“Aye, I’ll do the deal”, he said, reaching out for the money.
Murphy drove the car out of the lot. He was surprised to see that the tank showed half full. He stopped at the nearest filling station, and put six gallons in the tank. When he drove out again, the gauge still showed half full.
As he drove towards Port Sunlight, Murphy thought about the van, still in his lockup. It had suddenly occurred to him that Lefty and Ned knew it was there, and full of bullion. That was dangerous. He ought to unload it, hide the bullion somewhere else. He ought to phone Bobby Bell anyway, because he would have been expecting delivery today. And that was not going to happen. So, he needed a pay-as-you-go phone. Good job he had Bobby’s number somewhere in his wallet. He was on the Birkenhead outskirts now, coming up to a retail park. He drove into it, parked, and got out to look for a phone shop. Fifteen minutes later, he was back in the car, and phoning Bobby.
“Hey Bobby, it’s Sly Fox calling you.”
“I’ve been expecting you. Give me your number, I’ll phone you back. Better be a pay- as-you-go, or I won’t bother.”
“It is. He read out the number, finished the call, and sat back to wait, twiddling the handset.
Almost immediately the phone was ringing, and Murphy answered. “Eamonn, Bobby here. Glad you phoned. Shows honesty. What a fuckup this end. Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“The police were out in force on the wharf, when the ferry docked. Your man Lefty, jumped into the water when he saw the police, and the ship was still in the middle of the lough when that happened. Couldn’t swim, apparently. Was saved by an artist called McBride, they are saying on the telly.”
Murphy groaned. “That bloke McBride is haunting me,” he muttered. “So what happened?”
“Well, Lefty was helicoptered to hospital, and from there to Musgrave Station, to be joined by the other fellow. It was great to see the police searching your truck, once we knew there was nothing of value in it. The police were truly pissed off. They’ve still got the truck, I think, but they let the boys go, through lack of evidence.”
Murphy looked at his watch. Only twelve o’clock, and so much had happened over there.
“Why I phoned you, Bobby, was to ask you something. Things could have gone much better at this end. I wonder if you can collect your purchase in England?”
There was a long pause and Murphy was just about to ask if he was still there. “Eamonn, you really do disappoint me. FENCE means you bring me things, and I give you money for them. If I come to you, I might as well do the whole fucking thing myself. In which case, you would be redundant, see? Well, if I have any ideas, I’ve got your number. Bye.”
Not such a good call, thought Murphy. Anyway, first priority was to make sure the bullion stayed with him. He drove out of the Retail Park, and saw, on the opposite side of the main road, a huge yellow warehouse. The Big Yellow Box, a sign declared. Secure Storage said another. Complete Anonymity said a third. A mesh fence topped with razor wire surrounded the building. The pair of main gates were wide open, so Murphy drove in. There was car parking adjacent to reception. He entered the office, manned by a guy in security uniform.
“Hello,” said Murphy, “I can hire storage here? How does it work?”
“Well, you hire a room, or even just a locker, depends how much you need to store. You can access you storage twelve hours a day, you provide your own padlock, only you have the key.”
“Sounds good,” said Murphy, warming to the idea. “How much is a room, say eight by six?”
“Thirty pounds a week, minimum 2 months.”
“You want the cash now?”
“Yes, you have to pay up front, but the first payment has to be by credit card, to prove who you are, you know. Don’t want robbers hiring space, eh?” The man smiled.
Murphy was going off the idea very rapidly.
“Well, I’ll be back with my stuff.”
Murphy walked out to his car. Always some fucking problem.
He couldn’t use the Big Yellow Box, so what did he do? Often in the olden days, and sometimes nowadays, people buried treasure they wanted to hide. But it takes a lot of effort to bury a quarter of a ton of platinum. And where to bury it, was another problem. Perhaps he should put it into the Ford Mondeo, but if he put it all in the trunk of the car, the damn thing would be off the front wheels. Like keeping three good size men’s bodies there. Murphy tended to convert weights in this way.
