‘Wait,’ said Stone. ‘This is all a mistake a…a mix up, it has to be.’
‘Of course it is, it always is…get in the car Stone,’ said Ramirez.
‘If I could just call…’ Stone reached inside his coat pocket and dug out his Blackberry and started to punch in a number.
‘Officer take the phone away and search him, take everything.’
‘…Chief Parker-Brown, he’ll tell you, he was there the night Guy Randall was shot dead, it was his brother-in-law Chad Loman that…’
Ramirez cut him short. ‘Call who?’ He took the arrest warrant back out of his inside pocket, which had a fax stapled to it. The officers removed Stone’s personal possessions and took the phone before he could complete the call.
‘Let me see now, here it is, there’s a fax all the way from sunny Trinidad signed by…’ Ramirez pretended not to be able to read it. ‘Guys my specs are at the precinct, what does this say? Hey help me out here Finch.’
Finch knew what it said on the paper but had to go along with his boss’s charade; he took the papers from Ramirez and read it out. ‘Chief Nathaniel Parker-Brown, Trinidad and Tobago Police Service, San Fernando, Trinidad.’
‘Thank you Mr. Finch.’
It was as if someone had just told Stone that the world was going to end in five minutes time, his expression was the same. Common sense, he thought, had deserted everybody. Someone he knew and trusted, despite their earlier differences, had issued and signed a warrant for his arrest, framing him for murder.
An alarming thought lit up like a neon sign in the space just behind Stone’s eyes, causing him to frown as if in some pain, it was a seed of an idea that was germinating at warp speed. The woman who had all but destroyed his life in Trinidad, who had stalked him, terrorized him and kidnapped Karla, and who had been declared dead for two weeks, was behind the frame-up.
She was back in business.
The night of the rescue, high on a hill on the Caribbean island of St. Lucia, she was shot by her accomplice Jack Bissett. The bullet only grazed her shoulder but the force knocked her backwards through an old rickety fence and over the top of a cliff. Inexplicably, despite a thorough search of the beach below by the local police, no trace of her body was found. A guy out on the beach walking his dog found Rachel unconscious and carried her back to his house where his wife Martha, a nurse, cared for her and nursed her back to health. After recovering from the coma sustained by the fall, Rachel returned to New York.
Two weeks after the shooting, Stone and Karla were on their deck celebrating her safe return to Trinidad with a glass of wine when Stone’s cell phone rang. Their life was just returning to normal. It was the stalker Rachel Parker. The memory of that call and her voice will probably stay with Stone for the rest of his life.
She was back from the dead.
The eerie possibility that she was once more digging her evil fingers into his life sent a blood curdling, bone rattling shiver all the way down to his toes.
Could she be behind this?
‘Are you okay Sir?’ asked Finch.
Stone’s face had turned as pale as the December sky, Finch’s voice snapped Stone out of the nightmare he was reliving.
‘What? Y-Yes. I guess, as well as anyone could be charged with a murder they didn’t commit.’
Ramirez was already behind the wheel and Finch went to sit alongside him up front. Two of the uniformed officers bundled Stone into the back seat and then sat either side of him locking his shoulders, he just about had enough space to breathe in and out. Stone’s mind went numb. His belief system, usually rock-solid, was being jack hammered into a thousand pieces.
There was only one person who could help Stone at a time like this, someone who would cut through the bullshit and make sense out of non-sense, one person who he knew he could rely on come what may.
He needed to call Mac.
Chapter 4
Maloof sat back and took a sip of his whiskey; he was deep in thought, he was looking out to sea watching a yacht in full sail tacking across Old Fort Cay in the afternoon breeze. Rachel was smiling quietly to herself, to see Stone behind bars for murder gave her more satisfaction than the whole escapade in Trinidad. Maloof eventually spoke again after some minutes.
‘I’ll call Ramirez tomorrow and make sure he has it all figured out. In the meantime there’s something I need you to do for me. What time is your flight back to New York this evening?’
Rachel lifted her head up slightly and raised her up shades wondering what Maloof was going to ask her.
