Blood, Wine and Chocolate

by Julie Thomas

  He smiled as he took back his documentation. ‘Oh, I’m sure I will.’

  At the x-ray machine, Harper pushed the extendable handle into the top of his bag and lifted it onto the conveyer belt. He handed his form to the official.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Lane came through the doors and paused to scan the waiting crowd. They created a tunnel in front of him and then fanned out into the wider terminal space. A row of men and women stood slightly behind each other down one side, each holding a printed sign. About halfway down he spotted a sign with ‘Carter’ on it and strode over to the woman.

  She extended her hand. ‘Mr Carter? I’m from the Langham, your courtesy car to the hotel.’

  ‘Excellent!’ He beamed at her. ‘Thank you so much.’

  He left the trolley in front of her and strode off towards the door. She watched him for a second, raised an eyebrow and then pushed the trolley after him.

  Five minutes later, Harper came through the doors and also scanned the crowd, before walking up to a man holding a sign with ‘Harper’ printed on it. The man was young, Maori, slender.

  Harper held out his hand as he approached. ‘Are you looking for me? DI Harper?’

  The man shook his hand, a smile of relief on his face. ‘Yes, sir. DC Ruwhiu. Welcome to New Zealand.’

  ‘Thanks. If we could drop by the hotel, I’d like a shower and a change of clothes. And then I’ll brief your boss.’

  ‘Of course, sir. This way.’

  Harper stood beside DC Ruwhiu as the young policeman opened the car door. They were on the edge of the car park, with only a stretch of sidewalk between them and the internal road out of the airport complex. A black Lexus, with ‘The Langham Hotel Courtesy Car’ written in curly gold script on the side, glided past them. Harper caught a glimpse of the profile of the backseat passenger in his peripheral vision. He did a double-take, but the car was disappearing down the road. When he turned back, his companion was watching him.

  ‘Sir?’ he asked anxiously.

  Harper shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just jetlag shadows.’

  Norman wasn’t sure what to expect, but the pub was more like an American bar. It was a low-slung modern building that looked like a warehouse from the outside. The interior was noisy and bathed in bright lights, with a jukebox, a busy pool table and large TVs showing the local horse racing.

  He went straight to the bar and ordered a neat scotch. It was early afternoon and he was jetlagged. This was something he wanted to get over and done with as quickly as possible.

  A bearded and tattooed Maori man moved down the bar to stand beside him.

  Lane glanced at the man and nodded.

  ‘Afternoon,’ the man said.

  ‘Afternoon. I heard this was the place to come for some hunting. Someone called Mick?’

  The man nodded slowly. ‘Could be me. You the one who called?’

  The barman put a glass down in front of Lane and poured the scotch.

  ‘Thank you. Could be.’

  Norman downed the drink in one.

  ‘Follow me,’ the man said as he turned on his heel and walked towards the door.

  Norman raised an eyebrow, took a banknote from his wallet and put it on the bar. ‘Nice house scotch.’

  The barman watched him leave. ‘Thank you, sir. You take care.’

  Norman followed the man across the car park to a large black SUV. The man held his hand out. ‘Money.’

  Norman shook his head. ‘Merchandise.’

  The man opened the car door. He took out a padded parcel from the front seat, and put it down on the bonnet.

  ‘It’s a bloody good piece,’ he said.

  Norman grunted and pulled a gun from the bag. ‘Should be, for the price.’

  The man shrugged. ‘It’s clean and unregistered, and the only prints on it now are yours.’

  Norman cocked the gun, examined it and clicked the trigger. Then he sighed. ‘The last man who spoke to me like that ended up dying a slow and painful death,’ he said.

  The corners of the man’s mouth twitched with humour. ‘You trying to frighten me?’

  ‘If you had any brains. I need ammunition and I need some muscle, armed and trained. Someone not afraid to kill.’

  The man hesitated for a second and then shook his head. ‘It’s not that easy. He’ll have to bugger off to Oz. Small country, all the muscle knows where to find –’

  ‘Double whatever you usually charge. I need him today.’

  ‘Okay, time and place and he’ll be there.’

