The Killer Shadow Thieves (DI Tom Blake, #1)

by J. F. Burgess

  He removed her robe.

  Naked, she arched, the searing sun kissing her tanned back, white lines visible just below her waistline, where the skimpy bottoms had been.

  His tongue traced her neckline, then he slipped his robe onto the deck and entered her from behind.

  CHAPTER 111

  Seventy-two hours later, Isabel Blake had been discharged from hospital mid-morning, and they were almost home. Her dad was elated by her response to the treatment.

  Blake eased his nervous grip on the armrests as the plane finally passed through rough turbulence on its descent towards Manchester airport. Take-off had been fairly smooth, but landing was a whole different ball game; thankfully they’d be on the ground soon. Reflecting on recent events, he accepted that, although he’d been assigned to desk duties, he had been party to some kind of illegal artefacts trade, and almost died at the hands of a murdering thief. None of it truly mattered; just knowing Isabel was tumour free gave him immense inner peace. They could start making plans for the future.

  Taking another slurp of Shiraz, he glanced across the aisle at his brave girl. She turned her head and gave him a tired smile.

  ‘You OK, Izzy?’

  ‘Yeah, Dad, I’m just shattered.’

  ‘We’ll be landing in a few minutes.’

  The Boeing 787 Dreamliner from Miami touched down at Manchester Airport around midnight UK time. After the tedium of an eight-hour flight, DI Tom Blake didn’t relish the thought of waiting for their cases; he simply wanted to get his daughter home safely.

  As the plane eased to a standstill opposite the terminal, an incoming call from DS Murphy startled him. He peered through tired eyes at his mobile on the table in front of his seat, the green answer icon flashed. John probably wanted to know if they’d arrived in the UK.

  ‘H… ello?’ he said, a little disorientated.

  ‘It’s John, can you hear me?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You don’t sound with it?’

  He yawned. ‘Just dozed off.’

  ‘Everything OK with Isabel?’

  ‘Great news, the tumour’s in regression.’

  ‘That’s fantastic, mate.’

  ‘I know, it’s unbelievable. I can’t tell you how happy we both are.’

  ‘What time should I pick you up?’

  ‘Around 12.40.’

  ‘No problem. Listen, Tom, I don’t want to put a damper on things but have you seen the news recently?’

  ‘Just American stuff. Why?’

  ‘You won’t believe this. Someone has only gone and nicked the Staffordshire Hoard from the Potteries Museum. All three point three million quid’s worth! Apparently they were displaying the whole collection, with most of it coming from Birmingham Museum on a two-week loan.’

  ‘Shit! You’re kidding?’ he said, trying to sound surprised.

  ‘Straight up. They discovered yesterday when the pieces were taken off display for cleaning. Haven’t got the full details yet, but it appears they’ve nicked the originals and swapped them for replicas. It’ll be all over the front pages of the nationals tomorrow.’

  ‘Shit! Anyone in the frame?’

  ‘We’re looking at known suspects, but nothing yet. Anyway, don’t worry about that now, I’ll see you at arrivals. Call me before you go through customs, it will save waiting around.’

  ‘Will do. Thanks, mate.’

  After thirty minutes of queuing, Tom and Isabel passed through customs into the arrivals lounge.

  John Murphy gave his boss a welcoming handshake and hugged Isabel, before taking their trolley. Once outside, he slung their cases into the car boot, which thankfully he’d parked right outside the exit doors of terminal three.

  Blake eased Isabel into the back, making sure she was comfy and had everything she needed for the short journey, before jumping in the front next to his sergeant.

  ‘How you feeling?’ Murphy asked Isabel, indicating to pull out of a line of taxis.

  ‘Tired, but I’m glad to be back.’

  ‘Your dad tells me the treatment went well.’

  ‘Yeah, really well.’

  ‘That’s fantastic news!’

  Blake craned his neck to the back. Isabel’s eyes were barely open.

  ‘Try to get some rest, darling. We’ll soon be home.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘How was your flight?’

  ‘Great, we managed an upgrade to first class. The doctors advised it, considering Izzy’s condition. Turned out to be a real smart move, bloody expensive though.’

