by Bill Kitson
‘Alternatively, she could have employed one of those house-sitters. You know, they come and look after houses whilst you’re away on holiday.’
‘That’s probably far more likely. If that’s the case, they don’t look to be in residence at the moment. Shame we can’t do it now, but it’s far too risky.’ He pointed down the road towards the village green, where several of the residents could be seen. Two of the older inhabitants were making their way towards the pub, which also housed the village shop, whilst a young mother was watching her two small children clambering over the play equipment on the green itself.
‘So, when do we come back?’
‘Late tonight.’
‘What about the house-sitter, if there is one?’
‘It’s not going to be the best job they’ve ever had. We go ahead with it anyway, and if they get in the way, tough. By what I’ve seen of this place, it’ll be days before anyone realizes anything’s wrong. Even the stink won’t be noticeable amongst all the others around. Talk about fresh air! All I can smell is shit, most of the time.’
‘I suppose the only advantage of operating in a place like this is there is absolutely no danger. Not like at home. Nobody’s likely to stick a gun in your face here.’
They were confident in their ability to enter the house, overpower the occupant and find and remove what they needed without fear of detection or reprisals. But then, neither of them knew the remotest thing about the rural scene, and how life in the countryside works.
On the crown of the bend, some two hundred yards away from where they had parked, Thornton was watching them through his binoculars. ‘What are they doing, boss?’ Mr Muscle asked.
‘By the look of it, they’re gawping at those houses. Why, I’ve no idea. I can’t see either of them wanting to buy a place here. Even as a retirement home it wouldn’t be their style.’
‘What do you think they’re looking for?’
‘I’ve no idea, except that I think it must have some bearing on why we’re here. Hang on, they’re moving again. Keep behind them, and don’t get too close, but don’t lose them either.’
‘Can you see that Mercedes behind us? It’s about half a mile back.’ Corinna asked.
Miller looked in the rear-view mirror, and after a few seconds, caught sight of the car. ‘A silver one? Is that the one you mean? What of it?’
‘I can’t be sure, but I think that car was behind us when we left the cottage this morning.’
‘Now who’s being paranoid?’
‘There can’t be many cars like that around here. All I’ve seen is Volvos and bloody Land Rovers. Say what you like, I think that car is following us. And no, I’m not being paranoid. There’s a world of a difference between paranoia and taking sensible precautions.’
‘In that case, try losing them. You know how to, and that should tell us one way or the other.’
‘How do you want me to play it?’
Miller knew how capable Corinna was. She’d done this before, more than once. ‘Head for town,’ he told her. ‘You’ll be able to lose them on that long straight bit just before the built-up area. When you get to the first turning, pull off and we can watch them, see who they are, maybe.’
‘Them?’
‘Them, him, her, whoever’s driving that car.’
Even before she had finished rounding the final bend, Corinna had hit the accelerator, and they both felt the pull as the powerful sports car rocketed forward. When they reached the houses, the Mercedes wasn’t even in sight, but disaster looked imminent as Corinna went to turn right at a speed that would have caused most cars to overturn. Miller was relaxed; Corinna was an expert and the roadholding of the car was legendary.
By the time the car they suspected of following them passed the road end, Corinna had parked the Porsche neatly behind the only vehicle on that street. ‘There they go; whoever they are, we’ve lost them,’ she said.
‘Yes, it’s a shame we had to hide behind that van, though. It would have been good to get a clear view of them and see if it was anyone we know, but the Porsche is too recognizable to take the chance.’
The owner of the outdoor leisure shop in Helmsdale was happy to take their money. It had been a quiet week and the sale of a second pair of expensive, high-powered binoculars was more than welcome. When, almost as an afterthought, the man bought a pair of walking boots, the owner was unable to disguise his pleasure. Even when the shop doorbell ceased ringing after their departure, he was able to look at the amount showing on the cash register display and prolong his elation.
‘What’s the idea of the boots?’
‘If we were being tailed, I’ve a plan to sort them out, that’s all. Drive back to the cottage and we’ll take it from there. When you get within a mile or so, slow down. I want to check out the lie of the land.’
As they approached the cottage, Corinna did as he instructed, giving Miller ample opportunity to inspect the terrain. ‘Perfect,’ he muttered.
‘What is? What were you looking for?’
‘I wanted to see if it was possible to leave the cottage and get to those trees on foot without being seen.’
‘And?’
‘It can be done by leaving via the back door and going across the yard to the far side of that hedge, then walking along it to where that field meets up with the one that comes back towards the road. After that, it’s difficult to be sure, it depends on the slope and how tall the hedge is.’
‘All this is highly fascinating,’ Corinna said as she pulled the car to a halt in front of the cottage, ‘but why would you want to do all that? You don’t even like walking.’
‘To deal with the nosey bastards who have been watching us.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Not yet, but like I said, this is just in case, a sort of insurance, if you like. The binoculars should tell us, one way or the other.’
Chapter Fourteen
There had been angry words between Thornton and his henchman before they reached Helmsdale. Thornton accused him of carelessness. ‘You’ve lost them, you stupid pillock. I told you we should have kept closer behind them. They could be anywhere by now. For all we know they could have collected the diamonds and be heading for the M1 and back to London already.’
