Dangerous Shadows

by Whitelaw, Stella

  “Now what was that all about, Holly?”

  Lily appeared with a new foaming bottle of champagne. She was wide-eyed with curiosity, having heard some of the fracas from the hallway.

  “Good,” said Danielle. “Just what we all need. More champagne. Have a drink, Holly. It’ll put the colour back in your cheeks. You’ve gone quite white.”

  “Some of what Jake said was true,” Holly said, sipping her re-fill of champagne. “To be fair, I did go out with him for a while but it was not that he was my boyfriend. He was more like sticking plaster, to heal a broken heart.”

  “A broken heart? Heavens, darling Holly, tell us more. Who broke your heart?” Now Danielle was wide-eyed with curiosity. But Holly did not rise to the bait.

  “Sadie and I let him sleep on the sofa bed in the living room for a while. He said he had sold his flat and was flat hunting. But I don’t think this was true. I think he was sponging on us.”

  “And he stole money from you?” Luke put in, more gently now.

  “Not exactly money, but the prospect of money, a lot of money. I won the lottery that week but Jake claimed it with my ticket and disappeared. He vanished overnight into thin air. It was nearly a year later that we began to see photos of him in the tabloids, coming out of nightclubs with different girls on his arm.”

  “How did this vile man claim your lottery win?”

  “I gave him my lottery ticket which I had filled in, mostly birthdays, including mine.” A fleeting smile crossed her face as she thought of all the family birthdays.

  “The thirty-first,” said Luke, remembering.

  “And I gave him the money to pay for it, and asked him to buy the ticket at the corner shop. I would have gone myself but it was chucking it down. A dreary London downpour on a wet Saturday evening and I was busy. I thought he could do something useful instead of lounging around, watching our television.”

  “So instead, he disappeared with your ticket, then later went and claimed it in person. I think if you win a big prize, you have to go in person, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” said Holly. “I couldn’t do anything because I didn’t have the ticket. The organisers said they get a lot of people phoning in saying they have lost their ticket or that the dog ate it.”

  “Was it millions? You know, the big one?” Danielle was agog.

  “A big one. A double roll-over.”

  “And this is the first time you’ve seen him since then?”

  “The second time. He accosted me in Bridgetown today. He wanted me to get him access into a secure high-class jewellers shop. He wanted to sell some gold, he said, and they would give him a fair melt-down price.”

  Luke stopped pacing and turned. “Did you say he wanted to sell some gold, get the weight value?”

  Holly nodded. “That’s what he said. I refused, of course, and came home in a taxi. I think he traced the taxi driver and that’s how he knew where I was staying, and about the wedding.”

  “This is starting to fall together,” said Luke. “There was an item on the news last night about a cruise ship which docked here a couple of days ago. They reported a lot of items missing, mostly gold jewellery, stolen from cabins during the cruise out to Barbados. The captain reckoned they had a stowaway as all the passengers could be accounted for. The Bridgetown police were called in. They found traces of someone using an empty cabin with a master key stolen from a steward’s trolley.”

  “He said he came on a cruise ship and that it left without him. He’d have no trouble mingling with the passengers during the trip out. He’s a con man.”

  Luke took out his mobile phone. “A quick call to the Royal Barbados police, I think. They might like to lay a trap for him. You need not be involved, Holly. I’ll get one of my budding actors to pose as a gold dealer. We’ll borrow some jeweller’s scales and arrange a meeting, all wired up, the police in the next room, waiting to charge him, then clap on the handcuffs.”

  Danielle clapped her hands. “It’s just like in a film. How exciting.”

  *

  Jake Furrows did not enjoy the ride back to Bridgetown, but he congratulated himself on the progress of his plans. He had arrived by taxi, watched the wedding rehearsal from the shade of trees, then wandered round to the back of the house where he reckoned the kitchens would be. He was right. He had a nose for kitchens.

  The cook and Lily were busy making canapés and small tasty nibbles. He saw the champagne cooling in ice buckets. There were two jugs of home-made rum-punch waiting on the side for the addition of fruit and ice.