  ‘I can imagine. Did you have one of those reclining seats with loads of space?’ Murphy asked curiously.

  ‘Yeah, plus tons of other perks,’ Blake said, glancing in the rear-view mirror at Isabel, who’d dozed off, her head cranked awkwardly to the side.

  ‘What’s Miami like then?’

  ‘I didn’t end up seeing that much of it, but what I did see was spectacular.’

  Murphy glanced in the rear-view mirror to make sure Isabel was sound asleep. He lowered his voice. ‘What you told me on the phone sounds like a movie script. You’re lucky to be alive, mate. Horrendous!’

  ‘Don’t I know it. John, you really can’t tell anyone about it. I had no choice, absolute nightmare.’

  ‘Goes without saying. I totally understand, I’d have done the same in your situation.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone else will see it like that, especially back at the station.’ Blake sounded concerned.

  ‘Maybe not, but what’s done is done. Can’t change it now. Let’s just hope people don’t find out about your illicit trade.’ He knew they were probably from the Staffordshire Hoard, and judging by the guilty look on his boss’s face, he knew as well, but wasn’t letting anything slip.

  After an awkward moment of silence, Blake asked what the weather had been like in the UK, as they cruised down M56 towards the M6 south at a steady sixty.

  Murphy just had to ask, he couldn’t resist any longer. ‘The pieces of gold?’

  Blake looked at him mournfully.

  ‘They were from the Staffordshire Hoard weren’t they?’

  ‘The Hoard consists of over 3000 pieces; no one will miss a couple?’

  ‘Bloody hell Tom, if this comes out you could be looking at a custodial!’

  Blake looked remorseful. ‘Will it come out, John?’

  ‘Not from me. You did it to save Isabel’s life. I understand, mate. There wasn’t enough time to look at other options.’

  ‘Exactly. I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but it was out of necessity.’

  ‘You do realise this all leads back to those scum Benzar brothers? The kidnapping and the robbery.’

  ‘I know. I can assure you those animals will pay for what they did to Isabel, but at present we have no concrete proof.’

  ‘Could be risky, Tom! Once the team start probing, you never know what they’ll find?’

  ‘The thing is, John, we had a legitimate reason to be in America. It’s unlikely Ibrahim Benzar would shoot himself in the foot. If he mentions those two pieces, he’d be admitting to the theft.’

  ‘Agreed, but if he gets nicked he may try to use it as leverage. Are you prepared to take that risk?’

  ‘No choice. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it, John?’

  CHAPTER 112

  Stafford Prison’s twenty-foot high perimeter wall and tiny barred windows sent out a clear message to its inmates. Built during the Regency period in 1793, this sinister-looking fortress was where the infamous Staffordshire poisoner William Palmer was hanged.

  The huge oak gates opened slowly, and DS Murphy eased the Astra pool car into the secure visitors’ entrance.

  Blake hated prison visits. Over the years, he and Murphy had endured plenty. The fact that neither he nor his sergeant had their mobiles left them feeling vulnerable. Hardly surprising really; inside prison the police were a pariah.

  Convicted prisoners often shared key intelligence on know
n associates, providing there was something in it for them. A mutually beneficial carrot and stick scenario, which led to arrests. Carl Bentley put a request in to see the detectives on the premise that he had new information regarding the theft of the Staffordshire Hoard.

  The governor allocated them an interview room away from the main prison block. Michael Lawrence Porter, a tall thin bloke in his mid-fifties, wore a slightly eccentric autumnal-coloured tweed suit, accompanied by an emerald dickie bow, giving him the appearance of a winter tree. Fusty attire aside, he was well thought of by both prisoners and his superiors. DI Blake first met him at HM Brixton five years ago. Having done a wonderful job dragging that prison into the twenty-first century, he’d been headhunted for a repeat dose at Stafford.

  ‘Chaps, wait here while we fetch prisoner Bentley,’ Porter said, before disappearing along the corridor with one of his pristinely turned-out guards.

