Returning to his car, he now felt almost certain that Sherman Jamison’s wife was hidden on the top floor of Lucy Loveheart’s brothel.
With the patience of a dedicated cop, Lepski lit a cigarette, settled himself and awaited further developments.
Unaware that he had been watched, Ng stood before the door of the Whipping room, his heart thumping. He clutched the bouquet of flowers. He tapped on the door. When he heard nothing, he tapped again.
Shannon who had passed a restless night, hearing the persistent tapping, started up from the bed. With a clutch of fear, she called, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Kim, ma’am,’ Ng said. ‘May I come in?’
Shannon gave a gasp of relief. She felt she could handle this odd Vietnamese.
‘Yes, come in. Give me five minutes.’ She slid out of the bed and went into the bathroom.
‘I’m sorry to be so early, ma’am,’ Ng said as he entered the living-room. ‘I wanted to give you breakfast.’
Shannon didn’t hear any of this as she was in the bathroom.
Finding a vase, Ng filled it with water and arranged the flowers. He set the vase on the table, then went into the kitchen and made coffee.
He was setting the table as Shannon came in. She was wearing a kimono that Lucan had bought and, to Ng, she looked so beautiful he caught his breath.
‘Ma’am, some toast?’ he asked, regarding her with adoring eyes.
‘No, thank you. Coffee will be fine,’ Shannon said, then, seeing the flowers, she exclaimed, ‘How lovely! Thank you, Kim. How kind you are!’
‘It is nothing, ma’am.’ He poured the coffee. ‘I do hope you found the food acceptable. I have been worrying. These frozen packs aren’t much.’ He held a chair for her to sit down at the table. ‘I would so much like to cook you a good lunch. Would you allow me to do this, please? I can prepare you an excellent meal of saffron rice chicken with lychee. Would you like that, ma’am?’
Shannon stirred sugar into her coffee, her mind active. She had now come to the conclusion that this odd Vietnamese youth had fallen in love with her.
‘That sounds marvellous, Kim.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’d love that.’
‘I will arrange it, ma’am. It will give me great pleasure.’
She sipped the excellent coffee and regarded him.
‘Kim, please be frank with me. I feel you are a friend. I am a prisoner here, and I do realize how fortunate I am to have such a nice, kind jailer. I am worried. My husband and I don’t get along any more.’ She put down the cup. ‘He wants to marry another woman. I keep asking myself if he will pay the ransom for me to be released.’
Ng nodded.
‘Oh, yes, ma’am. I’ve already told you. He will have to pay the ransom. My master has him in a squeeze. You have nothing to worry about.’
‘What squeeze?’ Shannon asked, forcing her voice to sound casual.
‘That I can’t tell you, ma’am. I promise you, when the ransom is paid, you will be safe.’
‘There is another thing that worries me,’ Shannon said, looking directly at Ng. ‘A few months ago, my husband suffered a heart attack. Suppose he had a fatal attack before the ransom was paid. What would happen to me?’
Ng stared at her.
‘Whatever happens, you will go free.’ He moved to the door. ‘I will arrange your lunch. You have nothing to worry about.’
As he rode down in the elevator, his mind churned with excitement.
Here was the solution!
With Jamison dead, there would be no ransom. This lovely woman would be freed. His master would lose interest. No money… no killing.
He felt confident he could get into Jamison’s villa and kill him.
That was the solution!
There was time. First, he wanted to show this lovely woman how well he could cook. As he walked up the ramp of the garage, he reminded himself of the ingredients he would have to buy.
As he hurried along the sidewalk towards the big self-service store, Lepski slid out of his car and followed him.
9
Jamison’s executive jet touched down at the Zurich airport at 09.30.
The previous afternoon he had told Smyth to alert his pilot to be ready to take off for Switzerland, and for Smyth to book a suite at the Baur au Lac hotel, and to alert Maurice Felder, the President of the Swiss branch of the Jamison Computer Organization, that he wished to see him, immediately he arrived.
Jamison was met by one of the senior executives who carried his bag, saw him through the douane and to the Rolls Royce that the hotel used to meet VIP clients.
He was received at the hotel with obsequious bows and conducted to a suite overlooking the lake. Having shaved, showered and changed, Jamison went down to the hotel entrance where the Rolls drove him to the sumptuous offices of the Corporation.
Maurice Felder, the President, received him with a warm handshake.
‘Most unexpected, Mr Jamison,’ he said as Jamison sat down. ‘A very pleasant, and gratifying surprise.’
Felder was a tall bulky man in his late fifties, always immaculately dressed, balding and, as Jamison knew, one of the shrewdest and most knowledgeable Swiss in the country. What Felder didn’t know about big business, industry, banking and big money wasn’t worth knowing.
‘I have a personal problem,’ Jamison said abruptly. ‘I want to know everything there is to know about Banque Bovay. What can you tell me?’
As Felder sat behind his desk, he lifted his bushy eyebrows.
‘A small, private bank. There are, of course, a number of these in Zurich, Bern, Basle and Geneva. These small banks give individual service, don’t ask awkward questions and extend the recognized banking secrecy to foreigners. This particular bank has been in the hands of the Bovay family for the past fifty years. Henri Bovay who had been running the bank for the past twenty years has just retired. His son, Paul, has taken his place. I understand that Henri Bovay suffered a stroke, and now has nothing to do with the bank. Paul Bovay seems to be doing a good job. The bank, in a small way, is prosperous. Its assets are acceptable.’ Felder paused and regarded Jamison. ‘Is this the kind of information you need, Mr Jamison?’
‘When did the son take over the bank?’
‘Only last month.’
‘Tell me more about the father.’
Felder, aware that he had an important board meeting in twenty minutes’ time, smiled his humourless Swiss smile.
‘Perhaps you would be good enough first to tell me what the problem is, Mr Jamison, and why you are interested in a small concern like the Bovay Bank. I could then give you direct information without wasting your time.’
‘Or wasting your time,’ Jamison said with a nod of approval. All his dealings with Felder had been excellent. Felder was one of the few men that Jamison considered a top-class executive.
Felder lifted his fat hands.
‘Yes, Mr Jamison. I have a board meeting.’
‘Right. Here’s the problem. My wife has been kidnapped.’
Felder stiffened.
‘I am sorry to hear this, Mr Jamison. So…?’
‘The ransom of five million dollars is to be paid to the Bovay Bank. The kidnapper whose name is Ernie Kling has an account at this bank. Kling is an American citizen. Unless the ransom is paid, he tells me he will murder my wife. He has given me his account number at the Bovay Bank. I need to prove to him that this sum has been paid into his account before my wife is set free.’
Felder sat for a long moment, pulling at his underlip, then he picked up the telephone receiver that connected him with his secretary.
‘The board meeting is to be cancelled,’ he said. ‘I don’t wish to be disturbed,’ and he hung up. ‘Yes, Mr Jamison, this is a problem.’ He looked directly at Jamison. ‘Tell me your thinking.’