DI Lee sat at the desk that used to be Jack’s and stared out of the window. The picturesque view did not lighten his mood.
The rest of the room was a hive of activity as they hunted down the gang’s bolt-hole. No B&B, no hotel, no caravan park, no camping or glamping site had ever booked them in. No lorry parks had registered any unexpected overnighters. No private landowners reported any unwelcome travellers. The best suggestion was from Bevan, who speculated that they probably bedded down in the trailers they hired, an idea that irritated Oaks, as he recalled the stench of bleach that had come from Goodwin’s trailer. If Bevan was right, then he’d missed a trailer full of evidence by one hour! Then Oaks unfortunately murmured a thought out loud: ‘We’re just not thinking like them. Jack would be able to get inside their heads.’
Lee bounced to his feet, sending his swivel chair sliding into Oaks’s desk and spilling his tea. ‘If you think DS Jack Warr sees us as anything more than his country bitches, you’re wrong.’ Lee stormed out of the squad room.
Oaks mopped at his spilt tea with a tissue. ‘DS Warr knows his stuff,’ Oaks mumbled, not caring who heard. Mason looked at him thoughtfully. He didn’t disagree. Outside the window, Lee was pacing the car park, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Mason knew he hadn’t smoked in seven years and didn’t own a lighter, but the feel of a cigarette between his lips calmed him in times of extreme stress. Lee felt out of control of his own investigation and he hated it. Mason knew that, and that it wasn’t something he’d tolerate for long.
*
Jack took the Underground to the police station. His ‘disguise’ was neatly contained inside a long suit cover, folded in half.
He’d been awake half the night, thinking of the best way to engage with De Voe. Looking the part was half the battle, but there was no point in just meeting the man by pretending to be a customer. Jack wanted to catch De Voe’s eye. He wanted De Voe to think that Jack was a man he needed to know. And the best way to do that was not through his legitimate business dealings.
Jack signed himself into the evidence store.
*
The Wimbledon Prowler, Damien Panagos, had been arrested and was now looking at nine years on seventeen counts of burglary. However, not all of the stolen items had been recovered, as Panagos had already had time to sell some of them on. So, the outstanding items went onto a list that dealers like De Voe would have been asked to keep an eye out for.
One such item was a seven-inch platinum and diamond antique bracelet worth around £2,500. This item had finally been found in Glasgow just one week earlier and was currently in the evidence store waiting to be returned to its rightful owner. Jack knew that De Voe wouldn’t know this and would still think the bracelet was missing. Jack pocketed the bracelet and left the evidence store – he’d return it before anyone knew it had gone.
As Jack headed down the corridor towards the main entrance, he was aware of the clock ticking. He wanted to get to the emporium as soon as possible. He also needed to get changed into his ‘disguise’, which he’d have to do in the public toilets as there was no way he was walking out of his police station looking like a rich playboy. As he walked, he ordered an Uber.
‘How’s it going, Jack?’ Behind him, Laura Wade was closing the door to a small briefing room. As Jack turned to face his partner, her eyes widened. ‘Bloody hell, I see you’ve had time to do a bit of sunbathing over there!’
Jack had completely forgotten about the fake tan. It was nothing over the top – Maggie knew what she was doing on that score – but he was certainly more golden-brown now than when he’d left. Jack laughed it off, saying that he often chose to walk instead of drive when in the beautiful Cotswold countryside. He also confirmed that the case was coming to a head and that, yes, he hoped he’d soon be returning to London, because he was really missing the family. Laura smiled. ‘I’m so happy for you and Maggie. Hannah’s such a beautiful baby.’
At the end of the corridor, Ridley briefly came into view as he paused to sign something before moving on, but for those few seconds, Laura’s attention was fixed on him.
‘Laura?’ Jack said, but she didn’t seem to hear him.
So now she’s got the hots for Ridley, he thought to himself.
Laura turned back to him, a flush spreading over her face, as she realised she’d been sussed. Jack’s mobile buzzed to say that his Uber was pulling into the car park. ‘You’d better be quick, Laura,’ he said with a wink. ‘Someone else has her eye on him.’