‘I have to be at the airport at five, why what is it Samir? What could I possibly do for you?’
There was more to Maloof than Rachel had anticipated, he was well aware of her background and his contacts and network stretched far and wide. Everything was business to Maloof. For him business and pleasure were inextricably linked. The dinner at which they had met was not a chance encounter as Rachel had thought, but a carefully choreographed arrangement planned specifically to meet her. He had five important buyers visiting from Saudi Arabia, their mission was strictly confidential, and they had requested something particular by way of entertainment. That’s where Rachel’s previous line of business came in handy.
In each city that Maloof operated in, New York, Paris, London and Milan, he would ensure that he recruited the best, the woman with the right credentials to organize his affairs and clandestine requirements.
‘I need you to set up five rooms on the first floor of the warehouse. Khaled will take you out there when you arrive back tomorrow, he knows a contractor who’ll clean the rooms up, decorate, fix the lights and plumbing and you’ll buy the furniture. Each room is to have a king size bed and a nightstand, a TV, mini bar and bathroom. Good quality sheets, drapes and furnishings. Cost is not an issue. Understood?’
Rachel didn’t know what to say. She had her own plans and working for him wasn’t one of them. As he was giving her his instructions she kept a neutral face, she didn’t want to anger him and besides, he was becoming very useful making sure that Stone ended up in jail. She decided it was too soon to make a fuss, so she cooperated.
‘Sure honey, I’ll get right on it when we get home.’
‘Good.’ Maloof maintained his serious manner and finished his drink, stubbed out the cigar and stood up. He took off his silk robe threw it onto his lounger and walked to the edge of the pool. He turned back to look at Rachel. ‘When the rooms are ready there’s one more thing I need you to do, well five actually. They’ve got to be carefully researched and the goods have to be just right. The guys fly in from Saudi tomorrow night. The instructions are in the envelope on the table beside you.’
If Rachel was confused and surprised at Maloof’s business like orders, she was now becoming worried and anxious to know just what he wanted her to do. She leaned across and reached for the envelope and sat down on the edge of the lounger. She opened the flap and took out the papers. There were five separate sheets that appeared to be a set of bespoke physical characteristics of the ‘goods’ Maloof required her to procure. She eventually lifted her eyes to look at Maloof and tried not to act shocked. Maloof was watching for her expression but Rachel cleverly gave nothing away. He knew she would comply. He dived into the pool splashing water everywhere and spraying drops over Rachel’s legs.
She placed the sheets back into the envelope, fixed her stare on Maloof swimming up and down the pool and wondered just how she was going to carry out his sordid demands. Maloof had all the right connections with all the wrong people and offered to resolve her problem with Stone. He didn’t want her to have any loose ends or old ties from her past lurking around. Maloof was a very jealous man.
Rachel knew she had to comply with his demands.
Chapter 5
‘You got a lawyer?’ Ramirez threw his question over his shoulder at Stone who was sitting in the back of the police car, squeezed in between the two broad shouldered officers.
Stone was still numb from the sho
ck that Chief Parker-Brown had issued an international warrant for his arrest for the murder of Guy Randall.
Guy, a U.S. citizen from New York and a magazine editor, had just arrived at Stone’s villa in Palmiste, which was a suburb of San Fernando Trinidad. He’d managed to give his real killer, Chad Loman, a.k.a Shadow, the slip after being trailed all the way from the States, intent on finding the woman who’d double-crossed him out of $1m ransom money. Stone was his last resort. He was on his cell phone walking around Stone’s pool about to report Shadow to the police when a shot ripped through the air zipping past his shoulder. It ricocheted off the garage wall. Guy Randall didn’t realize what the noise was. Stone and Mac did. They saw the flash and the movement of a dark figure behind the white railings by the poolside. The next shot hit its target.
Guy was thrown backwards into the pool. He screamed out in pain and clutched at his chest. His blood was already spreading across the surface of the water when Stone jumped in and dragged Guy to the side and laid him on the tiles. Stone cradled him and tried to make him comfortable but he knew he was going to die. He managed to stay alive for a minute or two. Just long enough to give Stone a message for his wife and the keys he was wearing around his neck. The black 4x4 sped off into the night and Mac just saw the plate as it rounded the bend. They knew exactly who the shooter was.
