CONFLICT DIAMONDS: THE START OF THE BEGINNING

by Verner Jones

  The commotion behind her left her no time to observe her foe. Zoran was on top of Stipe battering him with his fist. The hose was snaking around the floor like a witch doctor performing a ritualistic dance, entreating some ancient spirit to appear. Marta dragged herself to her feet. Wet, cold and fatigued with the one hand holding the shovel she swung it around her body and above her head clasping it with her free hand en route. She ran with renewed anger towards the man battering her lover and let out an almighty ‘growl’ as she crashed the weapon onto the back of Zoran’s skull. He shouted out with pain and automatically clamped his hand onto the back of his head. Marta raised the shovel again and gave him a sideward swipe knocking him over and unconscious on the floor.

  Marta stood there breathing heavily. Her hand let loose the weapon. There was no need for it anymore. The hose flicked a fantailed spray over the two of them in its journey to nowhere. Stipe raised himself up onto his elbows. They were both soaked to the skin. Marta rushed towards him, tears streaming down her cheeks. She helped him stand and then threw her arms around him. His cheeks were puffy and tender. Around one-eye, dark pockets had formed closing his eyelids to a razor like slit. But his exhilaration made him forget his pain.

  “We’ve done it, Marta. You were fantastic.” They held each other for a moment then separated, checked each others facial appearance, Marta concerned about his bruising, Stipe proud of his woman. “We’d better get Toni and get out of here fast.” Marta agreed and sidestepped Zoran. Wiping the remnants of her tears from her eyes she followed Stipe’s lead and rushed to where Toni was laying. His motionless body greeted them. A dark patch of blood obscured any design that was on his jumper. His slashed face was still, his chest motionless. Stipe crouched and checked his carotid artery. It had ceased to function.

  “That bastard, Zoran, he’s - he’s killed Toni.” Stipe looked to Marta in disbelief. Stipe sprang to his feet intent on revenge. Marta, numbed, grabbed his shoulders seeing the hatred twisting his face. From somewhere within her she heard herself speaking.

  “Stipe. No you can’t.” She fought to restrain him. “Stipe we have to get out of here. “STIPE!” Her shrill voice sliced through his emotions. “Stipe, we have to leave.” She held him at arms length and took his jaw in her hand turning his face to look at hers and cemented her eyes to his. They said nothing for an eternity.

  “Let’s get the statue. It’s what we came for isn’t it?” They parted grabbed the holdall and left the bakery without looking back.

  24

  It was a nightmare journey back to the Salisbury Arms. They attracted the attention of numerous pedestrians, conspicuous in their wet clothing in the middle of a summer’s day. If the police found Toni’s body and issued a public call for witnesses seeing any suspicious characters in the vicinity of the bakery they would surely be recognised. If they check for fingerprints they’d find plenty. If they … aghh if, if, if. If was a thousand possibilities looming and Stipe confused, wet, and bloody, couldn’t rationalise any of them at this time. Sanctuary was what they needed, and fast.

  Ignoring peoples stares Stipe flagged a taxi. He convinced the driver to take their fare after explaining that hey had been larking about at the waters edge and had both fallen in. It was a plausible enough story and Stipe had executed its delivery well to the cabbie giving the impression they were first time tourists of the student variety. Once inside the cab they fell quiet. Marta shivered and Stipe edged closer and wrapped an arm around her. It made little difference, though the gesture was welcome.

  At the Salisbury Arms Stipe paid the five-pound fare with a sodden ten-pound note and told him to keep the change, noting the disdain on the cabbies face that the currency might not make it to his glove compartment in one piece. Outside Stipe heard the rattle of the landlord stacking crates at the rear of the pub. Quickly they slipped inside, past a few regular punters on the way to the stairs, and entered their room unnoticed. They stripped off their wet clothing, Stipe briskly, Marta as if she was handling spiders. Once dried and changed and with warmed blood circulating their bodies and hot coffee filling their stomachs, the full impact of the past events loomed over them like an executioners axe waiting to fall. Rationale thinking was needed, but Stipe was thinking of his friend cold in the warehouse. Stipe took a position next to the radiator and lent against it continuing to drink his coffee; his eye and head throbbing like the beat from a salsa band was playing inside his head. Marta returned from downstairs holding a bag of ice wrapped in a towel. She drew close to Stipe and placed the ice pack on Stipe’s eye. He clasped his hand over hers. Through trembling lips Stipe spoke.

