The long, black limousine pulled up in front of the reception to the Gen8tyx Company and Trevor Simons opened the door, and stepped out slowly. He steadied himself against the side of the car, then stood up tall and smoothed down his expensive Versace suit, before adjusting the position of the Rolex on his wrist. He watched in mild amusement as the group awaiting his arrival scurried out from the protection of the air-conditioned reception hall into the thirty-five degree heat of the Californian afternoon.
His aide stepped up beside him, carrying his attaché case and walking stick, and Trevor took them both.
"Thank you Daniel. Please arrange for my luggage to be taken directly to my room."
"Certainly, sir."
The first of the reception committee walked up to him, reaching out his hand and welcoming him. He recognised him immediately as David Sonderheim, CEO and founder of the Gen8tyx Company. The file he had just finished reading on him was quite comprehensive: an impressive man, intelligent, charismatic and rich, but one whom he should not be foolish enough to trust. Sonderheim was a man of some calibre, but he had not got to where he was today without demonstrating the characteristics of many of the world's great leaders: greed, loyalty only to one's self and one's own personal cause, and the ability to lie proficiently.
Yet every man had a weakness, and Trevor made it his business to find them. Trevor had smiled knowingly to himself when he read the report on Sonderheims' Achilles' heel and weakness. Women. The same, simple Achilles' heel of almost all powerful men, and one with which Trevor would easily be able to manipulate Sonderheim in the future, should the necessity arise.
The others who came scurrying out behind him would be of no importance. Minions of no strategic value. Discardable. Looking through and behind them, he noticed that Colonel Packard had not ventured outside into the heat. Instead, he was waiting patiently just inside the glass doors, within the confines of the cool, dry air and out of reach of the direct sunlight. Trevor respected that. He was not a pawn like the others, to be played as and when was required. Colonel Packard was a powerful man indeed. The title of course was false, and betrayed his true position in the military. Who he really was, Trevor may never know. Like himself, Colonel Packard had no file.
"Mr Simons, welcome to Gen8tyx. I trust you had a pleasant journey."
"Thank you I did. It is a pleasure to meet you Mr Sonderheim. I am looking forward to learning about the Orlando Treatment first hand. Your reports have been most interesting. And if I may say so, your photographs do not do you justice. I did not realise you were so young…"
The direct personal touch caught Sonderheim off balance for a second, and while Trevor scanned the man's eyes for a reaction, he held onto his hand in a long, prolonged handshake which immediately made Sonderheim feel uncomfortable. The first battle of charisma and power had been won. Sonderheim would be no match for Trevor Simons.
"Have the others arrived?" Trevor asked.
"Yes. Everyone is here."
"Excellent. Then let us proceed."
--------------------
Miami
Day Eleven
Florida
The next flight to Washington that day would be at 1 p.m. That gave Kerrin several hours to tie up a few loose ends.
Foremost of these was to try and get a look at Mike's computer. Ideally, Kerrin would like to have a look at the hard-drive for himself.
Just before falling asleep last night he had remembered that Mike's fiancée had given him the telephone number of the policeman who had taken the computer away for inspection. The telephone number was a local Miami number. Not knowing exactly what he was going to say, he dialled the number. Kerrin always thought on his feet. He would bluff his way along.
A woman's voice answered.
"Hello, Miami Police Department. How may I direct your call?"
"Hello. May I speak to Officer Trevelli of the Miami Police Computer Investigation Department, please?"
"Could you spell it for me please?"
"Officer T-r-e-v-e-l-l-i."
"I'm sorry sir, but Officer Trevelli is no longer with the police department. Can I direct you to anyone else?"
"That's surprising, I was just given his card last week by a man who claimed to be him. Can you please put me through to someone who might know where I may be able to find him?"
"I'm sorry, but you say you were just given his card? Can you hold please, I will transfer you to one of his colleagues."
The sound of an orchestra playing "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" took over from the voice of the operator, and Kerrin had just begun to enjoy the music when a brusque, male voice boomed down the phone.
