The Collectors Book Six: Black Gold (The Collectors Series 6) (24 page)

              The duty security guard checked his list of visitors. “Please place your identification on the shelf and step back.”

              The man next to the driver alighted and placed two ID cards on the shelf.

              The guard glared at him. “Step back, please.”

              The man, dressed in a well-cut charcoal-grey suit with matching waistcoat, nodded and obeyed the instruction.

              The guard studied the tall man with a crew cut. “Bit overdressed aren’t you?”

              His handsome face frowned as he assessed the guard. “Well, this is the Golden Palms. We were ordered to dress for the occasion.”

              The IDs were gathered, checked and replaced with a sheet of paper. “Your directions to the penthouse, Mr Smith.”

              “That’s the driver,” said the man who neither smiled nor laughed as he collected the ID cards. “I’m Mr Jones.”

              The gates opened and the van continued into the exclusive estate. Jones turned to Smith. "This is how the rich live. Bet the flowers bloom at the same time. Look at those lawns, smoother than a snooker table.”

              Smith smiled. “We don’t do so bad.”

              The guard turned to his partner. “Smith and Jones. I don’t believe a word. Did you notice his fingernails, never done a decent day’s work in his life but,” he shrugged, “their names are on the list.”

              “Why can’t you forget you were once a detective? We do our job. Their names aren’t important.” He sipped his coffee. “Who lives in that penthouse apartment?”

              “It belongs to a Chinese corporation.” He glanced at his watch. “Keep your eyes on the gate; I’ve a telephone call to make.”

              Frankie lay naked in the centre of the queen-sized bed reading a ‘SHE’ magazine and jumped when the door entry buzzed.

              “Who the hell’s that?” She took her time and slipped on a silk dressing gown. At the door she checked the screen and saw two well-dressed men. She lifted the telephone handset. “Can I help you?”

              The man in the charcoal-grey suit lifted the handset on his side. “This apartment is to be reallocated.”

              “You’re out of order. It belongs to Linda Liu,” said an annoyed Frankie.

              “It changed owners yesterday. I have the paperwork in my pocket.”

              “Linda never said she was selling. This can’t be right,” she said shaking her head.

              “Not my problem. Please open the door. The owners want this place cleared.”

              “And what about me?”

              A moment of silence passed. “You are not the owner. Take what’s yours and leave.”

              “And Linda’s possessions?”

              “Please open the door.”

              Frankie drew back the dead bolts but left the security chain attached as she peered through the crack.

              The man slammed his full weight against the steel door. The chain snapped as it opened wide. “She screwed up.”

              A warning chill ran through Frankie’s body but too late. The man in the charcoal-grey suit grabbed her around the neck and pulled her backwards. She flinched as the needle pieced her flesh and the man said, “It’s better this way.”

              He placed her on the floor and turned to his partner. “Bring in the wheeled baskets. We’ll dump her in the bottom of one and cover her with clothes.”

              The strong morning sun streamed through the east facing windows as both men went from room to room. Once each was empty they went to the next. Everything, except the furniture, they dropped into baskets.

              “Let’s check every room one more time,” said Jones.

              Smith glanced at his watch. “We have plenty of time before the cleaners arrive.”

              Fifty minutes later they wheeled the last basket into the van. “It’s time we left,” said Jones.

              Smith jumped into the cab, started the engine and shouted at Jones to hurry.

              He clambered into the passenger seat. “Better stop at the gate and sign out.” They grinned.

              Lieutenant Johnston leant against the brick gatehouse. He nodded to no-one in particular as he saw the van approach. A smile spread across his long, narrow face as Jones jumped out. “That’s them. Make sure you note the time in your book.”

              Johnston approached the front of the van. “Mr Jones and Mr Smith, I have a problem. I need to search your van.”

              Jones snapped, “Who the fuck are you?.”

              Johnston held up his police warrant card. “At this moment, I’m your worst nightmare. We can do this the easy way or make life difficult.”

              Jones turned his head as five police officers in uniform holding automatic pistols surrounded the van.

              Two officers pushed Smith and Jones against the wall and searched them. One discovered the empty hypodermic and dropped it into a plastic bag.

              Johnston indicated the waiting police car. “One of my men will drive the van while you assist us with our enquiries.”

              Smith glanced at Jones and mouthed, “We’ve been set up.”

              “You can try and escape but I wouldn’t recommend it. My men have orders to shoot.”

              Their faces took on a resigned expression as they walked to the waiting car.

              Johnston signalled to one of his men. “Sergeant, put those two in separate interview rooms and make sure they have an officer for company but no food or drink. I’ll return to the station later. I’m going to look around the apartment.”

              The security guard, a retired detective, who had contacted Johnston earlier, left the gatehouse. “This is most irregular. I could lose my job.”

              “Your decision but if you think back you know I can have a dozen police cars here with lights flashing and sirens wailing and a search warrant. I doubt if there’s anything left of interest. It’s in the van.”

              “Follow me.”

