Cold Wallet, page 31
‘Where am I?’ I asked.
‘You’re in hospital.’
‘But which hospital?’
‘Come now, let’s get you settled. It’s time for your medication.’ She took a container out of the pocket on her uniform and shook out two tablets which she handed to me along with a glass of water. ‘These will help with the pain.’
‘My pain is better. Please tell me where I am.’
‘You’re in your room at the hospital,’ she said firmly this time. ‘That’s all you need to know for the time being. I’ll ask Mr Harding to come and see you. He’ll explain everything.’
Sixty-five
The week in hospital working with the physiotherapist gave Jess time to come to terms with her new reality. Guy was right. With no prospect of her career being rehabilitated, no husband and no company, there was nothing to keep her in the country. There were too many memories in Auckland, too many triggers. Still lurking in the shadows was the gang. Guy said they were operating as before. Business had never been better. Sure, they had Murray once the authorities were finished with him, but she had no guarantee they would not come looking for her. She was still the public face of Vaultange. She had to get away.
Ross and Ronald were more than capable of overseeing the liquidation of Vaultange plus they could contact her by email if necessary. The insurance money would take care of their fees and there would be some left over to make partial repayments to the more deserving clients, those who could prove genuine hardship. The fickleness of the justice system after her mother’s death had shown Jess that what was legal was not always fair. Ross assured her the right people would get what was owed to them. The rest, the gamblers and speculators, would have learnt their lessons and moved on.
She transferred ownership of Gordon Holdings to Carole. The properties weren’t worth four million, but the land had some value. She asked Ross to wait until she’d left the country before informing Carole of the arrangement. That was all she could do. She didn’t want to see Carole again. She didn’t want to explain the loss of her finger. More importantly, Jess was done with apologising.
The people who would lose most from Vaultange’s demise were the criminals. Jess didn’t care. Just as they didn’t care about the victims of their crimes. The amount lost was a drop in the bucket and easily recouped. Murray’s capture meant they saved face. Maybe that was all they wanted. Jess wasn’t going to stick around and find out.
The week before her departure, Jess took the car for a last drive out to Piha. Wrapped up warmly, with her scarf around her face, she drove out to the coast with the top down. She filed away the smell of the bush, wet with winter rain, the birdsong and the clear sky above with memories of her mother to retrieve later if she should ever become homesick. The dark-sandy beach pounded by waves was empty, the weather too cold even for the hardiest of surfers. The store was closed, the houses scattered on the steep hillsides, shuttered. She turned the car around and drove back. There was nothing for her — here.
The car made fifty thousand dollars at auction. The brooch, three hundred and twenty thousand, not as much as it was worth but enough. Jess thought long and hard about selling her engagement ring. It meant losing her link with Andrew, but when she put it on it looked silly with no little finger to hold it in place. It easily reached her reserve price of forty thousand dollars. Able to repay the advance from Ross, Jess had enough money left over to start her new life.
She bought first class tickets to Athens where she would catch a plane to Corfu. She wanted to feel warm every day, swim in the ocean and enjoy the relaxed island life she had read about when she was a child. With the money left over, she bought Bitcoin at US$5323.
It was early June before she was ready to go. Her worldly possessions were packed into her trusty suitcase, the file was safely stashed in her carry-on luggage, as she did a last circuit of the apartment. There had been happy times here and she was grateful for the memories. Jess pressed the ground floor button one final time. The Uber driver had been waiting long enough.
Somewhere over the Indian Ocean, Jess woke up. Several hours into the flight from Auckland, unable to get to sleep, she’d taken one of Andrew’s sleeping tablets. Still groggy and with a bitter taste in her mouth she padded unsteadily to the bathroom, washed and brushed her teeth and changed into summer clothes. The temperature in Athens was twenty-eight degrees and she didn’t want to be sweating in winter clothes on her arrival. Back in her seat, feeling human again, Jess pressed the call button. The attendant arrived with a smile and Jess asked for champagne. As she sipped from her glass, she took the file out of her bag. Everything was as exactly as it was when Ross had given it to her. Memorising the contents, she had replayed it in her mind many times since; twenty-four pages detailing the findings of the investigation into her past. Back then she had noticed the irregularity on each page but had dismissed these as mistakes by a punctuation-ignorant author. It was after Henry explained how a Nano S worked, that the mistakes had made sense. The author hadn’t made them — they had been added. On the first page, the word family had unnecessary quotation marks. On the third page, either side of house there were inexplicable hyphens. Twenty-four seed words embedded in order on twenty-four numbered pages.
Andrew had entrusted the file to Ross to keep in safe storage while they were away. The same as the sticks in the car, he had anticipated that if he was not around to recover them, Jess would be. He had risked everything assuming she would pass the sticks on to the authorities, but he knew she would keep the file to herself. Jess smiled and sipped her champagne. What a distraction those sticks had proved to be. Sending the investigation down a blind alley to nowhere, wasting valuable time and testing the patience of all involved.
It was the next part of his plan which was a masterstroke. And a gamble. How much he would have enjoyed wondering what she would do with the file? Would she understand its significance? Would she keep it? Or destroy it? To know the answer to that, Andrew had to know her.
