Six Pack of Sleuths: Comedy Mysteries

by Barbara Silkstone

  The terrifying image of me in a barren prison cell spurred me on and I recovered my composure, straightening my spine and keeping my gaze steady ‘It must be very thirsty work organizing an opening night of this calibre.’ I nodded towards his water glass.

  ‘Absolutely. It’s taken five years to bring this hotel to fruition. A lot of hard work, but a lot of fun as well. This is the twenty-first hotel I’ve built, and it still gives me an enormous thrill to complete a new project.’ He smiled proudly at me.

  ‘Charlie, could you just get a photo of Mr. Kaya, please, before we start.’ I turned my head away from Mr. Kaya and urged Charlie on with my eyes.

  Charlie flew out of the seat like I’d just pushed an ejector button. He crouched down in front of the coffee table, pretending to get the best photographic position. He twisted to the right, then the left.

  ‘The light’s not very good in here.’ He thrust the camera further towards Ibrahim Kaya and knocked over his glass of water on the coffee table with his elbow. ‘Oops. I’m so sorry. Let me get you another one. Back in a jiffy.’ Charlie dashed over to the bar before he could protest.

  ‘Please accept my sincere apologies about that. He’s new.’ I gave him a knowing smile. ‘You just can’t get good staff these days. But then I expect you must know all about that.’

  He waved the apology away. ‘No problem at all. Yes, all my staff are very carefully vetted. We want customers to experience the ultimate in pampering at the Plaza.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the back of Charlie at the bar. Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down. Put the powder in the water. Go on, hurry up.

  ‘Well, congratulations on the hotel. It’s absolutely wonderful. Is this all your creation, or do you have business partners who are also involved?’ I said, fishing for more information as to why Mr. P wanted him dead.

  ‘No, I don’t have any business partners. This is all my creation.’

  ‘Here we go.’ Charlie reappeared and placed the glass of water in front of him.

  Now all I had to do was get him to drink it.

  ‘Did I mention that we’re also doing a special feature at Just for Women magazine on water?’ I gave him an encouraging smile.

  ‘Water?’ He looked slightly amused.

  ‘Yes…you know – all these healthy lifestyle issues are really interesting to our readers. We’re all supposed to drink at least five glasses of water a day. Of course our magazine wants to encourage health issues, so we’re featuring a centre spread of famous and influential people drinking water. In my recent research about you, I discovered that you’re a health fanatic, and I thought you might be interested in this piece. Not only will we do a feature about you and your hotel, but we can also get you in on the water feature as well.’ I leaned a little closer. ‘It will be much more exposure for the Plaza.’

  ‘I see. So you want a photo of me drinking water?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, that would be fantastic.’ I turned to Charlie before he could change his mind. ‘Yes, Charlie, if you could take one for me. And no spillages this time.’ I sent him silent do it, do it signals.

  Ibrahim Kaya slowly reached forward and picked up the glass of water. He brought it to his lips and posed.

  ‘We need you to actually drink the water. It has to look authentic,’ I said. ‘Our readers can tell when things look too artificial.’

  Charlie walked a short distance in front of the table, trying to focus the camera. At least he was out of knocking over distance now.

  I held my breath as he took a tiny sip. ‘Was that OK?’ he asked Charlie.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t get that. Can we do it again? And just tilt your head back a little. That’s it. Perfect. And action!’

  Ibrahim Kaya took another small sip. ‘OK?’

  Drink it! Drink it! Come on.

  ‘Perhaps if you drink the whole glass, we could get you in mid-flow,’ I suggested. ‘We can have a set of three pictures. One of you holding the full glass, one when you’re half way through it, and one with a big smile at the end when you’ve finished it.’ I made a photo frame in front of his face with my hands. ‘Yes, that’s how I’m picturing it in my head.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Charlie agreed.

  ‘And who else is featured in the article?’ Ibrahim Kaya enquired.

  Oh. Damn. Hadn’t thought of that. Someone rich, famous, and healthy. ‘Well, so far, we’ve got Arnold Schwarzenegger, Elle MacPherson, and Spiderman. All their photos were mid-flow, and they looked perfect.’

