I decided that I would leave work here from my other four books, three chapters of each starting with
The Trojan Towers. This book was first published in 2006. Please feel free to comment. Thank you.
PROLOGUE
“What the hell do
you mean, ‘there’s been a hitch?’”
“Harry will explain. He’s on the
way.”
Michael Garrett Jr. bit
nervously on the end of his cigar. He had been Ambassador to the court of St.
James for two months before Washington
insisted he act as the staging post. Of course they said they’d make sure when
the news broke his name would be high on the list for recognition. What they
meant was his name would be high on the list of heads to roll if anything went
wrong. And things had gone wrong.
“You explain, Jerry. This is your responsibility.”
“One of our men is dead.”
“For crying out loud, Jerry,
this is getting worse by the minute!”
“Not necessarily. He passed on
information before he died. We know where the package is.”
“I take it you can arrange its
return then? If you want anything, just ask.” As an afterthought, Garrett
added, “Except men, of course.”
“It’s
a little tricky. The men who stole the package were killed too but not before
they put the package into a safe depository.”
Garrett sighed and smoothed a
few lose strands of silver gray hair. He hated political puzzles, particularly
those that involved the Middle East. They were
all walking a tightrope and one slip would bring the whole peace process
crashing down. Success was so close, and now this.
Jerry Harman, the Israeli
Ambassador, was a wily fox. It was no secret that he was totally opposed to the
latest American-Israel initiative. It went against everything he believed in.
Most of all, according to him, it meant bribery on a grand scale. Garrett
sympathized with him. The deal meant that the Americans were the real winners,
not the three protagonists. Long term it meant potential trouble for all
concerned if the most crucial part of the deal were made public during the
first two years after the agreement had been signed. Absolute secrecy had to be
maintained.
“Then we don’t have a problem,
do we?” Garrett asked, irritably.
“Well, yes we do. Our man got
rid of the key. He didn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”
Garrett closed his eyes and
thought for a moment. “So what are you saying, Jerry. We know where the package
is but we can’t get at it?”
“I’m saying we know where it is
and it will take a little longer to retrieve.”
“Should I ask how you intend to
get it?”
“No,” replied Harman, sharply.
“If you don’t know, Michael, then you can’t tell.”
“Have you called the Russians?”
“No, I’ll give the Ambassador a
ring later when I’ve thought of something to say.”
Garrett tapped his fingertips on
the desk blotter and tried to remain calm. “Jerry, I don’t have to remind you
that we agreed with the Russians on a three month timetable. We have two months
left.”
“Why remind me then? It’s my
country that’s been fighting for its life since 46, not yours. It’s my
2
country that
stands to lose most whether the talks fail or succeed, thanks to your
President. The
Palestinians,
Lebanese and Syrians won’t lose. Whatever happens they have nothing to lose but
everything to gain. And don’t forget I’ve been involved in these talks from the
start.”
“I’m sorry, Jerry, I know how
concerned you are but this whole damned business has got to me.” Garrett bit
his lip, annoyed at himself for the insensitive insinuation.
“Don’t worry about the package, Michael;
I’ll make sure we get it back. Just worry about our Russian friends. After all,
you shouldn’t have had their property in the first place - and before you give
me the official line let me tell you I don’t believe it.”
“Okay, I take your point. Do you
believe their responsible for your man’s death?”
No, I don’t. They wouldn’t throw
away the opportunity of having the United States Treasury bailing them out of
bankruptcy for free. No, whoever it is though means business.”
“Russian Mafia?” Garrett asked,
thinking out loud, although he was already sure of the answer to that.
“No, most of them have corrupt
connections in the Russian government keeping them safe from prosecution. It
wouldn’t be in their best interests. We know the gang who stole the package was
working for someone else and the Russians don’t operate like that.
Unfortunately, I’m just as certain that the person who hired the gang also
knows where the package is.”
“There’s going to be one hell of
a worried President if we can’t sort this out, Jerry.”
There was a pause. “Whatever way
it goes, we should all be worried. Whoever killed my man is
3
not about to give
up. He may or may not know about our arrangements but we can’t afford to take
any
chances. As soon
as I have the package I’ll find him and his associates and make sure there are
no lose tongues.”
Garrett looked up as his
secretary opened at the door. He smiled briefly as Harry Cohen appeared behind
her. “Well, at least you sent the right man to sort this out.” He ended the call
and motioned Harry to a comfortable armchair.
CHAPTER
ONE
“Danny! Danny!”
A man’s voice shouted a warning.
Danny
did not respond. He was leaning across the passenger seat pointing a gun
through the open door, crying.
Loving
arms cradled the young girl’s limp body tightly against her chest as the mother
knelt on the wet sidewalk. She threw her head back, eyes shut tight and mouth
wide open.
The
warning voice shouted again. “Danny!”
Danny
heard his name and moved back into an upright position. The revolver dropped to
the floor. Two men in black overalls clambered into the back of the car while a
third jumped into the front seat and slammed the door.
“For
Christ’s sake, move it, you bastard!”
The
voice from the back of the car was angry and edged with panic. A gloved hand
slapped the back of Danny’s head.
“You
murdering bastard!”
Danny
sobbed and looked back over his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Pete?”
Everyone
started shouting at the same time. The car swerved across the road, narrowly
missing a bus.
“Just
drive, Danny,” a quieter voice commanded.
Nervous
eyes peered through the rear window to catch a last diminishing picture of the
mother kneeling in pouring rain. She was still clutching the child to her,
screaming.
The
sound of heavy breathing and the smell of sweating bodies were cocooned inside
the swaying car. Rain beat on the windscreen. Squeaky wipers left oily streaks
as they clicked and juddered back and forth.
“You
murdering bastard. You murdering bastard.”
Peter
kept repeating the words but there was no reply.
Danny
looked straight ahead at red traffic lights. A police unit raced past in the
opposite direction with siren wailing.
“Drive
straight through.” The quiet voice spoke again.
The
car raced forward across the intersection.
Amid
the cacophony of horns and skidding tires Peter’s angry voice continued in its
monotonous tone. “You murdering bastard.”
They
turned a corner and slid sideways across glistening asphalt. Up ahead loomed an
entrance to a busy underpass. Everything swirled into darkness. Orange lights
flashed past like fireflies in the night. The wipers squeaked louder on the dry
screen. A white light up ahead got bigger and bigger and turned quickly into a
square of daylight.
Emerging
from darkness, the rain lashed across the bodywork and tires hissed. Danny spun
the steering wheel, causing the car to bump up a curb.
“Charring Cross,
sir?”
“Thanks.”