*
Lee sat in front of Hearst, relaxed and calm. He knew he was in the right. ‘My last instruction, which I made very clear, was to keep me, his DI, in the loop. Now, either his mobile isn’t on, or he’s deliberately ignoring me.’
Hearst sighed. This part of the job was utterly draining. They were meant to be righting wrongs, not bickering. She sat with her elbows on the arms of her chair, and her hands together in concentration. This was her ‘I’m listening’ pose, and seemed to be working because Lee was still talking. His obviously rehearsed speech finally came to an end. ‘If I can’t control every aspect of the case, then I can’t control the outcomes, so blame someone else if all of this goes tits-up.’
Hearst lowered her hands and laid them flat on the desk. ‘You could have come in here and spun a story that left me no choice but to send DS Warr back to London. But you didn’t. You don’t want me to get rid of him; you want me to show him that you’re the boss.’ Lee opened his mouth to speak, but she had no intention of letting him. ‘Now, my question is, why can’t you do that yourself? What I see here, Eamonn, is chest-beating. Showing him that you have the big guns on your side. Well, you do. But I’m disappointed that you feel you need to play that card.’ Lee stayed silent, but felt his colour rising. ‘There is no blanket approach to command, Eamonn. Treat each officer in the way that you need to, in order to get the best out of them. Some of them walk to heel, like good little doggies and others will need one of those bloody annoying extendable leashes to give them a sense of freedom – but at the other end of that leash is you. Let him run for now. Don’t reel him in just for the sake of it.’
Lee nodded curtly and stood up.
Once he’d left the office, Hearst picked up her phone.
*
Jack, now wearing his posh new clothes, asked the Uber to drop him at the end of the street, just along from the emporium. He didn’t want the security guards to see that he didn’t have transport – and his own car, which was a perfectly respectable Skoda Octavia, would have immediately told them that Jack’s new wardrobe was all for show, while Jack’s regular clothes were now squashed into the Hackett’s bag he’d been given when he bought his shoes.
Jack headed straight for the security guard on the emporium’s main door with a natural swagger and nodded a ‘good morning’. The security guard nodded back, said, ‘Welcome, sir,’ and opened the door for him. It was a small and petty revenge, but it was still sweet.
Inside, the emporium was a dazzling place. Every window was brimming with items that twinkled under carefully placed spotlights.
After his first lap of the lower floor, Jack headed up the central ornate metal staircase. At the top, the shop right in front of him was numbered fourteen; to its left, was number thirteen and to its right was number fifteen. Jack turned right. He took his time, making sure that he paused to look in every window and even go into some of the shops for a quick browse.
Shop number twenty-one had a relatively low-key window display, with far less in it than most of the others. It whispered ‘quality, not quantity’. A small brass bell above the door jingled as Jack entered and it brought a young woman out from behind a door in the back. Inside, the shop was again economical in terms of its contents, allowing every item to be prominently displayed in a space of its own.
The young woman went and sat behind the counter and smiled sweetly to let Jack know that she was here if he needed her, then she picked up a book and started to read, allowing Jack to browse uninterrupted.
Some of the locked display cabinets housing the more expensive items of jewellery had mirrored panels to allow shoppers to view them from all sides. In these mirrors, Jack counted seven unobtrusive CCTV cameras mounted in the corners of the shop and down the centre aisle. It was an impressive set-up. As Jack passed the young woman reading, he glanced up in an attempt to see what was beyond the door behind her, where – thanks to the plan of the interior given to him by Ridley – Jack knew was an on-site office and storage area that was about half the size of the shop itself.
The second-hand section of the shop boasted a few Cartier or Tiffany items, and hand-written notes invited visitors to ask if they were looking for anything in particular, as there was also a select number of Chopard, Vogue and Bulgari items in the back. Jack assumed they were family heirlooms that had been exchanged for more practical cash. As Jack moved around the shop, he could feel the thick maroon carpet sliding beneath the shiny soles of his new shoes.
‘Let me know if you have any questions.’ Jack looked towards the female voice, expecting to see the young woman peering over the top of her book; instead, he found himself looking at Betina Barro.
