‘Are you married, sir?’ asked the driver, trying to engage with Harry again as he didn’t get a response from his first question. His dark eyes in the mirror were searching to make contact with Harry’s.
‘Was.’
‘I have one wife, eight children and thirty-three grandchildren.’
‘Ever thought of starting your own corporation?’
The driver smiled. ‘Two of my boys have a property business; three of my girls are doctors. My other girls have not aspired to their same heights, apart from one who has still time to fulfil her dream.’
‘What does she want to be?’
‘An opera singer. She’s so passionate about her work. When I see her passion I do not mind spending the money on her singing. It has always been in her since she was tiny and has never changed. Always, singing, singing, singing – with such emotion in her voice. She’s a classically trained vocalist, who can sing everything from the great arias of opera to the classics of Hollywood.’
‘You must be very proud,’ said Harry, looking at two women carrying Chanel bags out of one of its stores. ‘Where are we?’
‘I had to go through SoHo because of the traffic diversions. We’re on Spring Street, corner of Wooster. I see you’re admiring the pretty shop. My daughters would spend all day in such a place – if their husbands gave them half a chance. But not my Chandani.’
As the driver rambled on about Chandani meaning star in Hindi, and how appropriate a name it was for his aspiring mezzo-soprano daughter, an idea came to Harry. It was going to have to be his starting point for tracking down Angela Linehan as he had nothing else to work on. The talk of passion had set his mind thinking about behaviour being the mirror of everyone’s true image. No matter how much Angela Linehan would try to change her outer self, she would never change who she was inside. She could alter her name, her looks, her surroundings, but she could never change her true passions. Some habits simply don’t die. If he was going to find her, that was where he would start first.
When they reached the hotel, Harry handed the driver the biggest tip he’d ever received.
‘My goodness, what is this for?’ asked the cabbie.
‘To help your daughter pursue her passion.’
‘You must be a great music lover.’
‘Isn’t everyone?’
The morning had almost gone and he’d only just booted up his laptop to start the serious work. Harry plugged in a USB stick that he carried around his neck whenever he travelled. It knew which key to speak to its twin stuck in the side of his other laptop at the lock-up in London. Within minutes he had secure remote access to all his files and secret directories he used in his trade.
He couldn’t remember the name of the luxury store in New Bond Street where he’d spotted Angela Linehan’s white angora coat. He Google-mapped it to discover it was the French couture house, Vezier. A directory pinpointed the company’s headquarters in Paris with offices in London, New York, Tokyo Dubai, Beijing and Moscow. He started to tap away on the keyboard and pulled up from his sources, the head office’s private internal telephone directory, making note of the name of one of the senior credit controllers, Louis Bouffard.
Having changed the caller ID of the hotel telephone number by reprogramming it to that of Bouffard’s, he was all fixed up to make his first call. He plugged in the headphones and dialled up from his laptop. The London offices of Vezier picked up and he asked to speak to the head of sales.
‘Do you mean Mrs Sanderson?’
‘I’ve forgotten her first name,’ said Harry in a French accent.
‘Mary –’
‘I’m lucky she’s not away skiing,’ he went on.
‘Mary? Skiing? She never goes anywhere without her dogs?’
‘Yes, her cocker spaniels.’
‘Shih Tzus.’
‘Those two dogs are her life.’
‘Five.’
‘Sorry, five.’
‘I’ll put you through.’
Handel’s Water Music played in the background while the call was re-routed.
‘Hello?’
‘Mary, its Louis from credit control in Paris.’
‘Louis?’ There was hesitation in Mary Sanderson’s voice as she couldn’t place the name.
‘Louis Bouffard? You’ve forgotten me already?’
There was again a hesitation. ‘No, of course not.’
‘I’m disappointed that I have disappeared from your head so soon. It hurts my ego, you know. We spoke a year ago?’
‘I do remember, what can I do for you?’
‘I’m so sorry I’m in such a rush, I need to take my dog to the vet before it closes.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Her. She’s pregnant, I think.’
‘What type of dog do you have?’
‘A Shih Tzu.’ Harry had opened a page on Shih Tzus on the web while he had been talking to her.
‘Men don’t usually go for Shih Tzus.’
‘She belonged to my late wife. But I adore Trixibelle.’ He glanced at the webpage and noted Shih Tzus’ chief characteristics. ‘She was so hard to train but she is so good with children, needs no exercise and makes a splendid…’
‘Watchdog,’ said Mary, finishing off his sentence.
‘Exactement.’
‘Can you believe, I have five Shih Tzus?’
‘No, how do you manage?’
‘They’re my life. I don’t know what I would do without them.’
‘As I said, I’m in a hurry to go to the vet, but I have an urgent matter to sort out first.’
‘How can I help you?’
‘We’re clamping down on credit and we noticed that one of your client’s account has not been paid for months. Her name is Angela Linehan.’
He could hear Mary Sanderson scratching on her keyboard at the other end of the line. ‘You must be mistaken. Her account was closed just before Christmas.’