Raithe yawned deeply and stretched. His body ached from the awkward position he
had slept in. The guard left him and walked on, whistling.
Raithe yawned
again. Bad memories haunted him every time he fell asleep: every time he was
reminded by the guards, and every time he was beaten by Frank Parson and his
thugs. When the cell door banged shut at night he heard the shot again and
again echoing through his head.
He
wiped the window with the back of a sleeve and looked out with tired eyes. Most
of the passengers had left the train and were walking down the platform. He
focused on the reflection of black wavy hair graying at the sides.
The
face, once tanned and chiseled, was now lean with a sickly gray pallor to it.
It was growing
old prematurely. A fresh scar, a thin red line, ran across his chin at an
angle. Hidden under his right eyebrow was a thin white line, another much older
scar, and on his right jaw was a small scab. He stood up, shivered, and pulled
the long woolen navy coat around him. The light gray suit underneath fitted
like a glove.
Using
the sparsely equipped gymnasium at the prison was a daily routine.
Over
six feet tall, his body had stayed lean. The workouts made him strong in the arms
and chest. He had to be. The beatings became a regular test of his endurance.
Asking for solitary, rule 43, became a necessity in the end, and although he
was not completely free from attack in the segregation unit, things did get
better.
For
the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he felt like a human being again.
He adjusted his tie and reminded himself to thank Harry. It was Harry who had
bought him all his clothes and had them delivered in time for the appeal hearing.
Smart in crisp white shirt and gray suit, he took Harry’s advice and looked
their Lordships straight in the eye, never allowing his head to drop. His counsel
clinically and systematically proved beyond doubt that the police evidence was
at the very least, tainted.
Their
Lordships did not need time to deliberate but agreed without retiring. In his
summing up, Lord Fenwick was scathing in his criticism of the police investigation.
No real forensic evidence was produced to show that Raithe
Ravell
had been the actual murderer of three-year-old Amanda Stevenson. It was also
clear that the police had tampered with witness statements and “mislaid” vital
evidence, since found, that proved the fatal shot came from the direction of
the getaway car. There was a statement from a bank employee who’d been adamant
that shots were fired inside the bank. No bullet holes were found, giving
credence to Ravell’s statement that he only fired blanks in order to frighten
people.
He
concluded that whilst Ravell was guilty of a terrible crime, that of murder, planned
or otherwise during the committing of a robbery, it was not his hand that had
actually killed the child. His sentence should not have been life with a recommended
minimum fifteen years; it should have been life with a recommended minimum
eight years.
‘The court recognizes
that the defendant admitted his part in the robbery when arrested. It also
takes into account his prison record that shows him to have co-operated in
reform programs during the nine years that he has served. We are therefore
satisfied that he does not represent a danger to the public.’
Raithe
showed no emotion as the court released him, except a brief smile when it was
announced that there would be an inquiry into the conduct of the police. No one
had believed him. Now they would. Soon he would settle the account. Harry
warned him not to do anything stupid. There’d be plenty of time to sort the
bastard out. Harry was always right.
Raithe
stepped out of the carriage, his coat flapping in the stiff breeze. He looked
up at the platform clock. It showed five past three. He fingered the postcard
in his pocket and knew that Maggie, his mother-in-law, would have heard the
verdict and passed it on to Terri. Maggie never liked him and spared no time at
all in letting him know it. He was a no-good, petty crook. That was what she
had called him at their first meeting.
Terri
was a stunner. She never went anywhere without making up. Bright red lipstick,
long red nails and a hint of Chanel; she was the long-haired blonde with deep-blue
eyes who featured in the “Mickey Spillaine” stories. The boys in the local club
all agreed to that. Her tall, hourglass figure turned heads. Everyone wanted
her but she only had eyes for Raithe.
They
were introduced by one of his friends. Within a couple of months they were
seeing each other several times a week. Maggie wouldn’t let him in the house but
he was not worried. Terri would marry him come what may. A year later, just
after Maggie moved to Southampton, Terri married him in Stepney Registry
Office.
It
was not until Natalie was born that he stepped inside Maggie’s house for the first
time. By then Terri’s father was dead and Maggie lived alone. She doted on the child
and despite her misgivings about his criminal activities, invited Raithe and
the family down from London for long weekends.
Raithe
never concealed anything about his business from Terri. He didn’t have to. She
never asked him about it or interfered. A month before the robbery, however,
she did. In the back room of their basement apartment in Stepney he and the
boys met one night a week to play cards and discuss impending business. At one particularly
long meeting, Terri had unexpectedly brought some tea and sandwiches into the
room. He saw her face as Peter tried to hide the revolver.
She
looked accusingly at him but said nothing until they were alone. For days she tried
to make him get rid of the gun but he wouldn’t listen. He tried to explain that
the gun was going to fire blanks. They argued and in the end he arranged with
Maggie for Terri and the baby to go to Southampton. By then Natalie was five.
He told them both he would see them after the weekend, back in Southampton. It
was not to be. The next time he saw Terri he was on remand in Wormwood Scrubs.
Outside
the main ticket hall he hailed a cab and climbed in, glad to be out of the
wind. “St. Katherine’s Dock, please.”
The
cab sped off and Raithe closed his eyes. For the last week, since his release
he had found it difficult to sleep in the hostel room the Social Services had found
for him. For three days he sat looking out of the window, unable to venture out
and walk down the street. It felt strange watching people shopping and walking
nearby or seeing a dog pee up against a lamppost. It was as though he were in a
prison without walls.
Harry
had not been able to meet him right away, so they made arrangements to meet at
St. Katherine’s a week later. He could not go home. There was no home to go to.
Terri was in Spain according to the postcard she had sent.
A
year after being transferred to HM Prison Strangeways, he told her not to keep
making the train journey each week. It was best for her and Natalie if she stayed
at home and they wrote. She could visit again when he was moved back south. In
truth, it became more and more difficult to keep his injuries from her. His
face always had some bruise on it and she remarked on one visit about a bandage that covered two fingers on one hand. Two
cons had jumped him on the landing and held him down. The guards watched on as
Parsons, the ‘A’ Wing cappo, stamped on the outstretched hand. They’d even
cheered.
Watching
Terri leave broke his heart. That was the last time they saw each other. She
said she would wait, but in the years that followed her letters eventually
stopped arriving. He missed seeing Natalie growing up, but not hearing from her
was worse. One letter after another was sent to Maggie’s address, in case Terri
had moved. Nothing came back. In the end he gave up. That was the most
miserable time of his life.
He
did get a letter once a month from Harry.
