FORTY-NINE

Elias was as good as his word, calling from downstairs before Anna had even finished getting ready. The rain had stopped, she was glad to see. Better yet, the downpour had cleared the air, turning it into a pleasant autumn evening. Elias was already out of his car, holding an open laptop in his left hand. ‘Before I forget,’ he said, ‘we found another forty-one of those silver pennies. All from Lynn, as best the guys can tell, except for two from London and one from Canterbury.’

The way he phrased it turned it almost into a question, but Anna only shook her head. ‘What do you want me to say?’

‘I thought you’d be interested, mostly,’ he told her. ‘But does it change your thinking at all? About it being a private cache rather than part of the baggage train?’

‘Not really. People did move around.’ Despite the heavy taxes and constant wars, England had largely prospered under the Plantagenets. Better roads, stone bridges and iron-sheathed cartwheels had led to a boom in trade, with new fairs and markets springing up everywhere, and town charters creating a sturdy middle class. ‘You’d expect a private hoard to include some pennies from elsewhere. It’s the proportion that matters.’

‘Okay, good. That’s what I thought.’ He set his laptop on his bonnet and tapped a key. ‘Now, then. Your two intruders.’ He turned his screen to show her a photograph of a man and a woman standing beside a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, its rear door being held open for them by a formidably-built man in a chauffeur’s uniform. The woman was a classically beautiful thirty-something brunette in a gorgeous white and gold dress and a playful, wide-brimmed hat. Her hand was resting lightly on the arm of a tall, thin man in his late forties, wearing a cravat and a pearl grey swallowtail coat, and holding a top hat in his left hand, the pair of them clearly off to some fun yet prestigious event – Royal Ascot, say, or a royal garden party, or an awards ceremony. The man was leaning slightly towards the woman, as if to whisper in her ear, revealing just a hint of baldness in his glistening black hair. As for the chauffeur, he was a powerfully built Slavic man with a badly scarred face. ‘It’s the same two men your colleagues showed me,’ she told him. ‘How did you know? Who are they?’

‘The driver’s Andrei Lubov. Ex-Russian army, I believe, and now a high-priced bodyguard. The tall one is the slumlord I told you about yesterday, the one who got your friend Merchant fired. He goes by León Alessandro de Bruin these days, though he used to be plain Len Brown as a lad. Only there were so many stories about what a bastard he was to his tenants that it got to be bad for business. So he took a leaf out of that Brighton guy’s book and upscaled his name. Len Brown might scam you, but surely not León Alessandro de Bruin. Then he set his Rottweiler lawyers on anyone who badmouthed him in the media or online. My colleagues were right. You need to keep this to yourself. He’s a genuinely evil bastard. If he found out you could finger him…’

‘Oh, that’s just great,’ said Anna. ‘But I don’t understand. Why would a man that rich get his hands so dirty?’

‘We’ve known for ages that he had some kind of relationship with this gang. They’ve beaten up too many of his tenants for it to be coincidence. But obviously the ties go deeper than we thought. In fact…’

‘In fact?’

‘This gang, they used to be small time. A bit of dealing, a bit of violence, the odd robbery. Then about ten or twelve years ago, they suddenly got their act together. Now they pretty much run drugs across the whole county.’

‘You think that was him?’

‘It would explain a lot. The rest of the gang was in custody, in hiding or under surveillance, and someone had to go let those poor bastards out. Maybe he and Lubov were the only ones left. They killed them, then returned the next week to bury them. Except they lost something while they were at it, and had to go back for it themselves the other night. Because they could hardly tell anyone else where to look, could they? Not without revealing where they’d put the bodies.’

‘So what now?’ asked Anna.

‘That’s not up to me. I’m off it, as you know. But I will say that with people like this, your case better be watertight or they’ll wriggle. So be patient. It might take time.’

‘Got it. Was that everything?’

‘Except for your uncle’s van. How about I give you a lift up to the pound in the morning? That way, I can deal with any problems that might come up.’

‘That would be great, thanks.’ She hesitated, then added: ‘It’s quite spooky up there at night. There was a car that gave me the creeps.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘It was pelting down. I took cover at a bus stop. This black SUV came rolling out of its spot with its lights and engine off. There was something about it. I ran into a late night grocers at the foot of the hill. Then it just drove off, so I figured it was nothing. But now that you’ve told me about this de Bruin character…’ She saw movement in the archway and fell silent. But it was only Oliver, hanging back to give her and Elias space.

He stepped forward on being noticed. ‘You’re not talking about León de Bruin, are you?’ he asked. ‘He really tried to snatch you at the pound?’

‘There was a car, that’s all,’ said Anna. ‘I don’t see how he could have known I’d be there.’

‘Because Nettleham leaks like a fucking sieve,’ said Oliver, with a glare at Elias. ‘Everyone knows it.’

‘Is that right?’ asked Anna.

Elias nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes.’

‘Christ,’ said Anna. ‘How worried should I be?’

‘I doubt he’ll try anything here,’ said Elias. ‘Too many people. But you should be careful all the same. Call me at the first sniff of trouble. I mean it: the first sniff. I don’t care what time it is. I’ll be straight over.’ He checked his watch. ‘That should hold us for tonight. I’ll work out something better in the morning, I promise. Speaking of which, the pound opens at nine. How about I pick you up here at a quarter to?’ He waited for her to nod, then he bid them both goodnight before getting back into his Leaf, pulling an adroit three-point turn and heading off.