  ‘Waiheke ferry, five o’clock.’

  As twilight turned to evening, the guests started to arrive at the winery. Some cars were parked on the turning circle; others pulled in alongside the driveway and stopped. The front door was open and people walked up the slate steps, chattering and laughing.

  Out in the garden the tables were groaning with food and bottles of wine. Decorations hung from every structure, and red Chinese lanterns swung from the trees that lined the path down to the buildings in the basin below.

  An eclectic group of people stood talking, glasses in hand. Vinnie watched them with a deep sense of satisfaction. They were good people and they had accepted the English immigrants without a moment’s hesitation. He tried not to feel guilty about the deception. As Anna had pointed out, this was their new life, their new names, and they weren’t lying.

  Over in one corner his mother was in deep conversation with the proprietor of one of the most famous wineries on the island. Everyone had been delighted to meet Mary. Her excitement at being reunited with her ‘darlings’ was palpable, and she was, so far, managing to remember their new names.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Louisa trying to casually sidle towards him. She fancied him, which was flattering, but it was also important that Anna didn’t feel threatened by it.

  ‘Dominic, what a gorgeous setting. And congrats on your very first harvest. You’ve done wonders with this place.’

  He kissed her on each cheek. ‘Thank you, Lou. It certainly feels good.’

  ‘And your mother is such a gem. I don’t know why she didn’t tell me who she was.’

  Vinnie smiled and sipped his wine. There was something about this situation that was genuinely farcical. ‘She’s eccentric.’

  Louisa brushed her hair from her face and smiled into his eyes. ‘Are you pleased with the press?’

  He nodded enthusiastically. ‘Absolutely! It was a hot summer and I’m confident it’ll be a superb vintage. All the readings were excellent.’

  She leaned in towards him and placed her hand on his chest. ‘Would it be too cheeky of me to ask? I’d love to try a little from the barrel. It gives me so much more to say to my clients when I bring them here.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  He hesitated. Could she be more obvious?

  ‘Before it gets really busy. Only if you have time,’ she continued.

  He extended his arm towards the path. ‘Why not? But I can’t take long.’

  The barrel hall was dimly lit – only the lights on the outside rows were on. The barrels were stacked three high along the length of each wall, and there was another double row down the middle of the long room. Each barrel had a white label, with writing in black ink, stuck to it.

  Vinnie dipped a wine thief into a barrel, drew out some liquid and then dropped it into two tasting glasses. He held one out to Louisa. Their hands touched as she took it.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said.

  She tasted the wine and smiled. ‘You can taste what it will become. The depth of flavour is there already. It’s lovely, Dom.’

  He nodded, swirled the glass and took a sip.

  ‘It’s part of the next blend of –’

  A frown of concern crossed his face, and he bent down to look at the label. No way should it taste that raw. ‘But that’s wrong!’

  He moved a couple of barrels along and read the label. Wrong barrel, wrong row and wrong blend.

 
‘What the –?’ he muttered under his breath as he strode over to the row against the right-hand wall. He checked the labels on three barrels in quick succession, all completely in the wrong place. A sick feeling started to swirl in the pit of his stomach. Gabby had assured him that the label system worked well.

  ‘Is everything okay, Dom?’ Louisa asked uncertainly.

  Was she still here? He needed to fix this and fast.

  He returned to her and took the glass from her hand. ‘Everything’s just fine. You’ll have to excuse me, though. I’m sure you can find your own way back.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. She paused.

  She needed to leave; surely she would take the hint. He put her glass down, picked up the wine-thief and went to other side of the hall, squatted on his haunches and read the label on a barrel.

  ‘Thanks so much for the sneak peek, Dom. I’ll just –’ She turned and left.

  Vinnie opened the barrel, drew out some wine and let it drain into the glass. He swirled the wine around, breathed in the aroma and then tasted it. It was a new press. ‘Shit!’ He spat it out onto the concrete.

  A sudden sound down the back of the hall caught his attention. He wasn’t alone.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he called out, as he straightened up and peered into the gloom. No response.

  ‘Gabby? What the fuck’s up with all these barrels? What have you done?’