The
two men had first met in Harry’s shop in Hatton Garden shortly after
Raithe stole
some highly valuable jewelry from a country house. The old Jew with a genial
smile immediately impressed him. Around five foot six, and dressed in a smart,
pin-striped suit, he was big physically with a balding, shiny head and black
bushy eyebrows. A large cigar was balanced precariously between his lips as he
had studied the jewelry through thick rimmed glasses. Harry was Raithe’s idea
of what a rich Jewish businessman looked like and it excited him to be
associated with the man.
When
he received the first letter from Harry he expected the old man to commiserate
with him. Instead he was surprised and a little annoyed to find that he was
torn off a strip for being so stupid. Harry left him alone for two months before
he wrote again. After that he wrote regularly. His letters meant so much, for
they were the only contact with the outside world. Although he never told Harry
about his treatment, it was Harry who suggested that he take Rule 43.
Harry
knew. No one had to tell him.
“Main
entrance, guv’?”
“Yes,
please.”
The
cab crawled along East Smithfield and stopped in the middle of the road, opposite
the dock entrance. After the traffic had cleared the cab U-turned and pulled
into the curb. Raithe gave the driver his last five-pound note, slammed the
door behind him and walked across the cobblestones into the dock.
Lines
of cruisers and yachts of all sizes swayed gently up and down at their moorings.
The Seagull, a Thames Barge, lay moored at one end of the marina.
Behind her the
floating museum collection of marine craft lay lifeless and devoid of visitors.
On
one of the larger cruisers a well-built man sat in the aft deck-well reading
a newspaper.
Dressed in bright orange sou’wester and green cords, he looked oblivious to the
chill air. The craft was bathed in bright sunlight from the autumn sun while
most of the quayside next to it lay in deep shadow from the tall buildings and
shops that skirted the marina. From outside the chandlers, Raithe watched the
man.
Harry
Cohen was everything expected of an upper-class Jewish gentleman.
Respected
businessman, pillar of society, successful and very rich, his reputation across
Europe as a first-class dealer in fine art and rare stones was unsurpassable.
His colleagues, including top executives and assessors from major insurance
companies, trusted him both as a friend and business associate. He knew where
most of the rarer pieces of jewelry and stones were and who owned them. More
importantly, he knew who was fishing in the market and for what.
Now
and then Harry would acquire certain items for the more discerning of his
clientele, especially those with huge financial assets to invest. Americans, Japanese
and royalty were reputed to be among those who enjoyed his special confidential
services.
He
did business with others, too; people who supplied on demand or came into
possession of items that he could place with ease. These were people who never
attended any of his cocktail parties. Nonetheless, he had total respect in both
camps, something he had enjoyed for many years.
Raithe
knew he was an exception to the rule. Educated in grammar school,
Harry told him
he was impressed with his general knowledge on literature and fine art, in
particular paintings and gemstones. Harry taught him a lot once he had earned
the old man’s trust, and it had not taken long to do that.
On
his second visit to the shop, he was asked to wait while Harry did business
with a dealer upstairs. After several minutes a small foreign looking man came
downstairs into the showroom. In one hand he carried a briefcase and in the
other a small leather bag. Stopping at the counter to place the small bag in
the briefcase, the contents had spilled out. Raithe watched the man put the small
stones back into the bag. After snapping the briefcase shut, the man had turned
to leave.
Harry’s
assistant was standing by the door, ready to see the dealer out and into a cab.
As the dealer left, something dropped from the counter top to the floor. Raithe
bent down and picked up a small diamond. The door closed behind the dealer and
Raithe dashed out into the street after him. He handed the surprised dealer the
diamond.
Back
in the shop, Harry stood eyeing him, as though weighing him up. He said nothing
about the incident until the next time they met when he informed Raithe that he
would teach him a little about the business.
A
little turned out to be a lot and a genuine friendship developed over the next
three years. Harry became a father figure who could be relied on for sound advice,
not only on business matters but on matters of the heart and family as well.
Peter
and James never knew that Harry existed; not even Terri knew. It was a secret
that Harry insisted he keep. It wasn’t just because of security, important as
it was for only the select few to know of his hidden talents. He did not like
what he had heard about the men. Raithe and the two men were friends from the
same school, and Harry did not trust them. Peter was too devious, and James
liked talking about himself too much. He liked talking to other people, too,
especially women. Harry saw that as a bad flaw.
All
this was before the robbery. Even though his friend still supported him,
Raithe wondered
if things would ever be the same again. He had violated the trust they shared
in each other and completely disregarded Harry’s advice. A child was dead, and
Harry would never forgive him for that.
He
crossed from the shadow of the tall buildings into the sunlight and felt the
breeze on his back. There were no other people around but he felt strangely conspicuous:
the same feeling he had experienced the first day in prison. No one was around
as he crossed the landing ahead of the guards, their feet making the only
audible sound on the grating, yet he felt a thousand eyes burning into his back.
CHAPTER
TWO
Harry didn’t
look up from the newspaper. That was Harry. He knew, saw and felt things going
on around him without showing any emotion. Raithe stood on the quay and looked
down at him.
“Am
I going to stand here all day or are you going to invite me aboard?” He tried
to sound a little jocular but the tremble in his voice betrayed the nervousness.
Harry
put the newspaper down on his lap and waved a hand. “Get your backside down
here, and don’t get cocky, dear boy. You and I have things to discuss.”
Their
last face to face meeting had been two weeks before the robbery. Harry warned
him not to attempt it. Banks were for idiots, not educated professional thieves
like Raithe. The risks were too great. He should have listened.
He
climbed down into the well and sat opposite Harry on one of the padded bench
seats. Harry’s eyes narrowed behind the thick lens glasses. He pointed a chubby
finger. “I waited nine years to tell you what I think of you, and now I can’t
be bothered. Have you learned anything? Do you think about the little girl?”
Raithe
looked out across the water. “Of course I do. I’ve thought about her every
day.” He sighed and looked the other way toward the buildings, avoiding Harry’s
stare. “I miss Natalie and Terri; God knows how I’ve missed them.”
“God
also knows how much that little girl’s mother misses her, too.”
The
words stung Raithe’s conscience. His eyes began filling up. He wiped them with
his fingers.
“Liberty
is a wonderful thing, dear boy. You lost it through ignorance, nothing else.”
Harry shifted in his seat and stared hard into Raithe’s eyes. “You didn’t
listen to Terri. You didn’t listen to me. You thought you knew best. Ignorance,
Raithe, is a terrible thing. Ignorance and arrogance go hand in hand, and you
displayed plenty of both. If prison and the shit that is housed in it knocked
some sense into you then I’m glad. Whatever happened to you was nothing more
than you deserved.”
