The Collectors Book Six: Black Gold (The Collectors Series 6) (13 page)

              “According to the police these men are known petty criminals and brain-dead. Thank God they were lousy shots.”

              “If Bear hadn’t spotted them, we’d be on our backs in the morgue,” chirped Barry. He stretched and straightened his back. “Morons can kill. Even they can figure out how to pull a trigger.”

              Colin was staring at the dockside. “Here comes trouble.”

              In the fading light, five men stared over the side at a police car as two men alighted.

              “My favourite police officer,” snapped Bear.

              “I’d better go and see what they want,” said Andy.

              “Pound to a penny they want to speak to us,” shouted David.

              Bear shrugged. His face showed no emotion.             

              The lieutenant’s thin frame seemed to have acquired a stoop and the bags under his eyes suggested a lack of sleep.

              As he and his sergeant approached, he gave an icy stare that made everyone uncomfortable. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

              “Are you a pro at pissing people off or have you been practicing?”

              His gaze never left Bear. “I don’t like your tone.”

              “Suit yourself. We’re the victims and you treat us as suspects. Why don’t you leave us alone?”

              Colin rested his brawny arms on the guardrail.

              The lieutenant gave a thin, humourless smile. “You’ll be pleased to know we found the men who shot at you and their car. It fragmented, along with a police constable, when it exploded. Once again I ask, what is it you’re not telling me?” The explosion and the failure of his investigations did nothing for his confidence. He’d hoped to find the bomber within twenty-four hours.

              Petros ran along the main deck and stopped beside the lieutenant. “More questions? What’s going on in that twisted mind of yours?”

              The lieutenant’s face was a blank mask as he stared at the six men. As was his way he could sense when someone was mocking him but not this time. He spoke in a dull monotone. “I’ve investigated more murders than I care to remember. In each case the murderer had a connection with the victim. Every one of you signed a statement declaring you had no idea why someone wanted you dead. You’re either great at telling lies or you don’t know. I believe a connection between you and your assassins exists and your execution cost someone plenty. Maybe it’s staring me right in the face but I’ll find it.”

              Petros was struck by something the man said but remained silent.

              Irritated, the lieutenant swung around and stomped away. The sergeant followed. Once in the car, he turned to face his sergeant.  “I need some of the Colonel’s fried chicken.”

              “You need some fresh air, sir?”

              “No. I’m hungry.”

              While seated at a plastic table munching his chicken the lieutenant was convinced a piece of the jigsaw had been lost and no one knew where it was. His job was to find it. Once in place he’d be able to see the whole picture. He pointed. “Want some?”

              The sergeant sipping his black coffee nodded and withdrew a large piece of chicken from the half empty tub.

Chapter Ten

             
With a hint of excitement in his voice, he replied. “Bit of both.”

              “Great place, Cape town, located between the sea and the mountains. You must make time to climb Table Mountain. Use the cable car, it’s worth the trip. And if nothing else take the boat to Robben Island where Nelson Mandela spent some time.  The waterfront you can see from your room but it’s worth taking an evening stroll along the front. I like the place you’ve chosen, not expensive, and has stunning views over Camps Bay.”

              “Good marketing spiel but at the moment so long as the bed’s comfortable, I don’t care. My first choice is to crawl between the sheets and sleep until tomorrow.”

              “You’ll need food for your breakfast. I know a great store where you can buy everything you need. What do you want?”

              “I’m not fussed. Just grab a few microwave meals, a bottle of milk and strong coffee and add it to my fare.”             

              The driver blasted his horn, swerved to avoid another car and sped into Checkers Hyper. With a screech of brakes he parked, left the engine running and ran inside the supermarket.

              Henry sat back and closed his eyes but awoke with a start when the driver’s door slammed shut.

              “You have enough to ward off starvation.” Two plastic bags rested on the passenger seat.

              “Thanks. As I said, I need sleep.”

              Ten minutes later the driver shouted, “Here you are, home sweet home. How long are you staying?” He grabbed two suitcases and Henry lifted the plastic bags.

              “Not sure. Maybe a couple of weeks.” He followed the man into reception. “I can pay in American dollars. Is that okay?”

              “Dollars, Yen, British pounds, I don’t care. It pays the rent and keeps my wife happy.”

              “How much do I owe you?”

              From his jacket pocket the driver removed his iPhone and tapped the screen a few times before looking up. “Twenty-five dollars.”

              Henry handed over two twenty dollar notes. “I’ll need a taxi while I’m here. Have you a card?”