A way that might fool the people looking for his loot was to hide it almost in view. Murphy rented three lockups in the farmyard, they were so damn cheap. If he just took the bullion out of the van, and moved it to an adjacent lockup, who would think of that? It might work, and it was only for a maximum of a few days. If he hadn’t got rid of it by then, he was in trouble. Murphy decided to go for it, and pointed the car to get him to that part of Cheshire.
It was 6pm before he got there, after stopping off to get yet more petrol, and a sandwich. He was getting paranoid about petrol.
He arrived at the lockup, and the place was quiet. As he got out of his vehicle, he heard birds singing in the trees, above the slight rustle of the branches in the breeze. He could be the last person on earth.
He opened the padlock on the lockup containing the van. It seemed like longer than yesterday, when he had brought it here, sweating in panic, shouting at Lefty and Ned. And, both of them knew the secret of where the bullion was hidden. He had arrived back not a minute too soon. He flicked on the light, got into the van, the keys still in the ignition. He drove it into the yard, got out and opened the next but one lockup, the one with the rusty padlock. He was careful to leave no trace of his tampering. There was no electricity in the unit, and with difficulty, he reversed just into the darkness. He got out of the vehicle, went round to the van’s rear doors, opened them, and started unloading the bullion, placing the boxes in a stack, off to one side. There were no other items stored in here. The whitish boxes stood in a forlorn pile in the dimness.
He finished the job in about fifteen minutes, puffing slightly, as he wiped his hands on his handkerchief. He left the pallet still in the van, closed the doors.
He pulled the van out of the unit, carefully locked the unit up again, and then replaced the van exactly where it was originally, parked in the back of the lockup with the shiny padlock. He even replaced the dustsheet to hide it.
Now Murphy walked jauntily to his car, and thought he had earned a night’s rest. He would look for a small B&B that took lorry drivers. And then he would cautiously contact potential customers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Bobby phoned Lefty. Lefty, he learned, was still in the pub where Bobby’s solicitor had left him, and he was still with Ned.
“Do you two men want a lucrative job. Earn you some good money?”
“Doing what?” asked Lefty, suspiciously.
“Going back to England, and having a look at Murphy’s lockup where he left the van. You can remember where it is can’t you? Then you look to check that the van is still full of the bullion. Then you phone me, and we’ll take it from there.”
“We’re not going back on that bloody ferry are we?”
“Oh, no, no, no. You’ll fly to Manchester, then hire a car from there. If the goods are still in the lockup, we’ll talk on the phone about getting them out. It won’t be to Belfast, I can promise you that.”
***
McBride and Miller landed at Liverpool, McBride, still damp. It was already four o’clock. They took a taxi from the airport down to the ferry terminal to pick up McBride’s car. From there they returned to the industrial estate where Miller’s car had been left by the side of the road. Then they drove in convoy to the Manor Hotel.
At reception, McBride was handed an envelope as well as his key, and when he stood back waiting for Miller to get his own key, he slit open the envelope. There was a single sheet of hotel notepaper from Helen, hoping he was safe, and since she was booking out, she hoped he would g
et in touch once he had stopped playing detective. Pinned to the notepaper was her business card.
Miller got his key, turned away from reception. He nodded at the envelope. “Not bad news, I hope?”
“No, it’s from Helen, leaving me her address.”
Miller grinned. “You’ve scored, there.”
“I fancy having a long lazy dinner at the hotel tonight. We could invite my agent, you know, Ian Smith? Or rather, you don’t know, do you? He’s a great guy. He knows how this business started – it was his gallery that was burnt down. I’ll give him a call.”
At eight o’clock, McBride and Miller were seated in the bar with Smith, drinking beers and perusing menus.
Smith said, “It’s caused a stir in the village, all this Murphy business. And now he’s on the run.”
Miller smiled. “We saw him yesterday afternoon, in Liverpool. We thought he was catching the Belfast boat. It was a bit embarrassing for me, actually. You see, we thought he was on the boat with his mates, and I had the boat met in Belfast by a lot of policemen, and Murphy hadn’t boarded, the little scamp.”
“So, where is he now?” asked Smith.
“That is the multi-million pound question,” said McBride. “Shall I choose the wine, a bottle of red and one of white, to kick off?”
