Ten minutes later Eric saw a short, heavyset man walk up to the boat sales office, fumble with a large set of keys, and finally enter the small room.
Twenty minutes later Eric’s phone rang. The broker said the forms had been filled out and he would email them to Eric as soon as the bank confirmed receipt of the money. Eric took down the account number and said he would phone him back in twenty minutes and asked if he could have the boat washed off because he wanted to show it to his wife that night. The broker agreed and indicated he would have one of his staff wash it down.
Eric dialed Ken’s number. “Okay Ken, send six-thousand-two-hundred Venezuelan Bolivares to account number 17545-45554787.”
Ken had been standing by at one of their bank websites. “Okay, it’s done.”
Eric hung up the phone. As he expected, he saw the heavy man himself hosing down the boat. After he returned to the office Eric waited five minutes and then phoned him back. They conversed briefly in Spanish. “Right, did your bank get the money.”
“Yes, thank you. The receipt has been emailed. What do I do with the keys?”
“Oh, right, the keys,” Eric lied, “I never thought about them. Can we meet you there tonight around eleven?”
The silence on the other end of the phone was just what Eric had hoped for.
“Señor, that is very late, perhaps in the morning.”
“Ah, that won’t work. I’m going to take my wife down there sometime after a late dinner tonight to show her the surprise. Perhaps there is a place you could hide the keys and the original of the receipt. Then we won’t have to bother you later.”
“Of course, sir. I will put them in a plastic bag and slide them under the tarp in the back of the boat. They will be safe there.”
“Perfect. Thanks for everything.”
Eric confirmed Ken received a copy of the receipt and also watched the salesman slip the keys and documents under the tarp. The man also took off the for sale sign. Eric kept an eye on him until he walked a block away and got onto a bus.
“All clear, Ken.” Eric relayed over the phone.
“Right, we move on board, one at a time, right after dark. I’ll grab some basic supplies and water at a store across the street and meet you there. Remember, not until dark so nobody sees us. We’ll pull out tonight and anchor out of sight of the marina. We can set sail at first light.”
“All right, see you later.”
* * *
That night the detectives went through Vincent’s spider web infested boat and found the recorder, just as he promised. They sat at his dirty table and listened as Eric and Ken talked in whispered voices about what they would do now that the St. Kitts property was discovered. While they never mentioned a specific place, they gave an obvious clue in the course of the conversation.
“Shit! I’m going to miss the surfing and the diving,” said Eric.
“Yeah, me too. But we’ll blend in better there.”
“I know, but we can’t look up our old friends, right?”
“No shit, Eric. But we’ll be living well.”
“What, watching the ducks swim on the lake in Hyde Park?”
“Relax, Eric. You can slip over to the south of Spain to catch some waves.”
The conversation tapered out after that as the brothers went to sleep.
“Well, Albert, it looks like we’re a step ahead of them again,” said Collins. “Any ideas on how we should handle it this time?”
“Far more carefully to be sure. They’ll be watching their backsides for quite a while.”
“I’ll call Scotland Yard and have them watch the airports. I think we have to get over there right away, and try and track down their apartment.”
Smith shook his head. “I lived there for ten years. You’ve got your work cut out for you. There are thousands of apartments that overlook the lakes in Hyde Park. I wish you well.”
The three detectives found Vincent’s marijuana well hidden in the engine compartment of the boat and threw it overboard. Vincent’s money was stuffed into a bag behind the food in one of the cabinets. They left it just as they promised.
The next morning Collins, Thorpe, and Smith, checked in with the Venezuelan police and learned that there were no sightings of the tall twins. The detectives boarded their plane and headed back to St. Kitts where the police handed over all the evidence to the Canadians. There were no additional clues about the future plans of the Clelland brothers amongst the items and Collins and Thorpe thanked Smith and the other police for their help. Collins and Thorpe flew back to Edmonton where they would coordinate with British police to try and set a trap for Ken and Eric.
At the marina in La Cruz the boat broker, balancing a coffee and sweet roll in his left hand and a newspaper under the other, walked to his office the next morning. He arrived at nine o’clock and noticed the boat he sold the previous day was already gone.
Must have taken it out for a trial run.
He opened the door to his office and flipped on a switch that made a buzzer ring outside the office when the telephone rang. Dropping down in the old wooden chair, he pulled the top off the coffee releasing a plume of steam into the cool sea air. He flipped open the newspaper and the story of the large hotel fire in downtown Caracas held his attention. The fire had spread to adjoining building and the damage was in the millions. The story was so big it covered two full pages, pushing coverage of the two Canadian fugitives loose in Venezuela to the bottom of page twenty-two.
As the boat broker sipped his coffee the boat he sold Ken and Eric bobbed in the water two kilometres away, hidden from La Cruz by a point of land. Ken, who hardly slept, sat in the back of the boat, contemplating the next move. Eric slept peacefully inside the musty cabin, seemingly without a care in the world.
