The Kaieteur Caper

When a man grows old and he feels the cold

And he walks with a stick or two

When his back is bent and his vigour spent

He can tell you a tale or two

Prologue

The tropical evening inexorably descended over the muddy brown river and the picturesque but scruffy town which sprang out of the swamp that passed for the river bank. River taxis of various sizes and in various states of mechanical repair buzzed or chugged past the town en route to various locations, most of them down river towards the capital, Georgetown. At a stone quay two large coasters were tied up waiting to be unloaded but there was no activity of any note. It was a somewhat languid, fetid scene.

The veranda of the hotel perched precariously above the muddy brown river and was supported by visibly rotting wooden legs and force of habit. Seated at a wooden table on the veranda was a man of indeterminate age and a still attractive but slightly faded red-haired woman. The man snapped his fingers and a waiter deigned to appear after a brief pause. Long enough to make his point but brief enough not to earn a rebuke or endanger any tip that might be in the offing.

“Two more gin and tonics. More ice and this time remember the bloody lemon.”

The waiter silently disappeared. The woman also said nothing but then she wasn’t being paid for her conversational abilities.

“Twice in my life and only twice I’ve been thwarted. Both times by the same man.”

“So?” Asked the woman as a comment was obviously expected.

“So I think it’s time I got my own back.”

“Got your revenge you mean?”

“Precisely.”

“Why not just let it go?”

“Pride.”

“Before another fall, perhaps?”

The waiter brought the drinks.

“Better.” Grunted the man.

“There’s a new restaurant. A Brazilian family own it and if you want a decent steak, it’s the best place in town. They ship the beef in.”

“If they serve a decent steak it’ll be the only place in town. Everything worthwhile in this damn country is shipped in.”

The woman having built a pleasant house on the far bank of the river a number of years previously disagreed, but kept her thoughts on the subject to herself.

“He has a name, your nemesis?”

“Karno.” The word was almost spat out.

“And he is?”

“A bloody provincial British detective chief inspector.”

“Provincial or not my darling he has thwarted you twice.”

The man abruptly tossed down his drink and stood.

“Let’s eat. And I’m not your darling.”

“As you wish.”

They left.

Seated at a table well back in the shadows and unnoticed by the couple a man thoughtfully tapped his fingers on the table. A British detective chief inspector called Karno. He picked up his Smartphone and glared at it. Patting his shirt pockets he found and extracted a pair of reading glasses. After careful examination of the screen he made a call on his other, less smart phone. Following his grand-daughter’s giggling instructions he established an Internet connection on his smart but exasperating phone.

Chapter one

A bit like Denmark when you think about it

Guv to his team, Fred to his friends, contemporaries and some superiors, bastard to an impressive number of institutional inmates and tight-fisted sod to his ex-wife, Detective Chief Inspector Leon Karno of the Cornishire CID leaned back in his chair and with hands clasped behind his head stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. He remained blissfully unaware of a confident knock on his office door and his thoughts were undisturbed by the entry of Chief Constable Ken Peeler.

Peeler sat in the chair on the other side of Karno’s desk and getting no acknowledgement of his presence leant forward and heavily rested both elbows on the desk. Karno didn’t move but focussed on him.

“A copper for them Fred.”

Fred. Either a social visit or bad news then. Failing to immediately recall any previous social visits Karno assumed it was bad news and took up a more alert posture.

“Sorry Sir. Miles away I’m afraid.”

“How many miles away Fred?”

“Don’t do enigmatic right after lunch Sir, bad for the digestion and all that.”

“Failing doing enigmatic would you be up to doing a cup of coffee?”

“Coffee, by all means Sir. I’ve got this new coffee grinder. Never been a great fan of the stuff but I have to admit made with freshly ground beans it’s definitely a cut above the instant muck.”

Karno got to his feet and walked over to the grey steel filing cabinet on which a kettle, the aforementioned grinder and a new but already battered steel cafetière precariously rested. He lifted the kettle, then unplugged it and walked to the door. Like a king surveying his courtiers he considered those present in the outer office and made his choice.

“Fetcher, fill this for me would you.”

“Yes Guv.” Detective Constable Fetcher took the kettle and headed for the main office door.

“Fetcher.”

“Guv?”

“Just so there’s no confusion, fill the thing from the bloody tap, right?”

“Right Guv.”

It was an old joke but the rest of the office obligingly smiled. Or maybe it was a collective grimace. Karno thought that what was needed was a crime wave in Paignmouth; give the idle sods something to occupy their time. Returning to the cabinet he ground up some beans, tipped them into the cafetière and sat down.

“Social visit is it Sir? Nice of you to drop by, I’d have got DI Stone to bake a cake if I’d have known you were coming.”

“Not exactly a social visit Fred and personally I wouldn’t be brave enough to ask Stone to bake a cake. What’s the subject of the heavy thinking or shouldn’t I ask?”

