“OK, Gordo, His Lordship has obviously got a safety deposit box in there. We have to assume that he’s retrieving something valuable. Here’s what we do.” Dirk outlined a rough plan and Gordo agreed, even though he had extreme concerns.
***
Lord Hickstead pressed the buzzer on the security panel and announced himself. The door buzzed and a tough looking man in uniform opened the door with a smile, beckoning the customer inside. In a few minutes he was past the metal grillage which protected the strongroom security guard and at the entrance to the strongroom itself. The door stood open. It was about ten feet in diameter and it was at least two feet thick. A mixture of brass and titanium locking bolts were arranged in three rows. The safe was virtually impregnable and the depository was fully manned twenty four hours a day, every day of the year, so breaking in overnight or at a weekend wasn’t possible.
The Peer looked into the vault. There were boxes of all sizes, from letter sized to kitchen cabinet sized. His personal box was one of the largest; it was called a ‘half cupboard’. It was sixteen inches wide and half the height of the vault at around three feet six inches tall. He tapped in a six figure code and a small beep announced the opening of a discreet panel in the door. Behind the panel was a keyhole. Lord Hickstead took his key from his pocket. It was rather unusual in appearance, similar to a Yale lock blank key with no notches along the edge. Instead it had tiny depressions or craters drilled into the flat sides. He slid the key into the keyhole and heard tiny rods slip into the depressions. Once they were in place he was able to turn the key ninety degrees to the right, and the lock disengaged.
Inside the box sat the oversized briefcase containing the painting, a holdall courtesy of Don Fisher and a bag of diamonds donated by Josh Hammond. It was time to start converting the remaining goods to cash. He was meeting Van Aart’s man in an hour, and he had a meeting tomorrow with a London based Sheik who used the Peer to gain access to the highest levels of the last government. The Sheik was also rather keen to own the Churchill painting.
The last item in the box was possibly the most controversial; it was a brown envelope containing a series of Polaroid photographs which had been taken last year. Hickstead was not a man for gadgets or technology, but who on earth uses Polaroids any more, he wondered. He already knew the answer. He had paid a German journalist ten thousand Euros for ten poorly composed and badly lit photos, taken by an impoverished but good looking German boy. The photos had no artistic merit, but the faces in them were recognisable and what they were doing was likely to disgust and shock many who saw them.
Lord Hickstead placed two items into the briefcase he had brought with him and locked his safety deposit box. He had a busy day ahead of him.
Chapter 46
Cheval Place, London. Thursday, 11 am.
Constable Knott was now about a hundred yards from the depository; he was sitting astride his motorcycle with a clipboard in his hand, trying hard to look inconspicuous.
He saw the target exit the depository and start walking up Cheval Place in the direction of Montpellier Street, where he would have a chance of hailing a taxi. The policeman put his full face helmet on and put his clipboard away. As soon as His Lordship reached the end of the road he would follow; until then he would be too obvious.
At first he wasn’t sure whether or not he was seeing things. A short man appeared from nowhere and moved close up behind the Peer, before using his foot to kick at back of the target’s knee. Naturally the older man’s knees folded and he ended up on the ground, breaking his fall by instinctively stretching out his hands. In the process he let go of the briefcase, and his assailant picked it up, held it to his chest and ran.
The constable was already off his bike and was yelling into his headset that the target was down and a mugger was escaping down a side street. The policeman was normally very quick on his feet, but he discovered very quickly that motorcycle boots are not made for running. By the time he got to the Peer the uniformed security guard from the depository was already helping the man up, and so the policeman directed his attention toward the mugger.
The policeman ran around the corner onto Montpellier Walk and nearly ran into a smartly dressed man carrying a green Harrods bag who was coming in the opposite direction. The man looked alarmed, but he quickly regained his composure and said, “I think the fellow you’re chasing turned left down Fairholt.”
Knott called out his thanks as he ran around the corner in time to see the mugger starting a small car and driving away at speed. He read the registration plate out loud to Control, informing them that this was a one way system and the only way out was via Brompton Road. If they could block that quickly enough, they would catch the mugger.