Stone finally answered the question and made no attempt to disguise how annoyed he was.
‘I don’t want a lawyer. I don’t need a lawyer. I haven’t murdered anyone and you can’t possibly have any evidence to hold me. I’m saying nothing further. I want my phone call.’
‘We’ll see about that Mr. Big Shot developer.’
Stone ignored the remark and turned his head away to look out the window to avoid seeing Ramirez’s smirk in the rear view mirror. Finch said nothing; it was hard to imagine a more disparate partnership, Stone felt sorry for him living with the smirk ten hours a day.
On the journey to the precinct Stone started to lose the fuzziness and numbness from the shock of the arrest and started to think clearly. He was certain that Chief Parker-Brown had either been used or tricked in some way. With one phone call to Mac, his partner who was still in Trinidad, and he would sort out all the confusion by going to see the Chief to tell him what had happened. The Chief would then call Ramirez, explain about the falsified warrant, and he would be set free. He had to be. He decided to clam up and tough it out, but first he fired an angry retort back to Ramirez.
‘Tomorrow I’ll be at Guy Randall’s funeral as planned.’
‘Don’t be so sure wise guy.’ Ramirez seemed agitated by Stone’s remark, which to him was insolence and disrespect for his authority. Ramirez had other ideas.
‘Cuff him.’ He ordered to the uniformed officers next to Stone and they duly snapped a set of handcuffs onto his wrists that he’d been told to hold out in front of him.
Stone had been on U.S. soil for less than an hour, he hadn’t even had time to call Karla or his daughter. By now he would have been in a rental car heading towards the hotel he’d booked in Brooklyn in readiness for the funeral. Instead, on this cold December day, he was staring at a characterless two-storey grey concrete and brick precinct building. To the right, high on up a flagpole flew the stars and stripes, a beacon of strength and pride. Two things Stone didn’t feel at that moment handcuffed and wrongly accused of murder, strong nor proud.
The car turned off Baisley Boulevard and into the precinct car park. Ramirez slid into an empty parking space in front of the side doors to the station. He braked sharply. Finch lurched forward. He looked sideways at Ramirez but as usual said nothing. They all got out and started to walk towards the entrance steps. Ramirez stepped out in front of Stone to block his path and looked him straight in the eye.
‘You might just regret not getting that lawyer Stone.’
Stone would not be provoked. He stuck to his plan and said nothing. For at least ten seconds the matchstick was motionless, the smirk was taking a breather. Ramirez eventually stepped aside allowing the officers to escort Stone into the building.
‘Take him in Finch, book him, and then throw him in the box.’
Fifteen minutes later and Stone was sitting alone in a dark and miserable interview room. He was handcuffed to the bracket on top of a scratched and cold metal table that was bolted securely to the floor. On the right side of the table was a black box recorder with a time clock and a red light showing on the face. His chair was also bolted down, as were the two identical chairs opposite his. The windowless room felt dank and the walls were faced with a sort of wood grain veneer that was peeling away at the corners and in some parts was missing altogether. The surfaces were riddled with graffiti messages written by the innocent and wrongly accused like Stone. The guilty ones didn’t seem so keen to write on the wall. Above Stone’s head was a single fluorescent light about four feet long which flickered every once in a while and each time it did he could see his reflection for a split second in the wall to wall mirrored window opposite him. Behind the mirror he was sure there were people, maybe even the smirk, watching his every move and expression. Stone steepled his hands and closed his eyes, he zoned out trying to calm his breathing and shut out his anger and frustration.
The silence was shattered when the door burst open and Ramirez walked in followed by Finch, and behind him, who almost needed to walk sideways through the door, was a uniformed officer who stood guard. The officer folded his arms. He had quite a friendly lived in face atop broad shoulders and a barrel chest. Gun or no gun, it was hard to imagine anyone getting in or out of the room unless he wanted them to.
