’d go to Caroline’s room and pretend there’s a problem. Once she opened the door, they’d easily overpower her. But there’s no sign of a struggle.’
‘I have it.’ Lwazi finds the correct time and presses play. No sign of the two men. If they didn’t go to Caroline’s room, then where did they go?
Something catches her eye. ‘Run that again.’
A waiter carries a tray, the plate covered by a chrome cloche. He calls the lift. Then he simply disappears.
‘Something’s been deleted,’ says Wolfe.
‘You’re right. Probably of Caroline leaving her room.’
‘And wherever she went to.’
‘I’ve got it!’
Given Caroline’s miscarriages, she might avoid her favourite activity, running. She’s staying at a hotel
with a pool, which explains where she’s gone wearing hotel slippers.
‘Bring up the camera over the pool. I want to see it live,’ Wolfe says.
‘Not working,’ says Lwazi. The screen is white noise.
‘Was it working earlier?’ Wolfe asks.
‘Yes.’
Wolfe dives past Stone and sprints along the corridor.
100
Stone swipes his security pass and presses the button for the gym and pool on level seventeen.
Wolfe presses button sixteen.
‘We’ve already been there,’ Stone says.
‘I checked the plans before I got here,’ says Wolfe. ‘The lift opens straight onto the pool. We’ll have no cover. But if we take the fire stairs, we’ve got a chance of arriving unseen. The fire door opens onto the changing rooms.’
Stone nods, checks his Glock is fully loaded.
‘I can talk Yushkov down,’ she says.
‘You’re an unarmed civilian. Stay out of it.’
Level sixteen. They take the fire stairs. Through a vertical rectangle of fireproof glass, they can see doors to male and female changing rooms. To their right, a floodlit, elliptical swimming pool is surrounded by sunbeds. There’s a white bathrobe draped across the back of one. The shimmering turquoise water sends ripples of light onto the walls. Someone is swimming laps. They can’t see who.
‘Stay here,’ Stone whispers, then slips through the door, Glock at the ready.
Wolfe follows. Gets glared at by Stone. The water splashes to a regular rhythm. Wolfe recognises Caroline’s wet head of dark curls and releases a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. Around the corner is the lift, and beyond that, the gym, in darkness.
Wolfe freezes when the lift chimes and the door opens. A tall man in plumber’s coveralls and a baseball cap heads for the pool. Caroline pauses at one end of the pool, watching. Wolfe mouths, ‘Oh no.’ She takes a step forward. Stone yanks her back. He raises his pistol. The new arrival kneels at the pool’s edge and says something to Caroline, his back to them.
‘Who are you?’ Caroline says, loud enough for them to hear. She moves away from the man towards the middle of the pool.
Stone steps out from his hiding place. ‘Police! Hands on your head, or I’ll shoot.’
Yushkov raises his arms slowly and stands.
‘Charlie!’ calls Wolfe. ‘It’s Olivia. Get out of there. Get away from him!’
Caroline wades through the water, claws at the steps, slips.
‘No!’ shouts Yushkov, taking a step in her direction.
Stone fires at his back. Yushkov jolts as if touched by a live wire. His legs buckle. He lands heavily on his knees, then collapses face down on the tiles.
Caroline screams, scrambling to get out of the pool. Wolfe sprints towards her, takes Caroline’s hand, pulls her up the steps. ‘With me,’ says Wolfe, steering Caroline towards the fire exit.
Stone stands over Yushkov, pistol pointed at his body, checking his face for signs of life. Yushkov grabs his ankle, tugs so fast Stone’s leather-soled shoes slip from under him. He lands hard and the Glock is jolted free. Yushkov, whose bulletproof vest has saved him, throws himself at Stone, seizing the pistol.
Wolfe sees Yushkov out of the corner of her eye. She can’t comprehend what he is doing. He turns one hundred and eighty degrees and points the gun at Caroline.
Wolfe doesn’t recognise her own voice. Or her fury. ‘You will not!’
She stands between Caroline and the gun.
Yushkov fires.
The deafening report is like a physical assault. A thought leaps to her mind that there’s no way the bullet will miss at this distance. Her pulse is hammering in her ears. It takes a few seconds to register the thud behind them. A metal chair leg screeches over tile. A gurgling sound. Wolfe can’t move. Stares at Yushkov. Realises she isn’t hit. Caroline shrieks. Wolfe turns and sees Terry Blunt. Dark blood wells from a gaping hole in his throat. He gasps in ragged, wet jerks, like a fish suffocating on the jetty. His fingers are loosely curled around a Colt M1911. Olivia can’t believe what has just happened – Yushkov has shot Blunt.
Stone staggers towards Blunt. Takes the Colt. Watches him take his last, futile breath.
Wolfe turns again, but Yushkov is nowhere to be seen.
101
Flags of every nation attending the seventeenth Global Regulation of Wildlife Trade convention adorn the walls of the great hall, soon to be brimming with four hundred and ninety delegates. Three giant audio-visual screens display this convention’s symbol – a western black rhino. On the podium, is a long table for the members of the secretariat. To one side of the podium stands a lectern with microphone.
