Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates (23 page)

It was all Amelia and Jonathan could do to stop their jaws dropping open. They exchanged glances to confirm to each other that they were on the brink of some great breakthrough.

'I thought I recognised you. I've seen you around the ship, haven't I?' said Amelia.

'Shss… Yes, you will have, but please, I like to keep my presence low-key. You do understand, don't you?' replied the man.

'Yes, of course. I do understand,' said Amelia. Jonathan nodded his head in full agreement.

'The thing is, I have something in my cabin that may interest you. You see, what you were talking about with Mr Simpers in the library. Well, there was something that you all missed. I'm worried that without giving you what I have, Mr Simpers may be in danger. You do want to help him, don't you?' said the stranger, his voice modulating upwards as he ended his question.

As Amelia was about to answer the man, the bar steward arrived with the drinks. Immediately, all three pulled away from each other. They tried, and failed, to strike a nonchalant pose. Returning Amelia's cruise card and acknowledging her signature on the receipt, the steward left the three conspirators to their devices.

'Will you join me in my cabin?' repeated the stranger.

'But isn't that in the crew area? We aren't allowed there, are we?' said Amelia.

'That's the point. You see, because I work undercover, my accommodation is in the passenger area. It's about a minute away, so shall we go? We have no time to lose. Or perhaps I've misjudged things, and have already told you too much. If that is the case, I am in real trouble,' said the man, his face contorted with worry.

'No, no. We must help Mr Simpers and I can't thank you enough for coming to us. Rest assured, you are not in any trouble…, but I didn't catch your name?'

'My name, yes, well. I could tell you a lie, but the thing is, it's better that you don't know my name. Security, you understand. Now, please follow me.'

Amelia and Jonathan once again nodded in conspiratorial agreement. Too excited about the adventure afoot, Jonathan displayed no grievance at leaving his pint of shandy un-drunk. Both followed the shiny black brogues as they left the polite hubbub of the bar, crossed an elevator landing, and passed the narrow corridor that separated sea-view from interior cabins.

***

'First, let us drink to Mr Simpers, and wish him all success in his endeavours.'

The nameless man pressed a glass of champagne into the hands of his two guests.

'I've never had champagne before,' said an excited Jonathan.

'Well, there is a first time for everything, Jonathan. I should tell you both; this is a very special vintage. So, without further ado, to Mr Simpers… and remember, drink up in one go.'

He lifted his glass in consummation of the toast.

Two minutes later Amelia and Jonathan lay comatose in their chairs.

The man with shiny brogues dialled a number on his cabin phone.

'I have two packages for you. Please deliver them as arranged.'

Replacing the handset, he stepped towards the door, turned off the light, then left.

'I think he's on to the exchange at the Palace. We need to come up with something else.' The man uttered his words in a clipped, staccato tone as he cupped his hand around the telephone handset.

'You were told to get rid of him. If this goes wrong, you will pay the price, my friend. And we will find you, wherever you might try to hide.'

'What's happened, has happened. What do you want me to do?'

The few seconds it took for his contact to answer seemed like a lifetime to the man. Sweat beads trickled from his forehead.

'22:00 hours, tonight. A fast boat will be waiting for you near to the east bank directly under the Bosporus Bridge. Make sure you're there with the goods.'

***

'Is that Mr Simpers?' asked the female caller as the detective turned off the shower, and blindly searched for the wall-mounted phone with a wet hand.

'It is,' replied Simpers. 'Can I help you?'

'The Commodore asks if you will meet him ashore at the
Topkapı Palace Museum at 10.30 this morning? He will be waiting for you in the museum cafe in the first courtyard. Directions will be delivered to you shortly, if you are available.'

Simpers was puzzled at the invitation. The Commodore hadn't mentioned anything at dinner the previous evening.

'Well, yes. Of course I will meet with the Commodore, thank you,' replied Simpers, as he reached for a towel with which to clear the soap from his eyes.

'One more thing, Mr Simpers. The Commodore particularly asks that you keep the meeting confidential,' added the young woman.

'Yes, I do understand,' replied Simpers. In reality, he didn't understand at all. It didn't make sense. Nevertheless he would keep his promise of confidentiality.

As was his custom after taking a shower, Simpers got dressed in the bathroom. Satisfied he was ready to meet the world, the detective re-entered his cabin and noticed that a small brown envelope had been pushed beneath his door. As he picked it up, he opened the cabin door to see if he could catch sight of the courier. The corridor was deserted. Simpers slit the envelope. It containing a single item: a computer generated street map of Istanbul, on which someone had used a pink highlighter to trace the route from the ship, to the Palace Museum.

