by Mark McKay
Chapter 11
It was past midnight when Nick, still at the Hyatt, got through to Inspector Shah. The voice at the other end of the phone was thick with sleep and irritation. It soon changed to shock followed by fury, when Nick told him what had happened to his officers.
‘They were armed,’ he almost shouted. ‘Where is the woman?’
‘Gone.’ Nick shared the details of Sylvie’s departure. ‘She left in Abdul Hassan’s Mercedes. I suggest you put out an alert for it.’
Shah replied in a calmer voice. ‘Give me the licence plate number, you remember it?’
Nick gave him the number. Shah said he would arrange an ambulance and then send a forensic team to the hotel.
‘I’ll wait till they arrive. Then if you don’t need me here, I’ll go back to my hotel,’ said Nick. ‘I’ll give you a formal report tomorrow.’
‘Come and see me at 9.30,’ came the reply. The phone went dead. Nick walked over to the receptionist and told him what was about to happen.
‘No one is to enter room 306,’ he said.
The man nodded. ‘What about the other guests?’
‘I don’t think they’re aware of anything unusual happening at the moment. And by the time they wake up the police team should be finished.’
That, of course, was dependent on how long it took them to get here. Nick thought that it would be a few hours yet before Shah finished organising the search for the car, let alone assembling a forensic team at this time of the night. It was unlikely that either of them would get much sleep tonight.
The search was underway, but in the days that followed it became increasingly apparent that Sylvie had defied detection. No one reported sight of the ‘national treasure’ either. Nick saw no point in staying in Kolkata. If any breakthrough should occur, Shah had promised to let him know. Sylvie was now wanted for abduction, theft and murder. Hers and Le Roux’s photos, along with a description of Abdul Hassan gleaned from his neighbour, was in every police station in India. But still nothing. She must surely have left the country, Nick decided. It was time for him to do the same and return to London. A week after his meeting with Sylvie at the Hyatt, he took a flight home.
On his return, he compiled a report on his trip. Alexander Marsh had died during his last week in Kolkata. The poison had been slow, but ultimately effective. Given Marsh’s statement, he could now name both Le Roux and Sylvie as prime suspects. There remained a question mark over the man murdered in Cambridge, neither of them had been in the country when that took place. And he had to assume Rebecca Slade had suffered the same fate, in spite of Sylvie’s comment at the Hyatt about not knowing her. Until proven otherwise, Rebecca remained a missing person.
The only thing he could do now was to put the art world on alert. If the lions were offered to certain wealthy aficionados, then someone might get to know about it. He phoned Sotheby’s and made an appointment to meet their Asian Art expert. The next day he took the tube to their New Bond Street offices.
Shortly after announcing himself at reception he was approached by a well-dressed man of around 40, looking relaxed and tanned in an expensive suit and an open-necked light-blue shirt.
‘DCI Severance, is it?’ he enquired. Nick nodded. ‘I’m Clive Jameson. Fancy some coffee?’
Nick followed him to the café. Once settled, he produced prints of the photos Rebecca had sent him.
‘I want to ask you about these,’ he said, sliding the prints across the table.
Jameson picked one up. ‘Ah, these,’ he said. ‘We heard about these. Golden lions from the Mauryan era.’ He looked up. ‘What’s your interest, Inspector? They were stolen in India, weren’t they?’
‘Yes.’ Nick gave him as much background as he deemed necessary, including Rebecca’s disappearance. When he’d finished, Jameson stared at the photos for a while.
‘So, if I understand correctly, the Ms Slade you mention discovered the lions and sent you the photos. Then she disappeared, along with the lions. And you believe an Islamic art dealer in Paris is responsible. But he’s also disappeared.’
‘That’s about it. What I want to know is, who might buy them?’
Jameson laughed. ‘Not many people would be willing, and not too many would have the capital required. And there’s another problem.’
‘What’s that?’
‘There’s no definite confirmation of their existence. The only person who claims to have seen them isn’t around to tell us.’
‘These photos aren’t enough?’
‘Don’t get me wrong Inspector. If the texts you refer to did genuinely point Ms Slade towards this tomb, then I’m a believer. I don’t know how many other people in the art world, at least in the auction houses, would be on my side.’
‘So there’s nothing you can do, is that what you’re saying?’
