[African Diamonds 01.0] The Angolan Clan

by Christopher Lowery

  “How do you do, Jenny, my name is Gloria Smouha. “I need to speak to Mr. Bishop. When will he be back, please?”

  Jenny realised that she couldn’t continue in this vein, so she steeled herself. “The fact is, Gloria, that Mr. Bishop had an accident in his pool. He fell and hit his head and was drowned. It was just a few days ago. That’s why I’m here, for the funeral and everything.”

  She heard a sharp intake of breath. “So, he’s dead? Charlie’s dead?”

  “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry to have to tell you like this. Is it something I can help with?”

  There was a pause then Gloria replied, “There’s some information he asked me to confirm and I wanted to explain it to him, but… Well, it’s difficult to tell you on the phone, because you don’t know me or the business or anything.”

  Jenny thought for a moment. “Listen, Gloria. I’m coming to Geneva on Wednesday evening. I can come and see you on Thursday and you can tell me about it when we meet.”

  The other woman was relieved. She explained to Jenny how to get to the IDD office and gave her the telephone number. She only worked three days a week but she would be there all day on Thursday. Jenny agreed to meet her there in the afternoon.

  “It must have been her on the phone with Charlie!” Leticia exclaimed when she told her.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Did she say what was the problem?”

  “She didn’t want to tell me on the phone, but I suppose we’ll find out on Thursday.”

  I wonder what the call was about? Jenny thought. Gloria had sounded rather concerned. Once again there were things that she didn’t know. Her sense of foreboding returned, but she said nothing more to Leticia. Time enough to worry when they got to Geneva.

  It was Tuesday afternoon before Chief Inspector Espinoza found the time to call Inspector Blaser in Geneva. The Swiss policeman immediately agreed to his request to ‘take care’ of the two women when they arrived in Switzerland. It seemed that things were very quiet in Geneva and the surveillance would keep a junior agent busy for a few days.

  During an earlier call with José Luis, Espinoza had managed to glean the name of their hotel from him. The women had left the address with Francisco in case of any emergency. He was probably unaware that he’d mentioned it, so subtle was the questioning. It made Blaser’s task easier, knowing where they would start and finish each day. He promised Espinoza a detailed report first thing on the following Monday morning. The Spanish officer hoped that it would throw up something, something he could get his teeth into. He was still convinced there was a motive and a crime. Time would tell.

  To prepare for their Geneva meeting, the women went back through Charlie’s narrative and Jenny read out the key points in the history of the Angolan Clan. Revisiting the people and events in Portugal, Angola and Geneva that had been thrust into their lives by Charlie’s story.

  “You know, Leticia,” she said. “This isn’t going to be any easier for the other partners than it is for us. Instead of their friend and genius business partner, Charlie Bishop, they’re going to meet two women with no business experience at all. It’s going to be a big shock for them and we don’t know how they’ll react. We have to be careful.”

  “If they were people that Charlie trusted then I think we have to trust them also. Everyone is in a new, different position. It’s not only you and me.” Leticia was right, things had changed for everyone.

  But how do we prepare ourselves to meet three men whom we don’t even know, but who are now our business partners? Jenny asked herself. There was enough background on Laurent and Nick for them to form an impression, but Raffael remained an enigma. She couldn’t get her head around it all, so she put it aside until later.

  Over the last few days, Jenny had become more and more impressed with Leticia. She was clever, quick on the uptake and had a wonderful sense of humour. Endowed with a genuinely affectionate nature, she had a positive vitality which fairly radiated from her and made everyone around her feel good. Despite her initial forebodings, it was impossible for Jenny not to become fond of her, like the younger sister she had never had.

  As she had become closer to Jenny, Leticia had also revealed to her the gradual transformation of her relationship with Charlie. There was no doubt it was a true love story, despite the disparity in their ages. It was sad, Jenny thought, that Charlie had been able to enjoy her youthful company and love and the growing up of his son for such a short time. Still, she mused, short, but so very sweet. Lucky Charlie.