  He waited till both women disappeared from the kitchen at the same time then slipped into the kitchen. He took a folded piece of paper out of an inside pocket and opened it carefully. A small amount of white sugary crystals lay on the fold. He hoped the old crone in the chattel house had sold him the right stuff.

  He tipped half of it into one jug of punch and the rest into the other. The granules floated down, soon lost in the dark liquid.

  “Hey, what are you doing here in my kitchen?” It was the cook. The big Bajan woman came bustling back, carrying fresh fruit from the cold pantry.

  “I’ve lost my way,” he said, crumpling the paper into a ball and tossing it into a bin. “I’m here for the wedding. I’m giving the bride away.”

  “I don’t hear nothing about no one giving Miss Danielle away,” she sniffed.

  “I assure you. It’s all very last minute.” He put on an engaging smile. “I’m an old friend.”

  “Well, I suppose Lily had better show you the way. I don’t take with having no strangers in my kitchen.”

  “Quite right. Your canapés look too delicious.”

  The cook’s fierce look told him not to risk taking one. He followed the maid onto the patio. He saw the wedding party returning from the beach, laughing.

  “I know the way from here,” he said, brushing her aside. Lily nearly lost her balance.

  *

  Some tourists found the body of Earl Phillips. He had bled to death, and the heat was already drying his life’s blood into a sticky brown residue. The woman had hysterics and a man phoned 211.

  The police arrived, cordoned off the derelict area, took statements. They recognised him. Earl Phillips was well known, a popular lifeguard, one of the best. He’d lived on the island all his life.

  “Robbery. No money on him.”

  “He always wore a heavy gold chain round his neck. That’s gone.”

  “Put the knife into a specimen bag and all the bits and pieces in another specimen bag. There’s a few scribbled phone numbers. Might be a clue.”

  “Who’s going to tell his mother?”

  “It’s your turn.”

  “Just my luck.”

  “It wasn’t his lucky day, either.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Craig Taylor was delighted to be given a small acting role. He was learning the production side of television, alongside the great Luke Kenyon, having given up acting. He’d played a few bit parts in the soaps but got nowhere. There was too much talent around these days. Younger talent. More handsome talent.

  Luke hadn’t said why the scene was being filmed but Craig had an idea it was something to do with a future Crimewatch series. He was happy that it was being filmed and recorded and that he was getting paid. He never turned down work.

  There was no script but that suited Craig, too. It was too hot to learn words. He had the plot line and could improvise. He bought a smart fawn suit from a cheap shop, learned how to use the jewellers scales, how to weigh troy ounces. They were meeting in a room behind a Careenage bar. The bar, which had a nautical theme, had provided a free bottle of bourbon, a bucket of ice and several bottles of water. Craig never drank when he was working. But he would need the water.

  He was also aware that Jake Furrows was possibly a crook that the police wanted to catch. He was part of the trap. It was the sort of character part Craig would enjoy playing. He might be spotted for Hustle.

  J
ake Furrows came into the bar, wearing the same white trousers, open-necked shirt and blazer. His clothes were starting to look a bit creased but he’d had a basic breakfast at the Jupiter hostel, a shave, and was feeling confident. The best man had been true to his word, giving him a handful of dollars outside the hostel. He’d spent half of it on a slap-up dinner at a candle-lit waterfront restaurant, then he’d toured the bars, chatting up anyone who would buy him a drink.

  He’d slept well on a bed that didn’t rock. He was feeling cool, confident.

  It had come as a surprise when an unsigned note was delivered to the hostel saying that a gold dealer was willing to meet him that morning and give him a fair price. Holly must have felt sorry for him and pulled a few strings. Things were really looking up. She had always been kind-hearted.

  *

  Craig rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Craig Taylor,” he said. “This is my card.”

  It was a fake card giving Craig all sorts of accreditation in the fine art and goldsmith world. An address in Bridgetown, email address, phone and mobile. All false. Printed in minutes on a computer. His hair was combed back with a centre parting. It put years on him.