Jameson took a sip of coffee. ‘What I can do is list them on the Arts Loss Register. If they’re offered to a respectable dealer, that person will check the register first. But they aren’t exactly subtle objects.’ He sighed. ‘Apart from that, I can ask around. There are probably only a handful of people who might be in a position to buy these lions and keep them for their own pleasure. If they surface, we may hear something on the grapevine.’
‘I appreciate anything you can do on that score.’
Jameson smiled. ‘Happy to oblige. And I’ll look into Mr Le Roux for you. Someone in the Islamic Art department will know about him, or know someone who has done business with him.’
‘Alright. I’ll leave these prints with you, then. Here’s my card.’
Nick thanked Jameson for his time and went back to Bishopsgate. He included the details of the meeting in his finalised report, which he circulated to DCI Matthews in Cambridge, Inspector Shah in Kolkata, and Bonnaire in Paris. He made sure to ask Bonnaire to look into Le Roux’s business dealings, too. He would file a final copy with Interpol, and then he would simply have to wait and see. To his chagrin, the official status of Simon Wood’s murder remained emphatically ‘unsolved’.
Another week passed, without any update on the case. On the following Wednesday night he went to Aikido training, without Lauren. She would meet him afterwards. He got there earlier than usual and when he entered the changing room the only other person present was the Sensei. He looked up from the letter he was reading as Nick came in.
‘How was India?’ he asked. Nick’s teacher was a Japanese man in his fifties, named Katsu Oyama. He’d been teaching at the dojo for some time before Nick began learning, and had arrived in London from Tokyo some ten years ago. Although he would go out with several students after class and have a few beers in the local pub, he gave very little away. Apparently he taught Aikido full time, making the bulk of his income from private lessons. When asked about his previous life in Japan he would say that he’d been a ‘metallurgist’, which tended to limit the conversation. He was taciturn, though he opened up a bit after a few drinks. It was a selective openness in Nick’s opinion, Oyama retained an element of control at all times. After five years of training here, Nick hadn’t discovered much more about the man than he’d known at the start of their acquaintance. Oyama was graded as a 9th Dan, only a handful of people in Europe held that distinction in the Aikido world. Nick considered himself lucky to have such an experienced teacher, accrediting whatever skill he had acquired as a reflection of Oyama’s expertise and his ability to pass some of it on to his students.
‘India was interesting. Didn’t find what I was looking for, unfortunately.’
Oyama knew that Nick was a DCI and that he had gone to India as part of an investigation, but that was as far as it went.
‘Ah, yes, the golden lions.’ Nick looked up in surprise. Oyama smiled. ‘I read the papers, you know. You are mentioned.’
‘Of course. Yes, they have disappeared for now.’
Oyama grunted. ‘I’m sure they will turn up.’ He studied the letter he was holding. ‘This is from a friend of mine, in
Japan. He is planning an Aikido retreat near Tokyo, later this year. Do you think you might be interested in such a thing?’
‘Will you be going?’
‘Yes,’ said the Sensei. ‘It’s time I visited my homeland again. It is a wonderful opportunity. You would be learning from the very best.’
Nick was surprised by the obvious enthusiasm in Oyama’s tone, most unlike him to be so effusive. Maybe this was something he should take seriously.
‘How long is the retreat?’
‘Last two weeks of September. All foreign students are welcome. The teaching will be done in Japanese and English.’
Now that Simon’s murder was on the back burner he might well be free, or at least arrange to be. He wondered if Lauren would want to be there.
‘I must speak to someone, but yes, in theory I’d love to attend.’
‘Good,’ said Oyama. ‘Let’s see what the other students say. The more, the better.’
He met Lauren, after class.
‘I’ve gone up a dress size,’ she said. ‘Have you noticed?’
He looked her up and down. ‘Can’t say I have.’
‘Liar. I hope you’ll fancy me when I’m big as a house.’
‘Actually, I find pregnant women quite sexy,’ he replied.
Her eyes widened, and she laughed. ‘Well then, I didn’t expect that. Looks like it’s your lucky day.’
‘You may not be safe around me. No bump yet, though.’
‘Won’t be long now. What would you say if I made myself more available?’
‘Meaning what?’ He paused. ‘Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?’
She grinned. ‘It’s not a proposal. I just think we should move in together.’
‘Might be a bit cramped, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t think so. There’s a wardrobe in the spare room. You can move your clothes into that. I’ll need the space in the one in the main bedroom.’
‘I see. You’ve obviously thought this through. Let’s discuss it back at my place. And while I remember, what are you doing the last two weeks of September?’