The audience is seated at tables, arranged in rows, covered in white tablecloths. Most have laptops or tablets in front of them.
Wolfe sits in the first row, next to Caroline Bloom. On Caroline’s other side is her principal private secretary, Jamie Osbourne, who keeps his head down and looks very sheepish, probably wondering if he’ll have a job at the end of the day. Osbourne had stumbled back to the hotel in the small hours of the morning, so inebriated he could barely stand up. His phone was on silent all night and he hadn’t noticed the missed calls and messages.
Next to Wolfe is one of two recently arrived SO1 officers. The other is positioned directly behind Caroline. The hall fills up rapidly, but the usual bubbly chatter at events like these is unusually subdued. Security at the convention has been tightened to uncomfortable levels after the assassination attempt. Armed SAPS police officers guard entrances and exits. Metal detectors have checked for firearms, knives and other weapons. Wolfe shakes her head at the memory of last night. Something about horses and gates springs to mind. Still, Nguyen is not easily thwarted. He might try a second time. Wolfe won’t leave Caroline’s side until the vote is cast and she’s on a plane heading for London.
Caroline shakily lifts a glass of water to her lips, spilling a little on the starched tablecloth.
‘It’s not too late to leave,’ Wolfe whispers. ‘There’s no shame in it.’
‘I’m going to vote, Liv. I won’t give in to threats.’
Wolfe nods. She would do the same.
Wolfe shifts in her seat. Her wounds throb and the thick dressing covering them makes it impossible to feel comfortable. Caffeine and adrenaline keep her going, but her limbs feel weighed down by exhaustion. She has been questioned by the South African police and SO1 all night and has barely had time to change her clothes before eating breakfast.
The doors at the back of the hall close and armed police stand guard. The first of the secretariat members walks onto the podium, a woman from Kenya. The delegates clap enthusiastically. She’s followed by seven other members of the secretariat: South Africa, USA, Brazil, Germany, Nigeria, Japan, India. They wait for the secretary general who will make the opening speech.
‘Will Nguyen still come?’ Caroline asks.
‘I think so,’ says Wolfe. ‘He thinks he’s untouchable.’
‘Dad cried with relief when I phoned him,’ Caroline whispers in Wolfe’s ear. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever known him do that.’
Wolfe squeezes her hand.
The secretary general walks onto the podium, waving at the delegates, smiling broadly. Tan Nguyen is the star of the show. His hair is slicked back, his charcoal suit perfectly cut. He looks completely unfazed by Blunt’s failure to kill Caroline, or by what that will mean to the vote. Audience chatter dies away. Very few delegates clap, and those that do quickly sense they are out on a limb, and cease. The booing begins. At first one or two delegates, then more join in. It gets louder and louder.
Initially, Nguyen seems not to notice. He stands in front of the lectern, ready to make his opening address. Delegates shout. Some stand. ‘Liar!’, ‘Poacher!’, ‘Rhino killer!’ Nguyen runs his hand over his widow’s peak and leans closer to the microphone.
‘Welcome to Johannesburg and the seventeenth GROWT convention,’ he begins.
/>
‘Killer!’ somebody shouts.
‘How can you live with yourself? Hypocrite!’
‘Arrest him!’ another yells.
‘Murderer!’
‘What’s going on?’ Caroline asks.
‘Every delegate was emailed a link to my video. Nguyen’s rah-rah speech to his syndicate, telling them how he plans to rig the vote. It’s gone viral.’
Wolfe starts recording Nguyen and the angry audience.
From stage right, two SAPS officers walk onto the podium, and two other officers enter from stage left. Nguyen is handcuffed, but he keeps his composure.
‘You’re making a terrible mistake,’ he says as he’s led away.
The crowd cheers and whistles and applauds.
As Nguyen is led down the aisle, a following of hecklers forms behind him. Nguyen spies Wolfe. He lunges at her. ‘You’ll pay. Remember that.’
He’s dragged away, but by now an angry crowd blocks their exit. Nguyen and the four officers are surrounded. A woman thumps her fist into Nguyen’s chest. He’s shoved from behind. ‘Get back,’ shouts a cop, and draws his weapon. Another calls for backup on his radio. The crowd around Nguyen surges, their anger swelling, fast turning into fury. Shouting drowns out the SAPS officers’ warnings. Hands grab at Nguyen and he becomes a rag doll in a tug of war between the crowd and the officers.
A scream. Then another. People panic, back away. Run for the exits. But he’s still surrounded by a whirlwind of confused and angry people. Wolfe can’t see Nguyen anymore. Where did he go? More officers arrive, batons raised and they force the crowd to move back.
Nguyen lies on the floor motionless, a hunting knife protruding from his back.
102
Wolfe and Caroline sit in a quiet corner of the hotel bar, flanked by two SO1 officers. Wolfe throws back a much-needed gin and tonic. Caroline sips a sparkling mineral water.
‘Who killed him?’ Caroline asks.
‘No idea.’
‘Does his threat worry you?’