Their last month together hadn’t been his building their relationship so much as a psychological assessment. When Henry said it was Andrew who had bought the properties, Andrew who had transacted the deals using crypto taken from the exchange, she hadn’t wanted to believe him. But why would he lie? He had been as shocked as she had been when he found out the properties were fake. Then, when they were about to be questioned by Murray, he knew they were never going to get out of there alive. Why not tell Murray what he wanted to know and spare himself the pain? Every conversation Andrew had with her was so he could work out how she thought. In every regard except her childhood, Jess was an open book with the ability to rationalise and make complex decisions. Anything to do with her childhood and she shut down. As he’d predicted, she had kept the file. Not only had she kept it, but she had hidden it, guarding it fiercely from prying eyes. Her guilt, her shame, her fear, the file held it all. But it was more than that. It was a tangible connection to her past, with her mother. Andrew had bet his company that Jess would carry the file with her forever. Andrew the master strategist had played her — brilliantly.
When the flight attendant appeared and refilled her glass, beads of bubbles fizzed randomly to the surface of the wine.
‘I’d like to change my booking, before we land if possible,’ Jess said.
‘Certainly, what did you have in mind?’
‘Instead of flying straight to Athens today I’d like to break the journey and spend a day in Qatar City.’
‘One day? Would you like me to organise accommodation and a car?’
‘Yes. That would be very helpful.’ She sipped her second glass of champagne, smiling as she stared out of the window.
Sixty-six
‘These walls are driving me nuts Guy. The doc told me I needed your permission to leave, so ...?’.
‘You’re not worried?’
‘A little, but I’ll take my chances. Once I get rid of this thing.’ I lifted my arm off the bed.
‘Ah. We’re in the middle of an operation. Murray has been helpful, in exchange for us keeping him in solitary. He’s opened up several lines of inquiry that we didn’t have before which we are pursuing, but it’ll take time.’
‘How long?’
‘Six months, maybe a year.’
‘I’m not Murray. I have my rights. Either you charge me with a crime, or you have to let me go.’
‘I wish it were that simple.’
‘It is that simple. I’d like to see a lawyer — today.’
‘This is a hospital, not a jail. You’re receiving treatment, you’re not technically in custody. No can do re the lawyer I’m afraid.’
‘If it was truly a hospital, I would be able to get up and walk out that door and no one would stop me.’
Guy walked to the end of the room, turned and leant against the white wall. He sighed. ‘If I could be sure you would never breathe a word of this to anyone then maybe, just maybe we could come to an arrangement.’
I screwed up my eyes. ‘A word about what?’
‘Andrew, Vaultange, the whole shebang. Never speak about it again. As far as the press is concerned it’s over. The DTCU doesn’t want it brought up, nor do the banks. Forget you even heard of cryptocurrency. Andrew Cullinane was just some guy you met once at school. That’s all — end of.’
I looked down at my arm. There was a gap between skin and bone where once I’d had muscle — now there was nothing where once I’d had strength. The skin grafts covered the defect, but the tissue underneath was gone forever. With no sensation and no grip what use was my hand except as a dead weight on the end of my arm?
‘You want me to forget Andrew. Forget five years of my life? Is that what you’re asking?’
‘Sounds about right. I don’t want you telling a soul — ever. You’ve got money put away. Don’t get greedy and you can keep it. In fact, I’d be willing to help you cash up before you go into witness protection. How does that sound?’
‘Witness protection? Where exactly?’
‘I couldn’t possibly say, but you’ll be safe.’
‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not just talking about the gang.’
‘As I said earlier this is a complex operation, we have new leads.’
‘How do you know I have money put aside?’
‘Andrew told us. Before he left …’.
I lay back on my pillows and smiled. ‘Andrew knew, didn’t he?’
Guy walked slowly to the door, opened it and turned around. ‘Andrew who? I don’t believe you know anyone by that name. Or do you?’
‘I knew an Andrew at school, but I haven’t seen him in years. My mistake. You’re right. I thought we were talking about someone else entirely.’
Sixty-seven
The house was exactly as it appeared on the website. At the end of a short road suited more to donkeys than cars it had been built of local stone three hundred years before on much older foundations. Situated on a rocky promontory between Kalami Bay and Chouchoulio Beach on the northern coast of Corfu, it was small and private. Double wooden doors opened to a small courtyard, the living room, kitchen and bedroom with en-suite, opened off that. A terrace encircled the house, and at one end of this steps led over rocks to a jetty and tiny private beach. It was all she required.
Not interested in cooking, Jess ate her one meal of the day at the local tavern in the evenings. Being among tourists, even if she didn’t understand what most were saying, helped her to feel less lonely while she waited.