  ‘Let’s hope Bentley’s not clutching at straws,’ Murphy said sceptically.

  ‘We won’t know until we speak to him. He’ll be pissed off, stuck in this dungeon, while the rest of the gang are on their jollies.’

  ‘I bet. You reckon he was involved?’

  ‘Probably, but from what you’ve told me he’s no mastermind; we’ll soon see.’

  Moments later, Carl Bentley sauntered along the corridor handcuffed to the prison guard, behind Lawrence Porter.

  ‘Go easy on him, he’s only just settling in. Would you like tea or coffee?’ Porter asked.

  ‘Two coffees, white with sugar please.’ Blake thanked him.

  ‘Someone will bring those to the interview room soon.’ With that, he left.

  The guard led Bentley into the interview room. Removing the chain that joined them, he told the detectives he’d be in the next room if needed.

  Judging by his ashen-white complexion and sleep-deprived eyes, Carl Bentley’s short time in prison had emotionally drained him.

  ‘Let’s cut to the chase, Mr Bentley. What exactly do you have to tell us?’ Blake asked bluntly.

  He shuffled around nervously on his chair, avoiding eye contact, before replying, ‘I know who knocked off the Staffordshire Hoard.’

  ‘And who would that be then?’ DS Murphy asked.

  ‘What’s in it for me?

  ‘Depends on how good your information is.’

  Although Bentley had little to lose, he was still mindful that other prisoners would be suspicious. He’d been taken from his cell by the governor, after only a short incarceration. A grass got nasties slipped in his food and the shit kicked out of him.

  ‘It’s spot on.’

  ‘We only have your word for that,’ Murphy said.

  Blake made it clear to Bentley. ‘I can’t make any promises, but the CPS allows some discretion within the law. If the information you provide leads to the arrest of the perpetrators and recovery of the stolen Hoard, we may negotiate you some privileges and a reduced sentence, but there’s no guarantees.’

  ‘What sort of privileges?’

  ‘Fags, extra phone cards, that type of thing.’

  ‘You having a laugh?’ Bentley scoffed. ‘Phone cards! What about my bastard safety?’

  ‘If the information you provide places you in danger, we can request you’re moved to a different prison.’

  ‘How long off the sentence?’

  ‘That’s not up to the police. We have to talk with the CPS. Again it all depends on the quality of your information.’

  ‘Ballpark figure.’

  ‘Up to twelve months, maybe.’

  Bentley grimaced. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘The clock’s ticking, Carl,’ Murphy chipped in playing bad cop. ‘We need to nail this today. Trust me, we won’t be returning, so stop messing about and tell us what you know.’

  Bentley sighed, knowing there was no going back. He lowered his voice. ‘The Benzar brothers pulled off the Hoard job.’

  ‘Your boss is Ibrahim Benzar. Is that correct?’ Murphy asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How long you worked for him?’

  ‘About four years.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Driving.’

  ‘In what capacity?’

  ‘Picking stuff up.’

  Bentley’s evasive manner was winding Murphy up. ‘It’s like pulling teeth,’ he moaned to Blake. ‘He was like this when we charged him with dealing. A right irritating shit.’

  ‘I told you before. It’s on my record.’

  ‘Oh yeah, delivery boy,’ Murphy said sarcastically.

  Blake interrupted. ‘Tell us about Benzar?’

  ‘He’s a dodgy bastard.’

  ‘Something we don’t know?’

  ‘Makes out he’s an honest businessman. All that’s a front.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Drugs, money laundering scams.’

  ‘No doubt his brother Yusuf Benzar is involved in that side of things. He recently escaped police custody,’ Blake said, fishing for links.

  ‘I don’t know much about him. I do know they’ve been planning this job for months.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s bullshit. Yusuf Benzar’s a known heroin and coke dealer, and since you worked for his brother, and have been convicted for dealing class A, it beggars belief.

  ‘Anyway, we’re not here to discuss your supplier. Were you in on the Staffordshire Hoard job?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe. You worked for Ibrahim Benzar for four years and didn’t have a clue about the robbery. Not even a hint of it?’