Raithe
stood up, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t come here to listen to this, Harry.
I’ve been
punished enough, for Christ’s sake!”
“Punished
enough! Your punishment hasn’t even started yet, dear boy. It starts today and
every day for the rest of your life. You’re still arrogant—now sit
down!”
Raithe
sat with bowed head, looking at his feet. “I’m sorry but I can’t change anything.”
“No,
you can’t.” The tone in Harry’s voice changed. “And now you are free, what do
you plan doing?”
Raithe
shook his head. “I don’t know, Harry. I keep thinking about that little bastard.”
“You
mean Danny? I doubt he’s the man you want. He may have fired the gun, but you
should be looking elsewhere. Anyway, is that more important than your
daughter?”
“No,
of course not, I need to find her.”
Harry
shook his head slowly. “Well, you should have known I’d look after Natalie.”
Raithe
sighed and sobbed at the same time. “You know where she is? What about Terri?
Is she with Terri? I got a card from Spain.” He got to his feet, smiling.
The
big man got up and opened the door to the saloon. “Come and have a drink, and
don’t thank me.”
They moved
inside and Harry crossed to the bar. “Scotch?”
Raithe
nodded. “Thanks.” He sat down in one of the armchairs next to the bar.
Harry
pulled a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet. “You let Natalie and Terri down,
not to mention me. They’re the ones who’ve suffered, not you. I’ve spent a long
time trying to understand why you took that job on. It will take me even longer,
if ever, to completely forgive you.” He pouted. “After all I taught you, dear
boy.”
He
placed two crystal tumblers on the table between them and sat down on a large
brown leather sofa.
Harry
seldom showed emotion and when he did, Raithe kept quiet. It had nothing to do
with intellectual or physical superiority but the respect the man commanded. He
was larger than life, always understanding and fair, with a quiet but
authoritative voice that one listened to.
“Now
get that down, you, and listen to me.” Harry picked his glass up and took a
sip. “You gave Terri my telephone number shortly after you were sent down, as I
told you, in case she needed help. She didn’t call until a few months later.
Perhaps she thought I was like you and couldn’t be trusted, eh?” He waved a
hand through the air. “Anyway, we arranged to meet over lunch one day. She wanted
to get rid of the money—your money—from its hiding place. It became a constant
reminder to her of the child’s death, not that she needed reminding. That poor
girl has lived every day with the memory of the tragedy. He raised his eyebrows
and shook his head slowly.
Raithe
reached for the bottle and topped up Harry’s glass. “I know about the money,”
he said. “She sent me a postcard a few days before my release.” He was silent
for a moment, trying to find the right words to say as Harry stared at him, waiting.
“I don’t suppose I’ll ever regret anything so much in my life. Believe me, if I
could turn the clock back.…” He gulped some Scotch. “I have nightmares about
it. I miss Natalie and Terri. I’ve missed you all. God, I’m so sorry, Harry.”
He
rubbed his forehead. “My head hurts with all the worry. I don’t know what
to say or do.”
“Well,
we can’t change the past but we can make a fresh start.” Harry took a card out
of his trouser pocket. “When I saw Terri she was upset about being pestered by
the police and pressed over the hiding place of the money. More than that, she
was concerned for Natalie. The girl was nearly seven, and a couple of reporters
took photos of her while she was at school. Then she was stopped on the way
home.”
“Bastards!”
“Terri
asked me to help her get Natalie into a private boarding school. I was happy to
help. She told me they were going away on a holiday and it would be nice to get
Natalie away shortly after if I could arrange things. I pulled in a few favors
and got a place for her at this school. Terri asked me not to tell you where Natalie
was. It would have complicated matters, and I agreed. She’s there until her
seventeenth birthday.”
Raithe
took the card offered. “Switzerland? Harry, I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing.
You say nothing, dear boy. I did it for Natalie. She’s something very special
now, don’t you know. A very beautiful little girl who calls me Uncle
Harry.” His
chest rose and he smiled. “After she’s taken her final exams she’s going to
Zurich University to study European Law.”
Raithe’s
face creased into a broad grin.
“I’m
glad you think it’s funny,” said Harry, lighting the end of a corona. He puffed
at it until the end glowed.
“I’m
sorry, Harry. It was the thought of her calling you Uncle Harry.”
Harry ignored
the remark. “I think you should go and see her on parents’ day. The details are
on the back of the card. Natalie knows all about the robbery and what happened.
Don’t go over it again with her. She doesn’t need reminding.”
Raithe
nodded. He wondered what sort of reception he would get.
As
if reading his mind, Harry said, “I won’t tell her you’re coming. That way if
you get cold feet she won’t be disappointed. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll
go. At least give her the chance to make her mind up about you. And she will,
too, believe me. She’s just like you used to be, very sure of herself, but
without the arrogance you had and still have. Here, take this.” He took a
photograph from his pocket and held it out. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
Raithe
looked at a beautiful blonde teenager in school uniform and saw
Terri. They were
so alike. Harry was right. There was a hint of a smile, a look of self-assurance.
Cigar
smoke whirled above their heads as he gazed at the picture. The strong aroma
reminded him of the back room in the Stepney basement apartment. Peter smoked
small cheap cigars all night. In the morning, Terri would throw all the windows
open. The smell of stale cigars permeated the air throughout the apartment.
“Terri
asked me to take Natalie to the school,” continued Harry. “She was being
followed everywhere and scared someone would find out where the school was. We
let it be known that Natalie was going to a boarding school in Scotland, and
that did the trick. Since then, Terri and I have kept in touch regularly. She
wrote to me about things in general and how she was looking forward to seeing
Natalie. She visits Natalie twice yearly at half terms and stays for a week
each time.”
“Does
Natalie write to you?”
“Of
course she does, like her mother. She sends letters to me and I forward them on
to Terri. Terri moved a couple of times and letters got lost, so I suggested I
could send them on to wherever she moved to.”
“I
take it she’s living in Spain? That’s where she sent the card from,” said Raithe,
thoughtfully.
“Yes,
about three months ago she moved there. I’m not certain but I’m pretty sure
something was bothering her. I didn’t want to ask, though. She knew she could
count on me if she wanted help so I assumed it might be personal.”
“You
mean she was having an affair?” Raithe’s heart sank.
“You
should worry about that. What do you think she should do, spend her life
waiting, and for what? You?” Harry held both arms out dramatically. “She knows
you are out and if she wants to see you she will find you. Natalie is the most
important woman in your life, and don’t you forget it.” He blew a long stream
of blue smoke into the air, then sighed. “You don’t know how lucky you are,
dear boy.”
