Lisette and the Cyber Geeks
by
Brian Sands
Dragnet, 1969 Anuvids
Chapter Three The Warehouse
Doc the Spiv surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction. "That should hold her nicely."
Lisette squeezed herself back against the pillar and raised her head as straight as possible, fighting against the single choking strand of rope circling her throat.
"Very nice, yers," said Donald tonelessly.
Very nice? cried Lisette in her head. She looked at Donald Caisson with large pleading eyes. Get me out of this, Don, her mind screamed. I’ll choke for sure if that little creep keeps me tied like this.
But Don appeared unperturbed. The hard case smiled at Lisette then turned his gaze coldly upon the boy who called himself Doc.
"Half garrotted that way, she won’t last long."
The spiv shrugged carelessly. "Only good tax inspector’s a dead tax inspector. That’s what I always say. Too bad she’s a woman though."
They must have been discussing what to do with me, and Don would have given the cover story while I was lying in the boot, thought Lisette. But it won’t come to anything if I’m strangled in the next few minutes! The cord rasped at her throat. Donald continued speaking.
"Yers. A pity your boss doesn’t want her. But I do, Doc, mon ami. And I’m not sorry to say this, you little shit, that our business partnership is at an end."
"Whadda ya mean?"
Doc was not slow at recognising gangland nuances. As he reached both hands into the deep pockets of his great-coat where the heavy automatics lay concealed, Donald took three quick step to him and grasped his trench coat by the lapels close to the neck. With a swift fluid motion Caisson pulled the garment hard down over Doc’s arms, imprisoning them at the elbows. The young thug looked down with a slightly bewildered expression then, as he raised his snarling face to swear at his opponent, Don delivered a graceful and devastating straight kick to his solar plexus. Doc went over backwards, all the wind knocked out of him. As the young thug sprawled on his back gasping for air, Donald knelt beside him and gently pressed a forefinger against a spot on the side of his neck. The gangster subsided into unconsciousness.
Lisette gazed into Donald Caisson’s grey eyes as the man walked to her, every nerve in her body radiating her relief and gratitude. The rope at her neck was severed by a single stroke of a pocket-knife. The other ropes fell away just as quickly, and Lisette was free from the post, swaying a little on her feet as Don gently and very slowly peeled the wide strip of tape from her cheeks and lips.
The young woman helped her rescuer with the delicate task, raising her hands and separating the sticky stuff from her upper lip at the same time as the loose end was being eased away from the side of her mouth. When the whole strip of tape had come away without taking any precious skin with it, Lisette extracted the two linen handkerchiefs wadded inside her mouth with thumb and forefinger.
"Ugh," she exclaimed as she fastidiously shook out the sodden pieces of cloth. "That feels better. What a way to use nice handkerchiefs!"
"How do you feel?"
"Like someone who’s been bound and gagged in the boot of a car and almost strangled!"
"That bad eh?"
"Oh, not really. But I was beginning to wonder when you’d get around to doing something about it. It was damned uncomfortable."
"I had to get the fellow’s confidence in order to find out his connections to the cartel. And there was blessed little I could do in the car while we were travelling. I just had to hope that you were as resilient as you make yourself out to be."
"Have I passed?"
"Oh yers, with flying colours."
"That’s nice." Lisette walked over to the supine Doc and poked him in the ribs with less gentleness than might be expected of a well brought up young woman. "What shall we do with sleeping beauty here?"
"I’ll let him sleep it off. He’ll be all right when he wakes up."
"More’s the pity. I admire that trick with the overcoat. Where did you pick it up?"
"Old Bogart movie."
"Oh, yes. The Maltese Falcon. And the, ah, sleeping touch?"
"An old T’ai Chi master taught me that, and a few other things, in return for a favour I did for him."
"And he’ll be all right?"
"Yers. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, my dear Lisette, to know that one can take another’s life with a mere touch."
"I saw that you pressed the carotid artery."
"No, not there. It’s more subtle, something to do with the acupuncture pressure points. It’s known in some of the martial arts, and by some branches of Tibetan medicine. I only know a small trick or two. And the knowledge is enough to make me shiver."
Lisette shivered in sympathy.
"But I think you should divest him of his guns, Bogey," she suggested.
"Good idea."
Donald knelt beside the still comatose Doc and fished the two large ugly automatics from the little spiv’s pockets.
"He’ll do less harm without these," observed Donald Caisson drily. "Beneath that oversize trench coat beats the heart of a rank coward."
"I thought as much," Lisette replied dispassionately. "Where do we go from here?"
"Away, I’m sorry to say. But first, let’s see what our little friend is carrying."
Donald frisked the recumbent Doc and came up with two envelopes from an inner jacket pocket, a greasy handkerchief that made Lisette shudder, a pencil stub, a box of matches and a crumpled cigarette packet holding two bent cigarettes.
"Not much," breathed Lisette.