***

The morning was cold, crisp and dry. Simpers walked down the gangplank of the ship, satisfied the security he himself had insisted be put in place, had only taken twenty minutes to clear. The electronic information display above the custom shed said that it was a chilly 10°c. Simpers raised the collar of his coat, stepped past a line of waiting taxis, confirming his decision to walk to the Palace Museum.

A woman watched Simpers from a balcony cabin, high up on the liner's port side. As the detective walked through the dock gate and out into the street, she reached for a telephone.

'He's definitely walking. Call your man and tell him to get into position with the car.'

After fifteen minutes, the buildings on either side of the busy road gave way to the Galata Bridge, which provided access to the old city. He was surprised how crowded it was with young couples and families out to take a stroll on a bright winter's day. As he reached the crest of the construction, he noticed several men with fishing rods. Each had one or more containers at their feet in which swam the proceeds of their efforts. Simpers dawdled for a minute and leaned on the ornate iron railings, taking in the sights of the busy waterway. Ferries transported workers from one side of the Bosporus to the other, while a cavalcade of small boats went about their business criss-crossing the stretch of water as it glistened in the morning sun. Simpers looked to his right to take in the full majesty of Istanbul, and the mosques that punctuated the seven hills of the ancient city.

Simpers became aware of the noise assaulting his senses from below. He looked down and realised there was a lower tier to the bridge. Intrigued, he retraced his steps and took the path that led to the source of his intrigue. In front of him, stretched a continuous line of places to eat and drink. Outside each, men in various states of controlled hysteria beckoned him to favour them with his custom. He turned down all manner of offers. Not least because several seemed too good to be true. Was it really the case that it was possible to eat and drink without exchanging payment? Simpers thought not, and continued his stroll until he reached the far side of the bridge.

If the directions he'd been given were accurate, he thought, he was now about thirty minutes away from the Palace Museum. As he took in the busy waterway to his left, he consulted his map once again and turned right into Ankara Road. Twenty minutes later he turned into Alemdar Road and decided to cross the carriageway and take a few minutes to admire the landscape in Gulhane Park.

As Simpers stepped into the road, now completely bewitched by the rich landscape stretching out in front of him, he was oblivious to a speeding car approaching from his left. The car's engine roared as he bore down on him. At the last moment, Simpers caught sight of the vehicle out of the corner of his eye.

Wrenched back to the present by a sense of imminent danger, the detective winced in pain.

He couldn't work out why his back was hurting so much as he hit the tarmac. In his haze, he could hear tyres screeching and a car engine screaming as it receded into the distance.

'You really should learn your Highway Code, Mr Simpers. You are a child of the sixties, aren't you? You've obviously forgotten your road safety training from
Tufty Fluffytail
and
Policeman Badger
haven't you
?
' said a familiar voice with a distinct Russian accent.

'Mullock,' blustered Simpers as he dusted himself down. The detective rubbed the small of his back to eases his pain, then looked up at the smiling officer from his prostrate position on the road surface.

'Mullock, what kind of quaint English saying is that?'

'Colonel Agapov, how nice to see you. I suppose I've got you to thank for the pain in my back? And no, it isn't quaint at all, the saying I mean. It's something my grandfather said instead of swearing,' said Simpers, as he got to his feet and ignored the curious drivers as they rubber-necked the scene.

'Andrei, please, I've just saved your life. That must make us friends, yes? As for not swearing, what a good idea. I must try that.'

Simpers rearranged his suit and straightened his tie. He wasn't at all pleased at discovering a small tear in both trouser legs from falling to his knees on the unforgiving surface of the road.

'How, in heavens name, do you know about Tufty?' asked Simpers, unable to disguise his amused curiosity.

'We're about the same age, no? I lived in London as a child. My father worked at the Russian embassy and I was a fully paid-up member of the Tufty Club, you know. Weren't you?'

'No, I was not,' replied Simpers dismissively. 'Where I grew up, the women had a saying; 'If we can't eat it, or wear it, we're not interested'. Does that paint a picture for you?'

Agapov looked at the detective and let out a roar of laughter. He grabbed Simpers in a bear hug and planted a kiss on each cheek, before releasing the bewildered policeman.

'So, you are a member of the
proletariat – one of the worker-bees. Well, don't feel too badly about that. After all, if we Russians have managed to get rid of all that rubbish, there is hope for you, yes?' said the Colonel as he once more released a deep belly laugh.

Simpers leaned backwards, just in case his new-found friend was disposed to a second bear hug. He looked around to make sure a crowd hadn't gathered, thinking the two weren't engaged in some sort of street entertainment.

'Do you think we might get out of the road?' offered Simpers. 'One brush with death is quite enough before lunch, don't you think? Anyhow, I'm late for my meeting in the museum.'

'Meeting?' replied the Colonel. 'With whom?'