She was of medium height and slender in a skin-tight, off-the-shoulder dress with three-quarter sleeves. Her coily black hair sat neatly on her bare shoulders. The only jewellery she wore was a pair of large diamond stud earrings. Up close, Jack thought she was less sexy than in the airbrushed images he’d seen on social media. She wasn’t unattractive by any means; she simply wasn’t a goddess, with a slightly longer face and more prominent nose than the glossy images suggested. Jack thought that trying to be someone you’re not was a shame, until he reflected that he was doing exactly the same thing. But he wasn’t doing it out of vanity; it was just part of the job.
The feature that Betina had no need to alter, however, was her eyes – they were astonishingly wide and dark, with large irises. Betina raised her eyebrows and tipped her head to the side in a silent repeat of her question, as Jack looked at her.
‘Just looking,’ he said, and she smiled, clearly assuming he was referring to her as much as the jewellery in the display cases, and went back to working on her laptop, which sat on the black velvet and red leather jewellery examination block. Her long, slender fingers barely seemed to move as she typed for a few moments.
‘Actually . . .’ Jack began. Betina closed the lid of her laptop and gave him her full attention. ‘I’m looking for something for my girlfriend.’
Jack assumed Betina would instantly show him the most expensive item in the shop, but instead she asked him to tell her about his girlfriend.
‘She’s . . .’ Jack tried to think of a fictional girlfriend, but couldn’t. He could only think of Maggie. ‘She’s perfect really. Beautiful in an understated way. She doesn’t wear a lot of jewellery normally, only items that mean something to her. She subtly showed me this photo the other day. The gift is for a very special occasion, so money is no object.’
Jack reached into his pocket, ‘accidently’ taking out the fake Bentley key ring. Once he was certain that Betina had seen both the keyring and the fake Rolex, he replaced the keys and dipped into his right-hand pocket. From here, he removed a folded page from Vogue magazine showing a ring – a large square-cut emerald, surrounded by diamonds, on a platinum band.
Betina looked at it appreciatively. ‘Your girlfriend clearly has wonderful taste. Are you specifically looking for an emerald? We have a lovely range of rose diamonds in at the moment. And is her heart set on the square-cut, do you know? It’s the most common, of course, but . . . if she’s as special as you suggest, perhaps “common” isn’t the way to go.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Emerald is her birth stone, so nothing else will do. The square-cut isn’t important as long as it’s around three carats.’ Jack continued to talk breezily about jewellery that cost about a third of his annual police salary and began to enjoy the feeling of power it gave him, knowing that Betina totally believed in the fake persona he’d created. When another customer entered the shop, Betina called the young woman from behind the counter to deal with him so she could focus on Jack.
Now that Betina had an idea of Jack’s girlfriend’s taste, she asked about the special occasion he’d mentioned. This was the question Jack had been waiting for. ‘It’s to celebrate one of her Arabians winning a European title.’
There was a brief glint of interest in Betina’s eyes, but she clearly didn’t want to be diverted from a potentially big sale onto the subject of horses. ‘I’d estimate the ring in Vogue to be priced at around fifteen to twenty thousand pounds. Is that roughly what you expected?’
Jack laughed softly. ‘That’s a little less than I thought you’d say, actually.’
Betina smiled, as if money was of no importance to either of them. ‘We have several rings I think you might want to look at. They won’t be identical, of course. We have a couple of the rarer, round emeralds, and we have two five-carat examples that I can show you. We also have some vintage styles. Would you like to see those as well?’
‘I’m happy to put myself in your very capable hands,’ Jack smiled back. As Betina turned to open the office door, the bell above the door rang and the other customer left, letting someone else in at the same time. A deep, velvety voice quickly echoed around the small shop.
‘Your fucking brother has been caught bullshitting his way onto a polo team in the Hamptons with a rather creative CV. Again! And then he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, so was thrown out.’ As the owner of the voice moved round the central jewellery cabinet, Jack came into view from behind a tall display stand. Betina threw an embarrassed and apologetic glance at Jack. ‘Oh, my apologies!’ the owner of the deep voice laughed. ‘I thought the gentleman who just went out was the only . . . I hope you’ll forgive my outburst.’