“Bogdan the bloody bomber. That’s what I was thinking about Sir.”

“I see. Missing having cabinet ministers hanging on your every word, the security services agog at your powers of detection and the thrill of the chase eh?”

“Not exactly Sir…”

“Just for the moment drop the Sir, Fred.”

Now Karno really was worried.

“Unsolved case,an all that. Leaves a bad taste. Ah, come in Fetcher. If you can manage it plug the thing in and switch it on will you?”

“Rightio, Guv.”

Fletcher managed it and left the office, closing the door behind him.

“Bad taste?”

“Hmm. Unfinished business, so to speak.”

“There’s always one Fred.”

“Two. This is the second one. If I haven’t always been able to prove it in court at least I’ve known who the villains were. Except for two cases.”

“You’ve been thinking about the Bargus murders as well, I take it?”

Karno nodded slowly.

“It still rankles.”

“What does, the fact that I failed to block off all the possible escape routes?” Peeler smiled.

“Happens to all of us one time or another that sort of thing. No, what rankles is I still don’t know who I’m looking for. Only happened to me twice.”

“Perhaps just once Fred, perhaps just once.”

“Right, right. Call me suspicious but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me something. I can make the coffee and listen at the same time. Multi-tasking it’s called or so I’m told.”

Karno went to the filing cabinet and poured the just off the boil water into the cafetière.

“I’ll leave it two ticks to brew. You were saying? Or rather you weren’t as it happens. A pause for dramatic effect, perhaps?”

“Still haven’t quite got the hang of the political niceties of this job, have you Fred?”

“No. That’s why I’m going to retire as a DCI and quite happy about it an all.”

“What would you say if I told you that after all these years we’ve had an anonymous tip-off about the Bargus case?”

“Several things spring to mind. Being mindful of the political niceties I think I’d say, stap me vittles, and leave it at that until I hear whatever else you have to say about it.”

“Came to us via the boys from the big city.”

“Oh aye? Well if they don’t want to handle it themselves it probably means they think it’d be a waste of their precious time. Seeing as nothing ever happens down here in the sticks, they reckon we may as well waste our time.”

“Cynical Fred. Milk but no sugar please, I’ve been told to cut down on the sugar intake. No it was passed to them and as it was originally your case and your star is very definitely in the ascent, well they naturally passed it on. What do you think of that?”

“I think it’s the biggest load of bollocks I’ve heard for a long time. Well, not so long actually. That bloke from the FO, Ffar-Flungge I seem to remember, he came out with some things that were almost on a par with that.”

“Perhaps but the thing is I’ve been told that it’s a Cornishire case, and it’s your case Fred.”

“I see.”

“You don’t, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Can or been told you can tell me? Let me guess, there’s a gorgeous Russian woman who has information about the Bargus killings but she’s only willing to disclose the information to me provided she has the use of my body.”

“You really ought to lay off those pasties Fred, particularly now we know what side effect they can have.”

“I’ll take it that was a bad guess then.” Karno managed to sound disappointed.

“Now, now. The Yard received an anonymous tip-off that the Bargus killer had surfaced in a place called Bartica. That’s in Guyana before you ask and Guyana is in South America, not Africa. It’s been decided, and I can say no more than that, that you put together a team, get yourselves out to this Bartica place and find out what’s going on.”

“Put together a team? Why don’t I just go out and liaise with the local police?”

“Because they don’t know anything about it and it’s been decided it’s better that they don’t.”

“Right. Right well if they don’t know anything about it then it strikes me that somebody ought to tell them. I don’t need to look at a map to know that Guyana in general and Bartica in particular is out of my jurisdiction. I mean, we wouldn’t be exactly delighted if a DCI from the Guyana CID wandered into Paignmouth and started investigating a fourteen year-old murder case without talking to us first, now would we?”

“They use quasi-military ranks in the Guyana Police Service Fred. No we wouldn’t you’re right but er, they’re not going to know that you and your team are there.”

“Well they’ll bloody well find out when or rather if, I arrest some bugger and we apply to extradite him, won’t they.”

“Not necessarily Fred.”

“Not necessarily?”

“No.”

“I knew it, I bloody knew it! When you breezed in here and started off by calling me Fred I knew it was bad news.”

“You might be a right royal pain in the arse most of the time Fred but nobody could ever call you stupid. Oh, there is one other thing.”

“More good news Sir?”

Peeler slid a sheet of paper across the desk towards Karno.

“This arrived in my email inbox, marked for your personal attention.”

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

“Stone, Gundry, in my office. Bring another chair one of you.”

“Yes Guv.”

“Guv.”

Detective Inspector Rosie Stone held the door whilst Detective Sergeant Colin Gundry carried in a chair.

“Shut the door and sit down. Right, bit before your time this Stone, but Gundry if you would care to cast your mind back to your very first case with the department, some new information has come to light.”

