The Carlswick Conspiracy: The Carlswick Mysteries, #3

By SL Beaumont

An enemy who won't be stopped. A legacy that can't remain hidden.

Stephanie Cooper joins her rock guitarist boyfriend James Knox in New York for the final week of his band's tour. But The Fury's success has attracted unwanted attention and Stephanie's research project at a New York museum puts her on a collision course with an old adversary. 
From the glitzy modern day bars and clubs of Manhattan to the gritty Lower East Side tenements of the 1940s, Stephanie tries to keep one step ahead of an increasingly desperate faceless blackmailer as she traces the final legacy of war time Nazi art liberator Karl Hoffman. As events spiral out of control Stephanie becomes the unwitting accomplice in a major deception and she and James are forced into a fight for their lives

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paperback Writer's Publishing
• Release date: Apr 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9780473350468

Book preview

Chapter 1

Day 7

The peace and tranquillity of the summer morning was broken as a large black SUV with tinted windows skidded to a stop, its tyres screeching in protest. A flock of birds took flight, squawking at being disturbed. The driver began reversing the vehicle at speed along the quiet country road.

That’s it, the front seat passenger said in heavily accented English. He glanced at the photograph lying on his lap. Turn here. He was a large man in his early forties, dressed from head to toe in black. A jagged scar, a souvenir from an old altercation, ran from the top of his left cheek to just below his earlobe.

The driver spun the wheel, over-correcting several times as he sped through the wrought iron gates of the imposing stone-columned entrance. The long gravel driveway was bordered with massive oak trees and as the car careered around the last corner the three men squashed into the back seat had their first glimpse of the manor house. There were murmurs of surprise and reluctant approval as they took in the magnificent pale brick building, its chimneys rising skyward. The sweeping lawn sloped gracefully from the front of the house to the miniature lake. A man on a ride-on mower was grooming the expansive grass carpet on the other side.

One of the men in the back put his hand on his gun holster but lowered it again after receiving a sharp rebuke from the front seat passenger.

Sorry, Ivan, he muttered.

With a spatter of flying gravel the car jerked to a stop in front of the house. All four doors opened at once and the five men got out. Ivan and the driver, a lumbering giant of a man, walked towards the stone porch surrounding the main entrance and the other three men, younger, dressed in similar dark jeans and shirts, split up, peering in windows and around the sides of the house. Ivan pressed the ornate doorbell at one side of a large wooden door.

Approaching footsteps could be heard and several seconds later the door was opened by a grey-haired woman in her late fifties. She wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron and regarded the two men with a pleasant smile.

Good morning, gentlemen. How can I help you?

Mrs Knox? Ivan asked.

Oh no, I’m Grace, the housekeeper, she replied, glancing over Ivan’s shoulder. Her eye caught movement in her peripheral vision and she noticed the other men studying the house. She took a half step backwards and rested her hand on a ledge just inside the doorway, her fingers feeling for a button.

Well then, Grace. We would like to speak with Alex Knox, Ivan said, his cold blue eyes studying her.

Grace’s fingers found the button and pressed it twice. Join the queue, she said, keeping her gaze on the two men in front of her.

The second man took a step forward, looking affronted.

Is he here? Ivan asked, putting a hand out as if to restrain his colleague.

No. We haven’t seen him in almost a year, she replied.

Ivan was silent for a moment. Well then, you won’t mind if we take a look around to see for ourselves.

Grace stayed exactly where she was. "Actually, I would mind. You can leave your name and if I hear from him, I will pass on your details." She raised her chin and looked him directly in the eye.

The man beside Ivan spat onto the ground and swore in a foreign language. Grace flinched, her breath catching in her throat.

The engine sounds of several approaching vehicles filled the silence that followed. A large farm truck pulled to a stop in front of the house followed by two quad bikes. Two men alighted from the truck’s cab and one bounded from the tray on the back, a shotgun slung over his shoulder. The male passengers stepped off the back of the quad bikes leaving their drivers, two women, seated with the engines idling. The farm workers flanked the visitors.

Grace exhaled and caught her husband’s eye. These gentlemen are looking for Alex, she called.

Well you won’t find him here, Ken Walker replied, closing the door of the truck and stepping forward. He was a tall, softly spoken man wearing muddy overalls. But if you do come across him, send him our way. We too have a number of things to discuss with him.

Ivan gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and held up his hands in a gesture of peace as he stepped back from the doorway. He gave a flick of his head and he and his men walked back to their car. When he reached the car he gave a single nod to the tallest of the group, a man with the build of a rugby player, who reached into the back and retrieved a semi-automatic weapon fixed to the inside of the door.

A collective gasp sounded from the farm workers as the man cradled the weapon like a precious baby, its sleek black casing catching the sunlight.

The farmer carrying the shotgun began to swing it around from over his shoulder but Ken shook his head.

No, Steve.

Steve hesitated and then using deliberate movements, laid the shotgun on the ground in front of him and took two steps backwards, not taking his eyes off Ivan or the gunman as he did so.