Jack smiled, showing he wasn’t offended, and offered his hand. ‘Richard Delaware.’ Jack had chosen the name of his best friend from school. Richard Delaware had died of cancer at the age of nine. It was a name Jack would always associate with strength and bravery: both qualities he needed for this undercover operation if it was going to succeed.
‘Michael De Voe,’ the man replied. Game on, Jack thought, a flash of adrenaline coursing through his body.
Michael De Voe was an impressive-looking man. He was over six feet, with thick, wavy blond hair and deep blue eyes. At first sight boyish, as he got closer it became clear that he was in his mid to late 40s. His tanned skin was deeply lined, the result, Jack presumed, of years of travelling the world and enjoying outdoor pursuits. De Voe wore a navy blue silk draped shirt and similar corduroy trousers to those Jack was wearing. On his left pinkie finger, he wore a heavy gold carnelian ring. De Voe gripped Jack’s hand tight and showed a row of gleaming, perfectly capped teeth in a broad smile. ‘Apologies again, Richard. My dear assistant’s brother is a constant pain in my derriere. But you don’t want to hear about my problems. Come and have a seat, whilst Betina sees to your needs. I don’t like my customers to wait standing up . . . or without a drink in their hand.’
*
As Jack followed De Voe through the office door and into the private space beyond, he knew there was no turning back; now he was in the dragon’s lair. Maggie’s words echoed in his mind, clear and sharp: You can’t ignore who you are. Think like Harry. Act like Charlie.
The small office contained a half-sized desk, a desktop computer, a landline and various chargers for devices that were not on display.
An impressive-looking safe was bricked into the wall behind the desk with no attempt at disguise, suggesting that no one came back here without an express invitation, or that the safe was possibly a decoy. De Voe put two single malt whiskys on the desk and sat down in a wide black leather office chair, gesturing to Jack to seat himself on the velvet-cushioned chair on the other side of the desk. ‘How did you find us?’ De Voe’s casual tone couldn’t disguise his curiosity about ‘Richard Delaware’.
‘To be honest,’ Jack replied, ‘I didn’t know you were here. I was just wandering when your displays caught my eye. Some of the other shops seem very cluttered, as though they’re trying to make me buy as much as possible. I prefer quality over quantity.’
Jack wasn’t really putting on a particular accent for De Voe’s benefit, but Penny would probably have called it a ‘telephone voice’, posh enough to vaguely suggest he was from London and rich.
The conversation drifted from twenty-grand emerald-and-diamond rings, to Jack’s girlfriend’s wealthy family and stud farm. Jack wanted De Voe to think that Richard Delaware’s wealth was not his own, suspecting that De Voe would be drawn more to a cunning charmer who lived off someone else’s money.
Jack chose this moment to bring the diamond bracelet from his pocket and ask De Voe if he’d consider it in part-exchange. De Voe took the bracelet and examined it through a small teardrop-shaped magnifying glass. Jack knew from the stolen items log that it was a high quality, beautifully crafted piece of jewellery and when De Voe asked him who the bracelet had belonged to and why he was selling it, Jack said it was an heirloom handed down from his grandmother, and that his girlfriend didn’t like – being diamonds rather than her favourite emeralds. De Voe’s eyes flicked to Jack and then back to the magnifying glass, and Jack immediately knew that De Voe thought he was lying. De Voe didn’t flinch again. He didn’t check any police list or ask any more questions: Jack’s demeanour was telling him everything he needed to know. He was playing the ‘chancer’ perfectly and De Voe was falling for it. But De Voe wasn’t going to let his guard slip just yet; that would take longer than a short conversation over a single malt.
It took Betina another ten minutes to gather all of the rings she thought Jack might be interested in and, during that time, De Voe took his opportunity to delve deeper into the background of his new acquaintance.