The constable walked back to his bike and waited for back up.
***
The plan had worked well. As soon as Gordo was out of sight of the policeman he had passed the briefcase to Dirk, who placed it in the Harrods bag and walked nonchalantly in the direction of the crime scene.
The motorcycle cop raced around the corner and nearly knocked Dirk over. Dirk pointed in the direction the mugger had gone, and the policeman hurried on his way. The constable had seen a smartly dressed man in a suit carrying a distinctive green Harrods bag, and had no reason to suspect him of anything. He had been too preoccupied with chasing a mugger, after all.
Dirk crossed the road and pressed himself against a wall as a police BMW raced into Cheval Place.
***
Gordo slowed down as he put distance between himself and the crime scene, so as not to attract attention. He reached the end of the road and realised that he could only turn right. It was a one way system and cars were coming from the left. He manoeuvred into the roadway and realised that he was heading back to Cheval Place, but there was nowhere else to go.
At the next junction he could either go right and pass the crime scene, or left and up to Brompton Road. He took the left turn. He could see Dirk walking in the same direction carrying the Harrods bag, and was contemplating picking him up - although that wasn’t the plan - when a police car headed straight towards him. The BMW screeched to a halt, and Gordo was trapped.
***
Dirk saw the police helping Gordo out of the car and hurried away from the area, eventually flagging down a taxi. He gave the Boss’s address, and relaxed on the back seat of the cab before making the inevitable call.
“Boss, I have some good news and some bad news,” he said, as if starting to tell some bad joke.
Chapter 47
New Scotland Yard, London. Thursday, 1pm.
By the time Dee and I arrived at Scotland Yard with Inspector Boniface, Lord Hickstead had been there for over an hour. So far he had been seen by a police doctor, who could find no injuries whatsoever, and he had been asked to identify the alleged mugger, which he could not do as the mugger had approached him from behind.
We were told by DCI Coombes that CCTV footage showed the incident in full, but quite honestly the mugger could have been anyone wearing dark clothing. Worse still was the fact that Constable Knott could not identify the mugger either, and he had to admit he had not actually seen the suspect getting into the car. He had assumed it was the mugger, mainly because of the timing of events and the fact that the streets were otherwise empty. A reasonable assumption, in my view, but not everyone shared that view.
“Nothing!” Detective Chief Inspector Coombes shouted in frustration. “We have nothing!” He stormed off, and Inspector Boniface rolled his eyes. We were all sitting in a meeting room, being briefed on the day’s events, trying to piece together exactly how everything had gone so horribly wrong.
“So what was in the briefcase?” Dee asked generally. Gathered around the table were Detective Sergeants Scott and Fellowes, myself, Dee and Inspector Boniface.
DS Scott answered. “We don’t know. We went through that car with a fine toothed comb, and no briefcase. We’ve even had uniform search the whole area, and they came up with nothing.
The bloody thing seems to have just vanished.”
“He could have thrown it away when the car was out of sight,” Dee proffered.
“True, but why would he bother? As far as he was concerned he’d got clean away with only a courier on his trail.” DS Scott was clearly irritated, and looked thoroughly miserable.
“What about Lord Hickstead? What does he say about the briefcase?” Boniface asked.
“He says that the briefcase contained some copies of private family papers, wills and that sort of thing, all of which he can have copied by his lawyers who hold the originals. He just wants to leave, and he isn’t being particularly helpful.”
“Sounds odd to me,” I said. “Why travel halfway across London to get some copies of papers out of a safety deposit box when your lawyer has the originals? It doesn’t make sense. I assume we’re all thinking the same thing, that he’s just had the diamonds stolen from him?” All heads nodded.
“He must be worried, because Europol informed us that early this morning Van Aart transferred a quarter of a million Euros to the bank account of Euro Union Financial Enterprises, the main signatory being one Arthur Hickstead. I guess that was the payment for the diamonds,” DS Fellowes contributed.