  Leticia went back to her apartment to pack and spend the evening with her family. Her parents were delighted to have Emilio staying with them for several days and José had asked for a couple of days off work so he wouldn’t miss sharing this break with his grandson.

  It was now three days until the meeting of the Angolan Clan.

  SIXTY

  Wednesday 23rd April 2008

  Geneva, Switzerland

  A young, dark haired concierge welcomed them as their taxi pulled up in front of the Hotel de La Grange. He spoke French with a strong accent. “Portuguese,” Leticia whispered to Jenny.

  The hotel was situated on the left bank of Lac Leman, the Lake of Geneva. It was after eight o’ clock and too dark to see the lake directly in front of them. A line of faint lights could just be discerned, shimmering on the far side of the water, which was not very wide at that point.

  It was a very chilly evening and a soft rain was falling. They pulled their new, warm coats around themselves and hurried into the hotel. It was charmingly old-fashioned, clean and comfortable. Their rooms on the third floor faced the lake and promised to offer vistas in the morning, over the water to the Jura Mountains beyond.

  They unpacked and freshened up and after Leticia had called her mother to check on Emilio they went downstairs to the bar where she ordered two glasses of white wine, in French.

  Jenny laughed. “You’re determined to make me feel inferior in languages, aren’t you? Though I don’t know if ordering white wine qualifies as speaking French!”

  “Just wait a moment. I have to ask for my supper next!”

  On the way to the airport, they had picked up the documents and a scribbled note of apology from José Luis’s secretary. He was busy with a client and Francisco was on his way to London. He certainly gets around, thought Jenny. Good job we didn’t want him to come to Geneva.

  Their business class seats on the Iberia flights were comfortable and although the change-over in Madrid was delayed, they managed to sleep for a while on the Geneva section. They had waited to have dinner in their hotel. Nine o’clock wasn’t late by Spanish standards. Jenny wasn’t convinced that it was worth paying all that money for business class. She thought of herself as an easyJet kind of traveller and told Leticia this. The younger woman disagreed.

  Now, sitting in Le Parc restaurant in the hotel, listening to her order her dinner in French from the Maître d’Hotel, Jenny wondered if all their preparations would be enough. Despite what Leticia had said about trust, they were entering a world of men and a world of money. Large amounts of money. How would they handle themselves? In Jenny’s experience, large amounts of money seldom brought happiness and often brought problems. She put aside her trepidation and they had an enjoyable dinner together. Tomorrow would arrive soon enough.

  It was now two days until the meeting of the Angolan Clan.

  The man in the brasserie watched the women go up to their rooms. He got up and stretched himself. He was stiff and tired after sitting there for the last three hours. Going out into the street to find his car he pulled out his mobile phone and spoke for a few minutes. It took him only fifteen minutes to drive to his apartment and he was in bed by eleven. He would need to be up at six to get back to the hotel, but he was a good sleeper.

  As usual, Gloria had been to visit her mother at the nursing home. It was after ten o’clock and she was about to get ready for bed when the doorbell rang. Surprised, she went into the tiny hall an
d asked who was there. When there was no reply she cautiously unlatched the door onto the landing.

  “What on earth are you doing here at this hour?” She exclaimed, before the visitor pushed her aside and stepped into the apartment.

  Gloria’s body was found the next morning, Thursday, at 6:30 am, when the first early morning riser went to get her cycle to ride to the bakery for fresh croissants. She was lying on the flagstones that surrounded the building, directly under the little balcony of her fourth floor apartment. On the other side from the entrance, where the rubbish containers and cycles were kept. That was why the body hadn’t been noticed the previous night.

  The gendarmes found bloody marks on the lid of one of the containers which matched bruises and contusions on her shoulder and head. Neither they, nor the doctor who arrived shortly after, could find any marks on the body which were not consistent with a fall or a jump from the balcony. They deduced that the actual cause of death was a broken neck sustained when she had landed on the corner of the container lid.