              “Let me sort out your change and I’ll pop back to the car and find one.”

              “Keep it. You saved me a lot of hassle.”

              Running, the driver left and returned in moments with his card. “Darren Carpenter, top number’s my mobile. Call me anytime day or night.”

              “I might have to do that. Can you be here at ten tomorrow morning? I need to go to Ocean Shipping for a meeting.”

              “Ten in the morning, no problem. I’ll be here ready and waiting.”

              Henry waited until he left before handing over his passport to the young man at reception and completing the necessary form.

              With the formalities finished, a porter lifted his suitcases.

              “I’ll take the bags of food.”

              “Thanks that helps. Follow me, sir. Your suite is this way.”

              Henry gave the porter a ten dollar tip and closed the door. He strolled to the patio doors overlooking the bay. Twenty–four hours ago he had been in India. He turned and noticed the plastic bags; better unpack them at least. He wandered into the open plan kitchen and emptied the contents of both bags on the table. Bread, milk, muesli, orange juice, fresh fruit, tea, coffee, everything anyone might need for breakfast. He placed the milk and juice in the fridge. Sleep beckoned. He undressed, stood under the shower for a few minutes, dried himself and naked crawled into bed, falling asleep almost straight away.

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Lieutenant Johnston pushed his fingers through his greying hair as he sat at his desk. His long and narrow face creased as he pondered the drive-by shooting and the killing of the prime suspects. Somewhere was a link, a key to open the door and unravel the knotted ball of string. He stood and turned to his sergeant. “I’m going to feed the ducks.”

              The sergeant nodded and continued typing his notes into the computer.

              Living in an apartment was great but Johnston loved the gardens of the Cape. The one with a duck pond gave him breathing space. Most important, he could talk to the ducks and they didn’t care so long as he tossed in an ample amount of bread.

              He parked his car, strolled through the Japanese garden until he reached his favourite spot overlooking the pond. Straight away a dozen birds drifted towards his position anticipating food.

              Food, that’s your motive for being sociable, he thought, as he broke a few slices of bread into small pieces. Can you assist in my enquiries? Course you can’t, you’re ducks. Me, I have the murder of a policeman to solve. The top brass want answers yesterday. The press demand a story and I haven’t a clue. Someone needed five men murdered. The assassins failed and paid the price. One policeman died as a result of his own stupidity. Thank Christ it wasn’t kids.

              A punk is stabbed and you search amongst his friends or enemies and find the culprit. Gangland shootings are easy to solve, interview the opposition. A wife is murdered at home, nine times out of ten arrest the husband or boyfriend or both.  With this investigation, I’m walking across quicksand. Soon I’ll be sinking until no trace can be found.

              “That’s it, the bag’s empty my feathered friends. You’ve eaten my lunch and I have an answer to my dilemma. I’ll interview the five men again. One of them, if not all, is doing something which annoys someone else. See you next time.”

              With his mind cleared of rubbish he strode with determination towards his car.

              Back in the police station he booked an interview room for the remainder of the day and the next. “Sergeant, tomorrow morning take a constable, go to the shipyard and bring back Petros Kyriades for a chat.”

              “On what charge are we arresting him?”

              “None, but I’m confident he knows why he was shot at. A pattern exists but I’m damned if I can make it out.”

              “Clear as mud, sir.”

              “No rough stuff and he’s not under arrest.”

              “What if he doesn’t want to come?”

              “Ask him politely. I often find it works.”

@@@

Henry Wood checked two copies of his notes and attached photographs before pushing them into separate large buff envelopes. With a steady hand he addressed one to his immediate boss, Peter Wells, and the other to his own home. When he finished he strolled to reception and asked if they could airmail both and charge his account.

              Dressed in his one suit, he clambered into the front seat of the waiting taxi. At ten thirty, he alighted at the entrance to Ocean Shipping. “I may be a long time. Can you wait?”

              “As long as you want. I’ll be fair, I know a cafe, and it’s not far from here which drivers use. I’ll take some time out and have my breakfast. If I’m not here when you’ve finished, give me a call.”

              Henry handed over twenty dollars. “Take your time.”

              Darren beamed. “Thanks.” He waited until Henry disappeared inside the red brick building before driving away.

              The woman at Ocean Shipping reception pushed her black hair from her face. Her eyes had a twinkle when she smiled.  She stood and placed a pile of letters on the shelf fixed to the wall. The chunky sweater, short skirt and black tights looked good on her. “Can I help you?”

              He nodded. “That’s a large mirror behind you.”