Jack had to have his wits about him. He had no experience as an undercover officer and was simply drawing on his natural instincts to be able to read De Voe’s questions and supply appropriate answers. ‘Although my girlfriend pointed out the emerald-and-diamond ring, I’m thinking I might also be in the market for a matching necklace.’ Jack raised his devilish black eyebrows and grinned his best super-smooth grin. ‘She won’t be expecting that.’
De Voe did not flinch at the mention of an emerald necklace. And Jack chose not to pursue it further for now, not wanting to be too obvious. He’d planted the seed, and he wasn’t expecting De Voe to instantly mention that he had recently acquired a one-off emerald necklace that had been owned by the infamous Barbara Hutton.
But De Voe did do something that, as far as Jack was concerned, indicated his guilt just as strongly: he instantly changed the subject completely and asked what line of work Richard was in.
‘Shipping. Import, export. It’s a family business that keeps the wolf from the door, but I have no real interest in it,’ Jack replied airily. ‘The only sea-going vessel that interests me is my father’s yacht.’ At that moment Betina entered the office carrying a small red leather briefcase, reminiscent of the Chancellor’s red box. She placed it on the desk in front of Jack and then left. De Voe invited Jack to open it.
The clasps were stiff and when they sprang free, they did it with such force that the briefcase jumped slightly on the table. Jack lifted the velvet-lined lid, which had 180-degree hinges, so it could then be used as a display tray.
Four emerald rings, each sitting inside its own black velvet bed, glistened at Jack. They were stunning and he knew from his research that he was looking at around £170,000 of jewellery. He quickly dismissed the ring on the lower right-hand side of the briefcase as being too small, then lifted out the other three rings, one by one, and examined them against the light. He gave the impression of being uncertain that any of them were quite what he was looking for. ‘You know, the more I look at these, the more I’m thinking that a matching necklace would be the way to really impress her. You know what it’s like, Mr De Voe – she’s a woman who’s used to getting what she asks for, so the trick is to also give her what she’s not asked for.’ Jack returned the rings to the briefcase and flipped the lid closed, hoping the threat of leaving the shop empty-handed would prompt De Voe into action.
De Voe refilled Jack’s crystal tumbler with single malt from the matching decanter and looked thoughtful. Jack made himself wait patiently. He’d set the hook; now he just had to sit back and see if De Voe would take the bait.
After what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds, De Voe finally volunteered the information Jack had been waiting to hear. ‘I may be able to help you with an emerald necklace, actually. I have some exceptional stones, although the necklace itself would have to be custom made. But that means it can exactly match the ring you choose. Are you working to a timeframe?’
Jack confirmed that there was no rush and that he was perfectly prepared to wait for any custom design to be made as he didn’t need the jewellery for another month, intending to give it to his girlfriend on her birthday. Jack then flipped the small red briefcase open again and pointed at the most expensive-looking ring. ‘That one’ll do,’ he said casually, downing the last of his whisky.
De Voe then explained that an emerald necklace had recently come into his possession, but the stones’ settings were damaged and the clasp needed replacing, so he had decided to dismantle the piece and either sell the stones individually or make a new design.
Jack smiled to himself. Of course it would be impossible for De Voe to sell Sally Barrowman’s Barbara Hutton necklace in one piece, as it would be instantly recognisable, so breaking it up was his only option.
De Voe was clearly delighted to be shaking hands on such a huge deal, especially since Richard Delaware had not even asked the combined price of the necklace and ring. De Voe asked him for his mobile phone number, and Jack recited the one belonging to the burner phone in his pocket. He also gave his address as a huge property in the Cotswolds. De Voe smiled: ‘Lovely part of the world.’
Jack stood to leave, he mentally patted himself on the back for his performance, but then De Voe threw an almighty spanner in the works by grabbing the diamond bracelet from the desk before Jack could take it back. ‘If you leave this with me, I’ll get it valued and then be able to tell you how much I can part-ex it for.’ Jack froze for a second. How could he leave police evidence with De Voe? ‘Don’t worry, Richard; I’ll give you a receipt. Trust me.’
