TURKISH DELIGHT Barry Faulkner (i love reading txt) 📖

‘Before we kill him?’

‘Maybe.’

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CHAPTER 2

‘I’ve not known her long, six months at best. Bit of a stunner, eh?’

I looked in my rear view mirror at Jameson Reynolds who was in the back of the hired Jaguar that I’d rented to take him to Heathrow. He was off on one of his many overseas trips and always insisted I did the chauffeur bit. I’d told him about my visit from Eve Rambart and that she had told me he recommended her. I hadn’t told him what she wanted me to do.

‘What does she do?’ I asked.

‘No idea. Her old man, Nicholas, is into finance and props up Middle Eastern regimes for oil and mineral rights, or used to – I think the Chinese have elbowed him out of that now. Last I heard he’d moved into arms and defence procurement, big money. I think they met somewhere in the Middle East. I’ve met him a few times when I went legit and put a couple of companies on the AIM listing; he was an initial buyer of their shares.’ He laughed sarcastically. ‘Like most things in the financial world Ben it’s all a con. The bank that handles new company share issues gets a few wealthy individuals and hedge funds to underwrite the issue; means the shares are all sold and creates an interest on the Stock Exchange floor, all smoke and mirrors stuff. You can have a crap company and if all the shares are sold on the day of issue then it creates a demand and they go up. Then shits like Nicholas Rambart sell their holding and pocket a good profit. What does she want you to do, kill him?’

I checked in the mirror. He was smiling.

‘Kill him?’ I said with a bit of false laughter thrown in. Did Reynolds know? Had she told him?

‘Well, her last two husbands popped their clogs in unusual ways and it wouldn’t surprise me if she had something to do with it – she came out of both with a good bundle of dosh. To be honest Ben, I wouldn’t touch her with a barge pole but she wanted a private eye so obviously I recommended you. What does she want you for?’

‘No idea, said she was just checking me out and might have some work for me,’ I lied.

Reynolds nodded. ‘Probably some security work. I told her you handle all that sort of stuff for me.’

I dropped Reynolds off at Terminal One and gave Gold a call. I wanted to find out a lot more about Eve Rambart.

‘Yeah?’

‘Anything happening?’

‘No, she’s been across from the apartment to Harrods for some lunch and now she’s back inside. Had a visit from a couple of blokes, they stayed about twenty minutes and left. Definitely Eastern European – they made a drop.’

‘A drop?’

‘They went in with a large holdall and came out without it.’

‘Drugs?’

‘Could be. I got a couple of photos through the front windows, I’ll ping them over.’

‘The front windows?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Her apartment’s above a shop, how did you do that?’ I couldn’t imagine Gold putting up a ladder in the middle of Knightsbridge and popping up with a camera.

‘There’s a building of small offices opposite. One on the first floor is vacant and empty.’

‘And you broke in.’

‘Well, didn’t take much – old Yale single lock, gives a good view into her apartment.’

I thought for a moment.

‘Okay, might be a good idea to have a nosy round that apartment. I’ll meet you at the front of Harrods at seven.’

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Back in my office I took a look at the photos Gold pinged over to me. You couldn’t tell much about the pair that went into the building with the holdall. A few of the photos Gold had taken through the windows with a telephoto lens showed them with Rambart in the apartment, with the time code on the snaps only moving a few minutes. It was obviously a quick business meet, not a social affair, and then they were out minus the holdall and gone. But at least Gold had got a couple of good face shots as they left.

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It was quite dark by seven; the street lights and the car lights lit up Knightsbridge. Gold walked past me with a Burberry shoulder bag clasped to her side: our tool kit was inside. I was stood on the corner by the Harrods entrance and gave her a slight nod and followed at a discreet distance. She stopped opposite Rambart’s apartment and let herself into a street door set beside a shop, leaving it ajar for me. I followed closing it behind me and hearing the lock snap across. It was dark inside and Gold shone a torch down from the first floor landing where she stood to show me the stairs that wound up around an old lift shaft that still used an old-fashioned gated steel lift. The vacant office was a one room affair, quite big with the front large picture window giving a good view of Knightsbridge below and the shops and apartments opposite. The shops were closed but the restaurants were open offering their mix of oriental and eastern foods, and about half the apartments above them were lit; I could see people moving around in some of them.

‘Hers is the one over the leather goods shop,’ said Gold. ‘She’s out by the look of it, no lights on.’

‘Good.’

‘The entrance door is the one on the left of the shop. I had a quick look earlier and it’s a simple lever lock. I suppose they keep it simple because there’s two more floors above hers, and everybody needs a key. Have you got a card?’

‘Yes.’ I showed her the firm but flexible plastic card the size of a credit