Gundry narrowed his eyes.

“You’re joking.” He said.

“Nope. I didn’t find Peeler’s little briefing the slightest bit amusing, and you two won’t either. We’ve had an anonymous tip-off.”

Gundry leant forward.

“Really, who from?”

“How the bloody hell do I know, it was anonymous you clown!”

“I meant where from, Guv.”

“I haven’t quite got to the bottom of that. It came to us via New Scotland Yard. Apparently the mysterious Martin has surfaced in a place called Bartica. That’s a sort of wild-west town in Guyana, as far as I can make out. You can probably guess your first job Stone.”

“I think I can Guv, I’ll…”

“You’ll sit and listen, that’s what you’ll do. You two, me an all come to that, have been carefully sifted from a host of applicants and selected for secondment to some organisation I’ve never heard of before, the Department of International Criminal Investigation. Ring any bells?”

Gundry shook his head. Stone giggled.

“Care to share your amusement with us Stone?”

“Well Guv, DICI. Umm it crossed my mind it would sound a bit like Dicky and the Girl from Dicky doesn’t quite have the same ring as the Man from UNCLE, does it?”

Karno said nothing, but sniffed loudly. Gundry engaged his mouth before his brain.

“It does have a certain…”

“If you’re going with this where I think you are DS Gundry then a poke in the eye with a sharp stick is nothing compared to what’s going to happen next.”

“I was going to say that it certainly doesn’t DI Stone, you’re absolutely right and I fully agree with you.”

“Moving swiftly on,” Karno said firmly. “I’ve never heard of the bloody organisation. Peeler said it was connected with the Foreign Office. Strikes me that it’s a bit iffy, more like something somebody in MI6 would dream up if they were up to something that they wanted to be particularly unattributable. I’ve told Peeler that we all need to know more about this before we go any further.”

“Guv?”

“Yes Gundry.”

“Martin. We didn’t have a real name, we didn’t have a face and we didn’t have a description. Nothing was ever circulated through Interpol because there was nothing to circulate so where has this tipoff come from?”

“Bloody good question. I can tell you that it hasn’t officially come from the Guyana Police Service. Before your time this Rosie, so I’ll let you read yourself into the case from the files. Briefly,  a young fella, Jacca Bargus by name, designed and built a real villain’s van for this Martin. It could change colour with changing ambient light and because of subtle changes to the bodywork didn’t seem the same shape to any witnesses. No reliable description, see? Perfect for a smuggling operation. We’re damn certain that Martin then shot Jacca Bargus dead and pushed his mum out of a hospital window. We cornered the bugger but he got away during a firefight. I wounded him but he put me in hospital.”

“We tracked his smuggling gang down, Rosie. Most of them are still inside aren’t they Guv?” Put in Gundry.

“That was my first question. One’s out, one’s dead the other one’s due out in a couple of weeks. We never got the crew of the boat and nobody knew anything about Martin. We got three slightly different descriptions, because they’d only ever met him in half-light conditions at best and that night on the beach he was wearing a balaclava.”

“So it’s not a disgruntled gang member getting his own back then Guv?”

“They’ve had fourteen years when they could have got their own back and probably earned an early release to boot. I can’t see any motive for a gang member to be the source of the tipoff.”

“How about if the failure of the smuggling operation upset somebody’s great scheme and they’ve only just found out where this Martin character is, Guv?”

“It is a thought I grant you, Rosie, but Martin covered his tracks very successfully. What you say is logical but somehow it doesn’t ring true. Now this Martin character, under a different name crops up again, or possibly he crops up again.”

“Oggiedium smuggling, Guv?”

“Oggiedium smuggling, Rosie. A rare earth metal, found only in Cornishire which is capable of producing almost unlimited power. It was a massive secret mining operation, right under our noses. The Oggiedium was then used to remanufacture vintage cars and exported to a bogus Australian company. From there it was secretly shipped to China, hidden amongst the ore that was extracted from the Chinese-owned mines in Australia. If it hadn’t been for Schrödinger nibbling a bit of an old car and starting to glow in the dark, I don’t think we would have ever cracked the case.”

“So it really was Kittie Cracks Case then, Guv. You think the same person was involved in both cases?”

“I wonder about it, Rosie. Both operations employed high-tech inventions, and in their own way both were grandiose schemes. Go and pull the old files on the Bargus case will you and while you’re at it, some general information about Guyana wouldn’t go amiss. No, you stay here Gundry, Stone can do that. You and I have a bit of reminiscing to do.”

DI Stone left the room.

“Whaddya reckon, Guv?”

“After fourteen years we get a tipoff that a man, who nobody knows anything about, no name, no worthwhile description, nothing, has suddenly surfaced in some God forsaken part of the planet. I reckon it’s a bit like Denmark.”

“Guv?”

“To paraphrase Shakespeare, it smells of fish and most of ‘em are bloody rotten.”