A week after her arrival, everything was in place. It was Saturday the 29th of June 2019. She was ready. The extra wide monitor had been installed in the living room and the software uploaded. She positioned the file under the keyboard, after smoothing a corner which had been bent in transit. Two champagne flutes and an ice bucket sat waiting on the bench beside the refrigerator which was stocked with a half dozen bottles of Krug. The bedlinen in the master bedroom had been upgraded to the finest Egyptian cotton. Flowers from the markets in Corfu city arranged in huge bunches around the house scented the summer air. Food from the taverna, cooked lobsters and salads and freshly baked breads, laid out on platters and covered in clingfilm were in the refrigerator. The maids had completed their final clean.
Jess showered and blow-dried her hair. No longer blonde, she had been to the stylist in Qatar and reverted to her original dark colour. It suited her, bestowing dignity without detracting from her beauty. The stylist suggested that her wardrobe could do with a similar makeover and referred her to boutique in a nearby mall. Never in her wildest dreams had Jess ever thought she would spend so much on clothes. But she had. Why not? Looking at herself in the mirror, it had been worth it. She looked amazing — irresistible, in fact.
Her phone pinged a text. ‘On the way.’
Jess checked that the monitor was running, picked up her bag and put on her sunglasses before walking down the steps to the boat waiting at the jetty.
Sixty-eight
Can a heart leap in your chest? Can a stomach literally get tied in knots? At the sight of Andrew getting out of the car at the entrance to the taverna, Jess’s did both. A little thinner, bearded, and dressed in clothes she’d bought him, she would have recognised her husband anywhere — even from this distance. As she focused her binoculars, she studied the lines on his face, every minute wrinkle, exploring the face she knew so well for clues as to what he was thinking. If only he would take off his sunglasses and she could see his eyes. He walked around to the back of the car and took out his bag, then stepped aside so the driver could make a tight turn and drive back up the hill. He stood for a moment inspecting his surroundings, the narrow road between scrubby trees on the hillside behind the bay, the boats at anchor, people on the beach, then he picked up his bag and approached one of the waiters to ask for directions. She saw the waiter point towards the house before Andrew put his hand above his eyes to see where he was supposed to go. She was studying him so intently she could almost hear the wheels of his suitcase rumbling down the stone path to the door.
Hacking the camera on the monitor had been simple. Jess put down her binoculars and opened her laptop. She watched the front door open. He called her name and the sound of his voice almost made her cry out.
Andrew was breathing heavily as he hauled his suitcase over the threshold and shut the door behind him. He took off his glasses and she saw the eager expectation in his eyes as he surveyed the room. He called again and when there was no response he went to the bedroom, noting first her clothes in the wardrobe, then the fresh linen on the bed. He peered inside her suitcase, left open on the luggage rack, and felt the damp towels, bringing one up to his face to smell it. She saw him smile.
In the kitchen he opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of champagne and read the label before putting it back. He smiled properly then — the smile which had always made her want him — even now.
Once he’d walked through the doors on to the terrace, she saw him bend over the balustrade, searching the sea, the jetty, and the beach in quick succession. He stopped then, his hands in his pockets, a man in silhouette standing in contemplation in front of a house.
He noticed the file as soon as he went back inside. He pulled up a chair and sat down, his face so close to the monitor, Jess wanted to reach out and touch him. His brow wrinkled, then the lines above his nose deepening as he flicked through the pages quickly at first, then again. Slowly this time, running his fingers over every word marked with parentheses, or commas or hyphens or any of the other random punctuation marks Jess had seen fit to insert after her third glass of champagne.
The pages dropped to the floor. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He started to type and stopped, unable to believe what she’d done. His phone rang in his pocket.
‘Jess?’ His voice was uncertain.
‘Andrew.’
He looked at the camera and shook his head. The silence between them grew longer, neither willing to be the first one to speak. ‘What have you done?’ he asked eventually.
‘I could ask you the same thing.’
I’m guessing you’ve already worked it out.’
‘Clever Andrew. Which Musketeer were you by the way? I’ve been picking Aramis.’
‘Right now I feel like Pathos.’
‘Porthos? Oh. I get it. Very good.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m not ready to tell you.’
‘I came back for you.’
‘Did you Andrew? Or did you come back for the file? That’s what I can’t work out. You, Simon, Tim. You made me believe you were dead.’
‘I had to. I found out what Henry and Murray were planning. It was the only way to save everything I had worked for. Who would believe I wasn’t involved when the crypto disappeared? I’d only just met the love of my life and I didn’t want to spend the next ten years in prison.’
How did you get the others to do it?’
‘They’re my friends. They’d do anything for me.’ The laugh that followed sounded bitter. ‘I paid them — up front. You’ve worked out the properties in Gordon Holdings have no value, I presume. The money went to them. Tim has his new hospital, Simon bought the resort.’
Hearing him confirm her suspicions, didn’t help.
‘Where are you Jess? Please tell me. I did this for you. For us.’
‘Murray tortured Henry and me, Andrew. Your best friend, and your wife. Johnny is dead and Carole thinks I’m responsible. I can’t practice medicine. Everything I worked for is gone.’
‘I’m here. I came back for you. I’m sorry about your finger. I am. When Guy told me I was sick thinking about what you went through. I swear I’ll make it up to you. For the rest of our lives, I’ll make it up to you.’
‘Guy?’
Jess hung up.