'The Commodore,' said Simpers, realising that in the small world he now seemed to inhabit, he assumed the Colonel would already know.

'There is no meeting, Simpers, at least not with the Commodore. He's still onboard. Whoever arranged to get you here did not intend to chat with you over a Turkish coffee.' The Colonel turned in the direction of the flowing traffic and gestured with his outstretched arm. 'Do you think that car suddenly felt an attraction to you?'

Simpers thought for a moment. How could he have been so stupid? Perhaps, he mused, the knocks to his head he'd received over the last eleven days had robbed him of his common sense.

'And may I ask how you just happened to be here? You don't strike me as someone who is into the cultural side of life,' responded Simpers, trying hard to remain calm. He remembered the Commodore's comments about chips on shoulders. Perhaps, he thought, the man had done him a favour in suggesting he stop fighting the world.

'My dear Simpers. I am hurt. I'll have you know I studied Roman and Greek Mythology at Cambridge. As for the other point, well, I'm afraid you're correct. Part of my job is to make sure you stay safe. After all, how would it look if a British detective got himself killed on foreign soil?'

Simpers saw his point. Perhaps it was time to trust this man, he thought.

'Anyway, where were you supposed to meet the… er… Commodore?'

'The Palace cafe, in the second courtyard, wherever that is,' replied Simpers.

'Come with me, Detective, I know it well.'

Pleased to be away from the busy thoroughfare, and even busier road, the detective followed Agapov as he purchased their entry tickets and walked briskly through the complex and into the courtyard.

The two men spent the next few minutes swapping pleasantries as they drank coffee from ornately decorated cups, and nibbled on
Turkish delight
.

'This is the furthest east the cruise liner comes before she turns for home,' said Simpers, before continuing. 'I can't see any connection between the gems theft, and any of the Spanish ports the liner will visit on its return voyage. Everything points to the diamonds being offloaded here.'

'I hear your logic, my dear Simpers, but what makes you so certain?'

'I've come across a reference to the Livadia Palace in Yalta, and…' began Simpers.

'Ah yes, the Livadia Palace. So sad, really. The Czar and his family visited it only a few times. The last occasion was just before the First World War, then, well, you know the rest,' interrupted the Colonel.

'And here's me thinking you're from communist stock,' replied Simpers.

'Not at all, Detective. My grandfather was a Cossack. I am from White Army stock, we fought against the Bolsheviks,' said the Colonel, proudly.

'Then how come, in heavens name, did your father manage to get himself posted to the Russian embassy?' replied Simpers inquisitively.

'Not everyone was a communist, you know. To paraphrase, no dictatorship can cower all of the people, all of the time. You'd be surprised what went on.'

'Might that explain why you seem to have such a close relationship with said James…' Simpers was halted in his tracks by the Colonel.

'Let us not pursue this,' said the Colonel abruptly. His smile had vanished and his countenance stern.

He reflected for a moment before adding, 'I do apologise, my dear Simpers. Now, I was telling you about the Livadia Palace, wasn't I?' The Colonel's demeanour had once more flipped and had returned to its former levity.

'It is a most beautiful palace. So sad, though. So many pictures of Czar Nicholas and his family. There are also photographs of them being cheered and celebrated by the local population. Have you ever considered, dear Simpers, how easy it is for those in power to manipulate populations? One minute the crowd cheer you, the next, they want to tear you apart.' The Colonel's words were spoken with a downward inflection at the end of each sentence. Sadness cloaked him.

'Anyway, I'm sure the Czar enjoyed the Palace, at least for a short time – and it does have wonderful views over the Black Sea.'

Simpers studied the Colonel. He saw a vulnerability not evident before.

'Would you like more coffee, Andrei,' asked Simpers, trying his best to snap the Russian out of his melancholy.

'What a splendid idea, dear Simpers. And Turkish delight, too I think,' replied the Colonel, touched at Simpers' thoughtfulness.

Several minutes passed, during which the two men sat quietly. They watched the world pass by in the form of tourists following colourful umbrellas, held high by tour leaders.

'I don't suppose Yalta has its own herds of griffins does it?' said Simpers.

The Colonel paused and looked at Simpers, his delicate cup poised halfway between the table and his lips.

'Griffins? What on earth possessed you to mention griffins? Have you been reading one too many of those
Harry Potter
books?' replied the surprised Russian.

'No, I haven't. It's just… well, a couple of days ago, I received a note from the thief. It was in a box with a glass copy of one of the diamonds… long story, I'll explain it to you another time. Anyway, the note said that once the diamonds were off the ship he… I'm assuming it's a he… would enjoy a holiday and afternoon tea with the griffins. I've been racking my brain ever since to make sense of it. I have to say, it's stumped me.'