“Did they have family in Harare?” Dudley had asked.
“Those guys never have close friends or family, that’s why they get chosen. Plato’s a widower, lost his family during the war. He’s a bitter man. The kid, Greg, is an orphan. His folks were purged years ago. I don’t know the details, it was before my time, but he’s what you’d call a career gangster, no allegiances.”
Dudley suggested that the usual reason that people disappeared was because they wanted to. There had been no confirmation that they had arrived in Delmas and that was probably because they had never gone there in the first place. Otherwise Nwosu would not have been allowed to continue on to Diepkloof, he would have been eliminated by them in Delmas. If they had nothing to stay for, everything pointed to them deciding to take the opportunity to escape from Zimbabwe.
He didn’t insinuate any reason for such a decision but the man in Harare seemed to consider the suggestion possible, or even probable. He would continue to investigate but if they didn’t turn up he would try to bury the news, like many other matters he’d buried in the past.
After the call Dudley had speculated further on the events in Delmas. There was still a missing link and that was Coetzee. He had assumed that Nwosu had got rid of the security man in Delmas, which was why he wasn’t with him when the Zimbabwe agent arrived at his apartment, but it might not be the case. I wonder. Could he have somehow turned the tables on the two hit men in Delmas and escaped? But why would he let Nwosu go free if he had the upper hand? He knew he would never get to the bottom of the matter, but it was still lurking in his mind.
His thoughts turned back to Esther. He was still furious at her insolent disrespect but there was nothing he could do to teach her a lesson. He had no idea where she was and any action on his part could backfire on him. He watched the news programme for a long while, not registering anything, fuming inside at her disloyalty and the possible loose ends that he had assumed were tied tightly. Loose ends that could just possibly lead back to him. Finally he made a call, using his US phone with the new AT&T SIM, making a mental note to get rid of it later. Then he made an online transfer of twenty-five thousand dollars from his Lugano account. He began to feel a little better.
Malaga, Spain
Espinoza received a call from Marcel Colombey at two pm Spanish time. While they were speaking, an email forwarded from the Commissariat in Nice arrived on his laptop. He read it with satisfaction. “Très bien. I’ll get back to you when I’ve looked at the attachments. Merci, Marcel.”
London, England
DI Callum Dewar received Colombey’s forwarded email at two thirty pm UK time and called Espinoza as soon as he had read and listened to the content. “It seems Simon Pickford was right to suspect Dudley’s motives. Thank you, Sr Espinoza, this could be the break we’ve been looking for to nail this so-called Lord.”
“I recommend immediate action, Detective Inspector. Dudley has probably received a similar message and he will be destroying everything that could compromise him. I think you have no time to lose.”
“I’m taking charge of this myself. I’ve asked for a warrant and we’ll be knocking on his door in less than half an hour. Wait for my news later this afternoon and thanks again.”
Dublin, Republic of Ireland
Esther Bonnard had received no response to her emails to Dudley and Slater. This didn’t surprise her. Given the content of the messages it would take them some time to react. She knew, though, that if they resisted her blackmail attempt, there was nothing further she could do. The abduction plan was almost irrelevant compared with the murders in South Africa and the emails and recordings she had safeguarded were highly incriminating in that regard. But she couldn’t go public with the information without setting off another manhunt targeted at her, and this time she might not be so lucky. If her threats brought no reward she would have to regroup and devise a new strategy to recover her lost inheritance from Jenny Bishop.
London, England
DI Dewar arrived at Lord Dudley’s apartment just before three pm accompanied by DS Holden. A police Vauxhall Astra, warning lights still flashing and a uniformed driver at the wheel, stood half on the pavement in front of the building, adding to the usual disruption in the London street.
Dewar didn’t beat about the bush. He made his introductions, then immediately announced, “Lord Arthur Selwyn Savage Dudley, I am arresting you in connection with the recent deaths of Barry Lambert, Ernest Blethin and Jonathon Nwosu in South Africa.”
