Action at last!
He reached for his two-way radio.
‘Charlie! That Caddy is parked on quay eight. Man and woman in it. Block all exits to the quay. I’m investigating.’
‘Will do,’ Tanner said and switched off.
Lepski eased his gun in its holster, then, leaving his jacket hanging open, he slid out of his car and threaded his way through the tourists to the Cadillac. He arrived at the driver’s open window and immediately recognized Ng. His gun jumped into his hand.
‘Police,’ he growled in his cop voice. ‘Come on out, both of you, and come carefully.’
Ng looked at Shannon.
‘Ma’am, please remember what I said. Don’t go home,’ and, opening the car door, he got out.
‘You too!’ Lepski snapped.
Shannon got out of the car and, moving swiftly, came around to join Ng.
There came the sound of police sirens as patrol cars converged on the quay.
Moving between Ng and Lepski, Shannon said quietly, ‘I am Mrs Sherman Jamison. I have been kidnapped. This young man has rescued me.’
Lepski gaped at her.
‘You’re Mrs Jamison?’
‘Yes.’
He stared at her, and then recognized her. He had often seen photographs of her in the press.
Two police cars, their blue lamps flashing, came from either end of the quay and men spilled out.
Lepski suddenly realized the Vietnamese was no longer there. With a movement as quick as a lizard, Ng had jumped towards the harbour wall, and with another jump, as Lepski raised his gun, there was a splash of water.
Ng swam under water until he was clear of the yachts, then he surfaced and trod water, looking for the last time at Shannon who was standing motionless, her hands covering her face.
God bless you, ma’am, he thought, then let himself sink into the oily water. The debris from the yachts closed over him.
Kling recovered consciousness to find himself lying on the plush carpet of the Whipping room. His brain immediately became alive. Staggering to his feet, he looked around, but he knew Shannon Jamison had gone and the kid had gone with her. He stood still for some moments until he felt himself again, then, snarling, he searched the apartment, not expecting to find the two there, but he looked.
Again he paused to think. So the little bastard, after serving him like a slave with his ‘No problem, sir’ had double-crossed him because he had fallen for a woman!
Snatching up the garotte from the floor, Kling left the Whipping room, shutting the door, but leaving the key in the lock.
He rode down in the elevator to the garage and saw the stolen Cadillac had gone. Ng wouldn’t get far. The cops would spot the car, and he’d go away in the slammer for at least ten years. Serve the little bastard right!
Kling’s one thought now was to get out. To hell with Jamison! He told himself that he had to get to Zurich. He had his flight reservations, his clothes and two hundred thousand dollars from Jamison in his car.
He ran up the ramp of the garage and in a few minutes he was driving fast to the Miami airport.
It wasn’t until he had checked in and boarded the New York flight, that he settled himself in his first-class seat and relaxed.
Zurich, here I come! he thought and grinned. He would collect the five million dollars and drop out of sight. As the plane took off, he began to hum softly. Five million dollars! he was thinking, but he wasn’t to know that three Swiss detectives were sitting in the entrance hall of the Bovay Bank waiting to arrest him.
Jamison sat at his desk. He kept looking at his watch. The time was 23.15. Why no word from Kling? Had something gone wrong? He felt confident, now that Kling had proof the money was in his bank, he would murder Shannon. Why this exasperating wait? He felt his heart beating unevenly and he forced himself to remain patient.
There came a tap on the door, and he barked, ‘Come in!’
Smyth came in and placed a letter before him.
‘An express, sir, just come in.’
Jamison looked at the letter and saw the Italian stamps. At last! A letter from Tarnia.
‘Thank you, Smyth. Get me sandwiches. I will be up late.’
‘Certainly, sir.’ Smyth bowed and left the room. He went into the pantry and prepared two chicken and ham sandwiches and two smoked-salmon sandwiches. He added a few leaves of fresh lettuce, then carried the plate to Jamison’s study.
He stood in the open doorway, staring.
Jamison, still in his chair, was lying face down across the desk.
‘Sir!’ Smyth exclaimed. ‘Is something wrong?’
Jamison didn’t move.
Putting down the silver plate, Smyth went to him. He saw in a moment that Jamison was dead, and he also saw, clutched in Jamison’s fingers, a letter.
Shocked, Smyth took the letter from the dead man’s hand. He hesitated for a long moment, then read the letter.
Rome.
Dear Sherry,
I do hope you will be understanding. I have decided I don’t want to get married either to you nor to any other man. Guiseppi has offered me a partnership in his wonderful, enormously successful fashion house. The firm will be known as Guiseppi & Lawrence. I am sure you will realize what this must mean to me.
Sherry, I am sorry, but I do hope you will find someone else who will be a mother to your children.
Forgive me?