  Suddenly he could hear steps on the concrete floor, heavy steps, a man’s step. He closed the barrel and walked around the front of the middle row to stand just inside the entrance way. His anger blinded him to any danger.

  A very tall figure moved out of the shadows at the other end of the hall. His left hand held Merlot by the collar and his right hand held a gun.

  A hot jolt of shock stabbed through Vinnie’s chest, and he grabbed a barrel to steady himself.

  ‘You!’

  ‘Come now, Mr Whitney-Ross,’ Lane’s voice rumbled in the enclosed space. ‘I’d have been very disappointed if you hadn’t recognised me, even after all these years. Do I look that unlike my son?’

  He smiled and moved to one side. Another man, bald and with tattoos on his neck, muscles bulging under his tight-fitting shirt and a gun in hand, stepped up beside him. Lane had brought local muscle.

  Vinnie moved backwards towards the door and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. ‘I’ve no idea who you mean, but I do have my phone –’

  Lane pointed the gun at Merlot’s head. ‘But I have my gun, and I will kill your dog without a moment’s hesitation.’

  Vinnie gave a slight nod and put the phone away. ‘What do you want?’ he asked. He knew the answer, but dialogue was better than bullets.

  ‘That’s better. You’re Witness A, and you testified at my son’s trial. You betrayed your childhood friend. Don’t bother deny–’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  Lane gave him a smile that was almost a taunt. ‘You’ve been lazy. You made two big mistakes: stealing Kelt’s wine and reselling it, and keeping this dog.’

  Shit! How on earth did he know about Kelt’s wine? Stall for time – someone will come looking. ‘And you’ve mixed up the labels on my barrels.’

  Lane shrugged.

  ‘We were bored while we waited for you. It was fun. Plus I knew it would annoy you. A lot.’

  As he spoke, Lane and the other man walked slowly forward until they stood only a metre in front of Vinnie. The height difference was very apparent, and Lane was in great physical shape for a man who must have been in his seventies by now.

  ‘I want you to recant your evidence,’ Lane continued, ‘make it perfectly clear that you lied about seeing my son in that house. You were mistaken. The man you saw was not Marcus.’

  ‘Or? I take it there is an “or”.’

  Lane nodded. ‘Oh, most definitely. Or I’ll find a way to poison your wine. Or I’ll kill your dog and then your beautiful wife.’

  Time to play the card. ‘Did it not occur to you that I might have a little insurance?’ Vinnie asked.

  Lane frowned with impatience and pointed the gun down at Merlot again. ‘Don’t play with me, Vinnie. I don’t like dogs and I’m a bit short-tempered where my son is –’

  ‘I have Kelt’s notebook.’

  Lane looked at him in genuine surprise, and the gun jerked away from the dog’s head. ‘He showed me where it was really hidden, in case anything ever happened at the club. He didn’t expect your men to come to the house. I took it with me that night. Never told the police.’

  Lane was looking at him with new interest. It would buy some time. ‘And it’s here?’

  ‘Of course. My lawyer has a photocopy, to be handed to the police if anything happens to me, or to Anna.’

  Lane scoffed at him, but it wasn’t convincing. ‘Without Kelt, it means –’

  Vinnie held up his hands, palms towards Lane. ‘Fine. The bank account numbers and names and dates are very clear. It’s a detailed record of fraud and money-laundering on a massive scale, through his club and others. Very clever, too. Of course, you don’t have to believe me. You could just take the risk.’

  Lane scowled and indicated the doorway to the courtyard with the gun. ‘Give me both copies of the notebook, change your testimony, and you and your family will be left in peace. You have my word.’

  ‘Very comforting thought.’ Vinnie pointed to the rapidly fading light outside. ‘It’s buried in the vineyard. Not a lot of daylight left.’

  Lane turned to the thug standing beside him. ‘Take him and get it. If he tries anything, wing him – don’t kill him. Understand?’

  The thug nodded, and Lane turned back to Vinnie. ‘Give me your cell phone.’

  Vinnie handed it over reluctantly, and Lane pocketed it.

  ‘If I hear shots, I’ll kill your dog or your wife. Or both.’