***
“Is everything in place?” Inspector Boniface asked. It was. “Right. Thank Lord Hickstead for his assistance and offer to take him home. In any event, escort him out of the building, understood?” The person on the other end of the phone seemed to understand.
The video screen lit up, showing a blue screen bearing the name of the projector company. After a few seconds the picture changed to show a wide view of a comfortable room, where a middle aged man with a balding pate and overly long grey hair sat on a sofa.
It was my arch nemesis, Lord Hickstead. I didn’t know how I felt. I should have been angry, but he looked so defeated, so unthreatening. He must have been really shaken up by the day’s events, I thought. I had to remind myself that this was my blackmailer, and that I shouldn’t be feeling sorry for him. He looked vulnerable. It was that very vulnerability which Inspector Boniface was hoping to exploit.
Assistant Commissioner Bryn Evans came into the picture. “Lord Hickstead, I am very sorry that you have been here so long, but the suspect is in our custody. Unfortunately he did not have your briefcase in his possession, and I’m afraid its whereabouts are presently unknown. I fear you may not see it again.”
The camera caught a look of relief passing briefly across Hickstead’s face, presumably because the diamonds would have tied him into the blackmail plots and the deaths of three people.
“Here is your watch, Lord Hickstead. You were quite right; it had no skin or blood or hair that we could have matched with the suspect’s DNA profile. It’s a very nice watch, I must say. Far too expensive for a policeman, though.” He laughed at his own joke, and Hickstead smiled.
“Sergeant Baines will show you out.” The two men shook hands and the pretty and petite policewoman led His Lordship towards the lifts. The camera view shifted to the lift lobby. After a minute of video of the reception area we saw the Sergeant and the Peer exit the lift and walk into a tastefully appointed area which serves as a waiting room.
At first the Peer was so busy chatting up Sergeant Baines that he did not look at the row of padded seats. These were occupied by two people wearing visitor badges and looking nervous. As they moved further into the lobby the screen split; one long shot, one close up of Hickstead.
The screen split at almost the precise moment that Lord Hickstead saw them sitting less than five metres away; Abasi Nour, the jeweller, and Kelvin de Montagu, the art gallery owner. His face registered shock, and he immediately turned his head away from the two men.
Under strict orders Sergeant Baines said, “Oh, Your Lordship, I’ll need your badge so that I can sign you out.” She left him standing in the middle of the lobby with every eye looking at him, each person wondering whether they ought to know him by sight.
The video screen reverted to a single wide shot of the reception area and I watched for a reaction from our two stooges. Whilst De Montagu registered nothing more than general curiosity, Mr Nour looked puzzled. After a moment he caught sight of the watch and stared intently at Lord Hickstead’s face, before his jaw dropped and his face paled.
Confirmation, as if we needed it.
***
Lord Hickstead was being escorted home, hopefully feeling nervous, or at least unsettled, and Mr Nour was now showing on the screen. Inspector Boniface was sitting opposite him, smiling, trying to calm the old Egyptian.
“Mr Nour, I’d like to thank you for coming in today. Have you been treated well?”
“Yes, sir, I have. The young policeman who took me through my statement said that you were making progress. Does this mean I can have my money back? I have done nothing wrong.”
“Mr Nour, we will release your money very soon, I can assure you. Now, one further question, if that’s all right. The watch you were shown during your interview; was that the type of watch you saw on your Josh Hammond?”
“Yes, exactly the same. Where did you get it? They are very rare, I know.”
“We have our sources. Why do you ask?” the Inspector asked, seemingly innocently.
“I don’t know that I should say.”
“Come along, Mr Nour, you can trust me. Anything else you can remember will speed up the release of your money.”
The video screen showed a close up of Mr Nour. “I am not sure, I cannot say with firmness, but a few minutes ago I saw a man downstairs, Lord Hickwell or something.”
“Lord Hickstead,” Boniface provided helpfully. “Yes, go on.”
“Well, he was wearing the same watch, and when I looked into his eyes, they were the eyes of Mr Hammond, the man who deceived me with his silly toupee.”