Ken possessed basic sailing knowledge but was woefully incapable of sailing a boat through the Caribbean, much less across the Atlantic Ocean. Eric had the expertise to get them there alive. Ken decided to focus on planning the trip and relying on his brother to take the lead in navigating.
Hell, Eric will think of it as a holiday rather than an escape from the law, and I can learn how to sail by watching him.
The fuel gauge read full and the motor worked fine on their short trip from the marina removing the concern of immediate mechanical problems or overheating. Eric seemed quite capable when he checked over the motor and sails, their only sources of power, and found them adequate, but nowhere near new. He was certain they had a couple of years’ worth of wear left in the sails and they should be in England within a month with the decent winds.
Ken contemplated how they would stock up on the necessities such as food and water. He decided shopping in La Cruz was a bad idea because, although it was a long shot, there was the possibility that a description of one of them might be circulating, especially after the murder of the cab driver. Ken grabbed a map of the area and studied it carefully, choosing the city of Punta de Riedres. It was on the opposite end of Margarita Island from where they had first set foot in Venezuela. If Eric went into town alone and only used Spanish they shouldn’t have any problems. It was best better than risking entering another country illegally.
Eric woke up an hour later and Ken tossed him an orange juice and relayed the plan.
“All right, you make a list.” Eric looked at the wind vane at the top of the mast and the rotting Venezuelan flag at the back of the boat. “I’ll sail this tub over there. The winds look good.”
“Great.” Ken saw Eric perk up just from the idea of operating a sailboat. “I’ll help you get underway and then sit down and make the list.”
Ken did very little to help get underway, but Eric seemed to prefer doing it alone. Ken took his seat and watched his brother’s fluid movement as he tightened lines and steered the craft. Within three hours they pulled up to the public dock in Punta de Riedres. Ken and Eric slipped on sunglasses and hats. As they neared the dock it was very quiet. Just to be safe, Ken slipped into the cabin of the boat af
ter it was secured to the dock. There were plenty of grocery and drug stores catering to other commercial and pleasure crafts in the marina and Eric made five trips, dividing the purchases between stores to reduce suspicion.
Four hours later, the final large bottles of water were stowed in the cabin. They concentrated on getting the goods on board and getting underway as there would be plenty of time to sort out and store the goods once they were at sea. Just before they were to leave Eric realized they needed a safety fuel can so he went up to the fuel dock and made the purchase.
Twenty minutes later the boat was underway and heading towards the first landmark of their trip, Jamaica.
Chapter Sixteen
Collins spoke to his boss in Toronto. They had a major lead on the killers and needed to coordinate with the London police as there was strong evidence the Clelland brothers were headed going to London. Both the Toronto and Edmonton Police were fully behind the plans.
After his conversation with Toronto, Collins joined Thorpe in what they were calling the “war room.” where they were on a conference call with Scotland Yard in London. While quite certain the brothers were headed to Britain, the team of detectives had researched all countries containing Hyde Parks. While several cities around the world had parks by that name, none had the view suggested by the tape recording, or an address that fit the lifestyle desired by the Clelland brothers. The mention of friends in the city also steered the police towards London. The departments agreed Scotland Yard would compile a list of all property purchased in the last two years that had any type of view of water in Hyde Park. It was also confirmed Thorpe and Collins would go to London to continue work on the case.
Two weeks later Thorpe and Collins flew to London and met Inspector Henry Baker at the airport. They drove to central London and circled Hyde Park.
“My word,” commented Thorpe, “we do have our work cut out for us, don’t we?”
The Canadian detectives recognized the two large lakes in Hyde Park from maps and photos. The circular body of water at the West End on the large park was in Kensington Gardens. At the other end of the park rested the large curved lake called The Serpentine.
“Looks like we can eliminate about thirty percent of the apartments because they simply aren’t high enough to see the birds on the water.”
“Indeed,” responded Baker, “As well, plenty of these properties have remained in the same families for decades. That will help reduce the list a great deal.”
“Okay, do we have a work area at Scotland Yard?” asked Collins.
“No. The Yard has rented a secure room in a conference centre just off Hyde Park so we’ll be nearby for the investigation.” Baker pointed to a street on the north side of the park.”
“Good, good,” Thorpe agreed.
Baker pulled the car into a garage underneath a business centre on Edgeware Road. Thorpe and Collins were impressed with the work area set up by the Yard. Although his annoyance with electronics had him wincing at the sight of a bank of computers along one wall. Several policemen and policewomen assigned to the case were already busy sorting through the addresses. A large electronic map on the far wall of the room displayed close-ups of all the streets surrounding the park. Each building on the map had an arrow pointing to a box that listed the address colour coded in red, yellow, or green. A key at the top of the map showed that the red coloured apartments were removed as possible residences for the fugitives. The yellow addresses were still under investigation, and the green addresses had either sold in the last year or had some other oddity such as a name that was somewhat similar to the Clellands’ which the investigators felt required checking out.