  The ambulance took the body to the morgue and the pathologist confirmed the cause of death, and that Gloria’s injuries were consistent with a fall from the fourth floor balcony. She examined her hands for evidence of a struggle. There was none, but she noticed a bruise on the upper arm and some chafing to the lips. This could indicate that Gloria had been held from behind with a hand over her mouth, in such a position that she couldn’t defend herself. She was a small woman, and could easily have been overcome in such a way, but there were no other indications of foul play.

  The pathologist also observed a very faint, perfumed odour. Lifting the right hand to her nostril she tried to identify the scent. She thought that she could also discern the perfumed smell on Gloria’s neck or head. Could it be a man’s cologne or after shave, or a woman’s scent? She added this to her report, but there was not enough evidence to arrive at a definite conclusion as to the reasons behind the death. It was a frustrating question of, did she fall, or was she pushed?

  After finding documents in the apartment concerning Gloria’s mother, the Gendarmes arrived at the nursing home to interview her on Thursday afternoon, unaware of the severity of her condition. She couldn’t remember who Gloria was and became distressed, believing that they had come to arrest her and take her away from the home. She was so disturbed that the doctor was called to sedate her. When the nurse told them that Gloria had become more and more upset at her mother’s condition, a theory of suicide began to emerge.

  A request to interview her fellow workers at IDD, her employer in Geneva, was transmitted to the Geneva authorities and on Friday morning an officer from the Sûreté went to the IDD offices, but they were locked and empty. The police found the address of M. Kurt Vogel, the local director, from the Registre de Commerce, but there was no one at his apartment. Since the next day was Saturday, they contacted the Divonne authorities to inform them that they would follow up the visit to the office on the following Monday. They made another trip to Vogel’s flat on the Saturday, but there was still no one at home.

  The only other two directors of the company lived in Marbella and Miami and the head of the Swiss investigative team determined to contact the local police there on Monday if there were no further developments in Divonne.

  Over the weekend, more gendarmes and a Sûreté officer came from Gex to question the neighbours at Gloria’s apartment building. No one had seen anything or anyone. Some of them had never ever seen Gloria. There were no clues in the apartment, no clues at all. The French authorities could only wait until Monday to find out if Kurt Vogel turned up. If not, they would put out an Interpol alert for him. He was the only line of enquiry they had, but he was missing.

  Like most cross-frontier investigations, communications were not perfect and progress could be slow. Gloria’s death might remain a mystery for a very long time.

  SIXTY-ONE

  Thursday 24th April 2008

  Geneva, Switzerland

  Jenny and Leticia arrived at the bank at 10:30 am. They paid off the taxi driver and looked up at the impressive building, six floors of glass, metal and stone, taking up the whole street corner. An ornate double main door decorated with wrought iron was flanked by two squarely carved stone pillars. On the right hand pillar a discreet brass plate read:

  Klein, Fellay SA.

  Membre du Groupe BIP.

  “Look! It’s the same group that bought Banco de Iberia. See, BIP, Banque Internationale de Paris.”

  “Of course! That’s why Charlie changed banks in Spain, because it was easier to deal with BIP, both in Geneva and in Marbella.” Things were falling into place in Jenny’s head.

  “But this must be where Patrice worked in Geneva, so why did he never mention it?”

  “Maybe he didn’t know Charlie was a client. I’m sure he wanted to keep things separate. I’d be very surprised if he even transferred money between the two.”

  “He probably wouldn’t make a mistake like that. But it’s a peculiar coincidence.”

  Another coincidence, Jenny registered uncomfortably, but she said nothing more.

  Leticia pushed the automatic doors open and they walked across the magnificent lobby to the reception desk. They asked to access their safety deposit box before meeting M. Schneider and after a few moments a young man came and escorted them downstairs to a large, high ceilinged vault. It was very modern, with an enormous glass topped table and high-backed chairs in the middle of the room. Several abstract paintings hung on the stuccoed walls. Not as impressive as the vault in the Banco de Iberia. But probably more efficient, thought Jenny.