Jack stiffened as he realised that De Voe was testing him. It was Jack’s move and there was only one thing he could do. He forced himself to relax and gave De Voe a casual smile, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I’m not a man to trust easily, Mr De Voe. But I feel that you and I understand each other, so I’m happy to leave the bracelet with you. I don’t need a receipt . . . it’s not like I don’t know where to find you, is it?’ he said with a just a hint of menace. Jack left without another word.
Outside the emporium, he made a quick phone call: ‘Are you free to meet?’
*
When Mason glanced up from his desk, more than an hour later and noticed that Lee was not back in the squad room, and wasn’t pacing the car park either, he started to wonder if DI Lee might have done something rash, and went to look for him. He found him in the canteen nursing a cappuccino and still reeling from his conversation with Hearst.
‘We should bring Charlotte Miles in,’ Lee said. Mason did not let his worry show. ‘I just called her and she’s ignoring me. She’s picked that annoying little habit up from Jack Warr. We need to bring her in, brief her and get her into protective custody, exactly as we should have done in the first place. Then we’re in control. And when De Voe calls, we can guide the conversation instead of leaving it in the hands of some bloody gardener.’
Mason drew on their years of friendship to steer Lee back on track. ‘Eamonn, if De Voe suspects anything, we’ll lose them all. He won’t take any risks. And, this close to the equestrian event, he’ll have people here already. What if one of them has eyes on Charlotte? We could put her in danger.’
‘She could put us in danger!’
‘Coerced or not, let’s not forget that she’s a home invader and she’s responsible for aiding and abetting scores of burglaries, one of which led to the death of a dog and another to the severe beating of an autistic lad. And she’s responsible for the death of Jacob Mulhern!’
‘That’s bollocks and you know it!’ Lee’s argument was born out of the sheer frustration at being left out of the loop and being unsupported, as he saw it, by his senior officer. Mason lowered his tone into a forced whisper before he continued. ‘We’re responsible for the death of Jacob Mulhern. And I don’t mean the police force, Eamonn, I mean me and you. We left him to uniform when we should have been all over it ourselves.’ Mason watched Lee’s nostrils flare and his cheek muscles twitch. He was angry because he knew Mason was right and that hurt like hell. ‘I don’t give a fuck whether you like Jack Warr or not,’ Mason continued. ‘He’s right about the handling of Charlotte. You should see her, Eamonn, she’s putty in his hands.’
‘And what about you, Colin? Are you putty in his hands too?’
As Lee stormed from the canteen, he didn’t notice Bevan sitting with her back to the table he’d just left. Nor did Mason. She got out her mobile and texted Jack on his burner:
We may have a problem.
*
Ridley wore a pair of classic blue jeans, a pale blue T-shirt, black trainers and a black leather jacket. He was so close to looking cool, but somehow couldn’t quite pull it off. Perhaps because he just didn’t feel comfortable. As a man who normally dressed immaculately in a perfectly fitted suit, Ridley now felt very under-dressed sitting in the lounge bar of the Franklin Hotel in Egerton Gardens.
‘You said we were meeting in a caff opposite the emporium!’ Ridley looked Jack up and down. He knew the cost of the clothes Jack was wearing. ‘And don’t even try to put that lot on expenses!’