"These people don’t go in for identifying themselves." Don opened one of the envelopes. A healthily thick sheaf of notes fell into his hand. "Well, well." He thumbed through them. "Mixed denominations, and mixed currencies. Our young criminal was planning to travel abroad."
"Sent by his bosses?"
"Assuredly." Donald returned the notes to their envelope and handed it to Lisette. "Put that in your bag for safe keeping."
"When I find my bag. It went the way of one of my shoes."
"I’ll retrieve it for you and we’ll be off. But let’s see what’s in this envelope."
"More cash?"
"Noo. No by god! Prepare yourself for an unpleasant shock, Lisa."
Don held the object up to Lisette’s gaze.
"Ohh no ... Poor girl!"
Lisette was looking at a single photograph of a very pretty platinum blonde woman. She was lying face down on a blanket, her arms tied behind her. It looked as though her wrists had been fastened together back to back, but the poor quality of the photograph made this difficult to determine, though the way her elbows were spread suggested the fact. Her legs were tied together at the ankles and just above her knees, and a cord was also passed around her upper body near her shoulders. Her head was turned to one side, and Lisette thought that she was gagged with a white cloth of some kind. That part of the photograph was a blurred as though the girl had been turning her head to look up at the same moment her captor clicked the shutter.
"Our- Our friend’s work?" asked Lisette through a mouth suddenly very dry. "Those ropes loose on the ground beside her ... it looks as though she was hog-tied like I was. I hope she’s alive!"
"So do I, my dear," replied Donald huskily.
"Oh Don ..." Lisette stumbled into the man’s arms. "Not just tax fraud but ... kidnapping!"
"That’s how it seems."
Donald Caisson took Lisette in his arms and stroked her hair. She buried her face against his shoulder.
"Don ... Organised kidnapping?" she asked, her voice muffled against the man’s jacket.
"Perhaps. Or she may have stumbled onto one of the gang’s plans, and they’re holding her."
"We’ve got to help her," cried Lisette in anguish, pulling back and locking eyes with those of Donald Caisson.
"I agree, but how?"
"Normal crime investigation, Don. Please. Let’s pool our resources, your inside knowledge of the workings of this cartel ..."
"As much as I know, which isn’t much."
"Okay, and my access to records."
"All right. What do you want to do next?"
"Take me home. I need a hot bath and a change of clothes. And I need to sleep ... and so do you. And I can access our office files through my home computer. That’s what I was going to do, only the storm and your visit delayed me from leaving the cottage ... as least leaving in the way I originally intended."
Donald Caisson chuckled. "Do you regret it?"
"Not one bit! Oh yes, I could have done without being bound and gagged and riding to town in the boot of a car. But this case is interesting. And I want to help that girl ... We have to rescue her."
"You’ve got guts, I must say. Wait a moment and I’ll find your missing shoe."
"And my handbag," Lisette called after Donald’s retreating back.
When Donald Caisson returned, he was carrying the single slip-on shoe in one hand, and Lisette’s handbag swung from the crook of his elbow. Lisette leaned one hand against the post to which she had recently been tied and slipped on the shoe, bending in such a way that her slender figure complemented the lines of her thighs, her calves and trim ankles. Donald watched in silent admiration. His shoulder still felt a little strange after this beautiful woman had rested her head against it.
Lisette straightened up. "My handbag please ... Shall I keep all the evidence in it?"
"If you please. It’s convenient. And I appreciate your assistance. I may be guilty of some things, but I am not guilty of embezzlement. I was framed."
"What about him?" With the point of her toe, Lisette indicated Doc who was still sleeping peacefully.
"I’ll stow him in one of those rooms." Donald indicated a distant doorway at the far end of the warehouse with a nod of his head.
Lisette watched as Don took Doc by the heels of both feet and dragged the little spiv unceremoniously across the cement floor. He disappeared through the doorway with his burden then, after about a minute, he reappeared, closing the door behind him and snapping a padlock shut.
"You seem to know this place," said Lisette as Donald came back to her. "Why did you say that you were sorry to leave?"
"This old warehouse is an alternative base," the man explained. "But I’ll have to vacate it now. A pity really. It belonged to an old friend, a bloke called Bill. He used to have several dosses in warehouses like this, all around the country. It’s peaceful. Nobody comes here."
When they climbed into the car, Lisette saw her large suitcase lying on the back seat.
"I’m glad you brought it," she said, indicating the case with a nod of her head. "It has some clothes that I want to wear tomorrow."
"I never knew a woman’s clothes could be so heavy!"
"Well, a girl has to look her best on all occasions."
"Even when bound and gagged?"
"Especially when gagged and bound," replied Lisette archly. "But I take your point that my present wardrobe is not very suitable for lying cramped up in ropes."
"If you wish to avoid that experience I suggest you be more careful with the company you keep, and with your choice of clothes ... and being in the wrong place at the wrong time ..."
"That darling little country cottage was just the place to get away and work, and relax in safety ... or so I thought. I wasn’t counting on being confronted with a desperate escaped criminal ... We’ll be close to my apartment if you take that turning."