"Hello? This is Captain Weiss. I understand that you were recently given the card of Officer Trevelli, and that you claim to have spoken to him? May I ask in connection with what?"
"He was working on a suicide investigation and he took away the computer of a friend of mine for investigation and analysis. The case is now closed, and we wanted to have the computer back."
"Can you describe to me what this man looked like?"
Kerrin was surprised by the questions being asked. Something was obviously wrong.
"Excuse me Captain. Is there a problem?"
"Yes, you could say that. Captain Trevelli was murdered ten days ago. I was wondering, could you please come down to the station to make a statement for us…?"
Kerrin hung up.
--------------------
"Hello, Mrs Roberts, this is Kerrin Graham. We met a few days ago when I came to your house to talk about Henry?"
"Oh yes. How are you? Do you want to ask me some more questions?"
"Just one. I know your husband worked from home a lot. I was wondering if there was a possibility that your husband might have had some information on his computer that could help me in understanding why he died."
"You may be right. Unfortunately if you want to look at the computer you will have to talk to the police department. About a week ago, one of their officers came and took away the PC and the laptop he used to take with him on business trips."
"Can you remember the name of the police officer, or can you tell me how I may get in contact with him?"
"Certainly, the officer was very polite, and he left me his card. I'll just go and get it…"
Mrs Roberts returned two minutes later.
"Captain Trevelli. That was his name. Would you like his number?"
"No. Thank you Mrs Roberts. That won’t be necessary. I already have it."
Fifteen minutes and two more phone calls was all it took to find out that Captain Trevelli had also paid a visit to the widow of Tom Calvert and the sister of Sam Cohen. The annoying thing was that Trevelli, whoever he really was, had only just visited Ms Cohen last night. That meant that the computer had still been there when Kerrin had been talking to his sister! If he hadn't been so caught up in the tales of Sam's love life, he might have had the presence of mind to ask the question yesterday, not the next day when it was too late.
The description that Sam's sister had given of the Captain was too generic to be of any use. A police captain dressed in uniform. Polite. Dark hair. Italian looking. It could be any one of a thousand police officers in Miami.
Kerrin could kick himself. From now on he had to stay focused. This was no longer a game. People were dying all around him.
Kerrin had to find Alex Swinton fast. Before Captain Trevelli's namesake did.
Of course there was one other widow that 'Captain Trevelli' would not yet have had the opportunity to visit: his sister. She had not returned home after her husband's accident.
He glanced at his watch. It was 11.45 a.m. It was probably already too late to make the flight to Washington. He would have to put it off for another day.
He had better call his wife, to stop her driving out to the airport to pick him up.
He dialled her number.
The phone rang. There was no answer.
He redialled the number. She sho
uld be home. He had already called her first thing that morning and when he had spoken to her, she'd had no plans to go out.
Still no answer. He hung up.
What should he do? What if something had happened? He suddenly remembered the vision of the blue Mazda tailing him in his car's rear-view mirror, and a surge of panic passed through him. Had Captain Trevelli's friends got to his wife?
He dialled the number again, doing a quick calculation in his mind to see if he would still have time to get to the airport to get the Washington flight home. Yes, he might just make it if he really hurried.
"Hello darling. Did you just call me a minute ago? Sorry, I was outside in the garden…"
"Thank God!" Kerrin made no attempt at hiding his relief.
"Why? What's the matter?"
"Nothing…nothing. It's okay. Just overreacting. Listen, I'm sorry. I'm not going to make the 1 o'clock flight after all. I think I need to go over to Elizabeth's house."
"Okay, that’s fine. But please try to make it home tomorrow…you know we're meant to be going to dinner with the Petersons tomorrow? Oh, by the way, Elizabeth called this morning. Wanted to know what you were up to and if you'd made any progress. She sounded a lot better…"
"I'll call her now. Are you okay?"
"Yes. Fine,…don’t worry about me. But just make sure you're back tomorrow!"
Kerrin knew that his sister was trying to reach him. His cell phone told him she had called him three times so far, while he was on the phone to the others but he had not yet got round to calling her back. He dialled her cell-phone number.