  “Toni’s dead Marta. I can’t get my head around that.” It was the first words that had been spoken since entering the room.

  “ We couldn’t have done more than we did to try and save him, Stipe. It just seems that that bastard Zoran is never going to stop until he has us all tagged and bagged in his revenge club.”

  “He’s going to keep coming for us. It’s gone past the point with him about just getting what was his back, and I doubt that killing Toni will be enough for him. Maybe we should have finished him off while we had the chance. Maybe he is dead anyway. They were hefty blows you gave him, Marta.”

  “We’re not murderers, Stipe. We’ve done, I’ve done what I have had to do to survive and nothing else. I’ve been contorted into the person I am by evil men and their actions, but it doesn’t make those deeds any easier, just possible that’s all. I’m not tough Stipe. It’s like a portion of my feelings have been seared with a hot poker triggering my survival instincts to react. I could never have done any of the things I’ve done before – before those men killed my family. But I swear if he ever comes to try and take you away from me or harm us again I will finish the score that he’s bent on settling.” Stipe closed the distance between them, put his arm around her neck, and let her head relax on his chest. Her arms slipped loosely around his waist. The last few hours had been harder for Marta than she was letting known. They stayed like that for a few moments.

  “We’ve got to decide what we are going to do next,” said Stipe disengaging himself. “I don’t know if we can be traced or located by the police here. It’s my guess, If Zoran is still alive, that he will do his best to remove anything tying himself to the bakery. God knows what is going to happen to Toni. My guess he’ll just leave him there until he’s found.”

  “Sounds so uncaring and Toni was our friend; family remember.”

  “ I know that, but if it helps, think of all our family and friends who have been killed and left in some field or burnt out house back in Bosnia. Maybe it can help to put things in perspective.”

  “It doesn’t make anything easier, Stipe. He’s still a close friend lost.”

  “Well we have to be positive and focused now. I don’t know how Zoran managed to find us so we can’t take any chances that he doesn’t know about this place. I’m sure he will be pretty incapacitated for a while, but this will be one of the first stops he makes when he resumes his hunt for us. We have to get back to Amsterdam, find Henrick and complete our original plan and sell the statue. Let’s pack.”

  Marta started to collect her things while Stipe called and made reservations on the next flight to Amsterdam. They bagged all of Toni’s belongings. Stipe took the case downstairs and walked a couple of hundred metres to where some builders were working and painfully dropped the case into a half empty skip. He returned unobserved, checked out, and took a cab with Marta to the airport to wait for their flight. It was midnight before they returned to Amsterdam and the comfort of Celine’s old apartment.

  In the morning, having distanced themselves from the tragic events of yesterday, things didn’t seem so oppressive. They showered and dressed and Stipe located his sparse medical supplies and treated his eye. The puffiness in his cheek had receded but his eye was still as black as a whores camisole, but no where near as inviting..

  “Where are we going first, Stipe?”

  �
��To the florists I think. It wouldn’t be fitting if we didn’t take Henrick flowers, him being in hospital now would it?”

  “No, of course not.” They took a taxi to the Najinsky Private Hospital, a fifteen-minute ride away. In the reception Stipe asked for Henrick’s room number. The duty nurse checked the register and then gave the pair of them a concerned look. She forced an expression that was vacant but professional, borne from years in her occupation. She stumbled her words, unsure what to say, as if she had reached a traffic junction and was stumped to choose the right direction. “Are you relatives of Mr Van der Meen?”