“We are sure that he’s not disposed of the haul. So we watch and wait,” said Miller Smith said: “Surely Murphy didn’t carry out the job without knowing where he was getting cash for his haul?”
“That’s what we thought,” said McBride, “But the way he operated, who knows? He is bloody lucky to have got away so far.”
“My wife was worried about Murphy’s wife,” said Smith, “She needs nursing. Got Alzheimer’s you know, but we heard in the village that he got her into a nursing home only a couple of days ago. And arranged for the house to be put into her name, and sold to pay the fees. Clearing the decks, so to speak. At least he has some compassion.”
“Apart from killing four people in the heist yesterday. Five if you include the guy who set fire to the gallery, when he became an embarrassment to him. And he even shot the copper who was in the job with him. Amazing.”
“Sorry. Yes, a bad choice of words on my part,” said Smith, draining his glass, and looking round to see if a waiter would bring him some more.
McBride turned to Ian. “That reminds me, the guy who set fire to your gallery is buried in Murphy’s back garden, to the left of the outbuildings. Would you tell the local constabulary? Tell them someone rang you up, didn’t give a name.”
“My God. Of course I’ll do that.”
Once his glass was replenished, and the waiter had taken the meal orders, Smith said, “So, does this wrap it up for your investigation? Having lost Murphy? Is it back to the easel for you, John?”
“We’ve only been looking at the case for a few days. We’ll snoop around some more, but it is up to the police, now. When Inspector Nolan was still alive, he could draw official attention away from Murphy, and give him a bit of inside information, so it was silly to kill him.”
The waiter came back to lead them to their table.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lefty and Ned were back at Manchester airport by seven o’clock, and hiring a rental car a few minutes later.
“Christ, it’s all go, Ned,” said Lefty as they sped away from the airport. “There’s a cheap map, there in the glove compartment. “Can you read a map?”
Ned nodded. “Of course I can. I passed my geography exam at school.” He peered for some time at the map. “Get on to the M56 westbound.”
Lefty was very impressed. He could just get on with the driving. It was still light when they arrived at the lockup. Lefty swung the car round in a circle. If Murphy arrived, they would need to make a smart exit. He felt very uneasy, because Murphy always had a gun with him. They had just been on a plane, and you don’t take guns with you there.
“Ned, just look in the toolkit in the boot, see if there’s something long, say the jack handle, that we can use to get the padlock off. And listen very carefully. If you hear a car, we’d better scarper into the woods.”
Ned got the jack handle, brought it over to where Lefty was standing by the door with the shiny padlock.
“Jesus, look at this, it’s not locked. The padlock just opens.” Whether it was an error on Murphy’s part or not, Lefty was pleased, lifted it clear of the staple, and cautiously opened the door, putting his arm round the wall whilst keeping his body against the wall, in case it was a trap.
Nothing happened, and the interior was now lit by the large overhead bulb. They walked in, made for the van, went round to the back, and opened the rear doors, which were surprisingly not locked. Lefty knew that it would be empty before his own eyes confirmed it.
“Come on, run,” he said, “we need to get away. Don’t lock it up just get into the car.” They both sped for the rental car, quickly getting into it, and slamming the doors. Lefty had the engine turning and accelerated away, almost before Ned had his door closed. They rocketed down the track and on to the public road before Lefty eased up, and began to drive sedately, not wanting to draw attention to their car.
Some miles away, on a major road, they pulled into a transport cafe car park. Lefty used his pay-as-you-go phone to make a call to Bobby to give him the news. Bobby told them to return to Manchester Airport, and get the next plane to Belfast. He would make sure they were paid.
Bobby Bell switched off his mobile. Well, he thought, it was worth a try. Now, he couldn’t cut out Murphy. No-one else knew where the bullion was. He already had the reserve plan thought out. He would use the motor yacht. He went into his study, pulled out a book of tide tables from his desk, and studied it for a while. If he could boost Murphy into action, he could pick him up tomorrow night. There was a high tide at 11pm at Preston, so it wouldn’t be much different off the Wirral. He knew from previously sailing in that area, that there was an anchorage off Hoylake. You could get a vehicle on the beach there, or even across the golf course. It would mean contacting Gerry tonight, warn him they would need the boat.