"Hey Sis! How are things going?"
"Oh…as good as can be expected I suppose. The weather here in Arizona is fantastic. And there is so much to do here on the ranch. It's keeping us all occupied. But the children have taken it very hard. I try my best to console them, but I don't think they understand yet…I don’t think I do either. We all miss Martin. Anyway,…how's everything going with your investigation?" Elizabeth asked.
"Interesting. Very interesting."
"Listen Kerrin, don't do anything stupid, will you? Promise me? I've already lost Martin…I couldn't bear to lose you too!"
"Don't worry. I'm a big boy now. Elizabeth, I would like to go round to your house and have a look at Martin's computer. Would you mind?"
"No. Not at all. Do you still have your keys?"
"Yes."
"Okay, but I'll need to tell you the security code so you can disable the alarm on the way in the door. Don't forget…otherwise you'll have half the Orlando police force on your back."
"Did Martin have a safe-place where he might keep any private files or personal CD's, …or back-up hard-drives or memory sticks for his computer?"
"Yes. In his office he had a book on the bookshelf that looked as if it was leather bound, but was really hollow on the inside with a metal box hidden inside the cover. It's on the third shelf up beside the window."
"What's the book called?"
" 'A Golden Collection of Shakespearean Tragedies.' It's quite thick with a red cover. And the spare key to Martin's study will be with the others in the usual place." Kerrin knew where that was. It was inside the large green vase beside the television. That's also where they kept the spare car keys.
They chatted for a while, Kerrin took a note of the security code to disable the house alarm, and then said goodbye. He promised to call her again later that night.
It was a long drive back up to Orlando. This was the third time he had made the trip in as many days. The sunny mood that he'd been in a few days ago had evaporated, and he had lost interest in sightseeing along the coastal route. He took I-95, the Interstate freeway, hoping to get there as soon as possible.
Martin and Elizabeth's house was in the small suburb of Angelsea, south of the city. A large house, impressive yet not over the top. Since they had moved to Washington, Kerrin and Dana had spent many happy days there, visiting his sister's family as often as they could. It would be strange going there by himself this time, the first member of his family to go into the house since Martin had died.
He wasn't looking forward to it.
Kerrin kept both of Elizabeth's house keys on his key fob. He let himself in through the front door, and hurried into the hallway, quickly typing in the six digit security code into the alarm's control panel. Thankfully he had got it right, and the flashing light turned a constant green. He turned round and gently closed the door behind him, putting the pile of mail he had brought up from the mailbox onto the table in the lobby.
Unlike the other times Kerrin had been visiting, when the sound of screaming children, conversation and loud music had filled the house with life, this time it was uncomfortably quiet.
Walking through the rooms, stopping to reach down inside the long dried willow grass and pick up the study key from inside the green vase, he could feel the presence of his brother-in-law all around him. Martin had been a good, strong man, and an excellent father. His sister had been lucky to find him.
Martin's study was at the back of the house, facing the indoor swimming pool. He used to sit there at his computer, watching his children and wife swimming in the pool through an internal window he had had especially knocked through the wall.
The water in the pool looked inviting as Kerrin slipped past it into the study. Perhaps he would take a dip afterwards.
He stopped in his tracks.
The door to the study was wide open, having been visibly forced. He reached for the gun in the holster underneath his arm. Perhaps the intruder could still be inside the room! He couldn’t take any chances.
He quietly kicked off his shoes so that his footsteps wouldn't give him away on the marble surrounds to the swimming pool, and stepped slowly forward.
He reached the door to the study, and with a single deep breath, he stepped swiftly into the room, his gun outstretched and searching, looking for a target.
Thankfully, there was none to be found. The room was empty.
Empty as in 'no intruder', but also empty as in 'no computer.'
Somebody had beaten him to it.
He looked around at the bookshelf beside the window. None of the other books had been disturbed but on the third shelf there was a gap in the tightly packed row where a single book was missing. A gap where until recently Kerrin knew there would probably have been a copy of Shakespearean tragedies.