‘Really? One thing less to worry about I suppose.’
‘Is there something else?’
‘There is another matter. I have been asked to personally deal with an online fraud case.’
‘Do you know point of delivery?’
‘Usually PO Box addresses in the Caribbean and Mexico.’
‘We don’t deal with the Americas here. But I can put you through to Martha in New York. She deals with this sort of thing and she’s another dog lover.’
Moments later he was reading out the pre-paid credit card number he set up for Angela Linehan under her new name of Kelly Hubbard. While Martha’s fingers tapped away, she spoke about her golden retriever, Mr Hix, who slept on her bed every night, which was more than she could say about her previous husband.
‘Bingo. Cancun. Two swim suits bought at a concession in a hotel a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Nothing since?’
She was already a step ahead of him and working on pending payments. ‘Well you’re in luck.’
Those words were still echoing in his head, when she continued. ‘Two Spring outfits were ordered online just forty-eight hours ago, awaiting delivery.’
That didn’t make much sense to Harry, why would Angela Linehan still be using her pre-paid credit card as Ernesto had plenty of time to have set up a MasterCard for her. There would be no need to take the risk of using her old card. Ernesto’s MasterCard would have been untraceable.
But none of that was important now because all he wanted to know was where the outfits were being sent to.
‘You know what?’ said Martha. ‘I can’t find the delivery details. The screen’s frozen.’
Harry held his breath while she played around on the keyboard. This could be the break he’d been hoping for, but then came silence at the other end of the line. There was no reply when he called out Martha’s name. The line was still live and he could hear muffled voices in the background. When she returned to the phone she announced that the whole network was down. He snapped. There is nothing anyone can do at the
moment, she said, in defence of her department.
Did she know how long they would be down for? His voice was becoming harder. She didn’t care for his tone or his manners, and told him she would call back, once they were up and running again. He doubted she would because he was just an irritating Frenchman from head office. The last thing he wanted was to be calling her back as she might not be at her desk and he’d end up playing phone-tag or worse still, talking to her supervisor who might ask difficult questions. This was a one-shot-call. It either paid off or it didn’t. She wanted to get off the line, so he gave her the number to a voice-mail messaging service he used, explaining he would be out of the office, travelling.
He flung his headphone to the floor and stomped around the room, emitting obscenities and kicking over furniture. The man next door thumped on the walls to quieten down, and he thumped back. A two-way of colourful language flowed between the five-inch wall dividing them, before Harry decided his neighbour was right.
Vodka was his preferred remedy for overcoming setbacks. In large quantities it worked slowly but thoroughly, and the boy from the liquor store across the road was only too happy to deliver the bottles to his room.
An idea came to him as they often did when well lubricated. It started to mature in his mind, becoming more real and lifelike with each up-righting of the bottle. There was no way he was going to be able to save Bethany in the nine days that were left. An online gremlin had put paid to his only lead. His inability to supress his anger on the phone with the dog-loving Martha had blown his chances. She wasn’t going to be calling him back.
All he had to do was call Roberto Marotta and tell him he was making progress, but needed more time. A month, max. Then he’d ask to speak to Bethany. Just hearing her voice would be enough reassurance to keep him going while he sorted out another method to extract the information he required from the House of Vezier.
Roberto Marotta answered Harry’s call within two rings. ‘I was wondering how long it would be before I heard from you again. You know it’s an offence to leave the scene of a car accident? You left my men with broken bones and they’re not happy about it.’
‘Big boys like them will get over it.’
‘I hope you’re calling to tell me you have located the money.’
‘I’m onto something,’ said Harry, ‘but I’m going to need more time.’
‘We can’t do that.’
‘Extend the deadline.’
‘No.’
‘Don’t you want to see your money again?’
‘Don’t you want to see Bethany again?’
‘Let me speak to her.’
‘You’re wasting my time. Don’t call me until you have the money.’
The phone went dead.
Sat on the floor, his back against his bed, he started another bottle. Vodka soaked his chin as Bethany entered his head again. She was putting all her hope in him, he couldn’t let her down. Could he live with himself if something happened to her now? Maybe he should call Gemmell to search for her; warn him that there was a mole in his department who would get word to the Marottas. If Gemmell did it right, she might stand a chance – which was a damn sight more than what he could offer.
With a bottle in one hand, he went to the other side of the room to pick up the hotel phone to dial Gemmell’s number. He took a swig and thought it was better to bring it to an end this way while there was still time. Just two digits short of completing the call his laptop bleeped. He put the phone down and stepped across to check his message. He had voicemail. When he played it back he heard Martha’s voice giving details of the delivery due that evening – at the Waldorf-Astoria, New York City. He couldn’t believe his ears. Angela Linehan was in town, less than twenty minutes away from where he was standing. He replayed the crucial part of the voicemail message: ‘Due six-thirty. Room 506.’