  ‘Spiderman?’ Kaya looked puzzled.

  Shit. Spiderman? Why did I say that? I waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, did I say Spiderman? I meant Barack Obama.’

  ‘Barack Obama? I’m impressed. He’s in Just for Women magazine’s water article?’ Ibrahim Kaya sounded pleased.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ My head went into nodding overdrive.

  ‘Well, if it’s good enough for Barack Obama, it’s good enough for me. ‘Sherefe!’ he said, Turkish for cheers, and he downed the whole glass of water as Charlie snapped a stream of pictures.

  ‘Fabulous. That’s a wrap!’ Charlie giggled.

  ‘Wonderful. So, back to the hotel.’ I heaved a silent sigh of relief. ‘You said you didn’t have any business partners, but I heard a rumour that someone else was involved in this hotel.’

  ‘You’re talking about Jacob Podsheister?’

  I didn’t know who the hell I was talking about. I was just fishing for information. But his surname began with a P. Could he be the same Mr. P from the boat?

  Ibrahim Kaya turned to me and something like hatred flashed across his eyes. ‘Jacob’s father was a very successful hotelier in Israel before he came to North Cyprus to start a chain of hotels here. He was a very honourable business man. His word was his bond. So when I came up with the idea for the Plaza, I was happy to go into partnership with Jacob’s father. He had the same professional and hard working ethics as me, and with two of the most successful businessmen working together, I envisioned the Plaza as being doubly successful.’ He crossed his legs and relaxed into the sofa. ‘But sadly, Jacob’s father died a year into the planning stages of this hotel, and Jacob inherited a chain of hotels from him. In the beginning, when I was putting this project together, things were still going well for Jacob Podsheister, and I hoped we could have the same mutually beneficial partnership that I would have had with his father. But in the last few years since his father died, Jacob’s love of fast cars, fast women, and his addiction to gambling, drink, and drugs have all steadily become worse. They’ve had a severe effect on his business decisions, which have suffered as a result. Jacob has run his hotels into the ground to pay for his addictions, and he’s now on the verge of bankruptcy. I can’t have somebody like that involved any of my hotels, so I terminated the partnership agreement.’

  ‘No, quite right.’ I agreed. ‘But do you think he carries some sort of a grudge against you for cancelling the partnership? I also read that there had been some accusations that you were involved in underhand business dealings. Do you think these accusations were made by Jacob?’

  ‘As far as I am concerned, Jacob has no one to blame but himself. It’s true that there have been other rumours that I’m involved in some kind of mafia underworld.’ He smiled. ‘But of course this is all nonsense put out by my rivals in order to try and sully my good reputation. Perhaps Jacob is just bitter because I bought a few of his floundering hotels to add to my own chain. Now, no more talk of Podsheister.’ Although his tone was polite, it was clear he didn’t want me to carry on this line of questioning.

  Miss Clipboard suddenly appeared in front of us and looked at her watch. ‘You have one minute left.’ She flashed some perfect teeth and disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived.

  ‘Tell me a little about the sculpture of Queen Cleopatra. Is it really cursed?’ I adjusted myself in the chair, waiting, thinking that I already knew the answer to that.

  He chuckled. ‘No, it’s been in my family for hu
ndreds of years. We haven’t been cursed yet.’

  I swallowed hard. There’s always a first time for everything.

  ‘And you think it’s got enough security? You don’t think someone would try to steal it?’

  ‘Of course not! The President’s Secretary, Erol Hussein, has overseen the security arrangements for the sculpture. He’s a security expert and has assured me that nothing can possibly go wrong. Now, I believe your time is up. I have a very busy schedule before the concert.’ He gave me a courteous smile.

  I stood. ‘Well, many thanks for your time.’

  He stood as well and held his hand out for me to shake.

  I don’t know why, but I ignored his outstretched hand and hugged him instead. He gave me a polite pat on the back and delicately extricated himself out of it.

  Charlie and I left just as the next journalist appeared.

  ‘I want to give Kalem a status update,’ I said, weaving through the crowds and into the car park.

  ‘A status update?’