‘If you think you can do better, you drive. How do you suggest I could have stayed closer on that long straight without drawing attention to this car? Do you think they’re so thick they wouldn’t have worked out whose car this is? That personal registration is a dead giveaway. I might just as well have hung a sign out of the window telling them we were following them.’
The argument continued until they reached the centre of the town where they drove around for a while. Eventually, Mr Muscle pointed to the sleek lines of the Porsche that was parked prominently in the market place. He reversed the Mercedes into a vacant bay on the opposite side of the road and switched the engine off, glad of the silence, not from the noise of the car, but from Thornton’s whining.
They waited over twenty minutes before Thornton saw the couple returning to their car. Both were carrying shopping bags. ‘Here they are,’ he pointed, unnecessarily, for his driver was already firing the ignition. ‘This time, don’t lose them. You got lucky once, the next time you might not.’
Mr Muscle pulled the Mercedes into the stream of traffic several cars back from the Porsche, muttering something under his breath as he did so. Fortunately, his comment on Thornton’s parentage was too quiet for the older man to hear. Thornton watched the Porsche in front, wondering idly what they had been buying. Helmsdale shops weren’t exactly Oxford Street, which was where Corinna liked to do her shopping.
During their journey they managed to keep the Porsche within range; helped by the fact that the couple in front seemed in no hurry. It didn’t occur to either of the men in the Mercedes to wonder why the Porsche had been pushed to the limit on the way into town, and was now being driven at a pace best described as a dawdle. When they eventually saw t
he brake lights come on, Mr Muscle, obeying Thornton, brought the Mercedes to a halt near their previous vantage point.
They waited, to give their quarry chance to go to earth, and as they did so, Thornton’s minder asked his employer the question that had been at the back of his mind ever since they had set out for Yorkshire. ‘What’s the special reason for wanting to get hold of these diamonds? I mean, apart from the fact that I know they’re probably worth a small fortune, but I get the idea there’s more to it than that, something more personal.’
Thornton didn’t say anything for a long time, and the driver was just beginning to think he’d overstepped the mark when his boss spoke. ‘First off, those diamonds aren’t worth a small fortune; they’re worth quite a large fortune. Second, and just as important, when they went missing, my boss got the blame for it. At that time I worked for Callaghan. Dirty Harry Callaghan. I guess you’ve heard of him?’
‘Yes, I have, didn’t one of the Perry gang stick him?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. I knew Callaghan hadn’t stolen the diamonds, but that was what everyone was saying. Before it could be proved one way or the other he was found stabbed to death. Ray Perry was standing over him with a ruddy great knife in his hand. I’m not sure to this day if Perry did stab Callaghan, or if he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. My own opinion was that the original owner of the diamonds was taking revenge on the people he thought might have done the dirty on him. Max Perry had also been killed, and the other story doing the rounds was that Callaghan had done it, but I knew for a fact that wasn’t true. Whatever did happen, if I can get hold of the diamonds it won’t bring either of them back but at least it’ll be a bit of poetic justice.’
‘What about the bloke who supplied them? I’d have thought if he was angry enough to do all that back then, he’d still be prepared to resort to the same tactics to get them back, even now. He’s fairly sure to hear about them being found if he’s in the trade.’
Thornton smiled mirthlessly. ‘The only way he’s going to get to hear about them is if someone uses a Ouija board. He was found dead in a canal in Amsterdam four months after the stones vanished. He didn’t sink, despite having a considerable number of knife-sized holes in him.’
‘There seem to have been a lot of deaths connected to those diamonds. Doesn’t that worry you?’
Thornton shrugged. ‘It does, a bit, even though a lot of the people who are most interested in the stones are no longer with us. To be on the safe side, I took out some insurance.’ Thornton opened the glove compartment, to reveal an automatic pistol inside. ‘One thing the Boy Scouts got right is that motto of theirs. “Be prepared” works for me every time.’
He closed the glove compartment and reached over to the back seat to retrieve the binoculars. ‘I’m going to take a look and see if they’ve bedded down for the night, or if they’re going cavorting off on another moonlight ride like they did last night. I’m still trying to work out what that was all about, and what the attraction of that cottage is.’
Corinna was in the kitchen preparing a meal. She glanced through into the lounge, in time to see Miller standing in front of the window, fiddling with the binoculars. Several minutes later, she looked up again, to find him standing in the kitchen doorway. She was surprised to see he was wearing the walking boots he had bought that afternoon. ‘What are you doing, going for a walk?’
He looked down. ‘Well, I’m not going swimming, that’s for sure. Will that meal wait?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘When I’ve been gone ten minutes or so, I want you to take stuff out to the car. It doesn’t matter what, exactly. A couple of coats, a bag, whatever you can find. Make it look as if we’re going to set off like we did last night.’
‘Whatever for? What will you be doing?’
‘I’m going to have words with the bloke who’s watching the house.’
‘Who is he? Someone we know?’
