Not My Thing

‘Oh no. It will be sent express. I would say not more than two days.’

‘Have it addressed to Kling at the Star Motel, Paradise City. Kling is staying there. Go ahead, Felder, don’t let us waste any time.’

The two men shook hands and Jamison ushered Felder from his suite.

He then sat down, lit a cigar and considered the situation.

Before leaving Zurich he had hit on what seemed to him to be a safe solution to avoid paying Kling.

Kling’s plan for the police to find Shannon’s dead body in the trunk of a stolen car, plus two hundred thousand dollars, should convince the police that the kidnapper, who must be an amateur, had panicked, killed Shannon and bolted, leaving the ransom.

If the police accepted that, then no suspicion could fall on either Kling or himself.

Once Kling was convinced that he (Jamison) had carried out his side of the bargain, and Kling had received the postcard from his Swiss bank, he, being the professional that he was, would carry out his part of the bargain.

But by murdering Shannon Kling would deliver himself into Jamison’s hands.

When Kling discovered he had been gypped of five million dollars, he would not dare carry out his threat to go to the District Attorney and report he had been hired by Jamison to kidnap Shannon and had done so, with no intention of harming her. Those tapes he had of his conversation with Jamison would no longer be incriminating unless Kling was prepared to face trial for murder. Jamison was sure that Kling, who had apparently no police record, would not risk being tried for murder. Kidnapping, yes, but murder, no! Even with the influence of the Mafia behind him, Kling would most certainly have to serve a lengthy prison sentence.

Jamison nodded, satisfied with his thinking.

He would now have to wait until the postcard arrived. Then he would see Kling again. Once he was sure Kling had murdered Shannon, he would tell Kling not to go to his Swiss bank to collect his money as the Swiss police would be waiting to arrest him. Kling would have to accept the fact that Jamison had outwitted him, and would fade out of the picture.

Jamison frowned.

But would Kling fade out of the picture?

Jamison reminded himself he was dealing with a ruthless, professional killer. When he told Kling that he wasn’t getting the money, he might fly into a rage, produce his gun and kill him.

Jamison thought about this. There was this unpleasant possibility. He must take precautions. He decided he would write out the whole account of his meeting with Lucan, his meeting with Kling, how Shannon’s murder had been arranged. He would include every detail. There would be no question of calling in a stenographer. He would have to do this himself.

Well, he told himself, he had all night. When the document was completed, he would send it to his attorney: To be opened in the event of my death. He would borrow a photocopy machine from the hotel and have a copy for Felder, and certainly a copy for Kling. That would mean he would not have to see Kling again.

He moved to the desk, sat down, found paper and in his small, neat handwriting began to write.

***

Ng Vee returned to the Star Motel a little after 13.00. He found Kling still in bed, still nursing his hangover, and in a surly mood.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Kling snarled.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Ng said. ‘I gave the lady lunch. Can I get you something?’

Kling glared at him.

‘She’s got food there, hasn’t she? What’s the matter with you? She’ll be dead in a few days, so what the hell?’

Ng flinched.

‘Can I get you something, sir?’

‘No. Leave me alone!’

Ng went into the kitchen and closed the door.

She’ll be dead in a few days!

Tonight he would go to Jamison’s villa and kill him. That was the solution. That was the only solution!

Sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, Ng thought back on the three hours he had spent with Shannon Jamison.

Wonderful, marvellous hours!

While he had been preparing lunch for her, she had come into the little kitchen and had talked, while she watched him cook. Little by little, she encouraged him to talk about himself. Her quiet, calm voice was a delight to him.

He told her about his life in Saigon, about his mother, and how his master had rescued him from starvation.

Shannon was careful not to inquire about this man who Ng called his master. She was now certain that this odd youth was desperately in love with her. She felt relief and confidence, sure she could rely on him.

She had insisted that he should share the meal with her, and as they sat opposite each other she had told him about her love for music, a little about her religious faith, and as the meal was finishing she told him she was unable to have a child and how disappointed her husband was.