Tidal Rage by David Evans (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

with the Yacoubs’ statements. The attorney was amazed when the warrant was granted by Judge Norman Freeman, as the evidence was tenuous at best.

Stahmer had gone with Basmati to the shipyard owners and had the ring in their possession within two hours. Basmati videotaped himself placing the ring in a clear plastic bag. He then sealed the bag with white tape and asked the receptionist from the shipyard to sign the tape. He had now secured the chain of evidence, and his job was to get it back to Miami and to the laboratory for analysis.

Stahmer decided to stay around a little while longer to meet some of the workers in the local bars. He hoped he could glean a little more information.

Tuck Walters had taken up a small hotel suite in the Embassy Suites in Palm Springs. He had years of living out of a sleeping bag in jungles, drains, and any other sewer you could imagine. Those days in the SAS were over, and he decided if he were away anywhere, he would be sleeping in a nice room with clean sheets and a coffee maker.

Bernard Rothhelm was a known quantity; he was seventeen and a bully. Cheryl had traced Rothhelm down after viewing the photographs Basmati had taken. She had hit a brick wall. The US authorities did not want to know, and the Bahamian police had no cause to investigate.

Cheryl’s own private investigator had been threatened when he started to examine young Rothhelm. The investigator had first been threatened legally for prying into the adolescent Rothhelm. In time, he had a visit from a couple of heavyweights who left the private detective in no doubt what would happen to him if he did not back off. He did, and Cheryl was left only with the reports and the bill from the investigator.

The elder Rothhelm was rich; he had built a fortune in selling unwanted asbestos to third world countries. As soon as it was banned in 1985, he knew he could buy it for pennies on the dollar and sell it on for an enormous profit. He had also collaborated with a French company that reformulated the asbestos and sold it back to Europe, mainly the United Kingdom, as Artex or decorative coating. He had no conscience about the death he was selling; there was a profit to be made.

Mick Hilton was seventeen and was an altogether different animal, Tuck had discovered. Hilton came from moderate means; his father worked six weeks on and six weeks off on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. The mother worked two jobs; secretary in the daytime, and small business bookkeeper at night, so they could give Mick the education and chances they never had.

Bernard Rothhelm came from a wealthy family, but there was a stench of the new money and where his father had got the money from. He was not welcomed into the clique of the cool kids in his school, all with super-rich parents. He had created his own group, mostly those who were on the edges of the clique but just could not break through. Mick Hilton would never get in, as they classified him as a working-class kid. To Bernard, he was someone he could push around and use. Both were disenfranchised and had underlying personality problems; Rothhelm was the leader, and Hilton was the disciple.

Tuck Walters undertook all the background investigation. He knew more about these two kids within a week than their own parents knew.

Once Robert Stahmer and Basmati had the ring, Tuck knew he had to get DNA samples from the two boys. From his initial investigation it was apparent that they had insufficient evidence to go the legal route; he needed to get samples any way he could.

Tuck spent several days following the boys around. It was obvious to him there had been schism between the two. When they left their school, it was never together. When they went out it was with different friends. In fact, over the following weeks, the two lads totally ignored each other, even when they left school at the same time.

There was another problem, and Tuck spotted it almost immediately. The Rothhelm boy was being tracked by a pair of minders; he was sure the boy did not know. The minders were professionals, but not in Tuck’s class, as they did not make him. When Bernard Rothhelm visited the local McDonald’s, the pair would be in straight after he left and would remove his spent cup. The only reason they would be removing this would be because of a DNA trace.

Back in the Embassy Suites, Tuck had set up the whiteboard he carried around in his car; it was his brainstorming tool. He listed all he had learned in the week. Flowcharting the information he rearranged some of the data.

Several espressos later, he was satisfied with his conclusions. He checked his watch, calculated the time difference in the UK—five hours later—and worked out that it was 10 pm in the UK. He picked up the landline and dialed. After a wait of several seconds, he connected with the hotel receptionist, who then diverted his call to Cutler’s room.

“Hi, Cutler, how goes it with you?” Tuck inquired.

“As you know, we got Richter out of Scotland and have moved to Newcastle, where I have a contact to get him an American passport. Will be another few days before that’s ready,” Cutler replied.

“Is Hoagie still with you?” Tuck asked.

“Yes, he’s downstairs in the bar keeping a lookout. We only just got out of Scotland before Richter’s old place was torn apart. Both Hoagie and I think there may be up to four contractors on our tails. We also believe that with Werner’s extensive network, most of the airports will be watched, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it. Anyway, how is your investigation going?”