Heist: BookShots Page 8

  Charlotte ran her eye over the line, seeing well-heeled twenty-somethings. It was certainly a different crowd to the street parties taking place at the Dance Event.

  ‘We should go in,’ Scowcroft said. She followed alongside as they headed directly for the door, bypassing the line.

  ‘We’re at Pete’s table,’ Scowcroft told the beautiful hostess, who looked the pair up and down.

  ‘OK,’ the local shrugged after a moment, her eyes lingering on Scowcroft’s handsome face. ‘You can both come in, but tell Pete no more guys.’

  ‘Sure,’ Scowcroft answered, and smiled his thanks at the colossal bouncer who held open the door.

  Inside, the pair were accosted by the throb and blare of music. The dance floor was a tangle of bodies, but Scowcroft’s eyes were drawn to the sectioned-off tables that ran along its edges. There, the most beautiful women in the club danced with each other, the men at the table content to sit back and watch, safe in the knowledge that their connections or wealth would see at least one of the girls going home with them.

  Scowcroft again had a vision of what could be with the diamonds in his possession. It could be him buying tables at high-end nightclubs. Him surrounded by beautiful women.

  But no – Scowcroft only wanted to be surrounded by his family. Tony, Barrett and, as he looked at her beside him, even Charlotte.

  Even Charlotte. If nothing else came from this whole endeavour, at least Scowcroft could take comfort that his brother was adored.

  ‘You should wait here,’ he told her, suddenly protective. ‘I’ll go to the table with the diamonds.’

  ‘We’re both going,’ Charlotte replied, calmly but firmly.

  ‘What if it’s a sting? They’re going to catch Barrett, Charlotte. If they catch us too, then who’s left for Tony?’

  ‘What choice do we have?’ she said plainly. ‘This is it. It’s all or nothing.’

  Scowcroft knew she was right.

  All or nothing.

  ‘Then let’s do it.’

  CHAPTER 32

  THE BUYER’S TABLE was easy enough to find, sitting in the prominent position to the left of the DJ box, the single man sat behind it swarmed by half a dozen beautiful women.

  ‘I thought the girl at the door said no more men to this table?’ Scowcroft shouted above the noise of the music.

  Charlotte shrugged in reply. ‘I guess they left.’

  ‘Or they gave us the wrong place to meet.’

  ‘They didn’t,’ she told him, and prayed that she was right. ‘Just look like you belong.’ They cut along the edge of the dance floor and towards the front of the club.

  ‘Hi.’ Charlotte smiled at the bouncer watching over the table, breezing straight by him up the couple of steps to the table that allowed the people at it to see – and more importantly, be seen from – anywhere in the club.

  ‘Pete?’ Scowcroft asked the lone man on the couch.

  ‘That’s me,’ he answered in a British accent. ‘Girls, give us some space.’ Scowcroft was intoxicated by their perfume as they wafted past him and down the steps.

  ‘Take a seat,’ the man offered, and Scowcroft obliged. Pete was a handsome, athletic-looking man in his thirties. He looked every bit how Scowcroft expected a former Commando turned lucrative contactor to appear.

  ‘Where’s Baz?’ Pete asked.

  ‘Broken nose. Didn’t think it would be a good idea to draw attention,’ Scowcroft answered. ‘He gave us a video.’

  Pete smiled and waved the gesture of the footage away.

  ‘I saw the news. I’d told the staff on the door not to let him in. At least this way I won’t have hurt his feelings. Drink?’

  Scowcroft shrugged in answer, and Pete gestured to a server. The stocking-clad blonde poured four large vodkas.

  ‘I’ll take Baz’s,’ the buyer told them. ‘To those who can’t raise a glass.’

  The three of them knocked back the vodkas.

  ‘Another one?’ Pete asked. ‘It goes for ten grand a bottle here, so enjoy it.’

  ‘Business first.’ Charlotte smiled. ‘It’s been a long day, Pete.’

  ‘Of course it has,’ the man allowed, doubtless no stranger to long days himself. ‘Let’s go over it, then. My car and driver are outside. The money, for obvious reasons, is in there.’