Ramirez sat down opposite Stone, and Finch slipped quietly into the seat next to him carrying a file, which he placed on the table. Ramirez reached across and hit a button on the recording machine with his right hand and spoke into it before he turned to face Stone.
‘For the record we are in interview room one, it is 2.45pm on 18th December. I am Senior Detective Eduardo Ramirez. With me is my partner Detective Michael Finch. The interviewee is one…’ Ramirez picked up the case file and read the full name across the top. ‘Bradley John Stone. In attendance also is Officer James O’Reilly who will be present at all times. For the record it should also be stated that Mr. Stone has waived his right to have representation.’
Ramirez obviously reveled in his job, probably watched all of Robert De Niro’s movies and had the smirk down pat to prove it. Finch on the other hand looked nervous and uncomfortable; he sat upright and attentive but fidgeted in his chair. It was clear that Finch disagreed with his partner’s style.
The contrast was striking.
Chapter 6
It took less than an hour for Chang Lau, Chad Loman’s Chinese sidekick, to track down Guy Randall’s former office on 43rd Street in Manhattan near Times Square. Loman, known as Shadow, was a career gangster; he served his apprenticeship on the streets of Laventille, the murder capital of Trinidad, majoring in drug dealing and extortion. He did a postgraduate course as an overseas student in the Bronx perfecting his skills in pimping and the occasional kidnap. Now in private practice he had a personal assistant, Chang Lau, who doubled as his driver and bodyguard. He has a degree in the arts (Martial Arts) and carries out a number of other useful functions for Shadow.
Shadow was not someone who you would immediately think of as needing a bodyguard. At six-three tall and almost the same wide, he was bulky but muscular. He was often mistaken for a bodyguard himself. Rarely seen without his trademark knee-length black leather coat and his mirrored wrap around shades, his fearsome physical appearance had been honed in his native Trinidad.
Chang brought the Lincoln to a smooth halt at the curbside outside Randall’s old office. Shadow stepped out of the car and told Chang to keep the engine running, he wouldn’t be long, he said. Jennifer Madsen worked on the twenty-fifth floor as personal assistant to the marketing manager. It was a new appointment following the shock news of the murder of her former boss, Guy Randal
l.
Jennifer Madsen was young and ambitious, tall and quite attractive with a pretty face and shoulder length hair; she turned heads with her fashionable clothes and model’s stature. She had hoped that the p.a. job was just a stepping stone to better things, she had studied journalism and Guy Randall was grooming her for her first reporting assignment but since his death she had been moved sideways into marketing.
Jennifer’s very last phone conversation with Guy was on the morning of the day he was shot. Guy had called her, as he had done every morning since his arrival in Trinidad. He’d gone there on a desperate mission to find Rachel (a.k.a. Roberta) Parker-Brown.
She had several guises and aliases in her quest to score big, to do that one final high-stakes trick. Rachel snared Guy Randall, a multi-millionaire editor for an international magazine, into an affair, he was in love with her from the moment their eyes introduced themselves. He was memorized by her beauty. She was charismatic, demure, and an exotic Caribbean woman, who knew exactly how to attract a man. He couldn’t believe how lucky he had been to meet her. She couldn’t believe how easy it had been to hook him. Jennifer Madson couldn’t believe her boss was dating her new friend and just how quickly their relationship had escalated from base camp to the peak of intimacy.
Jennifer knew nothing of Shadow’s sting operation at Grand Central Station to relieve Guy of $1 million in exchange for very compromising photographs of Guy and Rachel taken covertly by Chang Lau. Rachel deplored being used by Shadow and instead, tricked Guy into thinking she’d been kidnapped.
Guy Randall wanted Rachel back but he didn’t want to handover the money. In a high-risk maneuver, and with the help of a male colleague, he created a diversion and they switched attaché cases. His colleague walked out of the concourse with the $1m ransom money. Rachel, in her blond wig and shades, ignoring Guy’s pleas and his shock and hurt, walked away from him with an identical case containing nothing but old telephone directories.
DEAD MAN'S JUSTICE - A Place of Evil (Stone & McLeish Thriller Series of Stories Book 2) Page 2