Ken spread his arms as a show of surrender and glanced around at his crew who appeared to be frozen in place. No one spoke. Even the birds and animals had fallen silent as though waiting for something to happen. Time seemed suspended and tension hung in the air between the locals and the visitors for a long minute.

Ivan surveyed the gathering in a calm and considered manner, ensuring he had everyone’s attention. He then gave another single nod.

The gunman raised the weapon and sprayed the house with a volley of bullets. The loud burst of gunfire took everyone by surprise. The bullets made a dull thud as they slammed into the brickwork of the house, sending small clouds of plaster dust into the air. Ken and the other farm workers yelled and dropped to the ground, covering their heads with their hands as the quad bike drivers dived for cover behind their vehicles.

The sound of glass shattering in the drawing room windows filled the air. Grace crouched in the doorway, holding the doorframe with one hand and covering her face with her other arm, crying out as a trail of bullets thumped into the wood above her, small woodchips splintering over her head.

The firing continued in bursts for several more seconds, smashing the windows of Alex’s study, before ceasing. There was complete silence for a moment after the glass stopped falling from the shattered windows.

Those on the ground lifted their heads a little and peered from beneath their arms. The gunman turned his body slightly and fired again, two short controlled bursts, taking out the windscreen and front tyres of the truck. One of the women hiding behind her quad bike screamed. The gunman lowered his weapon as his mouth curved into a satisfied grin.

Ivan held the door of the car open as he surveyed the destruction. Alex owes us a good deal of money. He has been given seven days, otherwise we will be forced to look elsewhere to recover our losses, he said, eyeing the house. Do you understand?

Alex is wanted by the police in this country. He no longer has any claim on this property, Ken replied, rising to his knees from his prone position.

It belongs to his family, no? Ivan asked. Then we have claim to it. Tell Alex that we’re looking for him and next time we’ll not be so accommodating.

Chapter 2

Day 6

Stephanie Cooper pulled her wheeled suitcase behind her as she walked through the automatic doors separating the Customs area from the Arrivals Hall at John F Kennedy airport. She felt a bubble of excitement as she was surrounded by a cacophony of American accents. Her first ever visit to New York. She suddenly felt a long way from New Zealand.

She snagged her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes skimmed the crowd. James had said that he would send a car for her but her name wasn’t on any of the boards held by the expectant group of suited drivers. As she walked towards the crowd of people waiting behind a barrier she was struck by the sensation of being watched.

Someone running caught her eye. James. She broke into a grin as he vaulted the railing, picked her up and spun her around. Stephanie laughed as he kissed her, and other passengers smiled as they stepped around the reunited couple. Depositing her back on her feet, he grabbed her suitcase with one hand and slipped his other arm around her waist pulling her in close.

Hey, you, he said. I’m so pleased you’re finally here.

I didn’t think that you were coming to meet me, she replied.

I was always coming to meet you. He smiled.

You’ve changed your hair again, she said, reaching up and pushing his straight dark hair out of his eyes, her hand gently grazing his cheek. I like it. James still sported his trademark long fringe, but the sides and back had been closely cropped. He was tall with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. He wore dark blue jeans and a checked shirt unbuttoned over a faded blue t-shirt. He stopped walking and leaned down to kiss her again, as a flashbulb went off nearby.

James, this way, a voice called. James broke the kiss and scowled. He glanced in the direction of the voice. Who’s this, James?

Come on. James pulled her along with him.

Who’s that? Stephanie asked, glancing over her shoulder. The camera flashed again.

Bloody paparazzi, he replied, breaking into a slow jog.

Stephanie giggled, running to keep up with him. Look at you, running from photographers. I thought this was just the sort of publicity you guys were after?

James frowned. I s’pose. Liam and Jack love it as I’m sure you can imagine. But I haven’t seen you for three months and I don’t want this spoiled by some guy shoving a camera in our faces.

They rushed through another set of automatic doors which led outside to a queue of black estate cars and yellow taxis. They jogged down the row until they came to a sleek black limousine. The driver stepped forward to greet them.

Hello, Ms Cooper, he said, touching his hat as he greeted Stephanie. He took her suitcase from James and placed it in the trunk.

No way. Stephanie looked from James to the limo and back in disbelief.

Welcome to New York, baby, James replied in a fake American accent as he held the rear door open for her. She stepped into the vehicle. James followed, pulling the door shut behind them. He sank into the leather seat beside her with a sigh.

Come here, he said. Let me say hello properly.

Stephanie slid across the wide back seat into his arms and kissed him.

I can’t believe you came to pick me up in a limo, she exclaimed. She sat back and took in the massive interior, with seating for ten, a flat screen TV playing music videos and a shiny minibar lit with gently flashing coloured lights.

It’s actually not that uncommon here, James said with a laugh. And the look on your face was so worth it.

I have missed you, she murmured before pressing her lips to his once again.

You too. I know we’ve Skyped a lot, but it’s not the same, James replied.

Stephanie settled into his arms and gazed out of the window as the car merged with the traffic leaving the airport. The late afternoon sun hung in the cloudless summer sky as though suspended by an invisible cord.