  ‘We’re not driving anywhere to do it,’ Scowcroft cut in, his voice calm but forceful.

  ‘Of course not.’ Pete shook his head. ‘My driver will get out. As a measure of trust, one of you can get behind the wheel. The other will get in the back with me, where we can inspect the goods. Once we’re both happy, you guys get out with the money, I come back in here to the company of these beautiful ladies, and the driver takes the stones to my employer. Sound good?’

  ‘Works for us,’ Scowcroft announced after sharing a look with Charlotte. ‘Thanks for meeting with us.’

  ‘Not a problem. Anything for a good cause.’ The man beamed.

  ‘A good cause?’ Scowcroft asked, his heart beginning to beat faster than the club’s bass.

  ‘Your brother,’ Pete explained, still smiling. After a moment the grin slid from his face.

  Because he knew he’d slipped.

  Scowcroft knew it too, and trapped between the press of dancing bodies and the table, there was only one thing he could do.

  So he slid the supermarket-bought kitchen knife from the sleeve of his shirt and prodded the tip into the man’s belly.

  ‘Who are you?’ he hissed in the imposter’s ear.

  ‘You think you’re the only one with a knife?’ the man sneered. ‘I’ve had mine pointed at your femoral artery since you sat down.’ Scowcroft felt the press of a blade against the flesh of his thigh, his body shaking with the released adrenaline of his fight-or-flight survival instincts.

  ‘Scared?’ the man mocked, feeling the shaking muscles through the blade. ‘Just hand over the diamonds.’

  ‘Who sent you?’ Scowcroft challenged, his eyes burning with fury, desperate now that the heist had fallen at the final hurdle.

  ‘Marcus Slate,’ the man growled, his own eyes equally alight with determination. ‘Marcus Slate sent me, and I’m taking him back his diamonds.’

  Scowcroft fought for control of his muscles, because the thought of flight had passed, and he knew there was only one thing left to do – fight.

  So he did.

  ‘Fuck you,’ the thief spat as he drove the knife deep into the stomach of Slate’s henchman.

  ‘Fuck you,’ he shouted again as he drove the knife into the stomach of Detective Inspector Hill.

  CHAPTER 33

  HILL HAD NEVER been stabbed before, and for a hundredth of a second he almost marvelled at the brilliant-white pain that shot through his entire body.

  And then, on instinct, he drove his own blade forward.

  He felt it part flesh as it cut into the young man’s thigh. He felt the spit on his face as his adversary howled in pain, the scream lost to the bass and revelry of the club. He felt the hot blood spurt over his hand as he pulled the blade free.

  It was the blood on his hands that shook Hill from his instinctive reactions and brought him the realisation of what he had suffered, and what he’d done. Hill knew the gushing wound would kill the young man within minutes. There was no reclaiming the situation – he was committed now.

  No, he realised. He’d been committed since the moment he’d told Slate he’d recover the man’s diamonds, and avoid any trial that would cast a shadow over Slate’s enterprise. He’d been committed to this end when he’d sold his soul to Slate for a million, the dream of his own business empire and a better life for himself and Deb.

  Hill had never thought he’d have to kill for it.

  The woman was pulling the young man away and half carrying him down the few steps that led out onto the dance floor, the dancing girls shooting angry stares as she barged by them.

  Hill hesitated to follow – surely someone would see the blood? Surely someone would
stop them?

  But the club was dark, and the dying thief looked like one more drunken idiot. Seeing that they were already moving to the exit, where they would become someone else’s problem, the bouncers did little more than roll their eyes and turn their attention back to the girls.

  Hill saw his prize slipping away. And he knew what Slate would do to him if he didn’t get those diamonds.

  Everything had gone perfectly up until then. With the right kind of persuasion, Barrett had talked. Hill had then handed him over to Slate’s men, to what end he didn’t know, but he could guess. Then it had simply been a case of meeting the buyer, showing his police identification, and kindly telling the man to forget everything related to the sale of the stolen diamonds. ‘Pete’ had been more than happy to escape so lightly.