As Ridley sipped a £5 lime and soda, Jack got him up to speed, flitting from subject to subject as thoughts popped into his head, with Ridley just about keeping up. ‘De Voe’s definitely our man,’ Jack said. ‘I think his main gang might be Brazilian, and they come and go from the country as and when he needs them and maybe also as mules to move the stolen items on into Europe. He could be using different people each time, but I reckon he has a trusted group that he sticks to. I think Mathew knew exactly what he was talking about when he described the man who beat him with a crowbar as being Oberyn Martell from Game of Thrones. Alberto Barro is the spit of him. We need to put plainclothes on De Voe, Betina Barro and Alberto Barro, from today. And we need to have enough officers to change about so they don’t get sussed. De Voe’s got an iPhone and a Samsung, so you need to track both . . . and he has to have an offshore account somewhere to deal with the sales of stolen items. That won’t be in his name, but it might be in Betina’s; they’re close and he definitely trusts her. He doesn’t trust Alberto, though: he’s a liability and is probably only being kept on board ’cos of his willingness to get his hands dirty. Oh, and if you send Alberto’s photo to DC Oaks, he can ask Justin Estrada if he’s the guy in the Adidas NMDs. Estrada’s our stable-boy witness. I think it’ll turn out that they’re two different men, as Alberto seems to be a smaller build—’
‘When was the last time you checked in with DI Lee, DI Mason or DI Gifford?’ Ridley’s question stopped Jack in his tracks. Was Ridley really asking him about pedantic, hierarchical protocol, after Jack had practically just handed De Voe to him on a silver platter? Ridley could see Jack’s anger rise through his chest and colour his face, but he didn’t falter. ‘Don’t look at me like I’m the one who’s in the wrong, Jack. An officer not answering his mobile is the most infuriating thing. And I should bloody know! Especially when that officer is undercover in the company of a potentially dangerous criminal. Anything could have happened to you.’ Ridley paused to sip his drink, giving himself time to formulate his next sentence, while also forcing Jack to wait silently.
But Ridley knew exactly what needed saying and he wanted to get it all out in one go. ‘Don’t treat me like I’m not on your side, Jack. You now expect me to coordinate the biggest dual-approach operation of my career, align resources, track all the key players using officers from across the south-east and south-west of England, deploy armed response, air support, dogs and the mounted division – all while keeping some of the most prominent names in the UK safe from a Brazilian gang of murdering house-breakers who are about to embark on one last job. A job that’ll be bigger than anything they’ve done to date, with risks and rewards so immense that they’ll be armed, extremely dangerous and won’t give a shit who they take down as long as they get out alive.’ Ridley paused for breath. ‘You’re about to ask me to do all of that. Whereas I asked you to do one thing, Jack. Play nice! Can you just do that for me?’
Jack mumbled the words ‘Yes, sir’. They were barely audible but Ridley nodded. ‘Good. Because it’s embarrassing for everyone when his DCI calls your DCI.’
Jack took a second to catch up. ‘Lee reported me?’
Ridley shook his head. ‘He stopped shy of that. You’re a team, Jack. That can be demanding, I know, but it pays dividends.’
Jack was well aware of his own flaws, which was why he didn’t argue further. They were born out of resentment for the red tape and arse-kissing that sucked the life out of being a police officer. It was the best job in the world and Jack did love it – but when he looked back at this case, he sure as hell wouldn’t remember the tactical briefings and the paperwork in triplicate. But he’d remember the thrill of coming face to face with De Voe in the guise of Richard Delaware; of physically forcing Mason to understand his failure to protect an innocent man; and he’d remember feeling the lust in Maggie’s body as his undercover alter-ego made love to her on the bathroom floor, almost as if they were having an affair . . .
Now that they were back on an even keel, Ridley suggested that they both return to the station, so that they could talk tactics before Skyping the rest of the team for an update. Jack agreed but asked if they could change the location to his home address; as he was going to be heading west again soon, he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Hannah first.
The first thing Jack did when he and Ridley arrived was get his main mobile phone out of the kitchen drawer. He had seven missed calls from DI Lee, two from Ridley . . . and a voicemail from Charlotte Miles. Shit! Jack put this mobile on speaker and played her message. She sounded frantic. ‘DI Warr! He called. Just now. He told me to get my thinking cap on ’cos he’d be calling again tomorrow and, this time, he wants five addresses. The biggest jewellery targets I can think of. He doesn’t need horse trailers this time; he’s not going for the big stuff. And he didn’t ask me about security systems or anything like that; he just wants to hit the biggest houses in Chipping Norton. He sounded . . . he sounded like he doesn’t care anymore. I’m scared, DS Warr. DI Lee has been calling every day, asking if I’ve heard from De Voe. I’ve done what you asked and called you first, but . . . he keeps calling. I can’t ignore him forever. Call me back. Please! I need you to tell me what to do. I’m scared and I . . .’ The allocated time to record on Jack’s mobile cut Charlotte off mid-sentence.