Dudley was dumbfounded. How on earth had this detective, in London of all places, connected him with Leo Stewart’s abduction in South Africa? He summoned up his most unctuous tone. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Detective Inspector. I’ve never heard of the persons you mention, but I suppose you have some obscure reason for this unpleasant disturbance. If you don’t mind I’ll call my lawyer, Sir Archibald Berlinger, who I’m sure will assist us in rectifying this misunderstanding.”
“You can ask him to join us at Scotland Yard, Lord Dudley and please provide us with your computers and mobile phone.”
When he tried to bluster his way out of the demand, Dewar showed him the warrant he’d received fifteen minutes earlier. “Since you seem to be unwilling to cooperate with us we’ll look for the items ourselves.”
They collected the laptop from the table in the living room together with a mobile phone. A quick look around the other rooms revealed nothing, but one door in the apartment was locked. After prevaricating as long as he was able Dudley opened the door with a terrible sense of foreboding. His inner sanctum was about to be violated and he couldn’t bear the thought of it. The other mobile phones and his iPad were in there. The police technicians were bound to be able to break into his private world. Why didn’t I simply destroy and replace everything?
He sat silently in the living room, his confidence ebbing away, leaving a frightened middle aged fraudster who knew the game was up.
* * *
An hour later, Lord Dudley was in an interview room at Scotland Yard, with his lawyer, Sir Archibald Berlinger. Sticking to the lawyer’s advice, he was denying all knowledge of everything that was said to him. His confidence was slowly returning. Thanks to his obsessive paranoia the scrambled delete software meant they could obtain no information from his computers. His choice of ISPs and SIMs might appear peculiar, but they proved nothing at all. They have no actual proof of anything, he realised. It’s all circumstantial evidence based on hearsay. But who have they been listening to? He racked his brains to work out who their source could be. Slater’s in France, Esther has disappeared and Coetzee is somewhere in South Africa. There’s no one else.
Finally, Sergeant Holden said, “Do you know a man called Harry Slater?”
Dudley supressed any reaction. “I don’t believe so. Should I?”
“You might know him as Robin Little?”
“Never heard of him, I’m afraid.”
“You may be unaware that Mr Little changed his name to Slater. We have been speaking to him and he says he knows you.”
“I think I would remember if I had spoken to him, Detective Sergeant, and I can assure you that it’s not the case.”
“Then perhaps you can explain this, Lord Dudley.” He hit Enter on the laptop on the table and Harry Slater’s voice rang out:
How do you know he’s telling the truth? It could all be a purely fictitious story. Nwosu may even be there and he doesn’t want to talk to us. Maybe they’ve worked out a different agenda. This whole plan is falling apart. Isn’t there anybody there you can trust? Fucking Hell! How could you let things get so out of hand?
Then Dudley heard his own voice reply:
Please remain calm, Mr Slater. I believe our South African colleague is telling the truth. We have some independent verification of the local situation. There are reports of two murdered white men in South Africa in the news today. The first is Lambert, the hotel manager, in Johannesburg and the second is an un
known man in Polokwane. That must be Blethin, the doctor. This corresponds exactly with what he has told us. I will instigate a means of locating the others and report back to you this afternoon.
Fifteen minutes later, Sir Archibald left them, pleading another urgent meeting. Dudley knew it would cost him a good deal of money to see the lawyer again, the situation wasn’t good. It was the same recording that Esther had sent him that morning. Holden had obtained it from Slater, but he still didn’t know why. All he knew was that Esther had played him for a fool. He had misjudged her in many ways and it looked like it might cost him dearly.
He decided he had nothing to lose by satisfying his curiosity. “May I enquire what Mr Slater has done to merit your questioning him, Detective Sergeant?”
“All I can tell you is that Robin Little, whom you know as Harry Slater, has been detained by the French Police in a totally unconnected murder investigation. From your point of view, Lord Dudley, I’m afraid it is simply an unfortunate coincidence.”