  “Jake Furrows. I got your note this morning. How did you find me here in Barbados? I don’t know you.”

  “Word spreads fast in Barbados. Nothing is secret. You were asking around the market yesterday for a gold dealer. I am the best in Bridgetown. My business has been here for five years and my reputation is unsullied. I will not cheat you. If the gold you have to sell is good, then you will get the current rate.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Jake, unbuttoning his blazer as he sat down. “I’ve some good stuff and I only want to sell it to a proper dealer.”

  “Would you like a drink?” Craig opened the Bourbon and pushed the bottle towards Jake. It was early in the day for a hard drink but the rattle of ice in a long glass was tempting. Jake poured himself a decent sized drink.

  Craig opened a bottle of water. “These gold items are, of course, your own property, and you have the provenance to prove it?” Craig remembered that word from watching the Antiques Road Show on television. It sounded professional. He even knew what it meant.

  He watched Jake’s face. He was a good judge of character. He could tell when someone was acting. Jake was acting.

  “Well, not exactly,” said Jake. “The gold watch, the neck chain and the cufflinks are mine. They were gifts so I don’t have any receipts. The other items belong to my dear aunt. Would you like to see them?”

  Jake took a packet from inside his blazer and opened it carefully on the table between them. The items were wrapped in a white handkerchief, initial J. There was a cascade of glittering gold and flashing gems as they spread on the table.

  Craig tried not to catch his breath. He sniffed as if he saw this kind of stuff every day. There were several gold chain necklaces. Some gold ear-rings and bracelets, a few slim, several chunky. Two ladies watches, the faces studded with diamonds. Also five or six rings, some set with diamonds, one sapphire and two ruby rings. And a diamond necklace.

  It was worth a lot of money.

  “Your aunt has some very nice stuff,” Craig said, putting a jeweller’s eye-piece to his eye and scrutinising the watches. He’d been practising all night with the eye-piece. “Why does your aunt want to sell all this stuff?”

  “She’s going into a care home soon, poor dear, and is afraid some of it might get stolen or lifted by the care staff. And she’ll need the money. Care homes are not cheap.”

  “You’re right there. It’s a scandal what they charge these days. Now the pieces with stones are no good for selling as old gold unless they are broken down. But I’ll take them off your hands and see what I can get for them. I’ll give you two thousand dollars for the two small watches and all the rings.”

  “I don’t know,” said Jake. “I thought they’d be worth a lot more than that. Look at those diamonds. They ought to be worth a bit.”

  “That big diamond is cracked. One ruby is clouded. Neither of the ladies watches are top makes. Run of the mill stuff. Three thousand is my top price for the jewellery. Take it or leave it.”

  Jake swallowed the bourbon and poured himself another, tipping in some ice. He was not going to accept such a low price. “What about the gold?”

  Craig got out the scales. Now he knew there was 9, 18 and 22 caret gold but had no idea which was which. There were marks but he hadn’t learned them. It would have to be guess work by size and weight.

  “Very nice, very nice,” he mumbled as he sorted the jewellery into different piles. He was beginning to sound like that Fagan character in Oliver. He had a calculator so that he could do the sums. He’d been given today’s price of gold. It was currently $1331.00 per troy oz.

  Craig began weighing the items, scribbling down a list. Even he was impressed and he was only acting. “Well, well, well,” he went on, doing more scribbling and more calculations. He had not been given any money to pay the man.

  “How is your aunt?” he said suddenly. “She all right?”

  “Who? Oh, my aunt. Poorly, middling, up and down.”

  “Getting old is a bastard,” said Craig, leaning back and taking a sip of water. “But it happens to all of us in time. Watch it, comes up on you sudden-like.”

  Jake was sweating now, a combination of the heat, the bourbon and anticipation. He could see the noughts totting up on the dealer’s pad. It was a lot of money.

  “Can’t you hurry up?” he said. “I’ve another appointment.”

  “It’s not easy, not even with my experience. And you want me to get it right, don’t you? Do you want cash or a cheque?” The cheap suit was starting to itch. Craig couldn’t wait to get it off.