“I’d
like to find her before she finds me, Harry. After I’ve seen Natalie, that is.
I still love her and I want her to know that. If she doesn’t want me then,
fine. At least I’d have shown her I still care.”
“I
disagree. You lost the right to expect anything from her and going after her
will only make matters worse. Remember what she’s been through. You must let
her decide your future. In the meantime, I want you to do something for me.”
“What’s
that?”
Harry
rose from the sofa and peered through the saloon window at the quayside.
Several little groups of sightseers were ambling along the marina, admiring the
line of boats. He finished his Scotch and placed the tumbler back on the table
before turning back to look outside.
“I
want you to deliver around eighty million in jewelry and art to an old friend of
ours in Amsterdam,” he said, casually. He watched the sightseers move past.
“That’s
after you’ve stolen them—of course.”
Raithe
sat with his glass halfway to his lips and momentarily froze, then began to
laugh. “No, Harry, I’ve learned my lesson. You don’t catch me out like that.
Mind you, if you like I’ll look in my diary and see what I’m doing this weekend.
I might just be able to squeeze you in. How do I get into the Tower of London?”
He was still laughing when Harry faced him.
“There’s
one thing you should have learned by now, dear boy. Knowing whether I’m joking
or not.” He leant across the table, a look of serious intent on his face. “You
are going to get into a vault, but it’s not in the Tower of London.”
Confused,
Raithe slumped back in the chair. “Wait a minute, Harry. You must be joking. I
don’t find this very funny.”
“I’m
not joking,” said Harry, slowly. He sat down.
Raithe felt
angry. “I’ve been here five minutes, and you’ve given me a lecture on what a
shit I am. Now you want me to steal a fortune. The phrase, ‘don’t do as I do,
do as I say,’ comes to mind. What about my daughter? Does she know her Uncle
Harry is getting Daddy into trouble again? I bet she doesn’t. And what—”
“Of
course she doesn’t, and you won’t be getting into trouble, if you let me explain.
As far as your family—”
“I
won’t do it. Whatever it is, I won’t do it. Who the bloody hell do you think you
are? You think one letter a month, a suit, and some school fees buy the rest of
my life?”
“As
far as your family is concerned,” repeated Harry, “they needn’t have suffered
if you’d listened to me. You paid nine years for a paltry two hundred thousand.
If you’d got nine years for eighty million, I could understand it. As it is,
this time you are not going to get caught. All you have to do is listen and
work with me. The reward is enough money to last you for the rest of your life
and give that daughter a life she deserves. More importantly, no one except
those who deserve it, is going to get hurt.”
Raithe
looked up at the roof, trying to keep calm. “I’ll be looking over my shoulder
for the rest of my life, Harry. Every police force across the world will be
looking for gems worth that much.” He shrugged. “No, Harry, I can’t do it. I’m
not going back to prison.”
“Of
course not. No one will know who took the gems, and what’s more, they won’t
know what’s missing. In fact, I can safely predict the police will find it hard
to speak to anyone admitting they have something missing.”
“Okay,”
sighed Raithe, slapping both hands on his knees. “Where is this Utopian place
full of treasures and dumb idiots?”
“Now
that is very funny, dear boy. In fact, that’s a pretty good description of my
next door neighbor.” He grinned and flicked a large lump of ash. It missed the
ashtray and landed on a beer mat.
“You
mean the Excelsior Depository? That place is a fortress.”
Harry
grunted and poured some more Scotch. “Of course it is. If it weren’t no one
would deposit anything in there, would they?”
“I’m
not with you. I don’t—”
“Think,
dear boy, think! What did you used to do before you broke into a property? What
was the first thing you had to do?”
Raithe
smiled, remembering the checklist Harry had insisted he go through mentally
before each job. “Of course, find the Achilles Heel, the weak point.”
“Precisely. Every building has its weak point.
Find the weak point, and in you go. That’s the easy part, and this building is no
different. The hard part, as always, is getting away.”
He
drew on his cigar and brushed some ash from his knee. “Before we go any further
you are going to understand that there are a couple of things that are not negotiable.”
Leaning forward, he placed a hand on Raithe’s shoulder. “There will be no guns
or unnecessary violence. You will not take anything from the depository other
than that which you are told to take. Break either rule and I will personally
make sure you spend the rest of your life in jail.”
Raithe
knew he was serious.
“I’m
sorry to say that to you, dear boy, but if you take anything not on my shopping
list you will hurt innocent people, perhaps friends of mine.”
Raithe
looked puzzled but remained silent. When the man talked business he expected
his audience to listen, not ask questions.
Harry
got up and stepped to the center of the saloon. He moved to the window again
and for a moment remained silent as he looked across the water.
“You’re
going to steal eighty million in jewelry from the depository,” he said, eventually,
“and then put the stuff back again. Later, after the robbery has been discovered,
I am going to walk back into the depository and take it all out again.
Within hours,
the goods will be stored safely and you will be on your way out of the country
without anyone knowing.”
Raithe
tried to understand. Whatever Harry’s plan, it would be meticulous down to the
last detail, leaving nothing to chance. But what was the point in putting the
goods back once they had been taken?
“My
dear boy, don’t look so confused,” continued Harry. “We’ll discuss the details
later. For now, let’s discuss the overall picture. You’re too tired to discuss details.”
He started pacing up and down the saloon, cigar held between ringed fingers and
head bowed. “We’re going to rob from the robbers,” he said, excitedly, “just
for a change. I’m going to teach them a lesson. They’re going to learn they
can’t cheat Harry Cohen.”
Raithe
sat impassive, glass in hand. Harry always took a long time to come to the
point. Whatever it was, it was worth waiting for. It occurred to him that Harry
trusted few people and had picked him to do the job. He had no doubt that the
old man loved his daughter and looked after her out of the kindness of his heart.
Nonetheless, some gratitude would be expected in return. There would be no hard
feelings if he turned the job down but it would be the end of their business
relationship. He would never be asked to work again.
“Who
are ‘they,’ Harry?”
“Criminal
scumbags who have cheated me in one way or another over the years, whether it
is gems or money they owe or have stolen from me or my fellow dealers.”
Raithe
remembered Harry telling him that a small group of international gem dealers
were organized to receive and fence fine pieces of jewelry and art. They bought
from recognized, introduced sources and supplied to a select clientele. If a
thief wanted to do business with any of them, he would have to be a known professional
and come recommended by one of the others in the group. It was a worldwide
trade and very profitable. Raithe had been a one off exception but only because
he had shown he could be trusted. Harry’s reward for Raithe’s act of honesty
towards a fellow dealer was to handshake him into the business.