That’s the problem with being an intermediary, Lord Arthur Selwyn Savage Dudley reflected resignedly. You’re never really sure what’s going on elsewhere.
Marbella, Spain
“So your theory was correct. It was this British Lord, Arthur Dudley, who teamed up with Esther Rousseau to plan Leo’s kidnapping?” Jenny, Emma and Leo were on the speaker phone listening to Pedro Espinoza as he related the latest events in Nice and London.
“Yes, Emma. Esther originated the plan and Lord Dudley was hired to execute it. I didn’t mention him this morning because we had no definite proof of his involvement. But thanks to her vengeful nature, she has provided us with proof and we are now certain of their partnership. A very gifted pair of criminals.”
Emma asked. “What’s happening to them?”
“Dudley will face charges of conspiracy and complicity in the murders, perversion of justice and whatever else they can find from his computer records, although DI Dewar told me that everything had been deleted and they haven’t yet managed to reconstitute any files. They may have to rely on the recordings and messages sent by Esther, but they are very damaging.”
“And Esther Rousseau?” Jenny felt physically sick at the thought of the woman escaping justice.
“No one knows where she is. She seems to have become an expert in disappearing since the d’Almeida business. There is an Interpol alert out for her, but I think she’s too experienced to be caught. Time will tell.”
“But now the English police will find out about Leo’s abduction and Emma’s illegal adoption. Can they get into any trouble?”
“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. I know that both of you want to see Dudley and Esther punished for their crime against Leo. But this leaves us with a difficult choice.
“At the moment, in the UK, DI Dewar has no knowledge of Leo’s birth and adoption, nor the abduction plan. He is aware only that Dudley is somehow connected with the murders in South Africa and he’ll be talking to CS Hendricks. Their sole objective will be to tie Dudley into the murders. In Paris, Marcel Colombey is interested in helping DS McCallister convict Nicole and Little for Tony Forrester’s death and he’s not interested in the abduction.
“Then Dudley himself is facing a potential murder charge and is not about to worsen his situation by opening up a can of worms involving child abduction. Esther Rousseau is in hiding, probably alone, because the whole organisation has been destroyed. She’s won’t risk giving herself away or exposing Emma unless she can plot a new way to extract Jenny’s money and that would require resources she doesn’t have.
“So, if there is nothing in Dudley’s files, which seems to be the case, I don’t see how the truth could ever be exposed.”
“You mean, unless we bring it up?”
“Exactly, Leo. That is the choice you have to take. We have identified the chief criminals but we cannot prosecute them without exposing your secret.”
Jenny said, “And Dudley may be tried for something else entirely if he can be linked to the murders. But Esther Rousseau is going to get away scot free for the second time.”
No one spoke. They were all thinking the same thing. Esther Rousseau has not gone forever. She’ll be back again. One day.
“You were right, Aunt Jenny. Pedro is a terrific detective. Did you see that jigsaw puzzle he prepared? It had every person and every event from start to finish and he just worked his way through it all until he came to the right solution.” They were sitting on the terrace going back over their recent conversation.
“I knew you’d asked him to find the culprits, Jenny, and he did. Thank you for seeing it through all the way.”
Jenny said, “Leo’s right, you have Pedro to thank for that. But it’s true what you say. A great crime was committed and several people, innocent or not, were killed or hurt and I don’t think we can just walk away and say, ‘Well, it ended OK for us, so we’ll just forget it’.”
She gave a deep sigh. “It’s funny though. I thought it would make a great difference to us knowing who had done this thing and that they would be punished; a kind of closure. But I don’t feel any different at all. I’m just happy that Leo’s back and we’re nearer to each other than we were before. That’s the best closure we could have.”
A little while later, Leticia came out with Emilio. Emma was typing furiously on her laptop and Jenny was reading. “The oil shares are almost at four dollars,” she said to her in a conspiratorial whisper.
