‘It ties in with what Tim told me,’ I said over breakfast after relating what he’d said. ‘Dorney’s going to snatch whatever it is from under Mackie’s nose.’
Patrick looked up from his poached eggs, sausages and bacon. He had thrown off his clothes the previous night and flopped on to the bed like a beached flounder to sleep for seven hours. ‘I shall have to involve Carrick heavily from now on. Especially as I seem to be chief honcho on this job. Who’s the mole, then?’
‘Piers Ashley?’
‘Whoever it is would have to be involved with both gangs and Mackie didn’t mention anyone else. And, having met Ashley, I can only think that he would have been in Robbie’s position by now, Mackie’s right-hand man. As far as Dorney’s lot are concerned, it’s not all that long ago that Ashley was working for his father. I can’t believe Matt never clapped eyes on him during that time.’
‘Didn’t someone say that Len threw him out?’
‘I still don’t think he’s the informer, even though Shandy was warned off by someone who fitted his description close to where Dorney was. But fine, if Ashley wants to help catch whoever tried to kill Rolt and is lurking around accordingly, I’m not going to try and stop him.’
‘Patrick, how the hell did you get accepted into Mackie’s gang?’
‘I knew what he looked like as there are several mugshots of him in police records taken over the years due to his unfailing enthusiasm for breaking the law. Anyway, I asked a policeman if he knew where I could find him.’
For a moment, I thought he was joking, but no.
Patrick went on, ‘The good officer of the law asked me my business with Mackie and I told him – the truth. I was pointed in the direction of The Dog and Duck. He warned me that the Met are hoping to pounce on him soon as a woman he’s associated with for years was recently found seriously assaulted in her flat by a neighbour. She’s still in hospital and they’re going to throw attempted murder at him. It’s just a question of persuading her to bring charges. That’s why there’s a delay.’
‘And?’ I encouraged when he stopped speaking.
Patrick took a sip of coffee. ‘I was lucky as I came upon them all in a side alley near the pub and there was a blazing row going on. It was the shouting that drew my attention. Mackie was trying to get rid of Robbie, the one he said was drunk all the time, and not doing very well. I volunteered as I said I wanted a job.’
‘But what about the others? Mackie could have ordered them to do it. It would have been around six to one!’
‘They were terrified of Robbie as he’d boasted that he had back-up of his own.’
‘That lot are useless to Mackie, surely.’
‘A fact that’ll come in very handy.’ And, in response to a question I hadn’t asked him, he added, ‘Mackie’s on the make. He wants to destroy Dorney and be cock of the rock. The cop I spoke to said the sooner he’s behind bars the better. I felt that was pretty obvious.’
‘I still don’t understand why Mackie didn’t suspect you.’
‘Cops and similar don’t fight as dirty as I do.’
‘I’m not going to any more of those meetings.’
‘Definitely not. I think you ought to go home. Go to HQ first, report to Greenway and then take the car as I can’t use it. I never dreamed events would progress this quickly. Would you then go and see Carrick, put him in the picture?’
I had no problem with any of this. ‘The question,’ I said, ‘is which day of the exhibition will Dorney decide to conduct his raid, the first or the second – if he does anything at all and even assuming that the mole will inform him.’
‘At least we’d have a chance to catch Mackie in the act. Up until now not enough evidence could be brought against him that would stand up in court.’
It occurred to me a little later that, following Patrick saying that he had identified himself to a police officer, the Met now knew what he was doing. The truth of this manifested itself extremely quickly, for when I had paid the bill at the hotel, Patrick having gone off a while previously, and was making my way across to the exit, a dishevelled individual who had all the right physical attributes of a rugby forward blocked my path.
‘I must speak to you,’ he rumbled in the deepest bass voice I had ever heard.
I’m not the kind of woman to scream, and neither do I gun down someone in such circumstances, but both options crossed my mind. For this, surely, was Robbie, and he had the recent cuts and bruises to prove it.
‘Somewhere not so public,’ he went on to say, looking around anxiously.
‘There’s a coffee bar here,’ I told him briskly. ‘I’m not going anywhere else with you.’ I had an idea my fears were without foundation as he looked, and moved, like someone who had been hit by a bus.
Preferring to handle something I was going to drink myself, I fetched two coffees, one black, one white, and placed the black one before him. While I had been thus engaged he had subsided on to a padded bench seat and was flicking through a travel magazine. Wondering where he was going to spend his ill-gotten gains, perhaps?
‘Explain,’ I ordered when I had seated myself just out of range of being grabbed.