Better start with him, and then contact Murphy next.
Without wasting more time, Bobby keyed in the number. Gerry, over on the Isle of Man, picked up the call. “Gerry Bell here.”
“Gerry it’s Bobby. How are things?”
“Busy. Since its summer, it would be bad if it wasn’t.”
“Do you think you could fit in a voyage? Be a couple of days before we’re finished.” “Starting when?”
“Well this is only provisional, but subject to confirmation, I would want to be at anchor off The Wirral at high tide tomorrow night, that’s about 11o’clock. Then take a small cargo aboard, and a man. Then go to anchor off Ireland, just below Dublin. Wait until its dark, then unload the cargo. Someone will be waiting to come out in a dinghy. We might drop the fellow off there, if he wants. If he doesn’t he’ll accompany us back to Douglas.”
“That will be a pleasant change for me. You’ll join us in Douglas, I suppose.”
“Yes, I’d fly out in the morning, or tonight if I can get a plane.”
“No. The airport will be closed already. Come in the morning we wouldn’t need to sail before, say four in the afternoon.”
“Okay, I’ll get back to you. Can you get young Darren as crew, do you think?”
“I’ll have checked by the time you ring me back. We might need some more fuel. I’ll check what’s aboard, and work out what we need.”
“Okay Gerry, I’ll phone you hopefully this evening. Look after yourself.”
Bobby looked up Murphy’s phone number that he been given that morning. He had written it in his notebook.
He dialled, and it rang for twenty or thirty seconds before it was picked up. It sounded as though Murphy had been asleep. His voice was slurred.
“Bobby here, Eamonn. I’ve been thinking about our conversation this morning. I can see you’re a bit stuck over there, the heat must be on.”
r /> “Not necessarily, I was just thinking of ways to get the cargo to you. There are several options. I’ve just got to decide on the best way.”
That Murphy, always full of blarney, thought Bobby.
“I need a bit of speed myself, and I’m sure you do. You must have people to pay, and so on.
“I’m being pushed by my customer. We both need to get this job put to bed.
“Listen to what I’m proposing: I get my motor yacht off the Wirral, tomorrow night at high tide, that’s about eleven, give or take. We can signal, you use headlights, I use the spotlight on the boat. That’s all crap that can be sorted out. When I get your signal that you’re on the shore, we put out a boat, and collect you and the cargo. Then we sail over to Ireland We anchor off the coast not far south from Dublin, to unload. You can go ashore there. Or, if you prefer, you can go to Douglas.”
“And when do I get paid?” Murphy demanded.
“When the customer collects the goods from my boat, that is when you get paid. I’ll need an extra percentage for the use of the boat. There’s crew to pay, and the fuel – you might be surprised, that alone will come to about four thousand quid. She uses about 250 litres of diesel an hour. But it’s cheaper than car diesel, less duty and tax to pay.”
“Okay, I’ll go along with it. Whereabouts are you going to be on the Wirral?”
“Well, at Hoylake, you can get a vehicle on to the beach, or, if you prefer, just south of the golf course. You could even drive across the course itself in the dark, if you are feeling devilish, putting deep ruts in the greens. And digging your car out of the bunkers, maybe.
“Anyway, I’ll be anchoring off Hoylake. So that’s where you want to be training your headlights. At Hilbre Island, that’s the biggest of the three. Do double flashes, on, off and on and off again. If I pick the signal up, I give you the same signal back. Then we launch a rigid inflatable, with outboard, okay?”
“Yes, okay”
“If there’s any trouble on shore, give three long flashes. Then we’ll wait without sending the boat. If the trouble goes away, you can signal again as at first. We can stay until dawn, if necessary. Take this as definite, unless you here from me again, okay?”
“Yes, okay,” said Murphy.
“Oh, and by the way Eamonn, watch how you drive to Hoylake. They’re crazy drivers on the Wirral. All the roads are pasted with notices, telling you how many people they’ve killed last month. We don’t want the bullion distributed across some road there. Goodnight” and Bobby had cut the connection.