“I
want to retire, Raithe. I don’t need the money but I do need to teach certain
individuals in our trade that they don’t steal from their own. This little job
will give me a great deal of satisfaction.” He rubbed the side of his nose and smiled
broadly. “Now listen and learn. Some of our more unsavory colleagues in London
have boxes in the Excelsior Depository. They store their valuable stones and
other items of worth in there. I have kept an ongoing record of what jobs have
been credited to them and what property has been taken. In most cases the
valuables are taken out of a box and brought to one of my colleagues or myself
here in London. If there’s no deal, they go back into the box. At any one time
I estimate there to be around eighty million in their boxes collectively. We
are not interested in the contents of any other box except these. I obviously don’t
know who owns what box. I do, however, have a list of items that you will look
for. When you come across an item listed, you will empty the entire contents of
the box it is in. That box will belong to a ‘dumb idiot’.” He chuckled and held
his glass up. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,
Harry.” Raithe smiled.
“You’re
not quite sure about this, are you?”
“I
don’t know, Harry. I’ve got other things on my mind: Terri, Natalie and….”
Harry
became serious again. Looking absently at the tumbler of Scotch in his hand, he
said, “There is a way you can flush out the grass as well, don’t you know?”
“How?”
“It
could have only been one of five people, and we can rule out Terri and me.
Personally, I think you can rule out Danny, too. There again, it might have been
someone who had it in for you and made a lucky guess, but I doubt it.”
“Peter
or James?”
“That’s
right. My guess is that it was one of those two. Whoever it was may also have
changed the blanks in that gun. How they did it without you knowing, I don’t
know. Why they did it is also a mystery.”
“I
still think it was Danny. He loved guns. That’s why he swapped with me when we
were on our way to the job. I reckon he changed the blanks to live rounds
outside the bank. He’s the grass, Harry. He got scared when he found out the
girl was dead. The police arrested me the next day. There wasn’t time for a
whisper to do the rounds.”
Raithe
downed the rest of the Scotch in one gulp.
Harry
stepped across the saloon and opened the door. “Well, let’s reserve our
judgment shall we, until we know for sure?”
A
thick cloud of smoke drifted out of the door into the sunshine. Harry stood in
the well and threw his cigar butt overboard. “I could find out where the others
are,” he said, in a disinterested voice.
“Of
course you could, Harry. I’m surprised you haven’t already.”
“I
didn’t know you’d be interested, dear boy.”
“Yes,
you did, Harry.”
Harry
put his hands inside the pockets of the sou’wester and grinned.
“Good,
I’ll get to work and you can get some sleep here.” He stepped back inside
without shutting the door. “When you’ve got your head together you can ease
yourself into the job by solving one or two little problems. You have to think
of a way of balancing on a sloping roof while removing a few tiles. You’re the
expert, you can sort that out.” He handed Raithe a piece of paper. “These are the
details of the roof.” He scratched his head. “Oh yes, one other thing. There’s twenty
thousand in the forward cabin. I didn’t think you’d want all the money at
once.”
“Thanks,
Harry, that’s fine.” Raithe watched as a sparrow landed in the well
and pecked at
the decking. “Nice boat.”
“It’s
a friend’s. I don’t want us to meet on mine. We have to be careful. Now
get some sleep
and we’ll speak again tomorrow.”
“I
want to find Danny. I’ll go and see his sister.”
“All
right but be careful. Here, take this.” He handed Raithe a mobile phone. “I’ll
call you in the morning.”
“What
was the other thing you wanted me to sort out?” asked Raithe.
“The
escape, dear boy. You know the city as well as I do.
However you do
it, make sure you’re clear of the city within thirty minutes.
You’re
rendezvous is Benfleet Creek, a few miles down river from here.”
“Thirty
minutes to clear the job and the city?”
“Yes,
I don’t care how you do it, but make sure you are. By then I shall be helping
the police with their inquiries.”
Raithe
frowned at him.
“Details,
dear boy, details. Don’t worry yourself.”
Raithe awoke to
a ringing telephone. Screwing his eyes, he yawned deeply. Reaching under the pillow,
he pulled the mobile out. “Morning, Harry.”
“Morning,
dear boy, it’s time you were up and about. You have things to do today.”
Raithe
looked at his watch and yawned again. It showed seven-thirty. “Harry, thanks
for the call, but you could have left it for another hour.”
“Nonsense. You’ve been used to getting up at
six. Today you had a lay in. Now get up and shake yourself. There’s pen and
paper near you in the top drawer of the dresser. Take this number down.”
Raithe
swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled the drawer open.
He found the pad
and pen along with a plastic bag containing several bundles of banknotes.
“Okay, go ahead.”
Harry
spoke to him for a couple of minutes and finished by saying, “He’s doing very
well, so you’ll have to hook him with something substantial.”
“Where’s
his office, Harry?”
“It’s
in Surrey. Get a train there. And remember to be nice and friendly. He won’t
come across straight away, that’s normal. He’ll be suspicious, but if you tempt
him enough I’m sure he’ll play ball. Tell him-”
“I
know what to tell him and how to get him to co-operate. I only wanted to know
where he was.” Raithe drummed his fingers impatiently. “Have you found
Wilde yet?”
“Yes,
he’s in Ostend, but I haven’t got his number yet. I’ll call you tonight.”
The
line went dead before Raithe could answer. He had forgotten about
Harry’s habit of
rising early.
Harry
always started work at seven-thirty, six days a week. He once told
Raithe that if
there was anything to discuss about their business then early morning was the
time to talk. After nine-thirty he ran his business in Hatton Garden. Calling
at any other time was not acceptable unless he himself needed to discuss
something; then he called Raithe. He never gave out a private number and Raithe
was never invited to the man’s home. Indeed, he did not even know where Harry
lived. It was as though Harry led two completely different lives.
He
tossed the mobile onto the chair next to the dresser and stretched. The sound
of a boat’s gargling engine came from close by. Reaching across the bed, he
pushed the narrow cabin curtain back. A small yacht was making its way out of
the dock toward the lock that opened into the river. Two figures in yellow oilskins
stood in the open cockpit. Several seconds later, Raithe felt the Sea Serpent
gently rock in the wake. He closed the curtain and yawned again.
Somewhere
across the other side of the dock, a halyard slapped monotonously against an
aluminum mast as the wind blew through a yacht’s rigging. He slipped his jeans
on and went aft to the galley. An hour later, he made a phone call.