I can’t believe that I’m finally in New York. I can’t wait to explore, she said.

Well, the band has two more days of interviews and one more show—then I am all yours—so long as Cam doesn’t come up with anything else. He’s been adding to our itinerary as we go, James said. But you can be backstage at our last concert and come along to the studios and stuff with me.

I don’t want to be in the way, Stephanie said, turning to look at him.

You won’t be. I just hope that you don’t get too bored. There seems to be a lot of sitting around waiting for things to happen, James replied, dipping his head and kissing the tip of her nose.

Stephanie wrinkled it in response and resumed gazing out of the window as suburban New York, with its blocks of low rise shops and houses, passed by. They left the borough of Queens and drove through Brooklyn towards the East River. Four lanes of traffic flowed in each direction and Stephanie had her first glimpse of iconic New York brownstone townhouses, before turning back to look at James.

You must be pleased to have finished work, he said.

Yes and no, Stephanie replied. I’ve been so looking forward to this trip, but the last six weeks working with DI Marks have been amazing. I’ve learned so much.

Yeah? James sounded surprised. I thought he might’ve just had you making the coffee. Speaking of which, Andy still can’t believe that you turned down his offer of a summer job at The Café to go and work for the Old Bill.

Andy was going to be away with you all summer, so it wouldn’t have been as much fun, and besides this was an offer that I couldn’t refuse.

So what exactly were you doing?

Research, looking into cold case files mainly. As you know, Marks is head of Scotland Yard’s Art and Antiques Squad, so it’s all to do with forgery and art theft. Not just the Nazi stuff we were involved with, but other old cases and a surprising number of current ones too.

Has anything more come up about the paintings and things that were stolen from under our noses in January? he asked.

No. Y’know I still have nightmares about how badly that could have turned out. I’ve been emailing Jean-Pierre. He seems to have recovered just fine—he says that the whole thing’s been great for business. Everyone has wanted to visit the site of the long lost cache and he’s selling wine to every visitor.

James raised an eyebrow. Do I need to be concerned about our French friend?

Stephanie rolled her eyes. Oh, please. Don’t play the jealous boyfriend on me. I have so much more reason to be the jealous one. I mean how many girls have been hanging around on this tour?

I haven’t noticed, James replied, giving her an innocent look.

Stephanie snorted. Yeah, right.

The boys have been having some fun, for sure, but Andy and I have been monks, I promise.

Hey, is that Brooklyn Bridge? she asked, distracted, as the famous landmark came into view. The spectacular suspension bridge spanned the expanse of the East River and provided an unparalleled view of Manhattan.

James nodded and pointed. See above the road? There’s a pedestrian walkway across the bridge. We should go there one night and watch the sunset. I’m told it’s spectacular.

Stephanie sat forward in her seat looking out of the car windows, her head feeling like it was on a swivel, trying to take everything in. Let’s definitely add that to the list.

What list is that?

The list of things that we’re going to do and see next week once you’ve finished the tour and we can be tourists.

Do I get to add things to the list?

Only if you’re good.

Oh, you know I’m good. You’d better get that pen ready.

Stephanie laughed.

They crossed the bridge into Manhattan.

Your hotel is in Midtown, so I thought we could get you checked in and then we’ll catch a cab down to ours. We’re in Tribeca, so not that far, James said, tightening his arms around her. I’m really sorry that you can’t just stay with me, but y’know Cam.

I know. He’s been cultivating the British boy band heart throb image, and girlfriends who come to stay could ruin that, Stephanie concluded for him.

James shrugged. Something like that. You could’ve let me book you somewhere nicer than this, though, he said, peering out of the window as they pulled up to the kerb in front of an ugly concrete tower that was home to the three-star tourist class hotel that Stephanie had booked. The entrance had a large awning embellished with the flags of a number of different countries.

Stephanie shook her head. We’re not having this conversation again. This is all my budget allows right now and I’m not spending your money.

It was James’s turn to roll his eyes as the car door was opened by a porter. At least let me pay for the limo.

Stephanie gave him a quick kiss before stepping from the car. Okay, she conceded with a smile.

They entered the large lobby of the hotel. It was decorated in nondescript beige tones and had the sterile smell of industrial floor polish. After checking in at the busy reception desk, they took the elevator to the twenty-second floor. Stephanie’s room was basic. King-sized bed, a single armchair, a small coffee table and wall-mounted flat screen TV. A doorway led to a tiny ensuite bathroom. James pulled a face, which Stephanie ignored as she crossed the room, throwing open the sheer curtains to take in the outlook from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Wow, what a view.

Her room faced east along 44th Street. All around were huge skyscrapers. At street level, the road was littered with black town cars, yellow taxis and people looking like ants scurrying here and there. The sounds of the traffic; engines revving, car horns and the occasional siren filtered skywards. The late afternoon sun shone between the buildings, casting long shadows.

I agree. You look amazing, James said as he came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

I wasn’t talking about me, she said, laughing. I’m finally in New York City—I can’t believe it. This is so cool.

Stephanie gave a contented sigh and relaxed into his embrace. James tucked her hair behind one ear and leaned down