Read 48 Hours - A City of London Thriller Online

Authors: J Jackson Bentley

Tags: #thriller, #london, #blackmail, #bodyguard, #josh, #blackberry, #hammond

48 Hours - A City of London Thriller (8 page)

BOOK: 48 Hours - A City of London Thriller
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As the river water washed over the mud I was sure I saw a face
appear just below the surface, but then the water withdrew like a
receding wave and the face was gone. I was convinced that I must
have imagined it, until I noticed the toe of a brown shoe breaking
the surface of the mud just a few metres away. I didn’t want to
believe what I knew must be true.

I climbed back onto the bridge and told Dee what I had seen.
She looked into my eyes.


Is it Andrew?” she asked.


I hope not, but it does seem to be rather too much of a
coincidence,” I replied, feeling a depth of sadness that surprised
me.

Dee dialled the number for Inspector Boniface and twenty
minutes later we heard the River Police boat approaching, sirens
blaring.

***

An hour later the body had been recovered from the mud before
the tide could come in and sweep it away. I unofficially confirmed
it was Andrew, and Dee nodded her agreement as I spoke. The
official identification would be done by Charlotte later, after the
body had been cleaned and a cause of death had been
established.

Dee and I were sitting in a police transporter with Inspector
Boniface.


Josh, this is outside my jurisdiction, it’s a job for the Met
boys, so be wary. Remember, you have a motive and also opportunity,
so you are bound to be questioned.”


I have Dee as an alibi,” I responded, feeling mildly annoyed
that anyone would consider me a suspect in Andrew’s
death.


I understand that, Josh, but...” he looked at Dee. “....Ms
Conrad was heard threatening Andrew less than twenty four hours
ago. I’m just warning you both to be prepared for some hard
questioning. Now, I’m going to take you both back to the City
Police HQ. I’ve told the investigating officer that you are crucial
witnesses to a blackmail plot and potentially two
murders.”


Two murders?” Dee looked puzzled.


Yes. When the Scene of Crimes Officers looked at Sir Max
Rochester’s phone last night they discovered a number of texts.” I
guessed what was coming, but I let the Inspector continue unabated.
“The upshot of it is that he, too, had been given forty eight hours
to deliver a rather larger sum than yours, and he refused to play
ball. He died within a few minutes of the deadline
expiring.”


My God, this man is serious about killing his victims!” Dee
Conrad seemed surprised, but I wasn’t. I fully expected to die if I
didn’t pay. Otherwise why would I shell out a quarter of a million
pounds?


Obviously this is a working theory at the moment because the
death looks like natural causes, possibly a heart attack, but
hopefully a toxicology report will provide some answers.” Boniface
paused for the inevitable question. I asked it.


Is it possible for someone to induce a heart attack,
then?”


The short answer is yes. It doesn’t strictly cause a coronary
infarction but you can interfere with heart function with a
sufficient dose of potassium chloride. They use it as one of the
components for chemical executions, more politely referred to as
lethal injections in the USA. Anyone who knew that Sir Max had
heart problems could reasonably assume that a large dose of
potassium chloride would be enough to kill him.”


Does it have to be injected?” Dee asked.


No, but it’s colourless, and in a strong drink such as whisky
it would be almost undetectable. Another reason for suspicion is
that by the time the paramedics arrived on the scene, Sir Max’s
whisky glass had disappeared from the table.”


So it was murder,” I concluded.


We may never get to prove that, Josh. It’s touch and go at
the moment.”


But what about toxicology? Won’t that find the chemicals in
the body?” I couldn’t believe that the team in CSI Miami wouldn’t
have known with certainty it was murder. Boniface had an answer for
that, too.


The trouble is, Josh, that when someone has a heart attack
the levels of potassium are often raised in the body immediately
afterwards. It’s a natural chemical reaction, caused by an enzyme
being released into the bloodstream. So, higher levels of potassium
may not be conclusive evidence of murder.”


And what about Andrew Cuthbertson? Are the police treating
his death as suspicious?” Dee asked.


Suspicious, yes, but for the moment it looks like either an
accident of some sort or a suicide, and if it wasn’t - well, you
two will be considered prime candidates for interview.”

Strangely enough I really could imagine Andrew ending it all
after hearing his frantic call last night, but who would commit
suicide by jumping ten feet into mud? No-one.

We were suddenly interrupted by Andrew’s phone ringing.
Boniface lifted the phone from the clear plastic evidence bag using
a latex gloved hand. By the time he got it free of its container it
had stopped ringing. The screen announced a missed call from Work.
While he had the phone in his hand Boniface scrolled down the
recent calls list. The last call was to a person listed as LH. The
call had been made late last night, after he had called
me.


LH. That could be the blackmailer.” I realised that I sounded
a little desperate. Boniface lifted the phone to his ear after
dialling the last number called. The phone rang out without an
answer and went to an anonymous woman who asked us to leave a
message after the tone.


I’ll get a trace on that number straight away. Maybe LH, or
Bob, has made his first mistake.” Boniface stepped out of the van,
holding his own phone to his ear and speaking urgently.

 

***

Bob felt the phone vibrate in his pocket as he stepped onto
Beech Street and headed back to his hotel. He knew who was calling.
That cheap Nokia was reserved exclusively for speaking to
Cuthbertson, and he was dead. The police had probably found his
phone. Bob switched the phone off, and for the second time in
twenty four hours he dismantled and discarded a cell
phone.

Chapter 15

City of London Police HQ, Wood St, London. Friday,
9:30am.

The old fashioned office carried the vague aroma of lavender
furniture polish. Obviously the cleaners had been in. I let my gaze
wander around the office walls. There was a good deal about the
Force on view, but very little about the man. A single certificate
hung on the wall behind the desk. It appeared that Inspector
Boniface had completed a course with NYPD on counter terrorism in
urban environments. I wondered idly whether it was a serious course
or whether it had been something of a jolly.