  The evening was drawing in fast. Vinnie and the thug rode two quad bikes up the steepest row of vines, to the rim of the basin. As he rode, Vinnie’s mind raced ahead. There would be only one chance, and he had to make it work.

  He stopped, dismounted, took a heavy metal torch and a trowel out of the box on the back of the bike, walked to a rose bush at the end of a row and looked up at the pine trees planted across the road. The thug sat astride the bike, gun drawn, and watched. Vinnie made a show of counting the trees carefully, then looked back at the rows and nodded. As he bent down, the thug got off the bike and walked over to him.

  ‘Dig!’

  Vinnie switched on the torch and laid it on the ground. Then he took the trowel and began to dig. After four small handfuls of dirt, he stopped and looked up. Are you as dumb as you look? ‘Must be deeper than I thought,’ he said.

  The thug grunted, pushed him out of the way and grabbed the trowel. ‘Give it here.’

  Vinnie picked up the torch and shone it into the hole. The man dug one-handed at a much faster pace. As he touched something solid with the tip of the trowel, Vinnie raised the torch in a high arc and hit him, hard.

  The man let out a loud, surprised roar and fell backwards, blood gushing from a deep cut. Then he rolled over and started to pull himself up to his knees.

  Vinnie hit him a second time. The torch glanced off his bald head. ‘Christ, your head’s hard!’

  Vinnie whipped it upwards across the thug’s face and blood spurted from his nose as he fell. The thug roared again: ‘Fuck!’

  Vinnie grabbed the gun, pulled the notebook from the hole and ran to the bike, leapt on and fired up the engine. The thug pulled himself to his feet, his hands still grasping at his face.

  Vinnie raced down the narrow row back towards the buildings. He wasn’t sure what to do next, but he still had his bargaining chip and now he had a gun.

  The thug leapt onto the other bike and followed him, blood streaming from the cut in his head and his broken nose. As they burst from the end of the row, Vinnie glanced over his shoulder. His bike was older and he was only just ahead.

  As the bikes drew level
, the thug launched himself sideways. The momentum knocked them both off the bikes and they wrestled to the ground, the machines skidding away on the grass. Their arms were locked and the gun was held between their bodies. Vinnie clawed at the man’s face with his free hand. The thug was trying to turn the barrel towards Vinnie. Suddenly a muffled shot rang out and the thug relaxed his grip on the gun barrel as he slumped back against a rose bush, a gaping hole through his stomach.

  Vinnie scrambled to his feet and staggered backwards. The man’s blood was all over his shirt. How on earth did that happen? Once again, kill or be killed. He bent down and felt for a pulse. Nothing.

  ‘Jesus Christ! Why can’t you people leave me alone?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  THE VAT

  Vinnie ducked behind a stack of empty bins as he reached the edge of the courtyard. Lane was just outside the entrance to the barrel hall. Anna stood in front of him, and he had a hand around the top of her arm and his gun to her temple. Shit! She must have come to see what was keeping him. The terror on her face made his stomach churn. His plan had been to get across the courtyard and up to the house to phone the police, but he couldn’t leave her like that.

  Merlot stopped circling them and stood directly in front, his ears forward and his tail rigid, his weight on his front legs. He was snarling and giving them his best guttural growl.

  ‘Go get ’em, boy,’ Vinnie whispered as he watched his dog preparing to attack. Suddenly Merlot lunged at Lane’s leg with an open mouth and sharp teeth snapping.

  ‘Shit!’ Lane yelled as he kicked out at Merlot. He let Anna go, then shot the dog in his rear hind quarter.

  Merlot let out a loud yelp and limped away.

  ‘You fucking bastard!’

  Anna’s voice was shrill with fury. Her devotion to the dog overrode everything, and Vinnie felt as though his heart would break. He broke cover and walked rapidly towards them, the thug’s gun pointing straight ahead in one hand and the notebook raised in the other. A strange calm descended upon him. He could do this; he could outwit an old man.

  ‘No! Vinnie, no!’ Anna cried out.

  Lane grabbed her, and the gun went back to her temple.