Kerrin felt a chill run down his spine. Whoever had got into the house had known both the security codes for the house alarm, and where Martin had kept his secret box. It had to be either a very close friend of the family, or someone who must have intercepted the phone conversation between Kerrin and his sister that morning!
Whoever it was, they had also known where Martin and his sister had lived. They must have come and gone very recently, probably within the past few hours. He checked the rest of the house, making sure all the other doors were still closed and the windows locked. Everything was fine.
As far as he could see, nothing else had been taken and the rest of the house looked completely untouched. That meant that the person who'd let themselves into the house had been a true professional. He or she hadn't been tempted by the obvious valuables lying around the house, only in completing a specific task: taking the computer and the computer disks.
He sat down in one of the large chairs in the living room. What should he do now?
He debated going to the police to report the theft, but then wondered what help that would bring. The police must know by now that the suicides had been murders, but in spite of that, they had closed the investigations, and mislaid the files. Whoever had persuaded the police to ignore the suicides, would make sure this got a similar treatment.
As he lay back on the sofa going over everything in his mind and wondering what his next move should be, a blanket of exhaustion overtook him, and he fell into a deep sleep.
He was woken a few hours later, the loud ringing of a telephone very close to his head ripping him
out of his dreams and thrusting him back into the world of questions that had become his life in the past week. He struggled to open his eyes, for a second not remembering where he was or how he had got there.
The phone stopped ringing and the answering machine kicked in. It was Martin's voice.
"Hi! We're not in just now. Could you leave a message please and either Elizabeth or myself will get back to you! Bye."
Kerrin could hear the person at the other end of the phone hesitate for a few seconds, obviously wondering whether or not to leave a message.
"…Hi, Martin, it's Alex…I was just wondering if you're okay…"
Kerrin lunged for the phone, knocking the phone off the table as he did so, then fighting with it on the floor, and trying to grasp the handset and untangle it from the cable.
"Hi… Hi Alex,…DON'T HANG UP! It's Kerrin! Martin's brother-in-law! You know me! We met a few weeks ago!"
The voice on the other end of the line stopped talking in mid sentence.
"Don't hang up," Kerrin shouted. "Martin's dead and I need to talk to you!"
Silence.
"Alex, I hope you’re listening to me. I'm a friend. I know you are scared and probably don't want to talk to anyone, but I need to talk to you… We can’t speak on this line. It's probably bugged…but don't hang up. I have an idea. Follow my instructions… I want you to think of the place we met a few weeks ago. Remember the name of the place…Take the first part of the name and remember it. Now I want you to go into an internet café and create yourself a hotmail email account and sign onto the messenger service, so that we can chat online. Make your username the same as the first part of the name of the place we went to…i.e.
[email protected]. Got it? I'll get to an internet café too. In one hour from now, I'll send an email to you at that account name, and then we'll chat using the hotmail Messenger Service. We'll take it from there? Do you understand…just say yes if you do, then hang up."
The line at the other end had not yet gone dead…Kerrin knew there was somebody listening to him. He prayed that person would acknowledge him with a 'yes'. The few seconds seemed like an age, but eventually the man at the other end grunted a 'yes', then hung up. So far so good.
Now all Kerrin had to do was find an internet café within the next hour.
Actually, it wasn't as difficult as he first thought it was going to be. As he drove down I-95, he passed a big mall, which he guessed would be quite a good place to look for one. He pulled into the parking lot, and walked inside. Sure enough, on the second floor, just opposite Gap for Kids there was a little trendy café that sold a million different types of coffee and internet connection by the minute.
Within a few minutes Kerrin had created himself his own new email identity, '
[email protected]', and had sent an email to Alex, wherever he was. He just hoped that Alex had been able to remember that the name of the golf club where they had played only a few weeks ago under such different circumstances was called Duddingston Gardens Golf Club. Just in case, he sent emails to three different addresses:
[email protected],
[email protected] and
[email protected]. Hopefully, if Alex had really understood his instructions, at least one of the emails would get to him.