Ridley’s face was easy to read: why had Jack asked the case’s biggest asset to call him before the SIO?
‘She’s vulnerable, sir,’ Jack explained. ‘Through one mistake, she’s put herself at the heart of this mess, and I want to protect her. The last time a careless officer overstepped the mark and told an innocent bystander too much, that bystander was tortured to death in his stable. Lee wants to bring Charlotte in and use her like a police informant – Bevan told me – but that’ll get her killed. We have to limit what she knows, or she’ll end up accidentally saying the wrong thing to De Voe when he calls, and she will tip him off. Because she’s not a liar, sir. She’s not an experienced police informant. She’s a farmer.’
Ridley instructed Jack to call Charlotte and together they assured her that although Jack was her primary liaison, in the background the entire force was there to protect her. Ridley’s calm voice was exactly what Charlotte needed to hear and his higher rank made her believe that the entire force was somehow right by her side. Once she’d calmed down sufficiently, Jack asked if she already knew the five addresses she was going to suggest to De Voe. As Charlotte reeled off dozens of potential high-end targets, Ridley numbered them and then plotted them on Google Maps. He then gave Charlotte her next instruction.
‘Charlotte, when De Voe calls you tomorrow, I want you to give him address numbers one, three, four, seven and nine. Tell him you’ve chosen these homes because they contain the highest-value jewellery items, as requested. It doesn’t matter whether they do or not, because he won’t get that far.’ Then, after another five minutes of both men telling her what a great job she was doing, Charlotte hung up.
Jack got two beers from the fridge and handed one to Ridley, who thanked him and said, ‘He’s going for a quick getaway this time. No horse trailers. Just bikes? Quads? Maybe cars? We don’t know what to look out for if they’re changing the way they move around . . .’ He thought for a moment, then chugged down almost half a bottle of beer before he started talking again. ‘Well, we’ve narrowed everything down as much as we can. We’ve given De Voe a cluster of houses, so they’ll be easier to monitor. They’ll avoid the A44, I think, and only two other roads link all five properties. From what you’d expect of this gang, they might be using the tactic of holding traffic with temporary lights at certain crossroads to allow them a clear escape route. So, once they have their targets, we need to monitor those roads to see if any temporary lights pop up. That’ll give us their likely way in and out. Then all we need to know is when. The annual equestrian event starts next Monday and lasts for a week. So we need to be patient.’ He looked at Jack. ‘You, Jack, need to be patient.’
By midday the following day, Ridley and Hearst had got substantial teams of officers allocated to this mammoth sting. Their first job was to trace the various travel agencies used by Betina Barro to book flights back and forth to Brazil and occasionally to Europe. From this information, they were able to identify the names on the associated passports and visas, and although these were no doubt all fake, they still provided trackable details that would consistently appear at both ends of the flight. The account used to fund all of these flights was held at Coutts bank in the name of Betina Barro, and although a constant supply of money fed this account, there was no record of where that money came from, as it was always deposited in cash by Betina herself.
There was no evidence linking De Voe to anything remotely criminal, other than Charlotte’s statement. During the Skype conference call, Jack suggested that DC Oaks be sent undercover onto Charlotte’s smallholding, as a casual labourer. Oaks grew up on a farm, so could act the part. They had to do everything in their power to make her feel safe.
That evening, Jack and Ridley were back at Jack’s kitchen table drinking their way through a six-pack of beer. There was a chilli bubbling away in one pan and cooked, drained rice waiting in another. ‘I’ve only met De Voe once, sir,’ Jack said, ‘but I know he’s catchable. I mean, he’s smart and we can’t underestimate him, but his problem is that he thinks he’s untouchable. He’s arrogant, and he’s greedy. He doesn’t need to sell an emerald ring and matching necklace to Richard Delaware, but he will. He can’t help himself. Another Achilles heel is Betina. He likes her, trusts her, but she clearly comes as a package with Alberto. He’s their weak link. If he’s our killer, and I think he is, then he’s the one with the most to lose and the most to gain from talking to us. But the best thing about Alberto Barro is his selfishness. If we get Alberto alive, he’ll give us De Voe.’