Jenny gave her a high five. “So you’ve made back the Ponzi money. Well done Patrice.”
Emma looked up quizzically and Leticia asked, “What’s the title of your new book?”
Jenny interrupted. “It’s called Red Sky over Orkney.”
“No it’s not. I’ve scrapped that one. It was rubbish. I’ve started a brand new story with a different set of characters altogether. It’s called My son, the Hostage.”
Leticia didn’t notice the glance that passed between the two sisters. She said, “You must have a marvellous imagination, Emma.”
EPILOGUE
Delmas, Mpumalanga, South Africa
July 2010
Skelton limped quietly towards the door at the end of the hall, it was ajar and light was escaping from the room. He was wearing rubber soled boots and carried his silver headed walking cane but was careful not to lean on it to avoid making a noise. As he approached the room he heard a voice, it was Murdoch, speaking in his whining, nasal twang. He stopped outside the door and listened to the man’s words.
“This is all your fault, Ms West. You and that bloody Scotsman, poking your noses into other people’s business. I would have disappeared without a trace, long gone with a fortune in the bank and nobody any the wiser. After all, accidents do happen and that was the most perfectly contrived accident. Why would you have to imagine that Delaney’s death was anything but accidental? Why did you have to hound me down and deprive me of what was rightfully mine?”
A woman’s voice was speaking now. Low, soft tones. He knew it was Tory, but he couldn’t make out the words. Ignoring the sharp pain from his right ankle, he knelt down and looked through the gap almost at floor level, knowing the man was less likely to notice something low down than at eye height. Murdoch was standing near a huge fireplace with his back to him. The log fire was blazing and the sight of it made him aware of how cold the hallway was. A wide, low oak table stood in front of the man and his hand rested on a high backed armchair to his side. In his other hand he held a pistol, not in a menacing way, almost casually.
Skelton poked his head around a little more and saw Tory. She was sitting in a similar armchair on the other side of the fireplace facing Murdoch. She was looking intently at the man and didn’t seem to have noticed his intrusion. He wasn’t sure but it looked as if her hands were tied. Now he could make out what she was saying.
“… don’t think you understand the seriousness of your actions, Commissioner Murdoch. Hundreds of thousands of pounds of public money have been
embezzled, two innocent people have died and two more are in hospital in a serious condition. This is not just about Sergeant Delaney and even if it was, murder is murder. If Angus and I hadn’t poked our noses in, as you put it, justice would have been badly served and a murderer and embezzler would have walked free. How can you pretend it’s our fault? This crime spree started two years ago and we just happened to put two and two together in the last few days. The best thing you can do is to give yourself up and confess to your crimes. You have no other alternative.”
“You’re wrong, Ms West. I have one last alternative, because you have made a fatal mistake. You and Skelton have kept this information to yourselves. Foolish arrogance! No one knows you’re here except your dear partner and I fully expect him to arrive at any moment. As you can see, his visit doesn’t concern me in the slightest. He is old and lame and much too weak of character to present any kind of a challenge to me. As a matter of fact I let him discover where we are with exactly that in mind. When he arrives my new plan will be ready to execute, a verb that is well suited to the plan.
“While we are waiting for Mr Skelton I will share a little confidential information with you. This manor is very well insured, far in excess of the amount of the mortgage. It’s been in my family since it was bestowed upon one of my illustrious ancestors in the sixteenth century along with the title of Earl of Branceworth. In fact it’s the only part of my family inheritance I’ve managed to save, because I love the place. It’s the one anchor that I’ve always been able to hang onto when everything else went wrong.
“But I cannot take it with me when I leave, and leave I must, as soon as possible. So I’m obliged to kill two birds with one stone. Nothing will be left of it, including the unfortunate occupants, who will never be identified in the ashes. Fire is a terrible obliterator of identity and as I said before, accidents do happen. One more or less is irrelevant.”
The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set Page 109