  ‘I only do the deliveries and run him about sometimes. He never told me bugger all.’

  ‘So you’ve been turning a blind eye all that time?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Blake’s patience was running out. ‘If you weren’t involved, how the bloody hell do you know Benzar orchestrated this job? Because at the minute you’re giving us nothing concrete.’

  Murphy put the boot in. ‘We know you’re pissed off with Ibrahim Benzar for having a fling with your missus. I reckon they’re having an affair.’

  Bentley looked confused, ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The bogus alibi you gave us, the night Barry Gibson was killed; she was shagging your boss Ibrahim Benzar, at the Willow Room Hotel.’

  Seeing red Bentley reared up. ‘Fuck off! That was a one off. You’re just trying to wind me up.’

  ‘If that’s what you want to believe, it’s up to you. Sit down! We need something concrete about the theft of the Staffordshire Hoard?’ Blake said.

  ‘Benzar uses this ginger guy, a real geek who sorts out his computer tech stuff. One day I was loading stock onto the shelves upstairs in the Black Sea Mini-Market, when I heard a noise coming from behind the shelves. It freaked me out at first. Then I noticed some kind of secret entrance in the plasterboard, like a hidden room. I realised it was Leonard Vale’s voice, he was talking to someone on his mobile so I quietly lifted down a couple of shrink wrapped cartons of stock, stuck my ear to the wall and listened. He was talking about knocking out the cameras at the Potteries Museum. At first I didn’t understand until he said will Charlie be okay on his own. Later that day the boss sent me to fill up cheap vodka into branded bottles at his flat. Whilst there I snooped about, and found a Staffordshire Hoard guide in a clear wallet. He’d put sticky notes on certain pages, and there was a map of the inside of the Museum, and another of the surrounding streets. It was like one of those heist blueprints.’

  ‘My, my, you are a sneaky bugger Mr Bentley.’ Blake said.

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’ Murphy said. ‘And this Leonard Vale helped Benzar?’

  ‘Who else is involved?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Stop mucking about?’ Blake scolded. ‘This type of job is complex. It needed meticulous planning and a team of professionals to pull it off.’

  ‘Okay. There were other blokes.’

  ‘Names?’

  'Benzar�
�s been knocking about with a guy called Charlie Bullard quite a bit.'

  Murphy took the name down in his notebook.

  ‘What can you tell us about him?’

  ‘He’s done time years ago.’

  ‘Any idea what for?’

  ‘Heard he was a bank robber in the eighties.’

  ‘We’ll get that checked out as soon as we get back the station.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Malcolm Preston?’

  ‘Benzar’s accountant?’ Blake raised an eyebrow.

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Malcolm Preston’s absconded; we have a warrant for his arrest. Any ideas where he might be?’

  ‘All I know is he lives in Newcastle somewhere.’

  ‘Is that it?’ Blake asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’re absolutely sure that no one else is involved?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Bentley that’s all for now, thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch regarding any deal we strike up on your behalf with the CPS. However, that all depends if your intel is reliable and leads to arrests.’

  CHAPTER 113

  On the drive back along the A34 towards Stoke, Blake instructed Murphy to call the office manager to do a PNC check on Charlie Bullard and Leonard Vale, but his mobile was busy so he texted him.

  ‘What do you reckon on Bentley’s intel?’

  ‘Hard to say. We’ll know more once we’ve interviewed those two. Can’t see him requesting a visit unless his info’s reliable,’ Blake said, overtaking a white van.

  ‘Maybe, but he knows wasting police time will add extra to his sentence. Thing is, he’s given us key suspects in the Staffordshire Hoard case and we need to act sharpish before they leg it, that is if they’ve not already shot through. It’s attracting a ton of media attention so Coleman’s likely to allocate a big team.’

  Murphy’s mobile rang. ‘Nick?’

  ‘I’ve just done a PNC on the two names; both of them have previous. Bullard did two five-year sentences for his part in numerous armed robberies during the eighties. Vale on the other hand has no convictions in the UK, but, get this, he’s been done for hacking in the US, and spent three years in prison over there.’