  ‘Yes, I heard that in a crime film once.’ I knocked on the door of the Land Rover.

  Kalem sat up from his slouched position, looking around to make sure the coast was clear of psychopathic politicians and killers. He unlocked the door, and Charlie and I slid in the back seats.

  ‘We did it!’ Charlie sang.

  ‘Hopefully it will only take half an hour or so to work. We’ll go back in and keep an eye on him to make sure he’s nodding off.’ I put a hand on Kalem’s shoulder. ‘Have you seen Erol anywhere?’

  Kalem swung around and slid his hand through mine. ‘No. I’ve been keeping a low profile, keeping my fingers crossed this is going to work.’

  ‘I’m keeping everything crossed,’ I said. ‘Right, back to work. Let’s make sure Ibrahim Kaya goes bye-byes.’

  Chapter 15

  3.30 p.m.

  Me: ‘He looks tired, doesn’t he? Oh, hang on, he’s yawning.’

  Charlie: ‘No, he’s not. He’s going to sneeze.’

  Me: ‘Shit. Why is he still awake and doing interviews?’

  Charlie: ‘Maybe in another five minutes he’ll be asleep.’

  4.00 p.m.

  Me: ‘Look, he’s still awake. How can he still be a-bloody-wake?’

  Charlie: ‘Yes, but he definitely looks tired now.’

  Me: ‘Wait…is he going to yawn? Hang on…yes!’

  Charlie: ‘That was a yawn. And his eyes look red too.’

  Me: ‘Maybe another five minutes.’

  4.30 p.m.

  Me: ‘Are you sure you gave him three tablets?’

  Charlie: ‘Positive!’

  Me: ‘He should be out for the count now. What’s going on?’

  Charlie: Oh, he’s rubbing his eye again.’

  Me: ‘There’s another yawn.’

  Charlie: ‘That must be at least a seven on the yawnometer scale.’

  5.00 p.m.

  Me: ‘No! He’s getting up. Why isn’t he asleep?’

  Charlie: ‘Maybe we should have given him four tablets instead.’

  Me: ‘Three should have been enough to knock out a small elephant.’

  Charlie: ‘Look, he’s walking towards us. But he looks wobbly, doesn’t he?’

  Me: ‘Definitely a bit unsteady on his feet.’

  Charlie: Looks like he’s concentrating on walking.’

  Me: ‘And another yawn. That’s a good sign.’

  Charlie: ‘Shit. He’s going to the ballroom for the press conference.’

  5.05 p.m.

  Me: ‘He’s slurring his words. That’s good.’

  Charlie: ‘Yes, but only a little bit.’

  Me: You’d probably only notice if you were listening for it.’

  Charlie: ‘Good job he’s sitting down.’

  Me: ‘Look! Did you see how he picked up that water?’

  Charlie: ‘He’s definitely got a wobbly hand.’

  5.15 p.m.

  Charlie: ‘He’s finished the press conference.’

  Me: ‘He’s got an hour and forty-five minutes until the concert.’

  Charlie: ‘Fall asleep! Fall asleep!’

  Me: ‘He looks like he’s about to.’

  Charlie: ‘Ooh, he’s getting up. Did you see him sway then?’

  Me: ‘A wibbly wobbly sway.’

  Charlie: ‘Where’s he going now?’

  Me: ‘Hopefully for a lie down.’

  Charlie: ‘What do we do?’

  Me: ‘We wait. I want to make sure he doesn’t come back out again. I’m going to get Kalem. I haven’t seen Erol Hussein around here anywhere. Maybe he’s too busy counting his money and won’t show up at all.’

  Charlie: ‘Slimeball.’

  Me: ‘Fuckface Fucker!’

  Chapter 16

  By ten to seven you could almost feel the electric vibes in the atmosphere.

  Crowds of glitter-swathed women and dinner-jacketed men packed into the restaurants and bars overlooking the stage area so it was standing-room-only left. Harassed-looking waiters and waitresses filled drinks orders; laughter and conversation noise reverberated through my bones. The port behind the stage was packed with more boats containing guests who were busy getting into the pre-party atmosphere. Lurking out there amongst the camouflage of the party-goers were some very bad people. We stood at the bar area to the side of the stage, keeping an eye on things, debating whether or not Kaya would return to unveil the statue and kick off the concert.