  Now it had all gone to shit. Hill moved to stand, pulling his jacket closed across the wound. The knife had torn the muscles of his abdomen, each step causing pain to shoot through his body, but he would worry about the damage later. First he had to catch the thieves.

  He had to catch them, and then he had to kill them.

  CHAPTER 34

  ‘NOT THROUGH THE front!’ Scowcroft groaned through gritted teeth, seeing that Charlotte was leading them towards the club’s main entrance. ‘Security will stop us,’ he managed, knowing that out on the street there would be no hiding the blood that flowed from his leg.

  ‘We have to stop the bleeding!’ Charlotte’s eyes were wide as she pushed him into a dark recess amongst the club’s shadows. ‘Put your hands on it!’ she shouted. ‘Apply pressure!’

  Scowcroft tried, but he was already weak from blood loss. He felt Charlotte free the belt from his trousers and pull it tight around the top of his thigh.

  Then, as the blood slowed to a trickle, the agony built to unbearable. Scowcroft squeezed his eyes shut and cursed. ‘I can’t take it, Charlotte! Take it off!’ he cried.

  ‘No! You’ll bleed to death!’

  ‘Charlotte!’ he pleaded. ‘Take it off!’

  Charlotte ignored the cries. Instead she punched Scowcroft in the stomach.

  ‘Think about your brother, Alex,’ she hissed at him. ‘Man up!’

  The savage tone of Charlotte’s voice forced Scowcroft to try, clenching his jaw against the agony. She helped him up and over towards the club’s toilets. Looking over her shoulder, Charlotte saw their assailant following through the crowded dance floor. The man moved slowly, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but his eyes were fixed on them.

  The thieves staggered into the passageway that led to the toilets. Free from the crowd of the dance floor, individuals began to notice and go wide-eyed at the sight of the bloodied young man.

  A suited gentleman stepped forwards and spoke to Charlotte in Dutch. She presumed he was offering to help, and did her best to show a carefree smile.

  ‘Ambulance is coming out there, thank you,’ she replied, using her free hand to point to the nearest fire escape.

  ‘I will get it,’ the man said in English, then trotted ahead to push open the door, cold air rushing into the corridor.

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlotte said, then slammed the door behind them. Letting go of Scowcroft, she quickly wheeled a heavy dustbin across the entrance to block the doorway, and then followed it with another.

  ‘I’ve got to lie down,’ Scowcroft said weakly and dropped heavily to the ground.

  Charlotte heard banging against the fire escape, but the large bins held.

  ‘You need a hospital. I’ll get an ambulance.’

  ‘No, they’ll bring the police,’ he groaned.

  ‘A car then.’

  ‘No. Just take them,’ Scowcroft implored, pushing the diamonds into Charlotte’s coat pocket. ‘Take them. Find another buyer.’

  ‘No,’ Charlotte stated firmly, then threw her eyes up at the fire escape – the banging had stopped.

  Scowcroft, weak as he was, also became aware of the silence. It was time to run.

  ‘We can’t both get away, Char, but you can,’ he told her calmly. ‘It’s you and Tony making it, or you and me dead. Even I can do that maths. Come on. Get the fuck out of here.’

  ‘I’m not leaving,’ she promised, clutching the young man’s hand. ‘I’m not leaving,’ she said again, as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  Because she knew he was dying.

  Alex Scowcroft knew it too.

  ‘I let him down,’ he sobbed weakly, struggling to keep Charlotte’s face in focus. ‘I let Tony down, Charlotte. I couldn’t finish this for him.’

  ‘You’ve done everything a brother could do and more, Alex,’ she told him, putting her hand against his greying face.

  Scowcroft’s eyelids shuddered as he tried to stay awake. He tried to fight, because he still had so many things he needed to say. Needed Charlotte to hear. That he was sorry. That she was, and always would be, the true guardian and soulmate of his brother.

  But Alex Scowcroft could only gasp.

  And then he slipped into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 35

  HILL PUSHED THE heel of his hand against the knife wound in his abdomen. He knew the pressure would slow the bleeding and help the clots to form, but he hoped the pressure would also take away the pain he suffered with every step. Not wanting to draw attention in the club, he had taken his time in pursuit, but the blocked fire escape had meant he was forced to exit via the club’s main entrance.