A
receptionist answered. “Compucare International. I’m Diane, how may I help
you?”
“Good
morning, Diane,” answered Raithe, softly, “could you put me through to Mr.
Peter Sutton, please?”
“I’m
very sorry, sir, Mr Sutton is in a meeting at the moment. Can I take your number
or put you in touch with anyone else?”
“No,”
replied Raithe, “but I think if you slip a note under his nose telling him that
Mr. Ravelle is calling, he will speak to me.”
“One
moment, please.”
There
was a click, followed by the electronic strains of “The Emperor Waltz ” while Raithe
crunched on a piece of toast until he heard Peter’s excited voice.
“Raithe,
congratulations, old man, it’s nice to hear from you. Did they let you out the
same afternoon? You should have called earlier. As a matter of fact, I’ve been
trying to get hold of you; thought you could do with a job in the company.”
Raithe
waited for him to finish. “Hello, Peter. I got out the same afternoon.
I wanted some
time to myself. Are you free tonight? I’d like a chat about a job.”
“Mmm,
why not. I was going on a business trip today but what the hell? I can go
tomorrow.”
“Great,
by the way, do you happen to know where James is? I need to see both of you.”
He spoke slowly and deliberately.
“Uh,
no. I haven’t seen him in ages, Raithe. Why, thinking of a reunion party?”
“Sort
of. Call it a coming-out party.”
“I
can’t think of a better reason.”
“I
can think of two million reasons. That’s two million each,” said Raithe.
There
was silence. Eventually, Sutton said, “You have to be joking.”
“You’re
right, I was joking about the party. We can have that after.”
“Raithe,
sorry mate, but it’s not for me. Trust you to have something lined up. You’ve
only been out five minutes.”
“You
know me, Peter. No problem. I just wanted to give you first refusal for old
time’s sake.” He paused deliberately. “Anyway, what about a drink?”
“You
bet. Tell you what. Get here for six-thirty. Let me give you the address, old
man.”
CHAPTER
THREE
The sky was gray
and filled with large black clouds. Raithe pulled the collar of his coat up and
leant into the wind. Reaching Tower Hill, he crossed over the road. Light rain,
blown horizontal, stung his face. He joined the throng of jostling travelers
making their way up and down the Underground steps. A long line of
expressionless faces passed him by as he rode down on the escalator. They
reminded him of other faces in another time and place.
Being
category A meant he ate with the rest of the hard men of crime; the murderers,
armed robbers and men convicted of GBH. Every mealtime meant the same routine.
A snake-like line of men would slowly shuffle in single file down one side of a
long metal barrier, turn around at the end, and shuffle back to the front of
the serving position. A prison guard stood each end of the barrier while
another stood by the door through which the prisoners entered the dining hall.
Being a convicted child killer, he was shunned and ate on his own.
When it came to
child killers, rapists and those who beat women, there was nowhere to hide from
rough justice. The guards had a welcome for their “special” guests. Each time a
“special” new arrival was being processed, the photo of his battered or dead
victim would be shown along the landings.
Later,
as the new inmate was escorted into the noisy landing area and was taken to his
cell, a hush would descend throughout the building. All that could be heard
were the footsteps of the inmate and the escort party as they walked across the
metal grating.
The
new prisoner normally suffered a beating every two to three days for the first
month while the Capo and his lieutenants paid their respects. After that it was
fair game for anyone to put the boot in whenever they got the chance. It was normal
for a prisoner to ask for rule 43 at about this time, sometimes reluctantly. He
would have to join all the sex offenders, rapists and pedophiles in a special wing
of the prison. Although an unpleasant experience except for the sex offenders,
it was preferable to running the daily gauntlet of abuse and violence.
Raithe
had descended into this hell after eighteen months. No one had listened to him
as he protested his innocence. He gave up and asked for solitary confinement.
He
breathed in deeply and tried to put the nightmare out of his mind. A rush of cold
air blew through his hair and made his eyes water as a train approached through
the tunnel. He stood amongst the crowd and looked up at the electronic information
board. The Central Line train was arriving. It would take him to Notting Hill
Gate where Danny’s sister lived. He wasn’t sure of the street number but
remembered what the place looked like. He had gone there two months before the
job and been introduced to Danny. Peter had recommended the lad as a driver.
A
few years younger than the other members of the gang, Danny had a happy-go-lucky
outlook on life. Poorly educated, whatever he lacked in general academic
achievement was made up for by other qualities he learned on the street, such
as a great understanding of mechanics. Raithe had once watched, amazed, as the
lad stripped an engine and put it back together in hours.
Danny
could also drive very fast, but safely. They’d taken him out one night to South
London in a Jaguar and told him to drive the quickest route between Burgess
Park and Trafalgar Square. Try as they might, no one could beat his time across
the city.
The
lad was slim and strong, of medium height and with shoulder-length blonde hair.
He had been brought up in a poor family, watching his older sister bring lots
of boyfriends home. Their father left when they were young, leaving a sickly
mother who died four years later from cancer. Danny fended for himself for the
most part, and it was during his teens that his criminal activities began.
Raithe
quickly warmed to him as the two got to know each other during the period
leading up to the robbery.
The
train came to a halt amid screeching brakes and carriage doors rumbled opened,
freeing a noisy tide of marching feet that spewed out onto the platform. Raithe
pushed his way forward through the crowd and stood in the middle of the carriage,
holding on to the handrail above his head. The doors hissed shut and the
carriage jolted forward.
Entering
the tunnel, the train’s lights flickered before they were swallowed up by the
darkness. Raithe looked down at a young woman sitting in front of him and saw
the mother of the shot child again. Her face wouldn’t go away.
The
police had smashed their way into the flat the following morning while he was
still in bed. His leather gloves, which he forgot to dispose of along with the
overalls and ski mask, had been found and taken away for forensic evidence.
In
his statement he admitted to the robbery, something he always intended to do if
caught in order to secure a lesser sentence if possible. He also admitted to the
charge of murder, being an accessory. Having done so, no one wanted to believe
that his was not the gun that killed the girl.
At
his trial the judge told him, “You have
admitted to murder and robbery
and
to carrying a firearm. It was not a blank cartridge that killed that child, and
I
am satisfied that you lied to cover your guilt in her death.” Raithe
was branded
a child killer.
The
train rattled on through the twisting tunnel, stopping at every station.
When it reached
Notting Hill Gate, Raithe stepped out onto the draughty
platform and
made his way to the exit.