Kerrin then signed onto the Messenger service offered by Hotmail and MSN, and created three buddy aliases under the three email ids Duddingston, DuddingstonGardens and DuddingstonGardensGolfClub. Hopefully, if Alex was online and had signed onto Messenger under any of these id's he would be able to see him.
He only had to wait ten minutes. A little message popped up into one of the MSN messenger boxes to tell him that his 'buddy' was online.
Kerrin immediately sent him a message back.
"Alex, Hi! It's Kerrin. Please prove your identity. Who won the day we first met?"
Two seconds later a message box popped up on his own screen.
"Hi Kerrin. Martin did. What happened to him? And why were you in his house?"
From that point a barrage of short messages flowed back and forth across the internet between them.
"I was there to pick something up. Martin tried to escape from America. His Lear Jet blew up in mid-air en route to the Bahamas. Do you think it was suicide like the rest?"
"Like hell it was. None of them were…"
"Where are you, Alex?"
"How can I trust you?"
"You can't. But who says I can trust you either. You're the only one left alive? Did you kill the others?"
"Fair point. And no I didn't. Forgive the precautions, but if you are who you say you are, then you can ask your sister's son a question. Ask her to tell you where I went on vacation last year! Her son kept the postcard. The postcard comes from the town where I am now…find the postcard…find the town…and find the entrance to the place mentioned on the postcard. I will meet you there at 2 p.m. in five days from now. Come alone."
"Okay…"
Kerrin waited for a response but there was none. A message popped up on his Buddy List saying that Duddingston had signed off.
He paid the spotty teenager behind the bar for his thirty minutes of online time, then walked through the mall, trying to find a shop that sold pre-paid cell phones. The phone he already had was obviously bugged, and he had to stop using it.
He found a shop near the entrance, paid for a phone in cash, and left the mall. Inside his car he called the business office at his sister's ranch, and asked the office manager to transfer him to Elizabeth, who was a guest in the main house. When she eventually came on the phone, he apologised for the skullduggery, and explained that her cell phone may be bugged. Then he asked her about the postcard.
"Yeah, Danny loved it. It was from South Africa, some windsurfing place…hang on a second I'll get him…"
There was a few minutes silence, then the next voice that spoke was Martin's son. His voice had lost the excitement it normally had. There was no joy there. Only sorrow.
"Uncle Kerrin? Hi…"
"Hi Danny. How are you?" Stupid question.
He could hear the boy fighting back the tears.
"Can I ask you something Danny…it’s important. Last year, one of your dad's friends sent you a postcard…from South Africa?"
"Uncle Alex? Yes…it's an ace card…" The little boy's voice had livened up a bit.
"That's the one. Do you still have it… I need to take a look at it…it's important."
"Yes, I do…Why do you want to see it? "
"I can't tell you…but it'll help me find out why your father died."
The boy at the other end thought for a moment.
"Okay, but it's in my secret place…with my secret stuff. If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone else, and you have to promise…make me a double promise that you won’t look at anything else there, and that you won't read my diary…? Promise?"
"Absolutely. I double promise you Danny. And I won't tell anyone about where your special place is. Especially your sister. Okay?"
"…Okay. Do you know where…" And Danny told Kerrin where all his childhood secrets were kept.
Twenty minutes later, Kerrin slipped the postcard out of a cardboard box hidden underneath a loose floorboard in Danny's bedroom. Before he put the lid back on the box, he dropped three twenty dollar bills into the box and smiled. Danny was a good kid.
The postcard was split into two separate photographs juxtapositioned against each other. In the bottom left picture was a long, sandy bay, with rolling surf crashing onto the beach. Two windsurfers were in the photo, one surfing a wave on a board with a tall yellow sail, and the other flying upside down above the surf, caught by the camera in the middle of doing a jump.
The other picture showed a long, blue stretch of water covered by Windsurfers.
Along the bottom of the picture were the words, 'Langebaan Bay, South Africa.'
Chapter 15
Day Twelve
New York