Under Lisette’s directions, Donald Caisson cruised along a tree-lined avenue and came to a stop before a small block of apartments. Lisette turned to him.
"Walk me to my door?"
"With pleasure."
When they reached the front door of Lisette’s apartment, the young woman unlocked it and slipped inside, allowing the door to open with the narrowest of margins. She turned. Donald was standing on the welcome mat looking suddenly diffident and out of place. On an impulse, Lisette reached out and grasped Donald Caisson by his tie, pulling him into the hallway and pushing the door shut behind him.
"Just for a little while," she murmured. "I’ll let you go soon, Mr Caisson. But I have a sudden desire to be held. It’s been a long day, and frightening. And I haven’t thanked you properly for rescuing me."
The sweet, warm kiss that followed took Don’s breath away, and they stood there in the hall for many minutes, their arms wrapped around each other. In the end, Lisette withdrew from the embrace and, holding the man at arm’s length, regarded him quizzically. Her face was flushed, her eyes shining, and she seemed to be having difficulty breathing.
"Oh, Don. I’d like to keep you here, and ravish you, but I need that bath and a good sleep, and there’s a lot of work to do tomorrow. Do you have a phone number, a mobile maybe? ... Good ... Thank you ... Now off you go to your bed. If I find out something, I’ll phone you in the morning ... Goodnight, lovely man."
And with those words, Lisette Ruisseau gently turned a bemused Donald Caisson towards the door.
*
Half an hour later, Lisette had soaked the stiffness and aches from her ordeal out of her muscles. There was some bruising on her wrists and ankles where the ropes had cut into them, and the skin around her lips felt a little tender from the tape that had sealed the gag in her mouth. She was otherwise unhurt and in good spirits. Before going to bed, she reclined on her sofa, a grey silk dressing gown caressing her body and limbs, and examined the photograph once more.
A shiver went through Lisette as she empathised once again with the plight of the young blond-haired woman lying on a blanket, her face turned pleadingly towards her captor. Why was the photograph taken out of doors? Grey earth could be seen just beyond the rug on which the helpless girl lay. Stones, pebbles. Perhaps gravel. Lisette felt sick in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps this was the last photograph before her captor killed her and buried her in that place. On the other hand, the suggestion of gravel could mean that the photograph was taken on a car path or a driveway of some kind. Lisette fervently hoped it was the latter scenario, because it could mean that the girl was being held in a country house somewhere.
Lisette looked closer at the girl. She was somehow familiar, but the quality of the print was so poor that recognising the prisoner was difficult. Lisette picked up the envelope that had contained the photograph and looked at both sides. There was no address or postmark. But Lisette’s sensitive fingers felt that the envelope contained something more. Could there be another photograph that we’ve missed? She upended the envelope and shook it and, sure enough, another black and white print dropped onto her lap. When she raised it to her eyes, Lisette gave an involuntary gasp.
This photograph was a lot sharper, and Lisette recognised the captive.
Thoughts of sleep fled her mind. Lisette started up and almost ran to the laptop computer in the small room she used as an occasional office. She accessed the home page of her organisation, then she used her password to open files that were allowed only to accredited members of staff such as herself. There was the woman, in the legal department, a completely foreign area to Lisette. Her name was Chérie Chalmers. Aside from identifying her as one of the top-notch in-house lawyers the file included a photograph that clinched the issue for Lisette. Chérie Chalmers was the woman in the photographs in the envelope. But there was no profile, nothing that said what she actually did in the organisation. This did not surprise Lisette. Some departments in Revenue had a strictly hush-hush ambience.
It was not likely that she could access any of Ms Chalmers’ recent enquiry list, unless of course there was an overlap with her own department. Lisette tried there. She passed over her own profile and job description, grumbling as usual about the bad photograph taken of her, and made a search for current projects. There was her own, the handful of leads, names and addresses of people suspected of being involved with fraudulent businesses. A Mr Caisson came up on the screen, his latest address being at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. Not any more, thought Lisette. What about cross-referencing with other officers? Aha, an entry titled "Attention: Chalmers." And there they were, a small list of names and addresses of possible suspects, two of whom Lisette had herself investigated the week before and found clean.
Lisette carefully made a list of the current people under investigation by both the legal department and her own fraud department. There were four:
Dr Bombadil Kidd and Madame Red Vellum, landowners
Miss Dorothea Wimple, librarian, Lower Bodley Archives
Sir Justin Hoffnung, nursery tycoon
Kidd and Vellum lived in an up-market part of town. They were closer, so Lisette marked them first on her list. The small town of Bodley lay on the main freeway about forty miles south. The manager of the flower nursery - Lisette scarcely believed the authenticity of his title - was located in the Kent district, as one would expect, a little more than an hour’s travel south. After some thought, Lisette ranked the nursery second in
It was past two in the morning when Lisette snuggled beneath satin sheets and drifted into the welcome embrace of the muse of sleep. It was going to be a busy day.
ã Brian Sands 2004