He
caught a cab to Godffrey Street, where a long row of curving terraced houses
stretched the whole of its length on either side. Wide flights of eight stone
steps led up to the Victorian terrace every few yards. Between each set of steps
was an ornate iron railing, corroded over the years, set in a small concrete wall
that overlooked basement apartments. Brown rust stains surrounded the bottom of
each post and spread across the top of the wall. Flakes of dirty white paint
clung to the brickwork or lay on top of weeds that grew from every crack between
the sidewalk and the wall.
Walking
slowly, Raithe passed some children playing in the street, looked over by
mothers with folded arms, gossiping outside one of the buildings. The women
gave him a cursory glance.
He
knew Danny’s place as soon as he saw it. The railing outside was still broken
and the glass panel above the front door inside the shared entrance was still
cracked. He walked up the steps and into the wide porch and pushed the bell-button
but heard nothing. Pushing it again, he realized Danny’s place was two floors
up. He waited a few seconds. From inside, he heard the sounds of someone coming
down the stairs.
The
shadowy figure of a woman appeared behind the reeded glass of the front door. When
the door opened, Raithe didn’t recognize her at first. She had dyed her scraggy
hair blonde. Apart from that, she had not changed much. She still wore a tart’s
clothing and still looked a tart, even more so nine years on. Her false smile
turned to a sneer as she recognized him and placed her hands on her hips. “What
the fuck are you doin’ ’ere? Lookin’ for a little girl, are we?” she mimicked
child-like.
He
felt the anger rising. He wanted to slap her face but clenched his teeth and took
a deep breath. “I need to speak to Danny, Gail. Where is he?”
“Don’t
know and don’t bleedin’ care. Piss off.”
She
started to close the door but Raithe managed to block it with a foot.
“Gail,
you know it wasn’t me who shot the girl.”
Gail
leant against the doorframe, a hand on one hip. “That brother of mine was
always trouble. Then he met you and got into even worse bleedin’ trouble. I don’t
care who did what. He hasn’t been ’ere since you went inside, and I don’t know
where he is. What’s more, I don’t bleedin’ care. I would’ve thought one beating
was enough. What are you gonna’ do, give him another kickin?”
“I
want to talk to him. I don’t want to harm him.”
She shook her
head. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. Wherever he is he’s better off
without you buggering up his life.” She straightened up. “Now, unless there’s
anythin’ else, I have to get on.” She pointed upstairs.
“Oh
yes, I forgot,” said Raithe, “you’re self-employed. Time is money and all that.”
She
leant forward and scowled at him. “That’s right, and unless you’ve got fifty
quid you can have one off the wrist. There ain’t any freebies ’ere. Like I
said, piss off.”
Raithe
took a bundle of notes from his pocket and peeled off a fifty pound note. He
held it up in front of her face. “Fifty, you said.”
The
smile of an actress returned. “I suppose it must be very lonely in prison; all
those lonely nights and no warm body to satisfy those special needs.” She hesitated
and looked at the note in Raithe’s hand. “I’m sorry about bein’ upset. You know
how it is. Listen, I’ll tell you what.” She stood to one side and put a hand on
his shoulder. “Why not come upstairs and get comfortable. I’m sure I’ve got
Danny’s address somewhere.” Her lips parted slightly, revealing the tip of her
tongue. It moved slowly across the deep red lipstick. “Of course, I would expect
another fifty for that.” She made a grab for the note.
Raithe
put it back in his pocket. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t pay you if you was the
last whore on earth. I’ll find Danny eventually, with or without your help.” He
turned away.
Gail’s
jaw dropped. She stood screaming after him, waving a clenched fist at him. “You
fuckin’ bastard! You bleedin’ child killer!”
The
gossiping women looked up at Gail and then at Raithe. He walked quickly past
them to the end of the street, turned right into the main road and stood on the
curb, waiting for the traffic to clear.
“Scuse
me, mate.”
Raithe
looked sideways at a scruffy man in his thirties, wearing an old pair of denims,
a three-quarter-length leather coat and a pair of trainers. Long dark lanky
hair, full of dandruff, spilled over his collar. A plaster had been stuck over a
cut on his stubbled chin. Raithe sniffed disapprovingly at the man’s bad
breath.
“If
you’re lookin’ for Danny, you’ll find him up in Birmingham.”
“And
you are?” asked Raithe. He took his hands out of his pockets.
The
man tensed. “You don’t remember me then.” He grinned, showing a mouthful of
yellow teeth. “I met you once when you came to pick Danny up. It’s okay, mate,
I heard you talkin’ to Gail. I’m a friend.”
“You
mean pimp, and while we’re about it, I’m not your mate.” Raithe put his hands
back in his pockets.
“Sorry,
mate—I mean sorry. Danny’s been workin’ at my brother’s place.
Pub called the
Bread ‘n’ Cheese. It’s near the city center, not far from the main station in
Hanley Street. I got him the job to get him out of town. Poor little sod was in
such a state that night I really felt sorry for him. Mind you, he shouldn’t
have panicked and grassed like that. He got no more than he deserved.”
Raithe
turned to the man. “What happened to him?”
“It
was a couple of days after you got sent down. He was in a right state for weeks
before the trial. I found him on the steps when I got home with Gail. Someone
had given him a right kickin’. All his face was cut and they’d broken his arm
and a finger. Blood everywhere, there was. Poor little sod’s teeth were a mess,
too.”
“Did
he admit it was him that grassed on me, or is that what you and the wonderful
Gail assumed?”
“Well,
he kept sayin’ it wasn’t him, but we knew. He’d already told us it was him that
fired the gun that killed the little—” The realization of what he had said dawned
on him. “Sorry, we could have come forward, but seein’ as how you were gonna’
do a length anyway, Gail didn’t wanna’ get involved.”
“Yes,
I can see how it would ruin her social life. Bad for business, right?” Raithe
thought for a moment. Something wasn’t right. Why would Danny admit to killing
the girl but not admit to being a grass? “So what happened?”
“Well,
she wanted him out of it so I called my brother. He didn’t know about the circumstances;
only that Danny was on the run from some heavies and needed to disappear. He
gave Danny a job and a place to stay, and that’s the last we heard until a few
weeks ago. My brother phoned to say he was comin’ down to town and we could
meet for a drink. When I met him later he was tellin’ me about Danny sortin’
out one of his cars. He’s still there.”
“Are
you telling me you and Gail never called or saw Danny in the last nine years?”
“Oh,
no, no, of course not. Gail phoned him a couple of times. She’s been meanin’ to
go and see him for some time. We just ain’t got around to it.”
Raithe
wanted to put his hands around the man’s throat. “Thanks a lot. When I see him
I’ll pass on your regards.”
“No
problem, mate.”
Raithe
glared at him.
