Read Online 48 Hours - A City of London Thriller by J Jackson Bentley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J Jackson Bentley
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exclusively for speaking to
Cuthbertson, and he was dead. The police had probably found his
phone. Bob switched the phone off, and for the second time in
twenty four hours he dismantled and discarded a cell
phone.
Chapter 15
City of London Police HQ, Wood St, London. Friday,
9:30am.
The old fashioned office carried the vague aroma of lavender
furniture polish. Obviously the cleaners had been in. I let my gaze
wander around the office walls. There was a good deal about the
Force on view, but very little about the man. A single certificate
hung on the wall behind the desk. It appeared that Inspector
Boniface had completed a course with NYPD on counter terrorism in
urban environments. I wondered idly whether it was a serious course
or whether it had been something of a jolly.
The door opened and Boniface walked in. “Well, we have some
news, but it’s not particularly good, I’m afraid,” he stated. “The
phone I was calling for LH has been switched off, probably
permanently. However, as your threat comes from Bob and Sir Max was
threatened by Bob, too, I think we can assume that LH might be the
blackmailer’s real initials. Also, it appears that our late friend
Mr Cuthbertson was being blackmailed as well. This is the text of
an email sent to Andrew by LH.” Boniface laid a sheet of paper on
the desk. It read:
Andrew,
The information on our first female client is late. Hope you
aren’t getting cold feet. Don’t know what the wife would say about
the little Thai girl. Was she much older than your daughter? Send
the info, don’t be a martyr.
LH
I knew that Andrew had been in Bangkok at a partners’
conference some months before and told Boniface about it. He
already knew. I guess we were both thinking the same thing; the
photo must have been pretty bad to have worried Andy enough to
become drawn into a murderous blackmail plot.
“ Josh, Dee. We are not making sufficient progress in
identifying Bob to say with any certainty that you would be safe if
you didn’t pay the money.” Boniface left the decision on whether to
pay up or not to me, in the full knowledge that official police
policy was always to refuse to pay blackmail demands.
Dee spoke to me directly. “Bob hasn’t sent you the bank
details yet. Maybe he’s running scared after the Andrew Cuthbertson
debacle.” She didn’t sound very convincing, even to
herself.
We sat in silence for a moment and then discussed the
arrangements for the bank transfer, should it be necessary. The
money would be transferred from my account, temporarily, to an
account held by the Serious Financial Crimes team. They would then
send the money electronically to the bank account Bob nominated.
The transfer file accompanying the money would have an invisible
electronic tag which carried a code, alerting the bank and overseas
law enforcement agencies that this was a tracked payment and that
the tag must be left in place for subsequent transfers or
transactions. Apparently the major banks have an arrangement with
the law enforcement authorities that precludes them from notifying
their customer that the money is being tracked.
Now it was simply a question of waiting.
***
Bob had showered and shaved. He felt refreshed after the
morning’s tribulations. He was back on track. His clothes from his
morning jaunt were with the hotel laundry and, when returned, would
be donated to the Salvation Army. There was no point in taking any
unnecessary risks.
Bob looked at his Breitling watch and read the time as ten
thirty. Time for a couple of calls, he decided. He took the phone
labelled with the name Josh, inserted the battery and switched it
on. He dialled the last number called. The phone rang out for a
moment and a man picked it up.
“ Abasi Nour speaking. How may I help you?”
“ Hello Abasi, this is Josh Hammond. Are we still OK for twelve
noon?” Bob’s voice was higher than normal and had the dialect most
associated with the East End of London. Bob was rightly
Cuthbertson, and he was dead. The police had probably found his
phone. Bob switched the phone off, and for the second time in
twenty four hours he dismantled and discarded a cell
phone.
Chapter 15
City of London Police HQ, Wood St, London. Friday,
9:30am.
The old fashioned office carried the vague aroma of lavender
furniture polish. Obviously the cleaners had been in. I let my gaze
wander around the office walls. There was a good deal about the
Force on view, but very little about the man. A single certificate
hung on the wall behind the desk. It appeared that Inspector
Boniface had completed a course with NYPD on counter terrorism in
urban environments. I wondered idly whether it was a serious course
or whether it had been something of a jolly.
The door opened and Boniface walked in. “Well, we have some
news, but it’s not particularly good, I’m afraid,” he stated. “The
phone I was calling for LH has been switched off, probably
permanently. However, as your threat comes from Bob and Sir Max was
threatened by Bob, too, I think we can assume that LH might be the
blackmailer’s real initials. Also, it appears that our late friend
Mr Cuthbertson was being blackmailed as well. This is the text of
an email sent to Andrew by LH.” Boniface laid a sheet of paper on
the desk. It read:
Andrew,
The information on our first female client is late. Hope you
aren’t getting cold feet. Don’t know what the wife would say about
the little Thai girl. Was she much older than your daughter? Send
the info, don’t be a martyr.
LH
I knew that Andrew had been in Bangkok at a partners’
conference some months before and told Boniface about it. He
already knew. I guess we were both thinking the same thing; the
photo must have been pretty bad to have worried Andy enough to
become drawn into a murderous blackmail plot.
“ Josh, Dee. We are not making sufficient progress in
identifying Bob to say with any certainty that you would be safe if
you didn’t pay the money.” Boniface left the decision on whether to
pay up or not to me, in the full knowledge that official police
policy was always to refuse to pay blackmail demands.
Dee spoke to me directly. “Bob hasn’t sent you the bank
details yet. Maybe he’s running scared after the Andrew Cuthbertson
debacle.” She didn’t sound very convincing, even to
herself.
We sat in silence for a moment and then discussed the
arrangements for the bank transfer, should it be necessary. The
money would be transferred from my account, temporarily, to an
account held by the Serious Financial Crimes team. They would then
send the money electronically to the bank account Bob nominated.
The transfer file accompanying the money would have an invisible
electronic tag which carried a code, alerting the bank and overseas
law enforcement agencies that this was a tracked payment and that
the tag must be left in place for subsequent transfers or
transactions. Apparently the major banks have an arrangement with
the law enforcement authorities that precludes them from notifying
their customer that the money is being tracked.
Now it was simply a question of waiting.
***
Bob had showered and shaved. He felt refreshed after the
morning’s tribulations. He was back on track. His clothes from his
morning jaunt were with the hotel laundry and, when returned, would
be donated to the Salvation Army. There was no point in taking any
unnecessary risks.
Bob looked at his Breitling watch and read the time as ten
thirty. Time for a couple of calls, he decided. He took the phone
labelled with the name Josh, inserted the battery and switched it
on. He dialled the last number called. The phone rang out for a
moment and a man picked it up.
“ Abasi Nour speaking. How may I help you?”
“ Hello Abasi, this is Josh Hammond. Are we still OK for twelve
noon?” Bob’s voice was higher than normal and had the dialect most
associated with the East End of London. Bob was rightly
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