‘Relax,’ he countered and dug in an inside pocket of his leather jacket to give me a Metropolitan Police warrant card.
‘Well, DS Richard Paul Gregory?’ I said, handing it back.
‘Your husband chucked me out of Mackie’s gang.’
‘So it would appear. Mackie got fed up with you because you were drunk most of the time.’
‘I wasn’t. You have to act.’
‘You overcooked it. That was bad judgement.’
‘I was trying to behave so as not to arouse suspicion. And it was very important that I stayed right where I was.’
‘Would you have acted any differently if you’d known then that he worked for the NCA?’
‘Of course not, I had a job to do.’
‘Well, you can hardly expect me to sympathize!’ I bawled at him.
He shot a series of quick glances around the room before saying, ‘My boss doesn’t like it when this sort of thing happens. She wants you both to back off and—’
I butted in with, ‘To hell with your boss. Tell me something: how did you know where I was staying and what I looked like?’
‘The Internet. You booked in under your own name – we have access to hotel guest lists – and have a website. The NCA’s restricted website had already told us who your husband’s married to and that you often work together.’
I wanted to be sarcastic and congratulate him on his detection powers but that seemed petty, so instead I asked, ‘Are you the mole who’s telling Matt Dorney what Mackie’s doing?’
‘Surely you don’t expect me to give you that kind of information,’ he replied stiffly.
‘And then I’ll tell you which day Mackie’s planning on carrying out his raid.’
‘You know?’ he asked incredulously.
‘It was decided last night. I was there.’
After a short mental struggle, Gregory said, ‘OK. Yes, I am. I only phone him, though – I said I’m with Mackie but hate his guts and want him six feet under.’
‘The latest is that he’s going to do it on the last day while the exhibition’s actually open,’ I told him. ‘Now I shall expect you to inform Dorney about that and then tell me if he tells you when he’s going to act. If he does, that is.’
‘I reckon he will. It’s an obsession with him. The pair’ll end up killing one another.’
I had difficulty finding a downside to that. ‘Will you do that?’
‘Er, all right.’
‘I mean it. This crime’s going to take place in Bath – our patch, not yours.’
‘Yes, of course. Right, I will.’
I gave him my and James Carrick’s work mobile numbers, and then said, ‘D’you know someone by the name of Piers Ashley?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘He’s tall, fair-haired and good looking.’
The undercover policeman shook his head. ‘No, they’re all ugly, like me.’
‘What’s this exhibition about?’
‘No, idea. I forgot to find out. Must be something pretty valuable.’ He lumbered to his feet. ‘My boss’ll kill me for letting the NCA grab my job.’
‘The NCA can’t be blamed for a breakdown in communication from your lot.’
‘She won’t see it like that – she’s a hard woman.’
On an afterthought, I asked for, and got, his mobile number.
When he had gone I accessed the hotel’s wi-fi and looked up Bath’s forthcoming attractions. An official website listed an organ recital at the Catholic church taking place the following evening, a series of lectures on the history of the city at the Sheridan Gallery in a month’s time, a book fair in a church hall in Weston the coming Saturday, various charity fundraising events, an exhibition of medieval artefacts taking place for three days at the Abbey Street Gallery starting the following Tuesday …
Really?
Something along the lines of historically important jewellery, priceless Chinese porcelain, paintings or antiques I had expected. But medieval artefacts?
I sent Patrick a text with an update about Robbie and took a taxi to the NCA HQ. There, I discovered that Commander Greenway had gone home as his wife Erin had been taken ill. Borrowing someone’s computer, I sent him an email with the latest developments and then collected the Range Rover and drove home. The farther I drove west the harder it rained and, by the time I reached Bath, it was of biblical proportions.
‘This thing haunts me,’ said Carrick when I’d given my third account of recent events, my jacket making small puddles on his office floor.
‘What thing?’ I asked irritably. I hadn’t stopped on the way and, unusually for him, he was yet to ask me if I wanted any refreshments.
‘I’d put money on them hoping to steal the Chantbury Pyx,’ he said. ‘It’s been stolen before – from the Sheridan Gallery a few years ago when it was the star attraction at a similar exhibition. This time the insurers are insisting on a more secure venue, necessary as any number of dodgy foreign collectors are queuing up, offering stupid money.’
I said, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me what it is.’
‘It’s an extremely rare item and belongs to the church at the village of Chantbury, around ten miles from here. It’s only the front panel of a pyx, which is a reliquary, a box used to hold the Eucharistic host. I seem to remember that it’s made of bronze, with gilding, and depicts two angels standing outside the empty tomb. It’s thought to date from the twelfth century.’