The door opened and Boniface walked in. “Well, we have some
news, but it’s not particularly good, I’m afraid,” he stated. “The
phone I was calling for LH has been switched off, probably
permanently. However, as your threat comes from Bob and Sir Max was
threatened by Bob, too, I think we can assume that LH might be the
blackmailer’s real initials. Also, it appears that our late friend
Mr Cuthbertson was being blackmailed as well. This is the text of
an email sent to Andrew by LH.” Boniface laid a sheet of paper on
the desk. It read:

Andrew,

The information on our first female client is late. Hope you
aren’t getting cold feet. Don’t know what the wife would say about
the little Thai girl. Was she much older than your daughter? Send
the info, don’t be a martyr.

LH

I knew that Andrew had been in Bangkok at a partners’
conference some months before and told Boniface about it. He
already knew. I guess we were both thinking the same thing; the
photo must have been pretty bad to have worried Andy enough to
become drawn into a murderous blackmail plot.


Josh, Dee. We are not making sufficient progress in
identifying Bob to say with any certainty that you would be safe if
you didn’t pay the money.” Boniface left the decision on whether to
pay up or not to me, in the full knowledge that official police
policy was always to refuse to pay blackmail demands.

Dee spoke to me directly. “Bob hasn’t sent you the bank
details yet. Maybe he’s running scared after the Andrew Cuthbertson
debacle.” She didn’t sound very convincing, even to
herself.

We sat in silence for a moment and then discussed the
arrangements for the bank transfer, should it be necessary. The
money would be transferred from my account, temporarily, to an
account held by the Serious Financial Crimes team. They would then
send the money electronically to the bank account Bob nominated.
The transfer file accompanying the money would have an invisible
electronic tag which carried a code, alerting the bank and overseas
law enforcement agencies that this was a tracked payment and that
the tag must be left in place for subsequent transfers or
transactions. Apparently the major banks have an arrangement with
the law enforcement authorities that precludes them from notifying
their customer that the money is being tracked.

Now it was simply a question of waiting.

***

Bob had showered and shaved. He felt refreshed after the
morning’s tribulations. He was back on track. His clothes from his
morning jaunt were with the hotel laundry and, when returned, would
be donated to the Salvation Army. There was no point in taking any
unnecessary risks.

Bob looked at his Breitling watch and read the time as ten
thirty. Time for a couple of calls, he decided. He took the phone
labelled with the name Josh, inserted the battery and switched it
on. He dialled the last number called. The phone rang out for a
moment and a man picked it up.


Abasi Nour speaking. How may I help you?”


Hello Abasi, this is Josh Hammond. Are we still OK for twelve
noon?” Bob’s voice was higher than normal and had the dialect most
associated with the East End of London. Bob was rightly proud of
his range of dialects.


Mr Josh, yes, I am ready. The goods are here.” The Egyptian
paused for a moment. “I will confirm that this is a private
transaction, between two men of honour?”

Bob replied and confirmed that he would pay the money directly
into Mr Nour’s personal bank account and not into the business
account. The merchant gave Bob his bank account details and wished
him well until they met at noon.

***

It was almost half past eleven when Josh’s phone buzzed with a
text message. The phone was back on the docking station that the
police were using to trace the caller. Josh, Dee and Inspector
Boniface peered at the small screen.


Hi Josh,

Just an half an hour to go until payment is due or...... well
we won’t go into that. Here are the details of my bank account. If
I don’t hear that my account has been credited by noon the deal is
off. By the way, make sure that your money is labelled as coming
from you. There is a lot of activity in my account and I wouldn’t
want to miss your payment.

Bob.”

Boniface was reading the bank account number from the screen
and repeating the numbers and the sort code to someone on the other
end of the telephone line.


Right, Josh, your money will be there in five minutes. As
soon as we receive the electronic receipt we’ll trace the account
holder and start tracking the money. My guess is that it will
bounce around the world for a few hours and settle In Grand Cayman
or Switzerland overnight.”

Boniface seemed confident that the money could not escape the
police net. I was not so sure. It seemed to me that Bob had been a
step ahead of us all along, and whilst I didn’t know how it could
be done, I suspected that Bob had found a way of transferring the
money - my money - without leaving a trail. I had an uncomfortable
feeling that I would not be getting it back.

Chapter 16

Nour Jewellery Design, Hatton Garden, London. Friday,
11:50am.

The shop was small but beautifully furnished. It had the
appearance of a consulting room as there were no gems on display,
but each of the two magnificent carved walnut desks carried a
brochure showing exquisite jewellery. Abasi Nour was a neat
Egyptian man with a pencil moustache and a linen suit which was
unsuited to the weather. He rose from his chair as Bob entered the
shop, having been buzzed in through the security door.


Mr Josh, how nice to see you again,” the shop owner said
cheerily as he greeted the tall moustached man with the
unconvincing toupee. His own hair was dyed jet black and carefully
styled to cover his whole head.

The two men sat down and Bob handed over his business card. It
read “Josh Hammond, Senior Loss Analyst.”


Mr Nour, as you know this first transaction....”

Mr Nour held up his hand to stop Bob speaking. “Halima, could
you leave us please?” The spectacularly attractive olive skinned
girl at the other desk rose, smiled and exited through the door at
the back of the shop.


Sorry, Mr Josh, but we cannot be too careful. Now, you were
saying.”


Mr Nour, this is the first bonus payment of the year. There
is another due later in the year, which will be a little larger, I
hope. And I would like to do the same again if this transaction is
beneficial.”

BOOK: 48 Hours - A City of London Thriller
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