              “Reflects the light from the entrance and is perfect for applying make-up.”

              He chuckled. “That’s a problem I don’t have.”

              She giggled. “I would hope not.”

              He nodded. “Is it possible to talk to Mr Stanley Ford with reference to the loss of Goliath and the murder of my father, Captain Wood?”

              “Her eyes opened wide. “Mr Wood, my condolences on the loss of your father. I didn’t know him well but on the few occasions we met he seemed a good man.” She lifted a telephone and pressed two digits. “Mr Ford, I have the late Captain Wood’s son in reception. He asked if he could have a chat re the loss of Goliath... Yes sir.”

              The handset slipped into its cradle and she pressed a button on her workstation. From a narrow door to the left of the mirror came a tall, young man wearing dark blue jeans and a matching shirt.

              Henry took immediate stock. A one way security mirror, most impressive.

              The young man indicated for him to follow. He pressed an electronic door lock and waited for it to open. They strolled along a well lit corridor until he opened a door.

              “Mr Ford’s secretary will take you in, sir.” He turned and left, closing the door.

              A smart woman in a figure-hugging cotton dress looked up as they entered. “Mr Wood, you’re to go straight in. How do you like your coffee?”

              “Most kind. Black please.”

              “Best knock before you enter.”

              He wrapped on the door and went into the office of an important man. The oak-panelled walls and furniture were exquisite. In one corner a bar with crystal glasses and decanters reflected the light in a flash of rainbows.

              “Mr Wood,” said Stanley as he came around the desk.. They shook hands. “Please take a seat. No doubt Amelia, my secretary, has covered your coffee requirement. Your father’s murder was a great loss to the company.”

              “Thank you.” Henry sat in front of the huge carved desk.

              “I assume this is a social call as your father’s affairs have been concluded.”

              “Not exactly, as I have important things to discuss.”

              Stanley gave Henry a searching look. “I’m intrigued.”

              Henry leant forward in his seat. “I’ve found what’s left of Goliath and have a picture of the murdering bitch that killed my father.”

              Taken aback, Stanley suppressed any comment and stared at the wall. “If what you say is true, and I’m not questioning your story, it sounds so incredible. Have you any evidence?”

              Henry removed his notes and photographs from his bag. “Read and digest. By this time tomorrow I’ll have that bitch in jail.”

              A knock on the door announced refreshments. Amelia entered carrying a silver tray with cups and saucers, a steaming cafetiere and sandwiches. “Hope you enjoy smoked salmon, Mr Wood. It’s farmed but very good.”

              Stanley waved her away as he grasped the words and pictures in front of him. As if deep in thought, he placed his hands behind his head, shifted his body in the chair and remained silent for a moment. “I’m not certain the hulk is the Goliath but then I’m not the world’s best at ship construction. The woman, do you know where she is?”

              Henry stopped drinking his coffee. “In Cape Town.”

              Stanley spluttered. “Are you sure?”

              Henry noticed the look on Stanley’s face. “You don’t look too good.”

              “I’m fine, just trying to come to terms with your revelation.” He held up the picture of Linda Liu. “This woman must be part of a larger group with financial resources to support her activities.”

              Henry frowned. “I accept there has to be a chain of command and I believe this woman is close to the top.”

              “We must inform the police.”

              “Of course but first I must find this murdering bitch. I need to be close by when the police drag her away in handcuffs and with luck lose the key.”

              “You have her address?”

              “Not yet. I intend to visit the taxi firm who took her from the airport and I hope to her home.”

              “Wouldn’t it be better if you handed over this information to the police? They have the resources to deal with these people. From the report on Goliath she will kill without thought.”

              “You know I work for the United States government.”

              “No, I didn’t but what difference does that make?”

              “I can and have shot to kill in the line of duty. I’d love this whore to try and escape and for some trigger-happy cop to shoot her. I hate this woman and I want to see her dead.”

              Stanley’s eyes met with Henry’s. “I cannot permit you to waste your life on a revenge attack. Determination and anger will get you into trouble. I still recommend you contact the police.”

              Henry drained his coffee cup and returned it to the tray. “In forty-eight hours I’ll tell the police everything. You contact who you have to. I’m going hunting and you can’t stop me.”

              Stanley raised his eyebrows. “How could I stop you? In fact why would I want to? Any information on the loss of Goliath is welcome but I need it confirmed. I’ve no doubt you believe this woman murdered your father. You’re prepared to risk your life to see her dead or behind bars. I wish you’d reconsider.”