“Well, I guess it’s time we rolled up our sleeves,” said Collins.
The detectives found three desks in the centre of the room with notebook computers and telephones. Collins reached into his briefcase and pulled out several dog-eared notebooks and piled them on top of the closed computer on the desk. Baker was a young man, full of energy, and clearly a professional policeman. He smiled at Collins and booted up his own computer.
The next two weeks were spent investigating addresses. One lead looked promising. The apartment had been purchased six months previously by someone from Canada using the name Ken O’Toole. He turned out to be a retired physician from Toronto who married a woman from London.
Another apartment was leased two years previously to what the landlord claimed were twin brothers. Baker and Thorpe showed the man pictures of the Clelland brothers, but the tenants were shorter, heavy-set men.
The leads dwindled surprisingly quickly as the real estate in that area did not turn over quickly. After another three dead ends the three detectives bought coffee at a street vendor and sat in the park near the larger of the two lakes. Half a dozen ducks wandered around the table hoping for a food handout. A passing woman pushing a baby carriage startled one of the ducks. It was a rare sunny day in London and the duck flew up towards where the sun was setting at the far end of the park and smoothly settled on the lake. Thorpe’s eyes left the duck and focused on the buildings on the other side of the lake. The sun was edging towards the corner of a building near Bayswater train station.
“Shit, we’ve missed a possibility here.” Thorpe stood up and stared into the distance.
* * *
The first few days of the sail through the Caribbean and across the Atlantic were tiring. Eric was comfortable with the adventure, but was handling most of the work. He noticed Ken was spending a lot of time in deep thought.
“What’s the matter, Ken? We’re free, we’re sailing, and we’re on our way to our new life.”
Ken smiled at his brother. “You’re right, Eric. I guess things have just caught up on me.”
“Why don’t you take the helm for a while?”
“Sure.” Ken eased himself out of his chair and took the position behind the wheel. “Why don’t you get some rest?”
“Good idea. You’re catching on to the nuances of sailing very well.”
“Thanks, bro.”
Eric slipped below deck and flopped down on the bed in the bow of the boat.
Ken put on his sunglasses and studied the worn map that came with the boat. When they left Venezuela, Ken could distinguish the land from the sea on the maps and little else. Early on Ken initiated his plan to learn how to sail when he suggested Eric teach him enough about sailing to allow him to manage while his brother slept, or if he fell ill during the crossing of the Atlantic. Eric was thrilled at the idea of being the one in charge for a change. The shared responsibility would also give him more time to sleep and read. Eric found his brother an avid student and soon felt confident enough to let Ken handle the boat for long stretches through the Caribbean Islands and in the open sea.
Ken followed the path Eric charted on the map which took them between Puerto Rico and the British Virgin Islands, steering well north of St. Kitts and Nevis. The brothers didn’t want to take any chances as they left the comparative tight confines of the Caribbean and ventured into the water of the open Atlantic Ocean.
The trip across the wide open water to their first stop at the Canary Islands meant shift work and alternating four-hour sleeps. Ken continued to learn every facet of sailing and after two more weeks at sea, Ken could handle the entire craft alone, soon tacking and adjusting the sails with ease. Ken never achieved the smoothness his brother displayed at the controls. His justification for his brother’s superior ability was that Eric’s passion for water sports took him to another level. While he liked sailing, Ken gave Eric the impression he had developed a passion for sailing, whereas the reality was that he simply wanted to survive on the boat until they reached a safe destination.
Several days later, and about two-hundred miles from the Canary Islands, Ken was once again at the helm as he watched Eric sleep on the makeshift hammock they made in the bow of the boat.
The chart that Ken studied flapped in the soft breeze flowing from Brazil toward the British Isles far to the
north. Each shift ended with a GPS reading and a notation on the chart showing their progress towards their next stop. Ken estimated they had one and a half more days before reaching the Canary Islands. He anticipated he would spot land after he completed three more shifts. He studied the layout of the boat for the hundredth time. The wheel to steer the boat was in the cockpit at the rear of the craft, facing the low door leading to the cabin below. To the left and right in the back of the boat the area was an open seating area, sometimes used as a bed in warm weather. Behind the wheel an old dinghy was securely tied to the back of the boat. Strapped to the front of the dinghy were two weather beaten paddles, suitable, but only just, for maneuvering the small rubber craft. Ken had tapped the wood on the paddles and found the top one sound while the lower one was rotting. While removing the dinghy required untying several weathered lines the paddles were held in place with rubber ties. Ken had tested them several times and determined that with the removal of the tie on the left that held down its head the top paddle would easily slip out from the other rubber strap.
An hour later, Ken woke Eric.
“Time already, bro?”
“‘Fraid so. You have time to grab a bite to eat first. You looked tired and I somehow found some energy, so I gave you an extra hour’s sleep.”
Just hearing that he slept for five hours seemed to perk Eric up. “Thanks, you’re all right.”
Rough Business Page 19