‘I can’t tell. Even with the glasses, he’s too far away for me to make him out clearly behind those bloody trees. But I want to know what the hell he’s playing at. You haven’t been cavorting about in front of the bedroom window naked, have you?’
Corinna grinned. ‘I haven’t been, but if that’s what he’s waiting for, I’ll gladly oblige.’
‘No you bloody well won’t. That floor show is for me alone, baby.’
‘What about going back to the cottage like we planned?’
‘That’s going to have to wait. I want to deal with this first. It’s making me feel uncomfortable.’
‘Be careful, Phil. If it’s some deranged local, they could be dangerous.’
Phil Miller was a planner by nature, always had been. Planning, he found, was the only way to avoid the unexpected. In his world, unexpected happenings were usually unpleasant in nature. Some unforeseen events couldn’t be planned for, but he tried to keep these to an absolute minimum. As he closed the back door behind him, Phil was already planning his strategy for approaching the watcher. As he passed through the lobby, he had collected the sledgehammer from its resting place against the wall. By the time he reached the woods, he felt sure his arms would be aching from the weight of the tool, but having the weapon along would be worth it.
Getting through a gap in the hedge was easy, and Phil was confident of being able to reach the next field without being seen. After that, much depended on the height of the hedge, and the density of the foliage. Phil hoped it would be tall enough; he didn’t fancy creeping several hundred yards in a crouching position. Either way, that was probably going to be the most risky part of the venture, and he knew he would have to be extremely cautious.
He reached the junction of the fields, slipping easily through the space between the gate and the hedge. He was tempted for a moment to use the gate, but rejected the idea. It looked to be on the point of collapse, and Phil was convinced that if he did try to open it, the gate would protest – loudly.
Fortunately, the hedge was both tall enough and thick enough to give him excellent cover. Not only that, but the slope he had been concerned about was far gentler than it had appeared to be when viewed from the cottage window. The field had been harvested and the stubble was dry underfoot. Phil was able to make excellent progress towards the road.
His only moment of panic came when he was halfway up the slope, almost level with the edge of the trees that were his objective. The cause of his alarm was a pair of blackbirds that rocketed out of the hedge only a few feet in front of him; their screeches sounding like wailing sirens breaking the quiet of the still evening air. Miller froze, and remained motionless for several minutes after the birds had vanished into the gathering dusk.
He muttered several savage curses under his breath, all targeted towards the avian population thereabouts and blackbirds in particular. The notion that their noisy exit from the hedge that was their dormitory might have been the result of his approach didn’t occur to him. Once peace and quiet had been restored and his heart rate had slowed to something close to normal, Miller continued, more cautiously now, bypassing the woodland as he headed for the gate in the top corner of the field.
It had never been Phil’s intention to seek out the watcher when the man was within the confines of the wood; that, he knew, might be a recipe for disaster. Far better to locate his vehicle and surprise him as he returned to it. There were other advantages to this plan. He would be able to check if the watcher was alone, and if not, deal with the danger posed by being outnumbered. He could also, if need be, disable the watcher’s motor, thereby preventing his escape. Finally, he felt sure that when the watcher’s stint in the woods had ended the man would be off guard and therefore easier to overcome.
When he reached the edge of the field and looked cautiously to his left, Phil knew that his plan had been the right one. No more than thirty yards away, a man was leaning on the side of a Mercedes, the car Phil guessed had been following them all day. The man was smoking a cigarette, and as he watched, Miller both saw an
d smelled the smoke drifting towards him. That meant that what slight breeze there was would be in his favour, for both scent and sound would be carried away from his quarry.
Not that he had to worry too much about sound, for the car window was open and the man was listening to the radio. He had the volume turned up high enough to mask the sound of anyone approaching. As Miller watched, the man shifted position slightly, and Phil’s eyes narrowed as the man’s head turned sufficiently for him to be recognized. Miller’s gaze switched to the registration plate of the car, and as he noted the lettering, he knew beyond doubt the identity of the watcher within the woods.
At the same time he realized there was only one course of action available to him. If the watcher had been some private eye, or a low-level punk hoping to make a name for himself, that might have been different, but this represented too potent a threat to be dealt with in any other but the harshest way.
Assessing the terrain, Phil noted a large bush two thirds of the way between him and his target. If he could reach that without being seen, the man by the car would be almost within range of the sledgehammer. Two quick strides and one swing should do the trick. Miller climbed over the sturdy metal gate, thankful that it neither creaked nor groaned under his weight. Once on the other side, seven quick strides brought him to the cover he had marked out.
Five minutes later, Phil Miller leaned against the boot of the Mercedes, gasping slightly for breath. The exertion of putting Mr Muscle in the boot had almost been beyond him. All he had to do now was confront Thornton. Then he could phone Corinna to come and help; Thornton was far too overweight for him to manage alone. Besides, they would need her car to get back once they had disposed of the bodies. Miller had remembered to bring his mobile along and to put it on silent mode. He only hoped he’d be able to get a signal.
‘What do you propose to do with them? Hiding two bodies and a car isn’t going to be easy.’