  After going through the register signing and dual key opening ceremony, the bank officer rolled out a leather mat onto the table top and politely left them. The box that Jenny removed was larger than the one in Marbella. About the same width and length, but deeper. She couldn’t become accustomed to owning these safety deposit boxes in banks all over the place. She didn’t know what was in them and it made her nervous. She breathed deeply and slowly opened the box.

  Although the box was larger, the contents were very similar. This time there were three A4 sized envelopes inside. She opened the first envelope and removed two printed documents, both with the name of Klein, Fellay embossed in blue on the top. They were printed in French, German and English.

  The first document was a single sheet, headed:

  PROCURATION – VOLLMACHT - POWER OF ATTORNEY

  It concerned a numbered account 421-75 at Klein, Fellay, with the rubrique ‘Triumph TR4’. The beneficiary of the account was not shown. It was in favour of Jennifer Margaret Bishop and Leticia Lurdes da Costa as joint signatories. There were places for the two women and a witness to sign the form. It already carried Charlie’s signature and the rubrique ‘Triumph TR4 421-75’, in Charlie’s hand. Someone called Emilie Thonney had witnessed his signature, adding assistante administrative as her occupation. It was dated February 23rd 2008. Jenny felt a moment of panic when she saw alongside her name; ‘Civil Status: Widow’. A thought flashed through her mind, Written by a dead man for the widow of his dead son. Everything happens for a purpose.

  She pulled herself together and said, “So it seems there is an account here. And so much for our preparations, Charlie is always one step ahead of us.”

  “February 23rd. That must have been the last time he came to Geneva, when he flew here in the morning and came home in the evening. He must have come just to make these arrangements.” Leticia shook her head, pushing away the memories. “Well, I think it makes it more easy for us. No need for all the papers from José Luis.”

  “I’m quite sure that the mysterious M. Schneider will agree with you.”

  “He will consider that we are very efficient, like him. Very German Swiss, no?”

  “I certainly hope so. Although I don’t understand the bit about the car and I have no idea how we’re supposed to sign the form.”

  The second document was also a power of attorney. This time for a n
umbered account 427-75 at Klein, Fellay, with the rubrique ‘Angolan Clan’. It was also in favour of Jenny and Leticia. Once again, no beneficiaries were shown. The document was already signed by Charlie, and witnessed and dated like the other. It specified that either of the two women could sign with any of the other signatories on the account.

  “So, one of us has to sign together with Laurent, Nick or Raffael.” Jenny had tried to memorise Charlie’s story in detail, but she knew they needed to be sure of themselves when dealing with the Swiss bank. “We’d better not sign anything until we see Mr. Schneider. We don’t want to mess it up when Charlie has gone to so much trouble.”

  She replaced the documents in the same envelope, then opened the second one. It contained a single sheet of paper, in Charlie’s writing.

  Well done again, my dears. So far, so good.

  Next stop: Safety Deposit Box 72, Ramseyer, Haldemann &

  Company, Geneva.

  Think of Ellen.

  Much Love, Charlie.

  She shook the envelope onto the table and two keys fell out. One was a small, hollow barreled key, well worn and obviously very old. The other was flat and larger and had a yellow elastic band through the hole in the end. More safety deposit boxes, more unknowns, she thought unhappily.

  She shook the third envelope upside down. Another key, for a Yale automatic door lock, fell onto the table. The envelope also contained another single sheet of paper, written once again in Charlie’s hand.

  Hello again.

  This key is for the IDD office at 362, Rue de la Gare, just opposite the Cornavin Hotel, at the train station. I don’t know whether you’ll need it or not. The accountant is there on weekdays, his name is Kurt Vogel. The secretary is part time, her name is Gloria Smouha.

  Love, Charlie