To me, it was unbelievable that those disgusting and ignorant mobsters wanted to steal something like that, and my expression must have suggested as much, for Carrick added, ‘If a secret Internet auction took place it could be worth millions. Easy to hide in transit too – it’s only around five inches by three. It’s not the only valuable object being exhibited, either. Apparently there’s something called the York Triptych and a trio of solid gold chalices studded with jewels – to name but a few.’
‘I can’t imagine how you’re going to police this. Mackie’s planning to conduct his raid while it’s open to the public – if Dorney hadn’t already done it beforehand, say, during the night.’
‘In which case we would have already caught Dorney,’ Carrick replied, appearing to be unworried.
‘Or, on the other hand, as Dorney’s sworn to kill him he might time his raid to coincide with Mackie’s, aiming to wipe out the lot of them. You’d end up with a war – both gangs carry firearms.’
The DCI looked alarmed. ‘You think he might do that?’
‘It’s a possibility, isn’t it?’
‘The implications, though … .’ He stopped speaking, reached for his phone and then stayed his hand. ‘I’ve already asked for extra personnel from HQ. We’ll have to have police in the gallery during the day and extra security at night. And you say Mackie has a man inside?’
I nodded. ‘Someone with no criminal record.’
‘That would figure as no one with form would get a job as a security guard.’
Mike Greenway contacted me as soon as I got home. He told me that Erin had had a miscarriage, horrible for them, of course, but it had happened very early in the pregnancy and he was just grateful that she herself was all right. I offered them both my sympathies. He already has a son from a previous marriage, Benedict, who is slightly older than Matthew.
‘I’m still at home but the work stuff is always sent to my computer here,’ he went on to say. ‘I thought I’d heard everything in my career but you’re telling me that Patrick’s in charge of this raid Mackie’s planning?’
‘He had plenty of experience of doing things like that in his service days,’ I reminded him, probably, on reflection, unnecessarily. ‘James Carrick thinks they might be after the Chantbury Pyx.’
‘Is that something I need to Google?’
I explained what it was, adding that it had been stolen before.
‘Well, Patrick appears to have got rid of the Met so hopefully the NCA and Avon and Somerset Police will be able to crack this together.’ He appeared to have forgiven Patrick for disobeying orders.
‘It’s going to take a lot of organizing,’ I warned, always slightly irritated by the gamesmanship he seems to go in for. ‘And we probably won’t know until the last minute whether Dorney’s going to go for it first or even at the same time. And, don’t forget, we’re heavily relying on DS Gregory for that information.’
‘Yes, I’m forgetting. If it all comes off satisfactorily I’ll make sure he gets a commendation.’
I had no choice but to give priority to home matters for the next couple of days but found it difficult to concentrate. Then it was Friday and, with a little shock, I realized that Patrick wouldn’t be coming home for the weekend.
It seemed important and, I told myself, would be a distraction from my anxiety, to go and have a look at the Abbey Street Gallery where there was an exhibition of paintings by local artists that finished this evening. I wondered how they would dismantle that and install The Glory of Medieval England, as the next one was called, in two days flat. Work on Sunday, perhaps.
Should I phone Carrick and ask him if he wanted to accompany me? No, let the cops do their own thing.
The gallery was situated on the ground floor of a large Regency terraced house, the upper floors of its four storeys probably converted into flats. A plaque on the wall outside indicated that one Ichabod Hoolity, poet, had lived, and died of cholera, in the premises in the eighteenth century. The good old days, those, I thought as I entered.
The paintings and drawings were all for sale and, going by the few sold tickets on the stands and walls, there were a lot left. My knowledge of art is limited and I’m afraid I judge what I see by asking myself if I would hand over good money for whatever it is and give it house-room. The conclusion I came to in around sixty seconds – but it might just have been my ignorance – was that those unsold were the kind of things I wouldn’t inflict on a henhouse. There were also a few exhibits that I believe are referred to as installations. These consisted of a pile of drainpipes wrapped in wire netting, a propped-up section of a dead tree, the branches draped with what looked like large red, dead worms and three plastic chairs in a row painted black with shop window mannequins seated on them that were stark naked but for upturned flower pots on their heads. No one had volunteered to buy any of these.
This wasn’t an official visit – there no reason whatsoever to make it one and frighten the horses – so I had paid the entry fee, which was too much. Squashy black leather sofas were provided to accommodate the weary, so after a perfunctory look at what was on offer, I seated myself. I had been on the go solidly since six and it was pleasantly warm in here. One could easily go to sleep.