They finalised the arrangement over the customary takeaway. Lauren would give notice on her current flat, which meant she would be in with him by mid-September. She wasn’t sure about Japan.
‘I don’t know, Nick. I feel OK at the moment, but if that changes in the next month I don’t want to be committed to travelling anywhere. You could go by yourself, I’ll cope for two weeks.’ She smiled. ‘I can decorate the place while you’re gone. And when you get back, you can teach me what you’ve learned. After the baby comes, that is.’
‘OK, that’s sensible. I haven’t said yes yet, but Oyama seems quite keen. If he thinks it’s a good opportunity, it probably is. I’ll book the time off.’
The August weather had been glorious so far. The bars around the City of London buzzed with a vivacity that only a sunny summer could provoke. Throngs of after work drinkers spilled out into pub gardens or seated themselves at tables set out front. If there was nowhere to sit it didn’t matter, they stood and chatted in animated groups, the noise rising in parallel with the level of alcohol consumed. Thursday night was when the ritual reached its zenith. A lot of City types let off steam on Thursday nights and then dragged themselves into the office on a Friday, to wind down for the weekend. Some of Nick’s police colleagues were no exception, and a day after seeing Lauren he found himself out with Jamie and a couple of other IT geeks at a pub round the corner from the station.
‘My round,’ said Jamie. ‘What are you having?’
Nick settled for a second Guinness. The pub was crowded and it was a while before Jamie reappeared.
‘Thanks,’ he said, gratefully accepting the proffered pint and taking a long draught. ‘I wonder if there’s an Irish pub in Kolkata. Didn’t even think about it.’
‘There’s an Irish pub everywhere, Nick. Any further progress on your case?’
‘No, nothing. Looks like I’ll be helping out with fraud. I’m talking to Hamilton about that tomorrow. By the way, did you ever get Simon’s phone unlocked?’
‘Yes. I sent you a copy of his contact list, didn’t you see it?’
Nick grimaced. ‘Haven’t done all my emails yet. I’ll look for it.’ His phone rang. ‘Hang on, should take this, I suppose.’
‘Is that DCI Severance?’ asked a voice he didn’t recognise.
‘Yes it is. Just a minute.’ Nick moved across the street and into a shop doorway, to reduce the noise level. ‘Who is this?’
‘My name’s Kennedy. I’m calling from the British Consulate in Heraklion, in Crete.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Do you know a Rebecca Slade?’
Nick pressed the phone to his ear, suddenly tense. ‘Yes, I know her.’
There was what he thought must be a sigh of relief the other end. ‘Excellent,’ said Kennedy. ‘We have her in hospital here. She is exhausted and suffering from a mild sunstroke. She’s getting fluids and plenty of rest, though. She gave us your number. Said it was urgent.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘I don’t have the whole story. Apparently she took a lifebuoy and jumped from a ship. She must have been in the water for 24 hours or more before a fishing boat spotted her. She’s lucky to be here.’
‘How long will she be in hospital? Can she travel?’
Kennedy laughed. ‘On the first question, maybe three or four days. And obviously after that, I’d expect her to fly back to London, if she’s fully recovered.’
Nick felt exhilarated. Rebecca had survived, what on earth had she been up to? He had to know right away. ‘Could you tell her I’m on my way out there and not to go anywhere until she hears from me? I’ll be there tomorrow, or Saturday. What hospital is she in?’
‘University Hospital. It’s big, all the taxi drivers will know it. And let me know when you arrive too, would you?’
‘Will do.’ Nick ended the call, re-joining Jamie and his friends. He handed Jamie his empty glass.
‘Gotta go. Rebecca Slade just surfaced. In Crete, of all places.’
He grinned at Jamie’s open mouthed look of astonishment and then headed back to the station. He had a flight to sort out.
It had been warm in London, but according to the flight announcement shortly before landing, the temperature in Heraklion was 40 degrees Celsius. When Nick disembarked and walked across the tarmac to the courtesy bus, he felt as though he’d stepped into a sauna. He donned a pair of sunglasses and then slung his jacket over his shoulder as the bus made its way to the terminal. It was cooler inside and the passport check-in lines were short today. Twenty minutes later he was in a taxi, en-route to the hospital.
Rebecca was easy enough to find. She was in the corner of a general ward, on the first floor. She was sitting up in bed with her nose in a book and didn’t see him coming until he was almost at the bedside. She looked up at his final approach.