Harry had five hours to sober up. He made himself a pint of black coffee and poured salt into it. Five minutes later, he was puking up his guts in the lavatory pan. He repeated the exercise until he felt he had completely emptied his stomach. A hot shower followed by a cold bath came next. Harry alternated between the two extreme temperatures until he was steady on his feet again. He dried his body and set his alarm to go off at five, sleeping solidly for three hours.
When he awoke, his head was sore and his mouth felt like a woollen sock. He drank a shot of Vodka to get him through the next hour, and then poured away the remains of the bottle into the sink.
Harry took a cab over to the Waldorf and planted himself on a seat in the foyer with a perfect view of the reception desk. There were three couples checking in and a businessman paying his bill. A group of guests returning from a hard day’s shopping settled between him and the reception desk. They were clutching their bags like trophies and didn’t look in any hurry to move elsewhere as they chatted. He lost his line of sight, and his head bobbed up and down like a nodding donkey.
Twenty-five minutes past six, a delivery man emerged from the crowded foyer holding two large orange boxes with Vezier’s big golden “V” logo. A blonde receptionist signed for the boxes and waved to a porter to take them up to the guest.
Harry stepped into the elevator with the porter and followed him out onto the fifth floor. He walked past him as the porter knocked politely on the door of room 506. Harry kept on going down the long corridor until he heard the sound of the door opening. Pretending to have reached his own room, he glanced back as the porter stepped inside and disappeared from his view. A minute later, the porter left, closing the door behind him.
Harry retraced his steps to room 506. He knocked on the door, keeping out of view of the spy hole.
His hand went over her mouth as soon the door opened and the two of them tumbled to the floor. He knew straight away it wasn’t Angela Linehan under him, but her friend, Jean. She struggled under his weight and he kicked the door shut before anyone came along. Her dark eyes were popping out of her head. She aimed her nails at his face and kicked violently, but he was too powerful for her. Keeping his hand firmly over her mouth, he pulled her up from the floor and dragged her across the carpet. Her bathrobe came away from her body as he tossed her onto the bed.
He stuffed tights in her mouth and tied her hands behind her back with the bathrobe’s belt. Harry went to the bathroom and snapped away the belt of another bathrobe behind the door. When he returned, she was running for the door, her hands still bound. He grabbed hold of her shoulders and swung her back onto the bed. A second later, he’d tied her ankles together with the belt in his hand, her heart palpitating with fear.
He stood up and gently covered her naked body with the two bathrobes. She calmed down.
‘Jean,’ he said, staring into her eyes.
At first she was surprised he knew her name, then panic set in when she realised who he was.
‘I won’t hurt you, unless I have to. Do you understand?’
She nodded.
‘I’m going to take away the gag and ask you some questions. If you scream, I’ll break your jaw. You understand?’
She nodded again.
He leant across and pulled the tights out of her mouth, causing her to retch.
‘Angela gave you her bank card as a present to spend up the credit on it?’
‘Please don’t hurt me.’
‘I’ll be out of here in seconds if you tell me what I want to know.’
‘You killed Nick.’
‘No. Your friend organised that.’
‘Angela?’
‘Yes.’
Jean shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you. She wouldn’t have the guts.’
‘Really? She got the same guy to try and kill me.’
‘Angela only wanted to get away from Nick.’
‘Her plan was a bit more complicated than that and you run the risk of being an accessory to murder and attempted murder.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You are in a lot of trouble, Jean.’
�
�You’re just making this all up.’
‘Am I? Let me guess what happened in Mexico. She flew out with her son, met you in Cancun, and then after a few days, I bet, she wanted to leave the hotel all of a sudden.’
Her eyes told him he was right.
‘And then I bet, she stopped using her passport and got you to rent out a villa there until she sorted things out in her head. Am I right?’ There was no reply, so he continued. ‘She started to take an interest in chartering a plane?’
‘A yacht.’
‘Okay, a yacht to sail the Caribbean but you weren’t invited, were you? She paid you off by giving away her credit card.’
‘All right, all right. We had a row as she was becoming crazy. She never let on what was wrong, only that the holiday was over, and she wanted me to go. She gave me some cash and the credit card to spend as I pleased. So what do you want from me?’
‘Where was she heading to in the Caribbean?’
‘Angela was in no mood to discuss her plans.’
‘She took a lot of money from her husband.’
‘Only what was owed to her.’
‘No. She did more than that. She took millions from some really bad guys her husband dealt with. They want it all back. I’ve nine days to return their money – a pregnant woman’s life depends on it. Now do you understand me?’
Jean heaved a sigh. ‘I really don’t know where she is, I swear.’
‘Did she ever mention any of the islands, maybe in passing?’
‘I overheard Peter arguing with her one night. I couldn’t make out much what they were rowing about as I was in the other room. But I thought I heard him say something about St Lucia.’
Thirty
The 757 touched down at Hewanorra on the south side of St Lucia, just after two-thirty in the afternoon. Harry stood in a long line at passport control and felt sticky in Jairo’s old suit. It was thirty degrees outside, and all he wanted to do at that precise moment was to run naked into the sea. But that wasn’t going to happen.
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