It was important, though, for me to look at this place from both a police and a criminal’s point of view. I had already noted that the gallery’s offices, including a staffroom, were situated off the imposing entrance lobby. Other than the woman at the reception desk and a security guard – the man Mackie had mentioned? – no other members of staff had been visible. In the large exhibition area in which I was seated, an emergency exit and toilets were signposted and I intended to go and investigate the former in a few minutes’ time. Then I would try to discover if there were any other weak points to the rear of the building.
Although I had met several people leaving as I entered, all looking rather glum, there were only three other people in the gallery. A man was seated on another sofa on the far side reading, perhaps one of the catalogues that I had declined to buy, and an elderly couple were wandering around – the very overweight man appearing to be bored. His wife, or whoever, was gazing at each exhibit with deep concentration. A couple of minutes later, Mr Bored uttered a deep sigh and bad-temperedly hurled himself on to the other end of the sofa on which the man was reading. This individual bounced in a most captivating fashion and almost dropped his reading matter. The arrival did not apologize.
I laughed. It sort of burst out of me and was the kind of laugh that probably hadn’t ever been heard in these select surroundings, even in the days when it was a private house. The woman turned and shushed me loudly, setting me off again.
‘I’ll have you thrown out!’ she hissed loudly when I had wound down a bit.
‘Just try it,’ I hissed back, making like Medusa on a bad hair day.
The man who was reading got to his feet and, giving her a bleak smile, came over. Every inch an ex-services officer brought in to keep an eye on security and eject undesirables in his sober suit, white shirt and sober tie, he seated himself at my side. Then, in an undertone, he said, ‘This kind of thing always brings out the worst in you, doesn’t it?’
‘Definitely,’ I whispered. ‘Posing, precious, a pile of pretentious piffle.’
‘Apparently alliteration is a characteristic of English writing.’
‘What the hell have you been reading?’
Patrick smiled. ‘I don’t just soak up police procedure manuals.’
‘Er, Mackie?’ I said after a short pause.
‘I told him I’d come down and case the joint – what else? He can’t possibly know I have a connection with the city. I take it that’s why you’re here.’
I nodded and then said, ‘Sorry, I still can’t understand why he trusts you.’
‘I’ve done a couple of little jobs for him that seemed to clinch it.’
‘What, for God’s sake?’ I asked, alarmed.
‘Oh, he pointed out to me a Latvian drug dealer new on the block who he wanted permanently removed. I reported the next day that I’d knifed him and slung him in the River Lea.’
‘But really?’
‘I arrested him as he was carrying and gave him to the Met. The other job, as you’re going to insist on knowing about that too, was to deal with the neighbour who found the woman he’d lived with and half killed. She’d seen him coming out of the apartment shortly beforehand and he’d spotted her. He said she was to be persuaded by any means from giving evidence – any means. I persuaded her to accept police protection and then contacted the DI dealing with the case. I’m going to be a bloody wonderful witness for the prosecution when this little shit lands up in court.’ Patrick gazed around and added, ‘You know, that really is a ghastly painting of Beckford’s Tower.’
‘Didn’t Mackie want proof that you’d done those things?’
‘Yes, I flicked my knife under his nose. That seemed to convince him.’
This being his Italian throwing knife, with which he is deadly.
I asked, ‘Does the management of this place know about you?’
‘Of course. But I’m only here for a couple of hours. The pair of us – the manager’s name’s Sarah – think we’ve pinpointed the individual in Mackie’s pay. He’s still on his month’s probation and just about useless. It’s his day off. Sarah was all for getting him arrested – as you might imagine, she’s concerned about a raid but, at the same time, unwisely in my view, can hardly believe that what I’m telling her will actually take place. I told her we daren’t touch him yet as that would jeopardize everything.’
‘I’m completely superfluous then,’ I said. ‘You’ve done all the surveillance.’
‘You’re not at all superfluous – you’re fantastically useful, in fact. I could come home and we could eat at the pub tonight and then …’ He broke off, one eyebrow raised in a way no woman could fail to recognize.
I was just about to utter a crisp riposte, even though I knew he was winding me up, when the woman yelled across, ‘I thought you were supposed to be getting rid of her!’
‘Madam, this lady is one of the installations,’ Patrick thundered, startling the man on the sofa, who had been dozing. ‘And it’s a great shame in this world heritage city of ours that the general public cannot recognize pure art when they see it.’
I rose and affected a dignified exit, as though not prepared to remain in the same room with such ignorance.