  ‘This is surreal. The statue is under that velvet cover. I’ve always wanted to see it, and I can’t believe I’m actually this close.’ Kalem shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘I just wish I could hold it. Even for a couple of seconds.’

  No! Don’t hold it. It seemed to have cursed us, and we hadn’t even touched it yet. What the hell could it do to us if we did touch it? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  I counted the armed security guards positioned around the display case just in front of the stage. Four. One for each corner of the case.

  ‘It doesn’t look like it could be that big. What’s all the fuss about?’ Charlie stood on tiptoes to get a better view.

  ‘It’s only a bust size, but it’s made of pure gold. Anyway, it’s the only one of its kind, and that’s what makes it so exciting,’ Kalem said.

  ‘Pure gold boobs? Well, they did go in for some weird stuff in the old days.’ Charlie pulled a surprised face.

  ‘No, a bust of her head and shoulders. Not her bust.’ Kalem shook his head.

  ‘What do you think they’re going to do with it if they steal it?’ Charlie asked.

  Kalem shrugged. ‘The plan is for it to go to a jeweller across the border in South Cyprus. They’ll either melt it down and sell the gold, or sell it to another private collector. It’s a really sought-after piece, worth around five million pounds.’

  I was only half listening. I was too busy scanning the crowd and the hotel bedrooms beyond that overlooked the stage. Unfortunately, the sun was in the wrong position. It shone on the darkly tinted patio doors of the rooms so that you couldn’t see a thing. Ferret Face could be behind any one of them. And where was Missing Link? I couldn’t see him either, but then it was hard to see anyone properly in the tightly packed area.

  ‘I’ve got palpitations.’ I patted my chest, trying to take some deep breaths. It felt like I’d had a pacemaker fitted with dodgy batteries. ‘I can’t see anyone, but they could be anywhere in this lot.’

  Kalem looked at his watch for the squillionth time. ‘Five minutes to seven.’

  ‘You look pale,’ I said to him.

  ‘Not as pale as you,’ he said.

  ‘I feel sick. I feel like I’m going to do a projectile vomit.’ I clutched my stomach.

  ‘I can’t stand the wait. I think I’m going to do more than vomit.’ Charlie crossed one leg over the other, squashing his sock and bobbing up and down like he desperately needed a wee.

  A roar suddenly erupted from the crowd. Everyone in the place sto
od, clapping away and smiling. God, if only they knew.

  I stood on tiptoes but, being short, I couldn’t see much over the heads of the crowd. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Kaya has just appeared in the middle of the stage.’ Kalem tried to peer over the top of a really tall man who’d just pushed in front of us. It could’ve been a hairy butch woman, though, in really high heels. It was quite hard to tell in amongst all these people.

  ‘How did he suddenly appear? Is it a magic show as well?’ Charlie frowned.

  ‘He’s been lifted up from below the stage on a stage lift. He looks a bit wobbly,’ Kalem said.

  I clutched his arm. ‘I can’t see a bloody thing. How wobbly? On a wobble Richter scale?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe an eight.’ Charlie stretched up to try and get a better look.

  ‘Lift me on top of the bar. I want to see,’ I cried.

  Kalem picked me up and sat me on the bar.

  I heard a few gasps amongst the crowd as Ibrahim Kaya tried to negotiate his way to a podium at the front of the stage with tottery little steps. He squinted at the ground, like it was going in and out of focus. He took a step forward, then a small step back, as if he’d forgotten how to walk. He looked up at the stage lights, confused, then back to his feet again.

  I gasped the loudest, though. Why wasn’t Ibrahim Kaya tucked up in bed, fast asleep, exactly where he should be when he’d just been dosed up with enough sleeping tablets to put him out for the count? I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut and pretend I was somewhere else. Instead, I just stared at him with morbid curiosity. Watching and waiting. We’d done everything we could and failed. Now it was just a downward spiral of the inevitable happening. And I didn’t know if I could live with myself.