  “Yes, he is my uncle. Is there a problem?” The nurse joined them on their side of the counter. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Mr Van der Meen suffered a relapse last night. One I’m afraid that he didn’t recover from. He passed away in the early hours of this morning. I’m sorry.” Stipe’s face went ashen. He chewed the corner of his lip feeling stunned. Marta turned and buried her head in her hands. It was awhile before Stipe found his voice. “ Whe'’ Where is he now?”

  “He’s been moved to the mortuary. Mrs Van der Meen was with him at the end. The doctors managed to stabilise him for a while then from what I know his heart just stopped and he passed away painlessly. I’m sorry to have to pass this news on to you sir.” Stipe thought quickly.

  “Has my aunt taken his belongings away?”

  “No, all of Mr Van der Meen’s effects are in his room.”

  “Maybe I should call my aunt and to save her the pain of coming back to the hospital, see if she wants me to collect his belongings. Have you a phone I could use?” The nurse ushered him towards the desk phone and Stipe went through the motions of calling Mrs Van der Meen, faking her approval for him to collect Henrick’s things. The nurse listened to the conversation while shuffling papers into a folder. Stipe caught her attention, nodded approvingly and informed the receiver that he would make sure he collected everything, and then replaced the handset.

  “She wants me to bring all his things home. Could you direct me to his room?” The nurse gave him instructions and said she would prepare the necessary release form.

  Stipe and Marta took the lift to the fifth floor.

  “Can you believe it? Henrick’s dead. That Zoran has got a lot to answer for,” said Marta.

  “Sort of puts us in shit creek though don’t it. Here we have a million pounds worth of statue , and nowhere to take it. Let’s hope that Henrick has left some indication, lead, phone book, anything that might give us a clue to who he had in mind to dispose of it.”

  “What are we going to do steal his things?” The elevator stopped at the fifth and they found room 106 a short distance along the corridor.

  “ No, but we have to go through them to see what we can find.”

  “It’s a bit like grave robbing, Stipe.”

  “Marta! Just search will you.” They entered the room. Some say that the spirit of death lingers in its last abode long after the earthly body has been removed. When they entered the room they found the bed made and a mountain-freshness hung in the air. The room had been sanitised ready for the next patient. The only indication that Henrick had stayed there was his belongings neatly folded on the centre of the bed next to a weekend valise.

  “Let’s go through what there is,” said Stipe. They searched his belongings, pockets, case, and compartments in his case, inside his slippers. Not a thing. Stipe checked his wallet, the usual stuff only. He took a pencil off the side and scribbled down Henrick’s address and pocketed the keys to his store.

  “Put everything in the case and let’s leave. There’s nothing here for us.” Marta obliged, relieved that the intrusion was ending. Stipe took the belongings and they made their way out of the hospital. Once in reception a thought crossed his mind. He changed direction and found the nurse again. “Did my uncle receive any calls while he was in here and if he did could you give me a print out of them please?” The nurse checked her files.

  “Yes, there were several.” The nurse punched a few buttons on her computer terminal and presented Stipe with a copy.

  “Thank You very much for your help,” said Stipe, and with Marta, promptly left the hospital.

  “What are we gong to do now, Stipe?”

  “We’ll have to check his office and see what we can find there.”

  “Will they let us in?”

  “We’ll make up some excuse, don’t worry.” Another taxi ride took them to the Magna Plaza and Henrick’s store. It looked business as usual. They entered the store. Stipe remembered the manager and singled him out.

  “Hello. You are the manger of the store aren’t you? I’m, we are close friends and business associates of Henrick’s.” There was vague recognition in his eyes as Stipe spoke; an encouraging sign.

  “Oh. Well I’m afraid I have bad news about Mr Van der Meen.”