  Luckily for him, Hill’s dark suit hid most of the bloodstains, and with his hands pushed deep into his pockets, he was able to keep his face neutral as he walked by the bouncers. Clear of the club’s front, Hill then tried to break into a run to its rear, but the pain in his stomach almost caused him to scream so he was forced to continue his chase at a walk. Despite the restriction, Hill at first took comfort in knowing that the thief would be in a worse condition, but then the cold realisation hit home that it was his own hand which had doomed the man, and he was racked by a wave of nausea born of guilt.

  ‘Too late now,’ he hissed, trying to convince himself.

  The detective turned another corner, working his way between the stacks of empty beer kegs to the club’s rear fire escape. With the young man’s wound, they couldn’t have got too far ahead – but then Hill saw that the young man hadn’t got anywhere at all, and the long-time police officer knew from one look that the youngster was dead.

  And so Hill was a murderer.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he groaned, then reminded himself he was a man with no time for remorse. Hill had made a pact with the devil, and if he didn’t deliver on his end of the bargain, then he had no doubt his own skin would be as grey and waxen as that of the thief who lay before him.

  ‘You got yourself into this, you stupid bastard,’ he hissed at the corpse as he dropped to his knees and began to rummage through the boy’s pockets. ‘Sometimes shit things happen to the people you care about!’ he went on, defending his actions. ‘Life isn’t a movie, you dumb piece of shit! There are consequences! Your actions have consequences!’ Hill said to dead ears, before sitting back heavily.

  Because he had found something in the pockets – a hard object, wrapped tightly in tape.

  Hill used his knife to slit open the packaging, and then, dropping the blade to his side, he hastily unwrapped it with his bloodstained hands.

  And he saw the diamond sparkling in the moonlight.

  Hill swallowed, overcome by what the stone signified. Yes, it was beautiful, but it was also his future. The future he’d always wanted, for him and for Deb.

  ‘Thank you.’ He spoke aloud, though only Hill knew to whom the words were intended.

  His final words.

  Caught up in his own exoneration, Hill hadn’t heard the fall of soft footsteps behind him. He hadn’t heard the soft scrape on tarmac as his blade was plucked from the ground.

  But he did feel it pierce his spine.

  It was the last thing he’d experience in his life.

  EPILOGUE

>   Two years later

  Charlotte looked up from the pile of laundry placed in front of her, and ran her hands through her frayed hair. On days like this she hated the mundane routine that her life had become. Part of her – a part she hated – almost wished that Tony still needed her care and total dedication.

  But Tony was his own man now, at least in body, she reminded herself sadly. In mind, he was consumed by grief and guilt. The thought of it was too much for Charlotte to bear, and as she did every day, she tried to lose herself in her mundane tasks, meticulously folding each item of laundry so that there wasn’t a single wrinkle present.

  An hour passed before there was a knock on the highly polished door.

  ‘Hello?’ a woman called from the threshold.

  She had the city look about her, Charlotte noticed. Well spoken, and with a hairstyle that was yet to grow out. She was new, Charlotte decided.

  ‘How long have you been inside?’ she asked her fellow inmate.

  ‘Here, only a week, but I’ve been moving around a bit.’ The woman blushed. ‘I’m supposed to help you.’

  ‘So help.’ Charlotte shrugged, two years in prison having blunted her manners.

  And no wonder, because it had been a hard two years. For stabbing a police officer, Charlotte had suffered at the hands of every bobby and prison guard she’d come across since her arrest in Amsterdam.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ the fresh meat asked, but Charlotte was a world away now. She was back in the courtrooms, a sideshow of the media circus.

  Charlotte wanted to puke when she thought of how Hill had become the darling of the tabloids – the hero who’d taken on a dangerous case in his final week of service. Scotland Yard were as happy as the media to take that line, glossing over coincidence. Only the keenest onlookers noted that Chief Inspector Vaughn, Hill’s superior, had resigned his post at Scotland Yard and had been relocated to a small station in England’s hinterland.