Inspector Boniface registered shock on his face. “Mr Nour, are you saying that Lord Hickstead was the man posing as Josh Hammond in your diamond deal?”
“I believe so, yes, but I am sure no-one will believe me. He is a Lord, after all, and probably has an estate in the beautiful English countryside. But when I looked into his eyes I do believe he recognised me. I know it sounds foolish, but it is what I saw.”
Boniface asked Mr Nour to keep his views to himself and, having added the latest revelation to the bottom of the witness statement as an addendum, he had Mr Nour sign it again.
***
Mr De Montagu could add nothing to his statement and had nothing to say about the set up in the reception area, and so he and Mr Nour were thanked and allowed to go.
The video screen was switched off and the bank of fluorescent lights came on. The same group sat around the table once again, with the addition of Assistant Commissioner Evans.
Clockwise around the table I saw AC Evans at the head, sitting under the video screen. To his left sat DS Scott and DS Fellowes, Dee was next, and I sat beside her. Boniface and Coombes completed the line up.
Assistant Commissioner Evans summarised the day. “So far, today has had its ups and downs but, on the whole, I think we have our man on the hook. Now we just need to reel him in. I think we’re unlikely to get a warrant to search the Parliament Street apartment, but I do believe we’ll get a warrant for CitySafe Depository, or at least for one of its boxes.”
I was surprised at that, and said so. “Assistant Commissioner, I thought that safe deposit boxes were sacrosanct, and that the banks protected their customers with their lives?”
“Mr Hammond, you’re quite right, to a degree, but these depositories are not banks and nor do they share the same privileges. Perhaps DCI Coombes can explain.”
We all turned to look at the grumpy policeman.
“In 2008 I headed an investigation into money laundering, and it led us to various safe deposit boxes at three locations; Park Lane, Hampstead and Edgware. We raided the premises simultaneously. There were at least fifty officers involved, and with angle grinders and other heavy tools we op
ened the suspect boxes.
Ninety percent of the boxes we opened contained evidence of criminality. As a result we arrested a significant number of criminals, as well as some of the depository owners, and recovered many millions of pounds in cash, jewellery and art.”
Coombes fell silent and the Assistant Commissioner took over. “So, as you can see, Mr Hammond, in view of the circumstantial evidence we have, which is now rather substantial, and because of previous good results on other cases, we have a good chance of obtaining a warrant.”
He had barely got the words out when there was a knock at the door. An out of breath young police officer was beckoned into the room and was eager to present something to the gathering.
“Sir, I have some news on the mugger. It’s rather unexpected.”
“All right, Constable, let’s hear it.”
The young man stood next to the Assistant Commissioner and read out his findings, which were indeed rather surprising. Or perhaps not.
“Ms Conrad; gentlemen. As you know, the man apprehended has denied any involvement in the mugging, pointing out that he was not in possession of any stolen goods when apprehended.
He’s been calm and cooperative the whole time, and when asked whether he wanted representation he said he was happy to talk to us without a lawyer present, as he had done nothing wrong. However, he asked if he could seek advice from his employers.
He was allowed the phone call and he rang an Isleworth number. We later identified the company as the Distressed Media Group, who are the registered owners of the car.
The driver, Gordon James Coppull, who has no criminal record whatsoever, freely explained that he was a record producer for the said company and that he had a personal fortune of over two million pounds. We checked him out on the internet and before he went into business he was lead guitarist for The Regular Enemas, a popular grunge band from the 1990s.
As he had no history of criminality in his first thirty five years, and as he appeared to be as wealthy as he claimed, we more or less ruled him out of the mugging, until I received this back from Companies House.”
The young man lifted a single page company search and read from it.
“Distressed Media Group is a PLC, formed in 1987. Directors are listed as Gordon J Coppull, Dirk Millman, Joseph Pettleman, Michael Dixon and the Managing Director is....” The young man paused for effect, holding the name back as if he was announcing the results on the X Factor.