‘Detective Chief Inspector, nice to see you again.’ She was smiling, but it was strained, and her sun-burnt face showed signs of the stress she’d been under so recently. ‘You didn’t waste any time.’
‘Just call me Nick. We don’t need to keep it formal.’ He pulled a chair over and sat next to her.
‘OK. What have you been up to then, since I last saw you?’
‘Looking for you, among other things. I’m more interested in what you’ve been doing.’
Rebecca shifted her position to put the book on the night stand. She saw him looking at the portable drip she was attached to.
‘Intravenous fluids,’ she explained. ‘Another twelve hours, then I should be ready to go.’
‘What happened?’
‘I was kidnapped. I think you know her actually, she said she ran into you in Kolkata.’
‘Sylvie Dajani, you mean?’
‘Sylvie, Rashida, whatever…’ She turned her face away for a moment, but her voice didn’t disguise the distres
s she was trying to hide.
‘Tell me everything that happened, from the moment you were taken. If you feel up to it, that is.’
‘Sure.’ She looked at him and then away, again. After a short pause to get herself together, she began. Fifteen minutes later he knew everything, from the abduction at the Green Street up to the point at which the ship sailed from Chennai.
‘They wanted me as a bargaining chip,’ she said. ‘Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
He poured her a glass of water. She took a sip. ‘Thank you.’
‘When did you arrive in Crete?’ he asked.
‘It was only four days ago. I don’t even know where we were, they kept me below. I was allowed out on the deck during the journey, but once we got here they locked me in a cabin. I stayed there for two days. Then on the third day we left.’
‘No one came aboard, to check your papers?’
‘If they did, they didn’t check mine. Pity really. Sylvie did a new passport for me, said it would keep her busy. It looked like the real thing, too.’
‘They had facilities to do that?’
‘Yes. They had a room fitted out as a studio. Lights and cameras, document samples. They seem very organised.’
‘So what happened while you were in port?’
‘I can only guess, really.’ Her brows knitted in a frown of concentration as she considered her next words. ‘I was close to the gangway. I couldn’t see anything, because the porthole was blacked out. But I could hear people coming and going. I think the “auction” they mentioned to me was held on the ship. In the time it took us to get to Crete, the whole thing must have been organised. No need to take the lions off the ship that way, either.’
She was right, he thought. They were organised. ‘But even if that’s true, you don’t know the outcome of this auction.’
‘Well, I only know that it seems to have gone well. Le Roux came down to get me once we were underway again and he said that his business had been “satisfactorily concluded.” Those were his words.’
‘And the lions were still on board?’
‘I was allowed up on deck, straight away. I knew which container they were in and it was still there. I expect the next thing to do is deliver them.’
That made sense. You could hardly put a four tonne lion in the mail. ‘Did you get the name of the ship?’ he asked.
She looked a little crestfallen. ‘No, I… I panicked. They let me up on deck and the man who was supposed to be supervising me just let me wander around. After all, where was there to go? I could see the coastline getting further away and then I saw the lifebuoy. I was near the stern at that point, so I grabbed it and threw it overboard. When it didn’t get sucked under by the ship’s propeller, I just jumped in after it.’ She stopped to catch her breath. ‘I think I was a little crazy at that point. I didn’t think about looking for the ship’s name, sorry.’
‘It’s fine, don’t apologise.’ Reliving that moment had obviously been uncomfortable. Nick reached out and took her hand, and she seemed glad of the contact. He could see she was holding back the tears. ‘You’re here and in one piece, that’s what counts. I can probably trace the ship, now I know it left from Chennai. Don’t concern yourself about it.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘OK. I hope you can find them. They’re fanatics, or at least she is. She’s the most ruthless and frightening person I’ve ever met. Le Roux talked about certain projects that would be possible with the money they’re getting. They’re planning some sort of atrocity, I’m sure of it.’
‘Yes, I agree. We’ll get to them first. What you’ve told me today swings the odds back in our favour. We’ll find them.’
He didn’t think Rebecca was convinced, as much as she might want to be. If he was honest with himself, neither was he. Le Roux and Dajani had remained at least one effortless step ahead so far. He’d have to up his game if that was going to change.
‘I’ll arrange it so you fly back with me,’ he said. ‘You’ll need a new passport. We need to get Kennedy at the British Consulate to sort that out. I’ll go and see him when I leave here.’
She smiled, and for a moment it was the Rebecca Slade he remembered from their first meeting at SOAS. ‘Police protection?’
‘Only the best for you, Ms Slade. Now get some rest.’