              The two men entered the building and took the lift to the penthouse. The guard entered his pass-code into the digital door lock and pushed it open.

              Johnston gasped. “How many rooms?”

              The guard checked his iPad. “Five bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms and dressing rooms. Games room. Gym. Swimming pool. Sauna. Servants’ quarters. Massive kitchen. BBQ area outside with landscaped patio and roof garden.”

              Johnston chuckled as his shoes almost disappeared into the thick pile carpet. He ran his fingers over an ornate table. “I couldn’t afford this or the penthouse in my wildest dreams. Anyway, better get started.”

              As he surmised, ‘anything which might be of interest’ was in the van. He sensed the eyes of the bored guard on him. “Okay, lock it up. I’ll have one of my team along later to check this place for fingerprints. No one comes in unless I say so. Understood?”

              The guard nodded. “I need a name.”

              “Just ask for his warrant or telephone me at the station. I suggest you use the number you contacted me on earlier.”

              On returning to the gatehouse the guard waited in the sun until Johnston jumped into his car and drove away.

@@@

Jones sat in silence, his hands gripped together on the table; his eyes stared at the far wall.

              Johnston entered the room and peered at the handcuffed man called Jones. With a thump he placed a folder on the table. “Pieter Aalders, arrested for armed robbery and murder. How do I know this? Your fingerprints are all over your ID.” Multiple thoughts churned around in his head. “Now we’re going to play a game. I ask a question and you give me the answer. Who’s paying you to act as removal men?”

              Pieter did not like what was happening to him. “Fuck you.”

              “We found the girl and I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know she’s alive.”

              “Fuck you. The girl shouldn’t have been there.”

              Johnston smiled. “I never asked that question. What was going to happen to everything in the van?”

              The man’s eyes narrowed. “I do charity work in my spare time.”

              “You’ll have plenty of that where you’re going.”

              Pieter stared at the ceiling before commenting. “Makes no difference to me, I’ve done time before.”

              “I’ll ask you again. Who hired you?”

              “Fuck you.”

              Johnston turned to the officer who stood with his back against the wall next to the door. “Take this thug to the basement cells. I’ll continue interrogating Ben De Veen. Did he receive the lunch I ordered for him? Such a co-operative man.”

              “Ben knows nothing. I know nothing. We receive our instructions by a courier. We don’t ask questions and they pay cash on results.”

              “Wait,” said Johnston to the officer. “Name the courier?”

              “I told you, I don’t know.”

              Johnston nodded, his eyes half closed. “Not long ago one of my officers died as the result of a car bomb.” He removed his handkerchief and wiped his eyes before he began the lie. “I have enough bits of the bomb with your fingerprints on to put you in solitary forever. For the last time, who gives the orders?”

              “All I know is they’re Chinese, or maybe Japanese. I can’t tell the difference.”

              “A Chinese girl lived in the penthouse. This is all very attention-grabbing but your partner was far more interesting. He mentioned the hijacking of tankers using pirates.”

              “He doesn’t know anything.”

              “Are you telling me your partner lied? Why do I not believe you?”

              “Because for once I’m telling you the truth. My partner set the car bomb to detonate when any doors were opened.”

              Johnston grimaced. “I believe you.” He stood and motioned again to the officer by the door. “Take this man to the cells. Be careful on those stone steps, they are rather slippery. I’ll be with Ben De Veen.”

              The officer said nothing then he looked at Pieter. “I’ll ask for a few of the duty officers to assist.”

              Tears formed in Johnston’s eyes as he recalled informing the wife of the dead officer but at least he could bring charges against the murderers.             

              With careful use of the few facts from Aalders, he obtained more from Ben. Henry Wood’s hypothesis was correct. So many lives wasted. He smashed his fist on the desk. “For what? I must visit Frankie Austin,” he muttered. “Not that she’ll tell me much.” He wondered if he would ever know the real truth.

@@@

Frankie Austin lay between the crisp white sheets staring into space. Why was there a uniformed police officer sat beside her bed? She remembered a man at the door but then nothing until she had awoken. Her body ached in places it shouldn’t and she felt sick.

              Johnston strolled into the hospital and reception directed him to the secure ward. The duty nurse checked his ID and unlocked the door to Frankie’s room.

              He nodded to the officer. “You can go for a cup of tea.”

              The man took the hint.

              “Fifteen minutes,” said Johnston.

              He sat in the vacated chair. “I’m told you’ll be out of here in a couple of days.”

              Her eyes turned towards him. “Why am I locked up with a police guard?”

              “Because we found you unconscious in a removal basket covered in clothes. If the police hadn’t found you I’m sure you would not have lived much longer.”

              Frankie closed her eyes and said nothing. Her hands shook as she asked, “What do you want? I’ve done nothing.”

              “I need to tie up some loose ends and believe you can help.”

              “Do I need a lawyer?”

              A puzzled look crossed his face. “Why? You’re the victim and don’t have to prove anything. I just need answers to my questions, if you feel up to it.”