Authors: Gabrielle Lord
October (7 page)
we busted rathbone big time! at winter’s now.
Safely back at Winter’s place we checked what we’d caught on camera. In my shot, Rathbone was stooped over in the act of putting something into the chest, but when I enlarged the picture, it was clear what he had in his hand—a very fat wad of fifty-dollar notes. Winter’s shot, a second later than mine, had caught Rathbone’s white face as he looked up, shocked and drained in the sudden flash of brilliant light.
When Winter enlarged her shot, it was clear that the dirt-covered wooden chest he’d unearthed already had a lot of cash packed in it.
‘We got him! We got him!’ we yelled, hugging each other and jigging around the tiny kitchen. We bumped into the couch and fell over backwards. Winter fell on top of me, but quickly jumped up.
She kissed her camera. We both knew that these photos meant we’d have the Piers Ormond will in our hands in no time.
u caught him doing what?! can’t wait to find out! i’ll call in on my way 2 school.
‘Man, these are awesome! You have him
red-handed
. Where do you think he got all that cash?’
‘Probably fleecing some poor old lady’s trust fund,’ I said, picturing a kind, elderly client of his, someone like Melba Snipe. ‘All that matters,’ I added, ‘is that he’s hiding money in a chest in his garden. It’s gotta be dirty money. Honest people don’t bank like that.’
‘
Dirty
money,’ Boges laughed. He pulled out his laptop. ‘So let’s send him one of them already—I think the one that shows his face will freak him out the most. I’ll use one of my anonymous email addresses. We still have his email address from when he made contact on your blog ages ago. Do you have the camera cord for this?’ he asked, picking up Winter’s camera.
Winter fumbled through her desk drawer. ‘Here it is,’ she said, passing it to Boges.
‘Just keep it anonymous for now,’ I said. ‘Let’s make him nice and paranoid. I don’t think he has
a clue who was behind his birdbath last night. He’ll be freaking out already.’
Boges transferred the photo from the camera to his laptop, then attached it to a blank email addressed to Rathbone. He nodded to us as he hit ‘send’.
‘All you have to do now,’ said Boges, ‘is wait. And then call him.’
‘Awesome,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow. Let him stew for a day.’
‘Sheldrake Rathbone,’ he said, when he answered my call.
I deepened my voice, trying to sound tough like Nelson Sharkey. ‘I believe you received an incriminating photo,’ I said.
He was silent for a moment, and then I heard something like a door slamming. He was probably shutting his office door—he definitely wouldn’t want anyone overhearing this conversation.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’ he growled into the phone. He was trying to sound
threatening
but I could hear the fear in his voice.
‘You don’t need to worry about who I am—what you need to worry about is that photo, or another one just like it, being handed over to the Law Society, the police or the press. Everyone will be
wondering where Sheldrake Rathbone—a leading solicitor—got that briefcase full of money, and why he’s burying the stash in his backyard?’
‘You want money?’ he blurted, clearly
flustered
and panicking. ‘How much?’
‘I don’t want your money.’
‘Well what
do
you want?’
‘Something you promised me once before.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Let me make it a little clearer for you,’ I offered. ‘I want Piers Ormond’s will.’
‘I see,’ he said, finally realising who his
blackmailing
caller was. ‘The will in return for the photos.’
‘That’s correct. Give me the will and I won’t distribute the photos.’
‘And how will I know that you won’t continue to blackmail me? Send the photos out after I’ve given you the will?’
‘You won’t know,’ I said. ‘Deal with it.’
His deep breathing puffed into the phone like a bull about to charge. But he knew he had no power in this. He knew I had him in a bind.
‘Mr Rathbone,’ I began, ‘this time we’ll meet on
my
turf and on
my
terms. I already have the photos of you in a draft email addressed to the Law Society, the police and all the key press
players
—they’re ready to go, if needed. If you don’t do
exactly what I tell you to do, I will have someone send them out immediately.’
‘When do you want to meet?’ he murmured.
‘Tonight.’
‘Tonight? But that’s impossible! I—’
‘Tonight.’ I repeated, firmly.
Rathbone inhaled and exhaled loudly. ‘Where?’
I had the perfect place in mind. Somewhere I would feel comfortable, somewhere I could see him arrive and depart, somewhere Boges and Winter could also keep watch.
‘Tell no-one about this meeting,’ I said after giving him the details. ‘Come alone. If you mess up and try something stupid, we’ll put
you
six feet under.’
I knew Boges would be spooked, but Winter took it all in her stride. Boges was twisting on the spot, trying really hard not to look nervous, while Winter was sitting on top of a marble wall, swinging her legs and plaiting her hair. The three of us had met outside the Ormond
Mausoleum
early.
‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Winter.
‘Rathbone agreed to meet me here at eleven pm, sharp. I thought we should set ourselves up first, make sure he doesn’t show up early to organise any interference. I’ve given him the directions to the Ormond Mausoleum. I’ll be waiting for him right here.’
I turned to the door and noticed that the lock had been changed.
‘I’ll post myself outside the cemetery,’ offered Boges. ‘Near the entrance. I’ll make sure no-one else shows up—no back-up, and more importantly, no cops. I can let you know exactly when he arrives. And,’ he admitted, with a sheepish grin, ‘it means I won’t be on my own in here… This place seriously gives me the creeps!’
Winter giggled and even though it was dark, I was sure Boges was blushing. ‘I’ll hide
somewhere
over there,’ she said, pointing up the path towards the entrance.
‘Perfect,’ I said. ‘It will take him about five minutes to walk down to me.’
The three of us ducked and dived behind
tombstones
and statues as a security patrol suddenly approached.
Once it had passed, we all crept out of our
hiding
places. Boges was jumping about, frantically wriggling and brushing himself down, as though he was completely cocooned in spider webs.
Winter and I couldn’t help ourselves—we both cracked up laughing.
We were all in position and waiting for Rathbone to show up. Above me, on the stone façade of the mausoleum, on the lintel above the iron gates, faded gold lettering spelling out ‘Ormond’ was just discernible in the starlight. Despite the gloomy, quiet surroundings, the vandalised angels and broken columns sticking up from the graves like decaying teeth, I wasn’t scared at all. I was so used to living in the dark that I almost felt at home back here at the place where my search had begun—with the discovery of Dad’s drawings hidden inside the vault.
A faint sound in the direction of the main gates suddenly alerted me. I guessed it was
Rathbone
’s car.
Boges was the first to message me:
eagle has landed. approaching gates. alone.
Winter followed a minute or two later:
he’s walking down the path now. carrying torch. looks as scared as boges