  “Yes, we know the devastating news about the passing of our dear friend,” interrupted Stipe. Stipe drew closer to the man to exclude any possibility of him being overheard. “The only thing is we have some unfinished business of a very sensitive nature that would cause great embarrassment and financial difficulty for Henrick’s family and the stability of his business if left unattended to. In short, we have to replace some items,” Stipe patted the case he was holding, “back into Henrick’s safe. It was one of the last requests he made to us before he passed away. He gave me his keys and promised me that I would not tell a soul of what he was asking me to do, but I feel sure that he would not mind that I have taken you into his, our confidence. We need five minutes in his office with out any one disturbing us. Do you think you could ensure our privacy for that time?” Stipe took the keys out of his pocket in view of the manager. The manager considered the implications. With a subdued voice he replied.

  “Well I’m sure Mr Van der Meen wouldn’t have given you his keys if it wasn’t of an imperative nature. I’ll unlock the door for you.” The manager guided them to Henrick’s office and let them in, closing the door after them. Marta hissed out her breath.

  “Do you have a catalogue or a book of lies that you keep locked away in that skull of yours?”

  “The inspiration comes naturally. It’s a case of seizing the opportunity and believing yourself. You check his desk, I’ll open the safe.” Marta sat herself in Henrick’s chair and meticulously scoured its contents expecting at any moment for a hand to leap out and throw a pair off cuffs on her. Stipe unlocked the safe. Inside were a stack of diamond certificates; Stipe discarded them. Underneath them was a red leather bound ledger. That was more interesting. He removed it and checked the last pages. It was written in code form and meant nothing to him. He replaced it. To the side was a stack of money. Stipe thought about the pile and secured about half of it in the inside of his trouser pockets, an emergency fund. An idea he felt Henrick would have been willing to go along with. A few insignificant papers and an antique looking broach concluded the contents of the safe, nothing there to help their cause. Stipe locked it and joined Marta.

  “What have you found?” Marta raised her hands in the air with dismay. “Nothing that’s of any use to us. What now?”

  “Give me a minute to think. I don’t want to miss anything while we are here.” Stipe looked around the room searching his thoughts as well as the office space. He sat on the corner of the desk crunching his lips together, chewing the cud of indecision. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” They sat in silence both looking for an answer. Stipe stood up removed his wallet and took out the list of phone numbers that the nurse had given him. “Maybe some of these might be able to help us. I remember Henrick saying that while he was in hospital he had been in touch with some people who were eager to do business with us. Maybe their number is here.”

  “We can cross check them against his address book.” Marta took the book out the draw and placed it in front of her. “How many numbers are there?”

  “Five. This one has a UK prefix. That must have been our call. These two are t
he same. I think they are the store number.” Stipe lifted a business card off of the desk and compared the two together. They were identical.

  “Scrub those three numbers off. It just leaves us these two. Scan through his address book and see if any of them match.” Marta checked. Five minutes later she had drew a blank.

  “There not in here, Stipe.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to call them then. Give me the phone.” Marta passed the handset over and Stipe dialled the first number. A woman’s voice answered. “Mrs Van der Meen’s residence. Can I help you?” Stipe immediately replaced the receiver. “That’s Henrick’s house. His maid just answered. Read out the next number.” Stipe dialled the number that Marta dictated. A young, enthusiastic male voice tinged with a French accent, answered the phone.

  “ Good morning Antone and Schuller consultants can I help you?” Stipe deepened his voice as he spoke. “Hello, this is Henrick van der Meen. You called me a couple of days ago at the hospital. The nurse has mislaid the notes I made on our conversation. I wonder if we could go over the details again?” It was a shot in the dark; Stipe hoping the man would reveal some trinket of information that would identify who he was.

  “No need for that Mr Van der Meen I have some fresh information for you and knowing how urgent you viewed the matter I was going to visit you personally with the news as you requested.”

  “Well I am out of the hospital now and a lot better thank you. Maybe I could call by and discuss the matter?” There was a hint of concern in the man’s reply. “If you feel up to it by all means do so, you have the address. I’m free for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “I’ll be over in one hour then. Thank you.” Stipe replaced the receiver and turned towards Marta. “ Henrick’s been having some dealings, important ones at that, with Antone and Schuller consultants. Could be our lead. We’ve got an appointment in an hour.”