Due Process (11 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

              Tony looked into Clive’s grinning face and was at the point of giving up. The door of the van continued to swing in the wind as the bulk of a man beckoned at Tony. They stood about ten metres apart. Clive was holding a gun.

              “Be better for you to come quietly,” he said, his voice low and gruff, the gun hovering in his hand and pointed directly at Tony.  It was still raining and now they were in the open the wind was driving the rain like a power shower.  A gust of wind caught the van door and slammed it shut, startling Clive who turned automatically at the noise.  In that moment Tony ran. Not away for fear of a bullet in the back, but the only way he could. He ran straight at Clive. 

              Tony was tired and weak and cold, but he put every last effort into the assault.  Even as he was forcing his legs to run faster, Clive was turning back and aiming the gun. At that very moment, the blue Ford car that Tony had seen earlier came hurtling round the corner.  The driver jammed on the brakes and the car swerved sideways as the driver saw the van in the middle of the road and tried to avoid it.  Tony managed to stop himself just in time as the Ford slid noisily past the van and plowed straight into Clive.  The impact carried Clive along the road for a few metres before he was lifted over the bonnet and along the roof. He then fell to the ground with a thud, quivered for a moment,  and then lay still.

              The woman driver staggered out of the Ford looking confused and dazed.

              “I’m so sorry…I didn’t see him…the van was in the middle of the road…”

              Tony hurried to her and led her to the verge where she sat down heavily.

              “Stay here,” he said, and then went over to the lifeless form behind the car. He bent down and felt for a pulse, then felt the side of Clive’s neck.  There was a large gash on the side of his head, and his chest was covered in blood. It was clear the man was dead.

              Tony walked back to the driver.

              “Do you have a mobile phone?” he asked.

              She nodded slowly, felt in her pocket, and produced a Samsung.

              “We need to call the Police,” said Tony.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Amanda couldn’t let herself become confused.  She was no longer Amanda Purcell or even Miranda Bell.  According to the documents in her lap she was Amanda Buller, grieving widow of Simon Buller, property investor and developer, late of Georgia, Alabama.   The death certificate stated he had died from multiple injuries as a result of an accident.  A newspaper clipping reported that he had fallen overboard from a speedboat, got caught in the propeller, and died from his injuries. He was alone on the boat at the time so there were no witnesses, but his injuries were consistent with the report by the Cayman police.

              Amanda marveled at the power of money.  Somehow they had removed Simon’s body and faked the accident at sea. According to the article  there was no evidence to suggest foul play, and after a cremation two days later no-one was any the wiser.  Now she possessed his Last Will and Testament which left everything to her. Well, to Amanda Buller.

              Her new passport had been professionally prepared, her visa granted, and now she was the widow returning to execute her late husband’s Will.  The financial documents were contained in a separate folder, proving ownership of several parcels of land, various properties, several commercial buildings, and a large river frontage on Cayman Kai, the elite part of Grand Cayman where the cheapest home went for more than a million dollars.

              Apart from the property, there were statements from banks showing investments and assets and capital worthy of royalty, which of course was exactly how Samuel King viewed himself. The King of Jamaica.

              She stopped counting after twenty million dollars.  There would be a host of attorneys and realtors and bank managers falling over themselves to administer the estate, and a few thousand in the right direction would ensure it was dealt with as quickly as possible.

              So when it finally came down to it, everything was about money.             

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

She was back at the Hyatt.  There was no-one there she recognized, which wasn’t surprising really as it had been ten years. But she was following instructions, and her reservation was made and her stay paid for.

              The first main meeting with the bank and attorneys was scheduled for 5pm. The wad of investment deeds and financial documents were in her briefcase, together with the Will and her identity papers. She glanced at her watch. She had just plenty of time before she needed to leave.  She picked up the telephone and pressed 0.

              “Front desk. May I help you?”

              “I’d like to book a taxi for 4.30pm please.”

              As she replaced the receiver she wondered if her calls were being monitored. Anything and everything was possible.  She looked at her watch again and wished the tracker was still intact. Even if it was, she knew she could not risk making contact. Samuel’s words had been clear, if she screwed up, Tony would die.

              At least they knew where she was, and would probably realize she couldn’t call them.  She laid down on the bed, closed her eyes, and waited.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Inspector Finley and D.C. Blake sat side by side in the main meeting room at Walsham police station, sipping tea and staring incredulously at the man who sat opposite them.

              Tony Purcell was recounting his abduction, captivity, and eventual escape. The Scottish police had been brilliant when they realized who he was and had contacted Walsham and had a special car bring him door to door.  He felt a tremendous relief as he was able to recount his story. As he reached the part where the police had arrived at the scene of the car accident, and he had blurted out what had happened to him, he finally began to cry.

              D.C.Blake topped up Tony’s mug of tea and sat back to wait. Tony sipped the scalding liquid and let it soothe his throat.

              “I think Clive may be dead,” he said quietly, “ he went right over the top of the car and never moved. I couldn’t feel a pulse.” He took another sip.  “I don’t know about Jake.  I have to admit I hit him pretty hard, but I had to be sure so I could get away.”

              He looked at the Inspector.

              “I described the place I was being held as best I could.  Do you think the police in Scotland found him?  Have you heard?”

              “He’s okay,” the Inspector replied, leaning forward and typing something on to the computer which sat next to the tray of tea. “Got a bit of a sore head, I have to say, but nothing that won’t heal.”

              Tony nodded, strangely relieved.

              “How long have I been away?”

              D.C.Blake checked his notes.

              “Twenty-seven days.”

              Tony shook his head in disbelief.

              “I must have been unconscious for several days, and then one day seemed much like another and I lost track of time.”

