NATIONAL TREASURE by Barry Faulkner (the best electronic book reader .txt) 📕

I left the same time as Ansty and his officers; the doctor was still there but Marcia insisted she was fine and let the victim support officer go. I wanted to get some more information out of Marcia, but not in front of Ansty. I’d call her when I got home.

I didn’t get that far. Mrs Johnson rang me five minutes after I’d left and asked me to go back.

She was at the door waiting and ushered me into the lounge, before pressing a photo into my hand.

‘They gave me this.’ Her voice was shaky.

The photo was of Janie. She was blindfolded and stood against a brick wall, hands tied behind her.

‘They spoke English, asked where it was.’

‘It?’

‘Yes, I said what are you talking about and they said I knew. I said I didn’t, and one hit me a couple of times and asked again, ‘where is it?’. I said I didn’t know what they were talking about, and one went off to search the house and the other kept slapping my face demanding to know where it was, and if I didn’t tell him I’d never see Janie again.’ She broke down in tears. ‘What should I do, Mr Nevis, what should I do? I rang Harry and he said to ask you, but don’t show the photo to the police because the kidnappers might harm her if the police are involved.’

I calmed her down and told her she was quite safe. If the goons had been and found nothing they wouldn’t be back, and they’d be pretty sure Marcia Johnson had no idea what they were after or she would have crumbled at the sight of the photo and given it up.

I haven’t any kids. I haven’t met anybody I’d want to have them with-yet. Been near to settling with a couple of ex’s in the past, but it always collapsed. I’d be a great dad, I really would; I could see myself at the school gates picking them up. I’d be a rock for them, the sort of dad I never had: caring, understanding, a chaperone or a best mate. I wouldn’t care if it was a boy or girl; I can glare at a daughter’s first boyfriends as they threatened to usurp my throne, or have a quiet word with the king of the block about what would happen to him if my son got involved in his little drug-selling game. Yes, I’d be a good dad. Is Marcia Johnson a good mum? The jury’s out.

I needed to have a one-to-one chat with Harry Cohen; he seemed a bit too keen to keep the police out of it, a bit too keen by far. But first Alexandru Bogdan would receive my attention. Alexandru is the eldest of five brothers who run their organised crime family from Bucharest. The father, now retired, started it all with the black market in the war, then progressed into drugs and people trafficking which are much more lucrative and profitable.

 ********************************************

I dressed for the occasion: stab-proof vest and my Beretta M9, with a full clip tucked into my belt behind me. I’d screwed on the silencer. I rang Gold.

‘You busy?’

‘No, just cloning a debit card that one of my clients accidently dropped into my shoulder bag.’

Sometimes I don’t know whether or not to believe Gold.

‘I’m going to Bogdan’s place. Marcia Johnson had a couple of visitors earlier.’

‘Really? She okay?’

‘Bit shook up, but listen to this – two foreigners who tossed the place, but left it as tidy as they found it.’

Gold thought for a moment. ‘The ransom note didn’t work, so a visit was made then?’

‘Yes, I think so. They had a picture of Janie, bound and gagged.’

‘Putting the pressure on.’

‘Yeah, big time.’

‘Gotta be something big they’re after.’

‘I’m sure Mr Bogdan will know, he wouldn’t be involved for peanuts. I’m going to their club, can you watch my back?’

‘Club Bucharest?’

‘Yes.’

‘Straight into the lion’s den, eh?’

‘I’ll get an answer.’

‘You might get a beating.’

‘Can you cover my back? I’ll be there about eleven.’

‘Of course. Oh, by the way, I did some digging on George Layton. He’s got a record, three offences listed.’

‘He has?’ Was this the break we were looking for?

‘Exceeding the speed limit in a 30mph area, three of them.’

‘Not exactly what I was hoping for.’ I was a bit disappointed.

‘Well, one of them may have been exceeding the speed limit whilst fleeing Epping Forest.’ Gold has a dry wit. ‘I’ll be at the Bucharest by eleven.’

I felt better knowing Gold would be around. My silent partner, always lurking in the background and ready to step in when needed.

       CHAPTER 5

The Bogdans’ ‘Bucharest Club’ was off Commercial Road, East London, a place you were welcome if they knew you and told you in no uncertain language where to go if they didn’t. A place where illegal deals of all sorts were agreed behind the facade of a big and busy night club, and where it had been known people went in and never came out. The Commercial Road was aptly named in the 1800s when it was a dock land centre for merchant sailors on leave from ships berthed in the docks nearby to find prostitutes, and get waylaid by muggers and a fair selection of people you really didn’t want to meet on a dark, unlit road at night staggering back to your ship with a belly full of beer and jellied eels. Then the developers moved in around the 1960s and the tall warehouses that loomed over the street became executive apartments with river views sitting on top of posh bistros and restaurants with the occasional nightclub.

I’d sorted out a few dodgy deals on behalf of clients with the Bogdans in the past, when those clients had painted themselves into