  “I want dollars, different denominations.”

  “I shall have to go to the bank. I rarely carry such large sums around with me. You could wait here while I go to the bank and cash a cheque.”

  “You can’t take the gold with you,” Jake almost shouted.

  “I had no intention of taking the gold with me,” said Craig, getting up a bit stiffly as if arthritic. “Technically it is still yours. Look at my calculations. It is indeed a lot of money. Wait here. Have another drink. I’ll be fifteen minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Jake looked at the card. “Mr Taylor.”

  “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

  Craig escaped into the cooler air of the air-conditioned cafe. He still had a bottle of water in his hand. He took a quick gulp. A group of plain clothes police were gathered round a television set. They had been watching the scene in the back room.

  “How was I?” he asked.

  “Word perfect.”

  “You’re a born actor.”

  “I knew I’d be good. What happens now?”

  “We are going to arrest him and charge him with stealing items of jewellery from passengers on the cruise ship. The descriptions match many of the items on the list. Do you want to watch ACT II? It’s about to start.”

  “You bet,” said Craig, peeling off the jacket of the cheap suit and loosening the tie, ruffling his hair. “Curtain up.”

  *

  Holly was fastening gold ribbon round the marriage service sheets. They had arrived from the printers. No mistakes. Even Danielle was impressed, kept reading the words over and over again as if to learn them by heart.

  Holly emailed Sadie about the trap set to catch Jake: He went aboard the cruise ship as a visitor at Southampton, found an empty cabin, mingled with the ladies travelling on their own. He was the invisible passenger. He tried to sell the gold in Bridgetown. I hope he’s looking at the inside of a police cell very soon now.

  It seemed like justice. Sadie emailed back: My friend in the police looked up Jake Furrows, also known as Jake Barrows and John Fellows. He is on bail for three charges of presenting fraudulent cheques and one of alleged robbery with violence. Be careful, Holly. He’s a dangerous man.

  The words
were ominous. Holly hoped the Barbadian Courts would put him away for a long time.

  It had been a distressing morning for quite another reason. One of the garden boys was sick. He’d been sick all night and they had to call in a doctor. He was rushed to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. Holly phoned the hospital several times to check on the boy’s progress.

  “Do you have rats at Tiger Bay Plantation House?” the doctor asked unexpectedly.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ve never seen any but I suppose they are everywhere on the island.”

  “Do you put arsenic down?”

  “I’ve no idea but I’ll find out for you. Why?”

  “This boy is suffering from arsenic poisoning. He’ll survive. He hasn’t consumed much but enough to make him very ill. Perhaps everything in the kitchen should be put aside, labelled and bagged, for our forensic people. Maybe someone tried to poison you. I’ll send a courier round.”

  Holly’s hand was shaking as she put the phone down. She wouldn’t tell Danielle. Her cousin was upset enough this morning. She went through to the kitchen and gave the staff the bad news. They were distressed. The cook was also visibly annoyed, thinking that her kitchen cleanliness was being criticised.

  “There ain’t no poisons in my kitchen,” she said firmly. “You can search every inch.” But she agreed to pack up everything used yesterday, for testing.

  Lily took Holly aside. “Miss, miss, I have to speak to you. The garden boy, he’s not a bad boy but he was drinking last night. He took a jug of punch from the larder. I didn’t stop him. It would only be thrown away.”

  “So the jug might still be in his room?”

  “He sleeps behind the garage. I will go and look.”

  “Don’t wash it or empty it. Put it in a plastic bag, standing up, and bring it to me.”

  “Yes, miss. Don’t you worry. I do everything right, like on television.”

  *

  Holly had found time to buy a gift for Danielle and Lucas. It was a beautiful silk screen print of a waterfall. She had found an Art Gallery that specialised in paintings by a local artist. His use of colour was wonderful. And for Zoe she had bought an unusual piece of driftwood sculpture. She knew Zoe would love it, put it in their showroom. The shop offered to pack it and deliver it to the UK.