              He sat forward in his chair.

              “I asked about Jenny.  Jake and Clive said their men had her, but the police said that was not true. Where is she?”

              Inspector Finley clicked his computer and sat back in his chair.

              “There’s a lot we need to tell you. First and foremost Jenny is safe, she is staying with your sister, but we are keeping that a secret from everyone for the time being.”

              “I still don’t understand,” said Tony, sighing, “I don’t understand what this is all about, why they said they had Jenny, why they took me. And where is Amanda?”

              “Like I said,” said the Inspector, “we’ve a lot to tell you. I just need you to tell us about the Justin case.”

              Tony looked confused.

              “Paul Justin? What’s he got to do with all this?”

              “Maybe something, maybe nothing,” replied the Inspector, “but he was found dead shortly after you went missing.”

              Tony gasped.

              “What happened?”

              D.C.Blake leant forward.

              “It could have been an accident, but it’s still being investigated. He drowned in the bath but also had overdosed.”

              Tony nodded.  “He was a user. And a supplier, and dealt with some unsavory characters, I have to say.  Actually, he had been texting me a lot, saying he needed to speak to me. On the day I was taken I had a text saying someone was out to get me.  I thought it could wait until the Monday, I really didn’t take him seriously.”

              “I think,” said the Inspector grimly, “We will find that Paul Justin had contacts in high places, probably higher than he realized.  Anyway, let me tell you about Amanda.”

              He turned to D.C. Blake, “Get the word out to Miami as quickly as possible that Mr. Purcell has been found.”

              “Miami?” asked Tony.

              “It’s a long story,” said the Inspector.

CHAPTER THIRTY

It was four-twenty five, and Amanda closed her door quietly and headed for the lift. It was only one floor down to reception, but she didn’t trust her legs on the stairs. Her whole body was quivering with fear.  What if they realized she was not who she said she was?  Everything would fail and she would lose Tony.  There were so many ‘if’s’ to worry about, but she knew she had to pull it off as best she could.

              The taxi was waiting outside and she hurried into the back and gave the address of the meeting.  The driver was quiet, not chatty like the usual Caymanians, but she was grateful. The last thing she felt like doing was chatting about the weather and her so-called holiday.  The taxi eased forward down the long drive of the Hyatt Hotel and out on to West Bay Road.  As was usual, traffic was nose to tail and they crawled along. She checked her watch three times in quick succession, knowing it was no use trying to hurry the driver, there was only one road into George Town, and they were on it.

              She opened her briefcase and checked for the third time that she had everything she needed, and then began to go over her new identity in her mind. Amanda Buller.  Grieving widow.

              She began to look out the window at the other traffic, the beaten up Cadillac in front of them, and the endless stream of cars coming towards them.  She quickly turned and glanced behind.  A black sedan with tinted windows was just inches from their bumper.  She imagined the driver was one of Samuel King’s men, no doubt watching her every move.

              The taxi driver continued to stare out the front window, never moving his eyes from the car in front.  He, too, was probably one of King’s men.  She sighed. There was nowhere to turn. There were no options.

              Eventually they pulled up at the office in George Town. Amanda gathered together all her belongings, the briefcase, her handbag, and her phone, and lent forward and handed the driver a twenty dollar note.

              “Keep the change,” she muttered.

              To her surprise he handed her a piece of paper.

              “I don’t need a receipt,” she said, taking it as she opened the door and left the taxi.

              She hurried into the office, announced herself to the receptionist, and was shown to a very plush waiting area.  She had only just sat down when a door opened and a handsome suited gentleman beckoned to her.

              “Mrs Buller?”

              She nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I’m Amanda Buller”.

              She followed him into the office and tried not to gasp.  The room was decorated like a tropical garden, with palms in the corners and bougainvillea on each window sill.  A long table filled the centre of the room and each side was lined with white leather chairs.  Four people were already seated, and their names were displayed on the table in front of them. She saw that two were from Cayman National Bank and two from the attorney firm.  She was shown to a seat and opened her briefcase and laid all the papers in front of her and put her handbag on the floor and placed the phone beside her.  It was then she saw the piece of paper the taxi driver had given her, and went to put it in her handbag when the writing caught her eye.  She looked at it in amazement.

             
Tony is safe.

One of the men from the bank was talking, but she was not listening.

             
Tony is safe.

The sense of relief she felt was overwhelming and she began to sob, her shoulders shaking and her stomach contorting.  The man who had shown her to her seat handed her a box of tissues and they waited.

              “We’re very sorry for your loss,” said one of the bankers.

              “What?” said Amanda, struggling to get her emotions under control.

              “Your husband,” the banker replied, “this must be very difficult for you.”

              She paused for a moment, gathered her thoughts, and then looked at each of the men in turn.

              “Gentlemen, it is correct these papers belonged to Simon Buller.  I assume they are investments he made over a period of years, though I have serious doubts that the money used to purchase the properties and holdings was obtained legally.”

              One of the lawyers gasped.

              “Mrs. Buller…” he began.

              Amanda held up her hand to stop him.

              “Please let me continue.  My name is not Amanda Buller nor am I the grieving widow of Simon Buller.”

              She stood up and walked to the end of the table where a telephone and computer sat. She picked up the telephone and tried not to smile at the stunned looks of the men sitting around the table.

              “Could you give me an outside line,  please?” she asked the operator, and then dialed a number.

              “I’m at the offices of Cayman National Bank.  I have all the documents, deeds, holdings, everything is here. I suggest you come and get me as soon as you can.”

              She replaced the phone in to its holder and smiled at the men who had watched and listened in amazement.

              “I’m afraid you’ve all had a wasted journey,” she said.